Lakeshore Christmas by Susan Wiggs Page A

fact had been neglected, however.
    Eddie had been wearing his seat belt that night. A lap belt with a shoulder harness.
    He had explained as much to the investigators, and they instantly dismissed that part of his statement. For some crazy reason, he decided to test his theory out on Maureen. “Yeah,” he said. “You’re wrong. I had my seat belt on.”
    A soft gasp escaped her, and she pressed a mitten-clad hand to her mouth. “The paper said the only reason you survived was that you were flung from the vehicle before it exploded.”
    “I know what I know,” he insisted. “And don’t look at me like that—I read what the reports said. And I know I was in shock from a dislocated shoulder. I also read what the paper said about my blood alcohol level. It’s not so unique for someone on Christmas Eve. Haven’t you ever knocked back a few on Christmas Eve?”
    “No,” she said bluntly.
    “Well, you might, if you’d had the kind of evening I’d had. My memory is not impaired. I wish it was, because there are things about that night I’d like to forget.”
    “What kind of things?”
    “It’d take all night to explain. I don’t want us to turn into a couple of Popsicles. Doesn’t matter, because I do remember, and one thing I remember was clipping on my seat belt.”
    “Why would you remember that so specifically?”
    “Because just like everybody else, it’s a habit ingrained in me from a young age. I spent half my childhood being schlepped around in cars. The reason I remember the situation that night specifically is that I sat in the car for a few minutes, and I considered not fastening it. This was something I deliberated.”
    “Why would you deliberate?” she asked.
    “Long story short, a girl broke up with me that night. I was still young enough to think it was the end of the world. I felt like shit and I kind of did want to die, but if I did, I’d miss out on the rest of my life, you know?”
    Her lips twitched a little at the corners. “Funny how that works.”
    “Yeah, it’s kind of a career decision. One you can’t take back. So I buckled up.” He could still feel the cold metal of the buckle in his hand. He could still feel and hear the decisive click as he latched it home. There was no way, no possible way he was mistaken.
    Except the accident report contradicted him entirely.
    “Have you ever felt that way?” he asked Maureen. “Have you ever been that hurt by another person, so hurt you didn’t care if you lived or died?” That was how he’d felt that night, with Natalie. Later, with the clarity of hindsight, he realized the act of proposing had been more important than the woman herself.
    He expected Maureen to say something utterly practical, like what nonsense it was to give a person that much power over you. Instead, she surprised him. She nodded slowly and said, “I have.”
    “You have.”
    “That’s what I just said.”
    “When?”
    “It’s private.” She looked away, busied herself picking up a stray spool of speaker wire. “No wonder you’rejaded on love,” she commented in a clear attempt to deflect his next obvious question.
    “Who says I’m jaded on love?” he asked.
    “You nearly lost your life. That must have been the last time you trusted your heart to anyone.”
    “Maybe I’m a slow learner. Getting dumped at Christmas kind of became a thing with me.”
    “You know what I think?” she asked, then went on without waiting for his answer. “I think you keep trying to sabotage Christmas for yourself.”
    “Hey—”
    “And guess what? This year, you’re not going to get away with it. This year, you’re going to have a great Christmas.”
    “Because I get to spend it with you?” Oops, he thought, watching her face go stiff with humiliation. Wrong thing to say. “I’m teasing,” he said.
    “No, you’re being mean. There’s a difference.”
    “I’m sorry, okay? I really didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”
    The frames of her glasses