Puppy Love for Christmas

Chapter Five

Chapter Five

Christopher woke up on his stomach with cotton mouth. Ironically, the dryness of his tongue didn’t prevent a long line of saliva to trail from the corner of his mouth to the soggy lake that had formed on the white pillow below him. He hadn’t drooled while asleep since . . . he had no idea when, that was how long it had been.

He swiped the back of his hand over his mouth, drying the skin there but at the expense of making his hand sticky. Not the best way to wake up. Not to mention the two-ton weight that his brain had become overnight. His limbs felt heavy, yet a buoyancy as if he were floating in water accompanied the sensation. How could someone feel good and bad at the same time?

“Oh, good! You’re awake,” Sabrina said as she entered his room.

Her chipper tone made him grimace. “What happened? Where am I?”

“The second question is easier to answer.” She smiled as if taking immense pleasure from his pain. The sadist. “You’re at the Wakefield Suite.”

“The hotel? You should have just taken me home.”

“From where we were standing? The hotel was closer. I wasn’t about to lug you all the way across town. Plus, there’s a nurse always on call here. Seemed like the wisest choice to me.”

She had a point. “But how did we make it up the path?”

“With a pinch of prayer and a dash of hope.” She rubbed a hand down her face. “Believe me, there were moments when I wanted to strangle you.”

“I’m sorry?” Christopher kneaded his temple with the heel of his hand to ease some of the throbbing. It felt like the Large Hadron Collider between his ears.

“You should be. The Benadryl made you both hyper and lethargic at intervals. I was dragging you one second and the next you were dancing circles around me. It would have been funny if it wasn’t for the fact that I was worried sick.”

She had been worried about him? The idea did funny things inside his chest. It somehow cured him and made him feel worse all at once. His memory was spotty from the moment the antihistamine activated in his system. He swallowed when a particular image materialized in his brain.

“Where are my parents?”

“I’m surprised you remembered them being here. You were pretty out of it. I took over at around midnight so they could go home. You should call them, let them know you’re okay.”

“Did I . . .” He shut his mouth so fast, feeling nauseous.

“What?” She tilted her head. The action made the hair on the right side of her head bounce.

Christopher rubbed his forehead with the tips of his fingers. Oh crap! What had he done? It was just a dream, wasn’t it? Please say it was just a dream?

Unfortunately, there was only one way to find out. He breathed in deeply and fortified himself for the truth. At first, the question refused to leave his lips. The worse part was Sabrina waited for him to speak. She had a knack for staying still. She possessed the patience of a saint. It was so maddening because Christopher was the type who couldn’t stand prolonged silence. He always had to fill the air molecules with sound or his skin crawled.

“Did I . . .” His tongue, which felt two sizes too big for his mouth again, refused to work.

Sabrina grinned, still waiting. It was so annoying!

Huffing, the frustration helped Christopher say, “Did I, by any chance, touch your hair yesterday?”

Because of the paleness of her skin, her blushes were much more evident. Her entire face was redder than holly berries.

“Ah crap.” He dropped his face into his hands, his own cheeks hot. “I was a total creep, wasn’t I?”

“N-no!”

He lifted his head in time to see her arms flail. “Damn it. What else did I do?” Shadows of memories persisted in his head, but he wasn’t sure which were real and which were figment.

Sabrina coughed into a fist and cleared her throat. “It wasn’t what you did more like what you said.”

All of Christopher’s insides sank to the bed beneath him. If he weren’t sitting he was sure he wouldn’t have had the strength to remain standing. What had he said? Did he accidentally confess? He didn’t believe in a higher power, but it seemed like the right moment to say, “Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God.”

“Don’t panic!” Sabrina’s arms flailed once more. It was as if she was juggling imaginary balls in the air. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“I think I’m going to be sick.” Christopher clutched his belly, feeling the roiling tide within.

“Is this a real sick? Because I need to run for the trashcan in the living room. That’s more like a bucket.”

He thought about it. There was nothing in his stomach to throw up, but it sure felt like he was about to upchuck. “What did I say?”

“You know what, you’ll feel a lot better when you’ve had something to eat.” Sabrina began backing out of the room. She pointed at the plastic bag on the chair. “Your mom brought some of your stuff to wear. Get changed and meet me in the living room.”

“Sabrina!” He called after her, craning his neck. She had disappeared into the hallway faster than a mouse caught nibbling on cheese. “Come back here! What did I say?”

There was no use. No response came. He threw himself back down on the bed and threw the duvet over himself in the hopes of hiding his mortification from the world.

***

Fifteen minutes later, when the futility of hiding away hit him, Christopher hauled himself out of bed and got dressed. So, he confessed. Was that so bad? He had wanted to for a long time. Now Sabrina knew. It wasn’t exactly how he imagined everything going down, but it was finally out there.

On unsteady legs, he made his way to the living room. The flat screen was on. A holiday movie was playing, but it wasn’t one that he recognized. Probably one of the newer ones that came out that year. The fire was lit, making the room toasty. Just the way he liked it. And on the couch sat Sabrina, back straight, hands on her lap.

He cleared his throat to let her know she had company.

As if a switch was flipped, Sabrina turned around with a huge smile on her face. She waved him over. “Come on, the food’s getting cold.”

An awkward pause. The smile on Christopher’s face faltered. Scratching the back of his head then smoothing down the bedhead he felt there, he approached the couch. His mom may know his clothes, but she didn’t know the product he used for his hair. The hotel-provided gel just wasn’t enough. Mental note, leave personal hygiene kit in Wakefield Suite.

As he sat down beside Sabrina, she pointed to the plates in front of them. “Chef Cynthia got carried away when she heard you were here. She sent up the best. Lobster tails and waffles. Clambake. Lobster pie. Blueberry pancakes. Lobster roll. And her famous potato fries.”

“This is food for ten. I can’t possibly eat all of this,” Christopher said despite the grumbling in his stomach.

“Pick whichever you want. The rest she can pack up and send over to the Mission. The guys over there will be very happy.”

The Mission was the local volunteer shelter. They didn’t have many homeless in Trevor, but once in a while transient people travelled on through needing a place to stay that was free. The hotel always had a ton of extra food. Instead of throwing anything away, they sent everything to the Mission. The place was definitely something to consider since he hadn’t picked a charity yet.

Christopher reached for the plate of lobster tails and waffles.

“Great choice!” Sabrina said, her voice higher than normal. “Chef Cynthia drowned those babies in a butter bath. The maple syrup is over there.”

He was so hungry that all he wanted was to shovel the food into his mouth. The smell of butter was enough to make his eyes roll to the back of his head. But from the way Sabrina was acting, he couldn’t start eating without clearing the air. He put the plate down again.

“What? Aren’t you eating?” she asked in between bites of blueberry pancake.

In order to calm down enough, Christopher mentally recited the digits of Pi. Once he reached the tenth digit after the decimal point, his heart no longer wanted to punch a hole out of his chest. In grade school, he learned he could balance speaking and thinking of numbers in his head. He called on this skill now.

“Out with it,” he said, the numbers of Pi still going in his head. “What did I say?”

Sabrina swallowed wrong. A coughing fit followed. Christopher handed her the glass of orange juice nearest him with one hand and slapped her back with the other. She grabbed the glass and downed its pulpy contents in several gulps. He was impressed. He normally had to stop between sips or risk choking.

When it seemed like Sabrina had everything under control and she was breathing evenly again, she eased the half empty glass onto the table. But when she spoke, Christopher couldn’t quite catch her words, she was mumbling pretty hard.

“What?” He leaned closer. “I didn’t get that.”

“You said I was pretty.”

The relief was instantaneous. The numbers of Pi stopped.

“Oh,” he said. It was more like an exhalation. He hadn’t confessed. No matter how drunk he was on Benadryl. Never had he been thankful to the mental fortitude of his brain. “Well, it’s the truth.”

“Oh?” Sabrina blinked at him.

Unable to hide his smile, he picked up his plate once again. This time nothing stopped him from devouring the lobster tails and waffles. “Yup.”

“Hey.” She shifted in her seat. “You were serious about helping out, right?”

He nodded, cheek bulging with food. Fork halfway to his mouth.

***

After breakfast, Christopher found himself in the middle of town square handing out flyers for the Adopt-a-Thon that would take place the morning of the 24th. Sabrina was right beside him, a smile on her face, encouraging people to “Adopt. Don’t shop.” Which was the slogan for that year’s charity event.

“I can’t believe you got the mayor and everyone in townhall to sign off on this,” he said, handing a flyer to a little girl who looked at it then handed it to her mother as they walked away.

“I lobbied hard to make sure this year’s featured charity was the shelter and the rescue of animals. It was time the Animal Sanctuary got the extra love it deserves.”

Christopher was impressed. Being the featured charity during the Christmas by the Sea Festival meant several fund-raising opportunities. The Polar Run. An event of the charity’s choosing Christmas Eve morning. Then the Snow Ball that night. This was big.

He was about to say so when he looked over in time to catch a frown on Sabrina’s face. She had stopped giving out flyers. Christopher did too and faced her.

“Why do I get the feeling you’re not happy about this?” he asked, coming closer.

While still holding the flyers, she dropped her arms to her sides. A long sigh left her lips as her shoulders sagged. “I’m over the moon about this opportunity for the Animal Shelter.”

“I’m sensing a but . . .” He waited. He could be just as patient as she was. Thankfully, the answer came before he had to stand through a prolonged silence.

She pouted as she spoke. “I just feel like no one is coming to the Adopt-a-Thon.”

“What makes you say that?”

“We sent out emails to everyone on the shelter’s list but got very few replies. The f*******: post has dismal likes. Even the pictures I post on Insta of the potential cats and dogs they can adopt are getting likes from people from other states, way too far away to actually attend the event.”

“What happens if not enough people come?”

“Special needs pets are always the hardest to adopt out. That’s why I wanted the Sanctuary to focus solely on special needs dogs and cats because they deserve a chance. They are usually the first ones to be euthanized. If we don’t adopt out the cats and dogs at the shelter how before the end of the year, we won’t have room for more and that would mean the shelters those animals are in will be forced to put them down.”

“Hey . . .” With the hand not holding flyers, he rubbed between her shoulder blades. “I’m sure people will come. It’s Christmas. They are just busy. Let’s keep on spreading the word with these flyers. I’m not one to believe in Christmas miracles, but you never know. Anything is possible.” And it was true. He believed that there was a higher probability of people coming to the event than snow actually falling on Trevor before the festival officially opened.

She inhaled deeply and nodded vigorously. “You know what, you’re right. I don’t know what came over me. I need to hand out more of these. Not everyone sees posts on the internet.”

“That’s the spirit.”

The second they started handing out flyers again, an idea germinated in Christopher’s head. He might just be able to help.

***

After finishing his stack of flyers and steering Sabrina toward Bake My Day for a celebratory hot cocoa on him, Christopher made his way to the hotel’s business center. As much as he wanted to stay with her, there was something more important he had to take care of first. He commandeered one of the computers. First, he put together a simple algorithm that he sent to his laptop. He would activate it when he got home. It would do its job. Then he commenced his internet sleuthing. More like stalking. Both words worked for what he was doing.

When he found the information he was looking for, he cleared the browsing history. Then he made his way out of the hotel and down the path into town. He knew the address of the house he was going to pretty well. He had spent many afternoons there.

Along the way, every grandmother he passed smacked him with her handbag. At first, it surprised him. He had no idea what was happening until about the third strike. Then he remembered what happened to the children of Trevor who didn’t come home after leaving for so long. Everyone in town was family and you never turned your back on family. If you did, you got smacked by the grandmas. He took the punishment. He deserved it.

From the town square, Christopher turned left onto Peach Street. He made a beeline for the brick house with a small front porch. Christmas lights covered every inch of the thatched roof. Santa and his sleigh pulled by all his reindeer sat on one side of the roof. A plastic snowman with a football tucked under its arm waved at him from the lawn.

Potted poinsettias lined the steps he climbed. A wreath made out of used wine corks and tiny footballs hung at the center of the white door he stopped in front of. Without hesitation, Christopher pressed the doorbell. A jolly Jingle Bells rang out within the house. He waited.

Not ten seconds later, the door swung open to reveal the guy Christopher had come for. Marcus Willard. Once quarterback of the Sea Coast High Lobsters. On the off season he was captain of the basketball team too. He now played for the Broncos.

“Math-whizz! Heard you were back in town!” Marcus exclaimed in complete surprise. His smile was as wide as his eyes. “You beat Bill Gates yet on the Forbes List?” He pulled Christopher into a back-slapping hug.

Normally, Christopher abhorred masculine shows of affection, but went with it because he liked Marcus. The guy was one of the only jocks who went against stereotype. He had a zero tolerance for bullying. Which was why during Marcus’ stint in high school, bullying was at an all-time low.

“Working on it,” Christopher gritted out. Those slaps weren’t exactly love taps. Marcus had large hands. Perfect for throwing footballs. “How are you doing?”

“Oh, you know.” Marcus didn’t lose his smile. “The goal is that Super Bowl ring.”

“I heard your team’s going to make it this year.”

“If only I had you with me, we would be a shoe in. Best punter the team’s seen in years. Shame you never perused it. You could have gone pro.”

“Unlike you, the sports thing isn’t my main thing.”

“Still planning to rule the world with robots?”

A grin tugged at one side of Christopher’s lips. “Working on it.”

“You better come in before my mom accuses me of losing my manners.” Marcus stepped back and waved him in. “Do you want something to drink?”

“Actually, there’s something I wanted to talk to you about,” Christopher said, closing the door behind him.

“As I live and breathe, is that Christopher Wakefield?” Marcus’ mother exclaimed just as loudly as her son had. She hurried from the kitchen, the front of her dress covered by a white apron with Santa’s smiling face in front. “When did you get back into town?” She pulled him into a tight hug. “You were gone too long. Your poor mother!”

“Yesterday,” he winced out.

Trevor was so small that every mom felt like the mother of each kid. The town took the adage “It takes a village . . .” quite literally. No kid was without a mom, even the ones who were orphaned or lived in a single-parent household. It was the same with the fathers.

“And you choose to come and see me only now?” Marcus’ mom said, hurt clear in her expression.

“Mom, Chris needs to talk. We’re going up to my room.”

Christopher sent a silent thanks to Marcus for saving the day. He wasn’t sure he could handle any more of the attention.

“I’ll bring up snacks in a bit,” she called up after them as they climbed the stairs to the second floor.

“My mom still thinks I’m ten,” Marcus said with a laugh. He opened the door to his room and ushered Christopher inside. Posters of Jay-Z, Pharrell, and several other rappers Christopher wasn’t familiar with papered the walls. Trophies filled the shelves. And a gaming console sat by a flat screen. From the looks of it, it hadn’t been played in a while. Christopher mourned this for a second. Machines needed to be used.

“Wow!” Christopher paused once inside to take everything in. “The place still looks the same, except for one thing. Where’s the mess?”

“My girlfriend is kind of a neat freak. I guess I learned to clean up after myself along the way. No one is happier than my mom.” Marcus pointed at the bean bag on the floor as he sat on the foot of his bed. He leaned forward and rested his forearms on his knees. “What did you want to talk to me about? If you went out of your way to come and see me, it has to be serious.”

Christopher settled awkwardly onto the bean bag. The polyester material crunched and squeaked as he shifted to find a comfortable position. Marcus laughed. He extended a hand and pulled Christopher to his feet. Then he pointed at the desk chair.

“Still haven’t gotten over your coordination issues, huh?” Marcus teased.

“Didn’t think I’d ever get this tall.” Christopher let out a long-suffering sigh as he sat down.

“You certainly filled out. Like Captain America before he became Cap.”

“You mean Steve Rogers.”

“Years later and still correcting me.”

“Habit.” Christopher shrugged.

“So, what did you want to talk about?”

“Girls.”

Marcus’s eyes almost fell out of his skull. “You telling me your years in college hasn’t fixed that?”

“That’s not what I mean. I had my fair share of fun at MIT. I even had a girlfriend, but it’s always the girls making the move. You know I don’t have any game to speak of. Someone says let’s go out and I nod before going back to work. I need help. Ask me to fix your computer, create an algorithm, develop state of the art prosthetics for injured vets, that I can do. Making a girl like me? That’s a whole different issue. I don’t have that kind of software.” Christopher clutched his knees until his knuckles turned white.

“You’re talking about Sabrina Fairbanks.”

“How did you know?” Now it was Christopher’s eyes’ turn to almost fall out of his skull.

“Dude, in high school, when she passed by your head followed until she disappeared around a corner. It was so obvious you liked her. And from the looks of it you still do. Why did you come to me about this?”

“Well, look at you.” Christopher gestured at him. “No girl says no to the Black Panther. You’re practically Wakandan royalty.”

“Girls don’t say no to Steve Rogers, especially after he becomes Cap.”

“I don’t know.”

“You grew up with Sabrina,” Marcus said matter-of-factly.

“What does that have to do with it?”

“That gives you an in. Math-whizz, this is easier than you think. Stop overthinking it.”

“But—”

“The Christmas Festival starts tonight. Take her to the Christmas fair. She’ll like that.”

“That’s it?” His jaw dropped. “But we always went to the fair when we were kids. What makes now any different?”

Marcus imitated his surprise. “Because you’re not kids anymore. Talk to her. Ask her questions. Then listen to her answers. Go with the flow. Make her laugh.”

“It can’t be that simple.”

“Math-whizz,” Marcus reached forward and squeezed Christopher’s shoulder, “at some point during the fair, try holding her hand. If she doesn’t let go then you have your answer.”