Wish Upon a Christmas Star

His mother sniffed, her eyes dewy with unshed tears. In her red coat, black pants and black shoe boots, she was dressed for winter in Lexington instead of in the tropics. “I still wish you were coming with us.”

“Boy’s gotta work, Celeste.” His father slung an arm around her and kissed the side of her head. He was gruff with most people but treated his wife like gold. “Guy I work with, his thirty-five-year-old son lives in the basement.”

“Logan’s only thirty-three,” his mother countered. “And I never said I wanted him to live in our basement.”

“Basements aren’t for me, anyway,” Logan said, attempting to lighten the mood. “We New York types prefer lofts.”

“But you’re not a New York type,” his mother protested. “Not really. You love Kentucky. You’ve always loved it. Don’t you think it’s past time you moved home?”

“Celeste, I thought you weren’t going to bring this up,” his father said.

“I can’t help it,” she answered. “You tell me not to make waves about it when Logan’s home because he’s here for such a short time. But it’s not the kind of thing to discuss over the phone.”

“Whoa,” Logan said. “Where’s this coming from? I’m happy in New York.”

“You wouldn’t have moved there in the first place if Maria DiMarco hadn’t married someone else,” his mother said.

Logan sucked in a breath that felt jagged going down. His mother was right. When he was in college, he’d fully expected he and Maria would get back together again someday. Finding out she’d gotten married had come as a vicious blow. In that instant, he’d decided to look for a job outside Kentucky.

His father removed his arm from his mother’s shoulder and gazed at her with rare disapproval. “Celeste, what are you doing?”

“Saying what I should have said a long time ago.” She took Logan’s elbow. “I think it’s time you and Maria put the past behind you.”

“You’re way off base about this, Mom,” Logan said. “My living in New York has nothing to do with her.”

It had nothing to do with Maria now, a voice in his head clarified. When he’d graduated from college, the state hadn’t been big enough for him to risk running into her and her new husband.

“If you’d seen her when you were home, you could have wiped the slate clean,” his mother said. “You’d either have feelings for her or you wouldn’t.”

Last night Logan had told his parents he was meeting friends for a drink. Now he was glad he hadn’t mentioned Maria by name. He wasn’t up for a postmortem session discussing his feelings.

“Maria and I were over a long time ago, Mom,” Logan insisted.

Then why did he feel as if he was abandoning her? It was ridiculous, considering that in the past Maria had been the one who’d failed to wait for him.

“But—”

“Wish our son a merry Christmas, Celeste,” his father interrupted. “You don’t want him to stop visiting us, do you?”

“Of course not.” She came forward and hugged him tightly, smelling of the familiar light perfume he associated with his childhood. She whispered in his ear, “Forgive a meddling mother for wanting to see her only child happy.”

He hugged her back. “You’re forgiven.”

Then his father was grabbing his hand and pulling him into a hearty hug. He ushered Mom toward the concourse, yet she looked back at Logan three times.

Logan waved, both sad and relieved that it was time for them to part ways. Sad... He wondered why that word had popped into his head. And why had the sentence snagged in his throat when he went to tell his mother he was happy?

An image of Maria’s face floated in his mind. He shut it out, irked at how potent the power of suggestion could be. He wouldn’t dwell on how things might have been. He liked his life in New York just fine, thank you very much.

He started walking toward the opposite concourse from his parents, again moving with the crowd. Though wreaths hung on the walls and Christmas music spilled out of restaurants, he’d seldom felt less holiday spirit.

Logan was halfway to his gate when his cell phone rang. It was Annalise DiMarco. He quickly rolled his carry-on suitcase over to the side, stopped and clicked through to the call.

“Annalise, what’s up?” he asked.

“I can barely hear you. Where are you?” Annalise hardly took a breath. “Oh, my gosh, you’re already at the airport, aren’t you?”

“That doesn’t matter,” he said. “Just tell me why you called.”

“Okay, but you won’t believe it. Maria’s in Key West. She’s been there since yesterday.”

“Ah, hell.” He’d had an inkling that telling her about his conversation with Mike on the morning of his death had backfired. Maria had heard only that her brother was thinking about quitting his job. “I’m sorry, Annalise. She told me she wasn’t going.”

“It’s not your fault, Logan. She told me the same thing. She didn’t want us to know.”

“What can I do?”

“Nothing,” Annalise said. “I almost didn’t call to tell you, but I hadn’t thanked you yet.”

“For nothing.”

“For trying,” she insisted.

Had he tried hard enough? Logan wondered after disconnecting the call. He remembered as clearly as though it were yesterday how he’d persuaded Mike to go to work on that fateful morning.

“I can’t let you stay here and freeload off me,” Logan had said. “You’ve got to work.”

“I know it,” Mike had answered. “But I hate being a busboy.”

“Then quit after you find another job,” Logan had told him. “In the meantime, though, there are a lot of things worse than working at the World Trade Center.”

Not on 9/11, there hadn’t been.

Logan felt sick to his stomach. It was bad enough carrying around the guilt that he was responsible for Mike being at the restaurant that day. Seeing the false hope in Maria’s eyes had been worse.

He couldn’t rewind time and take back what he’d said to Mike. He could, however, do something about Maria.

He headed for his gate and got in line at the counter.

“How may I help you?” an airline representative asked when he reached the front of the line.

Logan slapped his boarding pass down on the counter. “I need to make a change. Do you fly to Key West?”

* * *

MARIA WOKE UP WEDNESDAY morning thinking about Logan Collier. She turned over on the lumpy mattress, half expecting him to be on the other side of the bed, his chest bare, his face soft in sleep.

He wasn’t there.