A Witchmas Carol Page 7

  “I know.” Landon kissed the tip of my nose, eliciting gagging sounds from the three boys in the dining room. He chuckled when he heard them. “Ah, that brings back memories.”

  “I think this entire trip is supposed to bring back memories,” I pointed out. “That’s why Aunt Tillie brought us here.”

  “And I thought she brought us here to punish us.” Landon pressed a soft kiss to the corner of my mouth as he held me close to his chest. “I’m not feeling punished.”

  “Give it time,” Aunt Tillie said, breezing past us as she moved between the bathroom and the dining room.

  Landon watched her go, a mixture of baffled amusement and suspicion flitting across his face. “I don’t understand what she’s trying to prove to us. This was more a gift than anything else.”

  “Yeah, I wouldn’t get too cocky. She can shift us to another memory – one that’s not quite so good – at any moment. The fact that she let us stay here so long, that we enjoyed ourselves, makes me think our next stop will be a nightmare.”

  “I don’t care.” Landon rested his cheek against my forehead. “I’m glad I got to share this with you.”

  “I’m glad, too.” I really was. “It makes me realize that our lives weren’t really that different.”

  Landon pulled back so he could study my face. “Did you think they were?”

  I shrugged. “I grew up with witches.”

  “So?”

  “I thought you had a more normal childhood. Now I’m not so sure.”

  “I don’t know what that means.”

  “You grew up with dreams.”

  Landon stilled, his hand slowing as he rubbed the back of my neck. “Dreams?”

  I searched his face for a hint of recognition. “Or maybe you didn’t,” I conceded. “Aunt Tillie said that everything happening was real. I probably shouldn’t have believed her. That was wishful thinking on my part.”

  “Not necessarily,” Landon hedged. “I just … I did use to have dreams. They were about angels.”

  My heart rate picked up a notch. “Yes. That’s what Denny said.”

  “I forgot all about them,” Landon admitted. “I stopped having them when I turned about eleven or twelve. I can’t really remember.”

  “Do you remember what the dreams were about now?”

  “No. I never remembered. They were just bright glimpses of … something. I remember a lot of blonde hair.” He absently stroked his hand down the back of my head. “It’s weird that little me brought that up to you.”

  “He said I looked familiar.”

  “Really?” Landon cocked an eyebrow. “Maybe I was dreaming about you instead of an angel.”

  I knew he didn’t mean it as a slight, but I couldn’t help being a bit bothered. “I could be an angel!”

  “No, you’re my sweetie.” Landon kissed my cheeks, but his expression was distant. “That’s really odd. Where is he? I mean, where am I? It’s still weird to talk about my younger self that way.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Aunt Tillie said, popping up at my side. “You’ve learned all you’re going to here.”

  “I want to talk to him,” Landon pressed.

  “You’ll get another chance,” Aunt Tillie promised. “In fact … .” She shifted her eyes to the grandfather clock as it began dinging. “In fact, I think you’re about to get another shot.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Aunt Tillie didn’t answer. It was already too late. The room swirled, and we were off on yet another adventure. My gut told me the next one wouldn’t be nearly as pleasant.

  You’ll shoot your eye out.

  – Landon to Aunt Tillie when she takes her shotgun turkey hunting

  Seven

  The swirling didn’t last long, and when it ended, we were right back in front of the same house. It was different – the trim a bright blue instead of a muted green – but the ambiance was largely the same.

  “Did something go wrong?” I asked, glancing around.

  Aunt Tillie shook her head. “We’re right where we’re supposed to be.”

  “And where is that?”

  “Where is not the right question. When is the right question.”

  Ugh. Now she was playing semantics in an effort to drive me crazy. “Okay. When are we?”

  “In the past.”

  “Do you want to be more specific?”

  “Not really.” Aunt Tillie’s grin was all sorts of evil. “We’re here because Landon needs to be reminded of when he lost his Christmas spirit.”

  Landon groaned as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “I have not lost my Christmas spirit. Is that what you think?”

  “That’s what I know.”

  “It’s not true,” Landon snapped. “I have plenty of Christmas spirit. In fact, I have Christmas spirit coming out of my … .”

  Aunt Tillie extended a warning finger. “Don’t say anything vulgar. It’s Christmas.”

  “I was going to say earholes,” Landon growled. “When do I say vulgar things?”

  “When you’re alone with Bay and think no one is listening.”

  “Wait … .” Something occurred to me. “How do you know that?”

  “I know everything,” Aunt Tillie replied. “When will you realize that?”

  “I don’t say vulgar things to her.” Landon was only partially talking to us. Most of his attention seemed to be focused internally. “I say flirty things. There’s a difference.”

  “Not in my world,” Aunt Tillie said. “Your version of flirty is another man’s version of hard time in state prison.”

  Landon tilted his head to the side, his glossy black hair slipping below his shoulder. “How do you figure that?”

  “Ignore her,” I prodded. “She’s trying to unnerve you.”

  “She’s doing a good job.”

  “That’s why she’s Aunt Tillie.” I moved to step from the snowbank I found myself lodged in and struggled toward the front walk, frowning when I caught sight of my boots. “What are these?” I’m not one for fashion meltdowns, but my current footwear was beyond mortifying.

  “They’re boots,” Aunt Tillie replied simply.

  “They have fur on them.”

  “Not real fur. I didn’t kill a bear or anything.”

  That didn’t make me feel much better. “I look as if I’m wearing Chewbacca’s legs or something.” The boots reached almost to my knees and the brown fur was acrylic … and tacky.

  Landon followed my gaze, amused. “They’re kind of cute.”

  That wasn’t the word I would use for them. “People are going to mistake me for Bigfoot and shoot me.”

  “Oh, don’t be such a kvetch.” Aunt Tillie rolled her eyes. “I thought Clove was being a kvetch in her story until now. Geez! Get over it.”

  “Speaking of Clove, where is she? Are we going to run into her soon?”

  “I sincerely doubt that you’ll run into Clove,” Aunt Tillie said. “Her punishment is different from yours.”

  That didn’t sound good. “Meaning?”

  “Meaning that you don’t have to worry about Clove,” Aunt Tillie replied. “She’s … holding her own.”

  Landon and I exchanged a quick look as Aunt Tillie made her way to the sidewalk.

  “That sounded ominous, right?”

  Landon shrugged. “I don’t think Aunt Tillie would go so far as to risk Clove’s life.”

  “That doesn’t mean Clove isn’t in danger. Do you remember the fairy tale world?”

  “Do you have to keep bringing that up?”

  “I’m just saying … the danger felt very real when we were trapped in the book,” I said. “Wherever Clove is, the danger might feel very real to her.”

  “The danger feels very real to Clove when she’s shaving her legs,” Aunt Tillie drawled. “The girl is a dramatic pain in the keister. She’s fine, though. I have everything under control.”

  I had my doubts. Still, Aunt Tillie was in charge. It wasn’t as if we could s
hake ourselves from our current predicament, so we had to rely on her to save us. “Why are we here?”

  “Because I wanted Landon to get a gander of the man he almost was,” Aunt Tillie replied. “He forgot the dreams, although they weren’t important when it came to shaping him. I’m guessing he forgot this, too.”

  “Forgot what?” Landon asked, moving closer to me. “I didn’t forget the dreams as much as I … just didn’t remember.”

  “I fail to see the difference,” Aunt Tillie argued.

  “You’re really on my last nerve,” Landon muttered, shaking his head. “Go ahead. Show me.”

  “I won’t be showing you anything,” Aunt Tillie countered. “This one you have to figure out on your own. I’ll simply be supervising the experience.”

  “Supervising what?” I asked, glancing around.

  As if on cue, a tacky orange Camaro roared to a stop in front of the house, the driver locking the brakes and causing the vehicle to skid. Landon whipped his head in the direction of the street, his lips curving down.

  “Uh-oh.”

  “Uh-oh what?” I was unbelievably curious.

  Landon turned a set of accusatory eyes in Aunt Tillie’s direction. “You did this on purpose.”

  “I’m not doing anything,” Aunt Tillie clarified. “I’m simply following where the Christmas memories take me.”

  “You’re evil.”

  I couldn’t understand Landon’s reaction to the appearance of the ugly car. “Do you know who’s in there?” I squinted as I peered toward the vehicle. “It has to be some middle-aged man going through a mid-life crisis. Who else would buy a car like that?”

  “Bay … .” Landon didn’t get a chance to finish whatever he was going to say because the passenger side door exploded with activity, a lithe blonde with overblown hair and a faux fur coat exiting. She looked to be loaded for bear.

  “I hate you!” She screeched at the car, momentarily making me wonder if the vehicle was somehow possessed. Perhaps we were in our own version of a horror movie after all.

  “Shelly Waterman,” Landon muttered, shaking his head. “Oh, my … .”

  “Do you know her?” I was understandably curious. “Is she a cousin or something?” It was a stupid question. In hindsight, I would realize that his reaction was too primal for the girl to be anything other than what she ultimately turned out to be. I was purposely blind to it, though. I didn’t want to see what was right in front of me.

  “Okay, I’ve learned my lesson.” Landon turned to Aunt Tillie, a pleading look on his face. “I will never suggest spending time away from you on Christmas again. I’ve been sufficiently punished. Take us home.”

  Aunt Tillie, clearly enjoying her position as power forward for the Winchester witches’ basketball team, made a clucking sound with her tongue. “I kind of want to see what happens.”

  She wasn’t the only one. “Who is Shelly Waterman?”

  Landon was at a loss for words. “I just … .”

  “Did you hear me?” Shelly bellowed to the car. “I hate you!”

  I watched with interest as the car engine died and the driver’s side door popped open. The individual who climbed out was straight out of teenage Bay’s dreams. He had long black hair – even longer than the current model – and a letterman jacket draping his square shoulders. His blue eyes were piercing as they scanned the front yard – lingering an additional moment when they met mine – and then he focused on the pretty blonde.

  “Chill out,” teenage Landon ordered, his keys jingling as he slammed shut the car door.

  “Oh, my … .”

  “Don’t say it,” Landon muttered, slapping his hand over his eyes. “I can’t look.”

  “You’ve already seen all of this,” Aunt Tillie reminded him. “You lived it. You … rocked it.” She was having far too good a time. I thought there was a legitimate chance Landon might gag her to end the yammering in his head.

  “So … that’s you as a teenager, huh?” I forced a smile. I was trying to make things easier for him, although I had no idea why. I couldn’t stop staring at the boy strolling up the sidewalk.

  “I’m not joking with you,” Shelly screeched. “I hate your guts! I know what you were doing with Deanna Hardy under the bleachers. Three different people told me.”

  “I think they must’ve mistaken me for someone else.” Teenage Landon was cool under pressure. He didn’t look worried that Shelly would break up with him – or worse, kill him. He seemed more agitated than anything else. “It wasn’t me.”

  I slid a sidelong look to my Landon. “Was it you?”

  Landon nodded. “I had … issues.”

  “I’ll say you had issues,” Aunt Tillie cackled. “What is up with that hair?”

  “I’ll have you know that my hair was quite popular back then,” Landon challenged. “Women everywhere fell over themselves to run their fingers through it.”

  “Obviously,” I said dryly, doing my best to pretend we weren’t interlopers watching two teenagers carry out some odd scene from a future episode of Days of Our Lives. “I’m starting to get the idea that you were very popular in high school.”

  “I was … easy to get along with,” Landon hedged.

  “I don’t believe you,” Shelly snapped. “You were supposed to be watching me play volleyball for the charity Christmas tournament and you disappeared all day. Deanna disappeared, too, and she wasn’t wearing a bra when she came back!”

  I felt sick to my stomach. Sure, in my head I knew that she was talking to teenage Landon – who was years from turning into the man I’d meet and ultimately fall in love with – but I never considered him a dog while we were dating. That’s the only word that seemed to describe the young tough sauntering up the front walk.

  “It’s not my fault Deanna lost her bra,” the younger Landon argued. “I don’t have it. I don’t know why you’re blaming me.”

  “You were supposed to be watching me play volleyball,” Shelly challenged.

  “Volleyball isn’t really a sport,” the teenage boy argued. “It’s great in the Olympics when the women are wearing those skimpy bikinis – even if most of them are flat chested – but it’s pretty boring when done on a team. I know it’s not your fault. Chicks don’t play real sports. Still … I had to walk around or I would’ve fallen asleep.”

  My mouth dropped open as I turned a dark stare on adult Landon. He shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other, refusing to make eye contact.

  “I can’t believe you just said that,” I hissed.

  “Yes, well, I told you he had issues,” Landon gritted out. “He wasn’t a nice kid.”

  “You mean you weren’t a nice kid.”

  “I mean that I was full of myself and I didn’t grow into the idea of what a real man was supposed to be until long after I graduated from high school,” Landon said. “I was a … um … I’m not sure what word I would use to describe me.”

  “Turd,” Aunt Tillie offered helpfully.

  Landon scowled. “I wouldn’t use that word.”

  “I would,” I muttered, turning back to the couple.

  “I really can’t stand you right now,” Shelly sniffed, her lower lip trembling. I wasn’t a fan of Landon’s teenage form, but her overreaction made me roll my eyes. “You’re breaking my heart.”

  “It looks like it’s working to me,” younger Landon said dryly, stopping in front of his future self and looking him up and down. The fact that my Landon was dressed in red corduroy pants and an ugly Santa sweater wasn’t lost on him. “Who are you?”

  “You don’t want to know,” Landon growled, shaking his head.

  “Did you hear the way he was talking to me?” Shelly asked, turning her glassy eyes in my direction. “He’s mean and terrible. You heard him, right?”

  “We heard him,” I conceded. “He was … unpleasant. That’s no reason to cry, though.”

  “He’s the love of my life,” Shelly wailed. “He was supposed to spend Christmas w
ith me and my parents, but he changed his mind at the school and now we have to do what he wants. He’s a terrible boyfriend.”

  “Then why are you with him?”

  Given the look on Shelly’s face, I wasn’t sure the question registered. “What do you mean? Look at him.”

  I’d had my fill of looking at The Breakfast Club wannabe. “You’ll find someone better. Trust me.”

  “Hey!” Landon shot me a look.

  I sucked in a breath to calm myself. It wasn’t Landon’s fault, after all. He was a teenager. Teenagers do moronic and hurtful things all the time without realizing the ramifications of their actions. Still, I couldn’t hide my disgust.

  “Don’t worry about him, Shelly.” I chose my words carefully. “He’s not good enough for you, and by the time he is good enough for you … well … he’ll be with someone else.”

  “Like who?” Shelly planted her hands on her narrow hips. “If you say Deanna, I’ll start throwing punches.”

  “Do that anyway,” younger Landon suggested, giving his older counterpart a saucy wink. “I love it when chicks fight and rip each other’s clothes off, don’t you?”

  “And … we’re done here.” Landon grabbed my hand. “I think we’ve seen more than enough of this particular show, Aunt Tillie.”

  “Oh, now, I thought we’d stay until the little punk gets antsy and breaks up with her,” Aunt Tillie argued. “It’s very entertaining.”

  “You break up with her on Christmas?” I was incredulous as I asked the question of adult Landon.

  “I can’t remember the specifics,” Landon muttered.

  “I do,” Aunt Tillie offered. “He breaks up with her and goes inside to eat dinner with his family. She stays out here for the entire meal – threatening to get swine flu from the cold and everything – and then cries for two straight hours before calling her father to give her a ride home.”

  “You couldn’t even give her a ride home?”

  “You don’t understand,” Landon protested. “She was unbelievable work. I didn’t even really like her. She was too much work for any teenager, let alone a disinterested one like me. She wasn’t worth it – not like you are.”