Maybe two days before Christmas isn’t the best time to throw a staff party, but it’s not like my employees are jetting off on tropical vacations or out of town for the holidays. For a couple of them, I suspect this is the most festive part of their season. And they all deserve a treat. God knows I do too.
Marcus’s deep voice rumbles from the living room, followed by female laughter. Greg’s saying something about napkins, tells everyone to “dig in.” He sounds like the host, and it irks me for a moment. I take a breath, shake it off. He’s only helping.
I glance at the phone, willing it to stay silent. When it first rang this afternoon, I assumed it was one of my guests. I’ve invited a few ladies from my group as well as my employees, and several of them have unlisted numbers. But when I answered, there was silence. It rang throughout the day, only stopping when Greg came over. He walked around the whole property and assured me that no one was lingering in the bushes, but I still can’t shake my uneasy feeling.
At least Sophie didn’t have to deal with the phone calls. She’s been at Delaney’s all day and they’re going out for a movie and pizza tonight. They won’t be home until late.
When I walk into the living room, Marcus and Greg are standing near the table. It’s the first time they’ve met, and I’m glad to see that they seem to be having a good conversation. Greg was hoping to meet my brother but I told him that Chris decided to stay home because they’re coming up for Christmas dinner. Truth is, I pretty much ordered Chris to stay home. He’s been calling to check on me almost every day and I don’t want him pacing my house, staring out the window, and making everyone, including his girlfriend, nervous. He very grudgingly agreed.
I say hello to a few of my guests, then loop my arm through Greg’s. He looks great tonight in a pair of jeans and a soft brown sweater that makes his eyes turn to warm chocolate. He’s letting his facial hair grown into a goatee, and I like the dark shadow on his jaw. Marcus also looks very nice, though more formal in a suit coat with a shirt underneath.
“What are you two talking about?”
“Marcus was telling me about his book,” Greg says. “Don’t you find all that research about death and grief kind of depressing?”
Marcus looks startled, like he doesn’t know how to answer. I feel like kicking Greg. What kind of question is that? He’s heard me talking about how Marcus lost his daughter.
“It’s not depressing,” I say. “It’s about the triumph of the human spirit. How resilient we can be even in the face of terrible tragedy.”
I smile at Marcus. “It’s brilliant.”
“You’ve read it?” Now Greg is the one who looks surprised.
“Just a few chapters, but enough to know it’s amazing. When it’s published, all the talk shows will want you, Marcus. You’ll be on tour for years.”
“I don’t know about that.” He laughs. “Maybe a few radio stations if I’m lucky.”
“That could be fun. I’ll call in and ask you all sorts of questions.”
“I can just hear it now,” Marcus says. “Dr. Copeland, were you smoking drugs when you wrote this? Dr. Copeland can you autograph a copy for my cat? She’s your biggest fan.”
“Stop it,” I laugh. “It’s going to be a best seller.”
“Well, when I’m finished you can be my first reader and give me feedback.” He glances over at Greg. “Lindsey’s a great editor. She doesn’t pull any punches.”
“That’s my girl.”
My girl? I guess technically I’m his girlfriend, but the way he said it made it clear that he wanted Marcus to know we are together. My face warm, I loosen my arm from Greg’s, take a nibble of my cracker, glance at the table as though I’m planning my next snack.
“So you’re a UPS driver, right?” Marcus says. “You must be busy this time of year.”
“Yep, lots of packages.” They lapse into silence.
Marcus wipes at his mouth with his napkin, says, “Excuse me for a moment,” and walks over to a few of the ladies from the group, sits on the hearth beside one of them.
Greg looks at me. “The quiche is good.”
Okay, so Marcus and Greg aren’t going to be buddies. That’s fine, but I wish Greg had tried a little harder. It’s like he’s actively avoiding Marcus now and keeps putting his arm around my waist and whispering in my ear whenever Marcus gets up to grab another plate of snacks or comes near me. I’m having unwelcome flashbacks to the parties I attended with Andrew, how it always turned into a game where he had to show everyone that I belonged to him. I’ve caught Marcus watching us a couple of times, an odd expression on his face, part amused, part curious. For the last half hour, I’ve been talking to Rachelle, one of my employees, and ignoring both men.
Greg is now sitting in one of the chairs, watching a hockey game on his phone. Marcus heads into the kitchen with his empty glass. I assume he’s getting another drink, but when he hasn’t returned after a couple of minutes, I excuse myself from the conversation and check on him. He’s on the floor, playing tug with Angus, who’s growling and pouncing happily on his toy, shaking it back and forth in his powerful mouth.
“I see you’ve made a new friend,” I say.