Page 15 of Kiss Me at Christmas
“Yes, I flapping am!” She hesitated for a moment, wondering if she should share the thoughts that had been brewing ever since she’d stepped into the crusty old foyer. As her best friend poured her another glass of juice, Harriet decided that Emma would tell her outright if this idea was good or straight-up bananas. “I’ve been thinking about them, the students—”
“How to disembowel the little shits and get away with it?”
“After I’d thought about that. They need a place, you know? Somewhere they can hang out.”
“Like a youth club?”
“Yeah, kind of. Some place that’s only gently supervised but safe.”
“Okay.”
“I mean, if I’m cleaning up the theater anyway, maybe I could propose something to Ms. Winter, ask her if she’d consider letting us use it. It’s not like it’s being used for anything else. They could put on shows, start a glee club…”
Emma snorted.
“No, seriously,” Harriet protested. “These kids wouldlike that! Given the chance, they like reading and drama, they write poetry—angry, sweary poetry, but poetry all the same. I could get speakers in, inspirational people to give talks about careers and charities they could get involved in…”
“I’m not disagreeing with you, but isn’t that what school is for? There must be after-school clubs.”
“Yes, but they’re filled with the kinds of kids you’d expect, and that isn’t these guys. But for all their raging against the machine, I believe they want what any teenager wants: to find a place where they fit. And I think I could give it to them. I’m talking about a community space, not just for kids from Foss Independent, but from all over. Ms. Winter might be happy to have it useful again.”
Her friend nodded and hummed, letting Harriet spill her thoughts out across the space between them. When she stopped for breath, Emma speared another floret of broccoli in oyster sauce and asked, “Have you ever met Evaline Winter?”
“No,” Harriet admitted. But how bad could she really be?
Everyone knew about the theater magnate, but few had been acquainted with her. She resided in the manor house that overlooked the town. Her father, Fitz-William Winter, had famously squandered the Winter fortune, and when he died Evaline inherited the estate and all its debts. Unlike her father, she had a head for business and had not only settled all his debts but grown the Winter assets to ten times what she’d inherited.
“Well, I have,” said Emma, her lips pursed in distaste. “She’s a hard-nosed cow-bag and she’s got a finger in every pie in Little Beck Foss, and none of those fingers contain an ounce of community spirit.”
“She might feel differently once the place is cleaned up a bit. I thought I might try to set up a meeting, run it past her.”
“You’ve really thought about this, haven’t you?”
“Do you know what they were doing when I busted them?”
“Drinking vodka and smoking?”
“Half right, I think it was a bit early for vodka.” She took a sip of cranberry juice. “They were reading Dickens. The novel and the play.”
“Okay. I didn’t see that coming.”
“Exactly, nobody does. It’s easier to make yourself fit into the suit you’ve been pegged for than to try and break out of it. These kids have got bigger things to worry about than trying to change people’s minds about them.”
She was thinking about Billy, how he looked out for his little brother, how he worried about the system pulling them apart. And she was thinking about Zoe, her own personal ghost, the bright, clever girl who could have been anything she wanted if only Harriet hadn’t let her down.
Emma looked hard at her.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but sometimes I feel like you’re still trying to atone for what happened, even though you had nothing to do with it.”
Harriet waved it away. “It’s not about that.” Itwasabout that. She’d been too busy, too tired, and she missed the signs. She pushed the memory away and met her friend’s stare. “This could make a difference.”
“I believe you. Just do me one favor, before you go rushing into opening a community theater. Make sure this isn’t another knee-jerk reaction to Maisy’s announcement, like your one-night stand withJames.” She said his name in a husky whisper. “ ’Cause, you know if you’rereally suffering with empty nest syndrome, you can take some of my kids.”
Harriet laughed, knowing Emma was only half joking. Her teenage kids’ hormones were hell on wheels. When she’d had Taylor and then the twins—Jordan and Phoebe—with only eighteen months between them, everyone had told her that the hardest part would be the first three years. When the kids grew into their teens, Emma had suddenly realized that everyone had been lying to her.
“Maybe there’s a little bit of empty-nest panic to it,” Harriet confessed. “But under no circumstances do I want your kids.”
Emma groaned exaggeratedly. “What kind of husband’s ex-girlfriend are you?”
