Page 2 of Her Christmas Beast
“Uh. No tree. It’s just me, and it didn’t seem worth sacrificing the space. I do have the wreath on the door,” I offer apologetically.
“That does it. You’re coming home with me. You loved Christmas. Way too much for that to have changed. You’re not spending it alone without a tree.” He crosses his thick arms and frowns down at me. “Go pack a bag. I’ve got a few pictures of the Tower to take but then we’re leaving.”
“Oh! Is that what you’re doing here? Isn’t it the most beautiful thing ever?” I’m thrilled to be able to talk about my new obsession with an old friend.
“No,” he states emphatically.
“No?” My lips tremble.
“It’s nice enough, but it pales in comparison to the woman who inspired it.”
“How do you know?… there’s nothing in any of the write-ups about that.” I’m skeptical and a bit miffed. Maybe I don’t know Billy as well as I thought I did.
His gaze softens. “Angel, that building was inspired by you and nobody else needs to know that.” I must still look disbelieving, because that funny little quirk shows on his lips again. “I’m William Zver, baby Angel.”
I’m stunned with delight. Of course he is. Only a mind as brilliant and sweet as Billy’s could achieve that. “Oh, Billy!” I fling myself on him, trying to wrap my limbs around as much as possible, inhaling his expensive scent.
He freezes under my touch, even his breathing stops. I step back immediately, embarrassed beyond belief. “Oh, I’m so sorry! I shouldn’t have assumed… I mean…” I duck my head away, not wanting to see the rejection on his face.
Billy tugs on my fingers, stilling their anxious movements. “Angel, come back here.” He picks me up as easily as a doll and holds me against his chest, encouraging my arms to go around his neck. He brings one large, deformed hand up to touch my cheek gently. “You aren’t a little girl anymore, Angel. I want to hold you more than anything, but there are things you need to know and even then…” He shakes his head slowly. “I’ll never be good enough for you.”
“Billy!” I place my palms against his cheeks and stare into those eyes, gleaming with intelligence and a history of too many people underestimating him. “I’m so proud of you.” I drop a kiss on the end of his big nose and grin. My Billy, come back to me after all these years. He growls softly, his eyes laser focused on my lips. His arms are tight bands of steel around me and it’s completely delicious because I feel totally safe. Normally I’m not much for touching other people. I’d rather maintain my personal space and avoid the confusion over the ambiguous line of too close or not close enough.
Billy sets me down gently again, but this time there’s no missing the bulge tenting his pants and bumping me on my way down. Oh. Interesting. I contemplate this new development in our relationship with the sudden awareness that we really are both adults now.
I was twelve the last time I saw Billy. I met him when I was a freshman in high school after having skipped a few grades and trying to satisfy my life-skills requirement with a cooking class. Billy was eighteen and a senior in theory, but mostly all the teachers wanted to be rid of him because of his intimidating size. The entire world, including his adopted parents, thought he was stupid. He got sent to cooking class to get him out of the way. They didn’t want him in wood shop with access to power tools. Billy and I ended up as partners since the rest of the class consisted of the ever-giggling drill team that couldn’t finish a sentence without a question mark and moved as a pack.
His real name is Igor by the way, but when I asked him what his name was back then, he told me he didn’t have one. In my youthful zeal, I announced that I thought he looked like a Billy, and that’s what I would call him. He’d seemed stunned for a minute, and then a slow, beautiful smile spread across his unconventional face. “Then I’m going to call you Angel,” he’d announced, even though I’d already introduced myself as Angie.
It didn’t take me long to figure out that there was something really wrong with his hands. Beyond the obvious misshapen fingers. Anything involving fine motor skills, like holding a paring knife or a pencil, caused him serious pain. So my bossy twelve-year-old self took over and made him in charge of the recipe and stirring while I did the fiddly bits. He grumbled, but he was still so in shock that I was talking to him like a normal human he went along with it. After that, I started tracking him to the back stairs, where he ate his lunch out of sight of everyone. And while I pestered him with questions, I learned we shareda love of complex math. Even though he had nobody to teach him because they thought he couldn’t manage basic arithmetic. So I extended my stalking to after school, where I shared my textbooks and we did my homework together in the library. Separately mind you, but the same problems. Even though I was considered brilliant for my age, I made mistakes. Billy didn’t.
So when the school administrators told my parents that they wanted to test me for early college entrance, I threw a tantrum. I refused to take the day-long standardized test unless my friend Billy took it too. I laid it on thick. There were tears and drumming heels, the works. At one point, they called him in. I think trying to get him to tell me he didn’t want to take the test, but he was simply alarmed by my antics. I had to risk the entire operation and wink at him before he did something stupid. I’m not a good winker, by the way.
But it worked in the end. The grownups sighed and said he could take the test too and the very next Saturday we sat at opposite ends of the classroom with a teacher monitoring from the front. Billy filled out the little test bubbles with the pencil held in his mouth. I could tell he finished before me, and I remember the grin that stayed on my face for the rest of the final hour. He was going to have a future. I just knew it.
Two weeks later, school ended for the year and I was whisked away a month after that to start a new life as a child math genius in California. I tried to find out where Billy went, but nobody seemed to know. I tried again when I was about twenty and the internet was more advanced, but Google hadn’t heard of Igor Chamberlain. It was like he’d never existed.
* * *
“Go pack, Angel,” Billy orders me again sternly. Now that I have this new intriguing knowledge of how his body responds to mine, I wonder what other kinds of orders he might issue in the heat of the moment. A shiver slides down my spine. I think I want to find out. This holiday is already a lot more exciting than I was anticipating. Maybe if I’m lucky I can make some memories to enliven future Christmases for years to come. I turn to head upstairs to do as he commanded, but at the last second I turn back. “You won’t leave without me, will you?”
“No, baby. You clearly haven’t been taking care of yourself properly. An angel without a tree.” He shakes his head in mock dismay. At least I think he’s kidding.
“Um, okay. The best view of the Tower is from my porch in the corner. That’s why I was out there.”
He smiles gently. “I’m glad you like it.” His blunt gaze wanders to my feet as his lips thin into a grim line. “I don’t want to see you out without slippers ever again, though. Got it?”
I roll my eyes. “When did you get so bossy?”
“When I saw those cute toes peeking out from across the street, apparently.”
I sigh petulantly and head upstairs. Tossing things randomly into a bag, I’ve no idea what I’m doing. I have this deep need to get back to Billy as soon as possible. I suppose I should ask him if he’s going by Igor these days. William Zver must be like a stage name or something. That would explain why he’s so mysterious. I hear the front door shut as he steps out and hurriedly grab some underwear from my drawer and another set of pj’s. Billy didn’t tell me how long he’s planning to keep me for a visit, but it’s Christmas break and I don’t have to be anywhere until classes resume in February. So I can absolutely spare the time for us to catch up.
I stuff my feet into my warmest winter boots, grab my bag, and lug it downstairs to find my full-length winter coat. Billycomes back in and reaches a long arm over my shoulder into the coat closet to retrieve a scarf. He wraps it around my neck carefully and then steps back. With a satisfied jerk of his chin, he announces, “Better.” He takes the bag from me and waits patiently as I lock the door behind me. I can’t quite believe I’m about to disappear into the night with a man I haven’t seen since he was a teenager, and without telling another soul about it. But I’m due a little adventure.
We walk quietly down the empty street side by side and over to another block where a giant black truck is parked, already covered with a half inch of snow. The lights flash without a sound, and I realize Billy must have turned the alarm noise off at some point. I wouldn’t dare. I wouldn’t know if my car was locked without the familiar beeps. But it does mean there are no twitching curtains in the nearby houses or any other signs that anyone knows we’re out here.
Billy opens the passenger door for me and hoists me up onto the seat without any effort. My bag is tucked in at my feet and in seconds we’re driving slowly through the quiet streets of the small city.