Chapter 14 – Carol of the Bells

"Why do you read that stuff?" Blythe sat on the edge of the desk in Cole’s office, one foot swinging idly as she read over his shoulder. "It's just depressing."

Cole looked at the headlines. Two teenage kids killed speeding on an open country road. He sighed, thinking that if there was a way to teach Judgment that parents would have figured it out by now. Restless, he twisted in the chair to look up at his visitor. "So you don't like what the newspaper has to say, and yet you work here?"

Blythe laughed. "It's not quite like that," she admitted.

The newspaper office was surprisingly busy, given Christmas was only a few days away. Cole could hear another co-worker hustling through the isle on the way to the editor’s office. He craned his neck to see who was in such a hurry, and longed to join them on their way off work.

Blythe added, "Some of the paper is amusing, just not the front page. Take this for instance. New study says that men and women actually speak about the same number of words each day – about 16,000."

Lifting the middle section of the paper she pointed to the results of the research study. "Makes you wonder why there was only a Chatty Cathy growing up, and not a Babbling Bob."

Frowning, Cole lifted the newsprint, surprised by her comment and seeking confirmation. It certainly couldn’t be true. He was one of those strong, silent types. No one would ever tag him with the nickname, ‘Babbling’.

He used logic. "Maybe because boys don't play with dolls. No marketing potential."

Blythe gasped, snatching the paper away as though it needed protection. "What about Jarret and Jason? Are you telling me you won't let them explore their imagination and creative side?"

"They need a talking doll for that? Won't art do?"

Of course the mention of art reminded him of Victoria. Childishly, he felt the surge of possession – it was his paper. To calm his nerves, he snatched the newspaper back as though he needed something to hold.

Maybe he did.

He'd tried to block out the emotions stirred by the Bancroft's party. When Victoria had returned, from the kitchen with his sons in tow, Cole was again reminded of a how much he missed her. He wasn’t ready to surrender her to Joe.

Blythe wasn't someone he usually confided in, but he needed a woman's opinion. "So Blythe," he said, "If you knew something about someone's…significant other, would you tell?"

"Depends on what it is." One eyebrow rose. "You have gossip?"

"I'm afraid it might be more than gossip."

“Ignorance is bliss. Chances are good she won't believe you."

"I've never lied to my friend," Cole said.

"Doesn't matter," Blythe replied. "Women in love only see what they want to." Shaking her head, Blythe put the pieces together. "Victoria struck me as very headstrong. She might go through with it simply because she thinks she's committed - sort of a stand-by-your-man kind of thing. Joe seemed really nice when he talked to me. He even invited me to visit in the future."

Rather than correcting her that he was talking about someone more anonymous, Cole's eyes narrowed. "Did he now?" he muttered, remembering the comment about the available women in Joe’s new neighborhood. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, as though his own suspicious were sticking him from the chair.

The blond leaned forward and placed a hand on Cole’s shoulder. "People marry for more than love Cole. Sometimes they just want security or companionship. Before you put doubts into her mind, and perhaps destroy the friendship you have, think long and hard about what you want to say. And why you’re saying it."

She left his office to allow him time to think. And think he did. His mind returned to earlier conversations and even the latest ones, trying to discover if Victoria's motivations had changed. It wasn’t in his nature to meddle or question her choices, but Joe struck him as unworthy. Once upon a time Victoria had done a drawing of two old people, probably a married couple, happy in their relationship and seated side by side. She'd said…

Suddenly unable to contain his own energy, Cole gathered his things. He left the office and drove to his house across town. The portrait was at his home. Framed, it was stowed in a closet. Lila had made some excuse during a remodeling exercise and put it away. Cole hadn't fussed about it. Whether the item was displayed or not it still remained a treasure. He knew exactly where it was, nestled between the folds of an Indian blanket on a top shelf. Reverently he removed the framed charcoal sketch from its hiding place and looked down at it. The lined faces he remembered so well stared back at him.

This was what he wanted for her. Someone to grow old with. Was Joe that person? Even before he'd met the engineer he’d had doubts , yet he’d brushed it off, convinced in Victoria’s good judgment.

It was still early afternoon. With sudden inspiration, Cole grabbed a role of wrapping paper and placed the portrait within the gloss of Christmas decorations. He then took the package to his car and drove to Victoria's house. She might not understand the gesture or the note taped to the outside, but he needed her to know…

~**~**~

The Bancroft house was quiet because everyone was out getting their last-minute Christmas gifts. Joseph and Victoria sat in the empty living room. After the party, their interactions were buffered by family, but Joseph had asked Victoria for a private meeting and since she had not felt like going out to drive in the snow, she had arranged for him to come over. Now they sat together, but she couldn't help feel further apart from him. They had not spoken about his outburst towards Dave, or his aggressiveness in the backyard. They had not even talked about the details of the wedding, even when Elizabeth had been readily available that night for consultation.

The empty mugs of hot cocoa were on the coffee table, and they stared at them from their position in the love seat. The silence was uncomfortable; both had something on their mind. She’d rolled up her sleeve to make the bruises visible.

He gingerly took her arm and kissed the purple-green flesh. "I am sorry for this. It won’t happen again, I swear."

"I don't like it when you get like that...ever," she whispered, "Or in the bedroom."

"Babe..." he pleaded, leaning forward and kissing her. "I promise to not let my temper heat, but you have to help me too. Bringing over your ex wasn't the best choice, admit it."

Carefully arching one brow, Victoria bravely watched him. "I didn't like how you treated the boy, either."

Victoria could see his jaw clench, his annoyance barely contained.

Instead of answering, Joe threw one of his curve balls. "You never mentioned much about this Cole, yet he seemed like part of the family." He cocked his head to the side. "Father of the kid! And I haven't forgotten what the boy said about getting his dad to deal with me – as if he could."

"Cole is my friend--has been for years." Victoria offered, "I met his children this visit, and we have all gone out a few times. They lost their mom last year. It's been hard on them."

Joe leaned back. "So he's a widower?"

Victoria nodded. "I assume that's what you call someone when their spouse dies."

"You don't have to be bitchy." Licking his lips, he asked casually, "Friends for how long? You planning on spending more time with him?"

Victoria sighed. "I never dated him, if that's what you want to know.” Crossing her arms, she asked, "And you?"

He blinked."What about me?"

"You were more than unavailable during your trip to Washington." Victoria bit her lip.

"Honey, I was working," he assured, "It was hectic...busy. You know I'd never betray you."

"Who said I was talking about betrayal?"

"I only have eyes for you." He grinned, and leaned in to silence her with a kiss. “You’re the one that I want.”

~**~**~

By three in the afternoon, the house was alive again. Joe had left to attend to some business calls. Though she was upstairs, blow-drying her long hair, Victoria could hear the voices of her family as they wrapped and labeled the gifts away from the seeing eyes of the children. In her family, the only one who delivered gifts of any kind was Santa. The custom was that Santa could get a sense of humor and drop off some gifts down an uncle or aunt's chimney--even grandma could get dumped with toys. So, all the wrapping was done collectively, every year, at the grandparent's house.

The adults received their gifts privately to preserve the belief in old Saint Nick. Having everyone together set a bit of a party atmosphere, but the noise gave her a headache. She used the excuse of washing her hair to take a break from the stress of family, asking questions about where she would be next year, and if she might consider moving back to Iowa after the wedding.

Victoria heard the doorbell and people yelling for someone to get the door, but it took minutes for her father to shout that he would be the one to answer.

Her bedroom door was open, but still her father knocked on the door frame for permission to enter. "Looks like Santa came early for you," he said.

Smiling, she waved him inside. “From you?”

“No.” He chuckled and pinched her chin. "I'll leave you alone," he said, walking out.

Before she even came closer to it, Victoria could feel her stomach drop. She noticed a large card and invitation taped to the front under the silver bow, and opened the envelope to read the details for an open house for a small art exhibit in the Des Moines Art Center—downtown. It was the same school fundraising event that she and Cole had made the invitations for.

The showing would be that night.

Intrigued, she began to tear the gift wrapping, feeling a familiar flutter in her chest. The paper gave way to reveal a drawing she knew very, very well. It had been one of her most precious works, with much of her schoolgirl hopes put into the charcoal medium. The old couple, happy and very much together, stared back at her like the reminder she had so desperately wanted to get rid of.

"Cole..."

It could not come from any other. "Why are you doing this?" she questioned.

Of course, Victoria needn't pay attention and go as the invitation suggested. She could offer a million plausible excuses for failing him; it was all so last minute. But staring back at her was a dream she had buried. Taking the drawing, she set it carefully against the wall.

She glanced at the clock and chewed her lower lip. The exhibit would start in three hours.

Joe was busy. He’d left the house muttering something about having to meet with a reporter. He’d never have to know that she’d gone.

In the end, there was no decision to make. Victoria surrendered her tanned mink coat at the entrance of the Des Moines Art Center, allowing her red dress to brighten the otherwise monotone colors of the guests’ attire. Still, those present were elegantly dressed and seemed appreciative of the art hanging on the walls. A series of servers passed through the crowd, offering luscious glasses of golden champagne. She took one just for the look, although the temptation to gulp the liquor was persistent.

Cole asked her here, so it was his duty to come to her.

Allowing herself to relax by taking a deep breath, she headed towards the less-crowded part of the exhibition, which held watercolor paintings of local geographic beauties. The details, given the whimsical nature of water paint, were extraordinary. Victoria leaned slightly closer for a better look, bringing the glass to her mouth, allowing the champagne to barely wet her lips.

~**~**~

Cole had arrived first to the Exhibit. Scanning the parking lot before entering the building he hadn’t seen her car. Even without that knowledge there was no need to look in the crowd for her smiling face. The air felt different the moment she arrived. Rather than walk up to her immediately, Cole let Victoria collect a drink and view a few of the paintings. Strangely, he found he didn't know what to say.

You invited her. Better figure it out soon.

Can men and women be just friends? Movies, print and people throughout time had argued the question. Cole was one of them. Victoria wasn't the only female friend he had. He considered gender largely irrelevant. People near him were there because of who they were. He still believed that men and women could be friends; the trouble was, he didn't think he wanted to be Victoria's friend anymore.

For a few moments he simply watched her, a seductive red figure across a crowded room. Thoughts churning, he finally approached. His hand reached out to tap her shoulder.

She smiled as she turned. “Hello, Cole.”

The sound of her saying his name unleashed the butterflies in his stomach. He'd known her forever but he felt like he was on a first date, a bit tongue tied and star struck.

His eyes fell to her lips as her tongue moved over them. Three seconds later he could breathe again and glanced back up to her eyes. For a moment he almost leaned forward and kissed her, following through with the foolish impulse. Instead, he smiled, and yet his blue eyes looked sad at the same time.

"I'm glad you could make it," Cole said, looking just beyond her at the picture they were in front of. A local landmark, a bridge, was featured. "I always liked that place."

~**~**~

Victoria turned around to reassess the painting Cole referred to. A bridge—how appropriate. One of his common phrases was that about crossing the bridge when one came to it.

He looked handsome. Alluring, despite that hint of melancholy in his eyes. Without thinking, she looped her arm around his as per custom, but found herself more closely pressed to his side than usual. Many times she had leaned on this shoulder for support or comfort and now she just did it out of nostalgia. Soon both of them would return to their individual lives, at least this time she'd have some closure. She would give herself tonight.

"Bridges are always symbolic," she offered casually. "You always used to say age thirty was an important milestone..."

Looking up at him, she hesitated in asking why he had called her here. Cole was never one to do things at random, or without purpose. He wasn't exactly the spontaneous type and always had a card under his sleeve. Biting her lip, she turned away, her brown eyes falling on another set of paintings--old houses and neighborhoods.

And a delightfully cozy Victorian house was splashed across the canvas, arresting her attention instantly. Victoria couldn't help pulling Cole towards it to get a better look. It was a yellow version of her dream home, and it contrasted majestically against the reds, oranges, and golds of the autumn trees that nestled around it. Two children played there; a boy and a girl, collecting fallen leaves and making piles of them.

"It's beautiful," she gasped, "See, that right there is my kind of house."

Glancing quickly at Cole she asked with a half smile, "Can you picture yourself growing old and gray there?" Pointing at the kids in the portrait she added, "With your grandchildren."

He blinked. "Only if it's with you."

The honesty of the statement emerged from his lips in a monotone. Victoria's head snapped in Cole's direction as the five words he'd spoken hung in the air. Rather than elaborate he focused on the framed watercolor and cleared his throat. "I happen to like yellow."

His expression was serious. The traditional lopsided grin was gone from his face. In the high heels she wore they were nearly eye-to-eye, but now he’d changed the subject. Victoria shook her head slightly, chuckling at her imagination that he could have meant more. This was Cole Fallon, the man who thought one could choose who to fall in love with and with whom she would simply be friends. Too bad it was never that simple for her.

He looked back at her. "Don't marry him, Victoria."

She clutched the glass of champagne in her hand, and frowned. “Excuse me?”

Who was he to ask her not to marry? She didn't recall him asking her thoughts about his quick marriage to Lila, and he most certainly wouldn't have paid attention to any request she made to not marry Lila, should he have asked. Because the truth was that Cole had rushed into life; marriage, kids, career. He was only thirty, and...

"If this is the dream you want, if the painting you gave me made you feel anything, then don't…" He trailed off.

Victoria’s arm which was wrapped around Cole’s loosened its grip. She had known the moment she made that drawing of the married couple that she would never have what was there. Unfortunately, the one person she could have seen such a future with had chosen another; the truth remained that if Lila were alive he would have never spared her a second thought.

~**~**~

She was getting mad; the flush of her face was like a door being closed. The pain in his chest intensified and he swallowed, looking away. There was a line here - one he'd committed not to cross. Trouble was he was already on the wrong side of it, or best case straddling it with one foot. He knew it was a mistake to talk about Joe rather than share what he was feeling, but he was deeply afraid that she wouldn’t understand.

The artist approached, his wife on his arm in similar fashion to Cole and Victoria, and unknowingly interrupted the tense moment before Victoria could respond. "So, how are you this evening?" The man asked casually, "Do you like what you see?"

"We're doing well," Victoria said with a smile that didn’t meet her eyes. "You’ve…captured a lost dream of mine in this painting." She pointed to the house but her eyes never left Cole's.

The artist chuckled. "You're young. All is not lost, dear."

"The man knows what he's talking about," Cole said, his eyes locked on her.

The other couple had the good sense not to intrude further. Cole barely registered them moving on, likely distracted by another visitor.

Taking another breath Cole tried again. "I want that dream for you." Hands free he reached forward to grip her shoulders. "I want you to be happy, and I'm afraid Joe-"

Again he hesitated. He couldn't tell her that he had evidence of Joe being less than honorable; that he got a bad vibe from the man. What kind of friend would he be leading some sort of smear campaign even if his gut told him that there was truth there somewhere.

The vision of the yellow Victorian house didn't fade. It existed. He knew exactly where it was.

"Joe's not the right man for you," Cole said with conviction.

At the mention of the other man’s name, Victoria stiffened. As though realizing this meeting was wrong she dropped Cole’s arm and took a step away.

Her words were bitterly cold. "And who is the right man for me, Cole?"

She handed the empty glass to a server passing by, crossing her arms."The last time I checked my prince charming didn’t come on his white stallion to take me to my dream house."

Victoria turned away from him. "And time changes people. Who said I want that now? That painting was a stupid little romantic dream...Life is anything but ideal, Cole."

Cole appeared perplexed. "You never struck me as the white horse type, Victoria. You're too independent.”

Unconsciously she rubbed her wrist. “Is that so?”

“Victoria, do you love Joe?”

Her back was stiff as he studied her. Perhaps he had things wrong. "Is he worthy of all that you are?" Without thinking about it, he put a hand on her hair – wanting some sort of contact. If she just gave him a sign that she would listen to what was in his heart he might be willing to confess what was there.

Cole rapidly swallowed the emotion. "Will you be happy growing old with him?" The half whisper came out, and his voice cracked.

"No," she responded firmly. Stepping away from his touch she too kept her voice low. “Is that why you asked me here? I have a father that asks those questions. I don’t need another one.”

“What?”

“Don’t try and rescue me.”

“I’m not-“

"I thought you knew me better," she whispered. Had he not been able to draw conclusions from everything that had happened between them? Had she not been clear enough when she said she’d waited for him? Was it really that well-hidden that not even Cole could see it?

Feeling a surge of bravery, she turned to face him. Perhaps it was what she needed, to go ahead and let it out before moving on again.

"I'm not going to grow old with him. I've never seen us together that far ahead. It just works right now." Victoria licked her lips that felt infinitely dry, and biting the inside of her cheek, she said, "You're right, I didn't want the white horse. But the one I did want was just as unlikely for me to have."

At this she took a step away, her eyes twinkling with tears. "And that was you."

She forced a laugh, trying to see if the sound could suppress the urge to cry, but a tear fell anyways. Wiping her cheek with her fingers, she sighed. "I can’t believe I just said that. I’m going to leave before I embarrass myself any further."

~**~**~

There was a flash of light. He'd realize only later that someone took their picture, but he couldn't be troubled with mundane reality. The flash before his eyes offered clarity.

His heart stopped. Literally, it missed a beat and hiccupped. The twitch caused his hand to fall to his chest. His fingers painfully gripped the wool of his sweater.

Maybe he'd hoped that she'd say something telling, but the reality was almost more than he could bear. He'd not dared to hope for his response to his query, too afraid of the negative answer. If she'd claimed to love Joe he could safely move on as well.

Painfully unprepared for what he saw on her face - let alone the confession, Cole didn't really watch as Victoria pushed through the crowd faster than he could react. By the time he snapped out of his regrets, she had passed through the double doors of the Art Center and out into the street.

~**~**~

It was not hard to make her way through strangers, furiously swiping the stubborn tears from her flushed cheeks; now alone, she found that attempting to control them was futile. She could handle the looks of surprise and even some of concern, but she wouldn't know how to handle whatever Cole would say or do.

She had taken a taxi to meet Cole. There was another at the entrance, a glorious savior shining under the street lamp, but it had apparently been summoned by someone else. Desperately wishing to get away, she ran in the high heels she wore, and clung to the arm of the older man whom was bent at the passenger window talking to the driver. "Sir, sir, please... can I take your cab?"

Victoria knew she had to look like hell, make-up smeared and nose Rudolph-red, but she didn't care if she seemed hysterical.

Straightening his posture, the man rose to a staggering height, towering well above Victoria. His green eyes locked on hers and he smiled a little nodding his head towards the yellow vehicle of desire. "Of course."

He threw some more bills at the driver and bent down to say, "You take this lady wherever she needs to go."

Victoria choked out her thanks and yanked the back door open and dove inside. This time, she made the mistake of glancing back, only to catch Cole coming out the door. Without further hesitation, she told the driver to just go, that she would give the address once out on the road. Even if she had wanted to, Victoria couldn't even formulate her own address. The numbers from her address in Miami and the one here in Des Moines jumbled together into a mess that made no sense.

Though they were growing further in physical distance, Victoria felt a part of her had stayed behind at the gallery, framed in the florescent light. A secret so zealously guarded had been surrendered too suddenly to the very person she vowed never to confess to.

She clutched at her purse, watching the scenery pass by outside. The houses looked magical--even those without as many decorations or lights--in the company of snow-- people here just seemed to feel Christmas. In Miami, only neighborhoods more financially stable dared put up decorations, and even then it was more for appearances and competition of superiority with the neighbors than in actual holiday spirit.

Here the snow gleamed bright. Victoria remembered the euphoria and expectation of each yearend holiday. Eight years she had spent in avoidance, locked up in her apartment or office with the excuse of excess work for the spring clothing collections. Eight years since she had the privilege of savoring her mother's roasted pork or her father's sweet ham. Eight years since she had been teased by her older siblings, sitting by the fire and drinking hot cocoa.

All because she was avoiding Cole. It was easier to pretend to be glad for his choices when she was further away. Because Cole was a part of her family; he would always be no matter what and that was something she hadn't been ready to fall back into again before. Now she had come back, fiancé in tow, and she thought that would be enough. Enough to protect her, hide her and keep her secret.

Apparently, it wasn't.

Love really never died.

Her house came into view faster than she expected. It was blatantly cold, more so since she had left her coat behind. Feeling naked against the cruel wind, she dashed for her porch. Her father was waiting inside, and she threw herself in his arms and held him tightly, freeing the sobs pent up within her. "Daddy."

"Victoria," he gasped, pulling her away for a double take of her face. His wrinkles appeared hollowed, and his face suddenly looked aged.

"By God, what happened?" He rubbed her arms. "You're frozen."

Within the warmth of her house, she allowed the love that always filled it to envelop her. Shakily, she made her way to the couch of the living room and sat down.

"Are you going to tell me what’s wrong, or is this sit-quiet-and-hug time?" he asked, taking a seat besides her.

Sniffing, she cleared her throat and looked at her father. "You know, I'm one stubborn mule."

"I do." He smiled softly. "I also know you're avoiding my question, but that's alright. We have all night."

Victoria cracked one chuckle. "Where’s mom?"

"At Taylor's. The baby came down with a fever and your sister is no good with stuff like that."

To gather the words she had thrown at Cole, to even think about repeating them to her father was enough to make Victoria's stomach churn more violently than it already did.

"I'm not marrying for love," she admitted suddenly.

Her father stared at her, but then slowly nodded his head. "I had a nagging feeling that was true."

"It's not obvious?"

"Well, you've shown more excitement for pretty wallpaper--and you hate wallpaper." He looked at her, one hand on her shoulder. "You're my daughter. You may have been out of my sight for a while, but I still know you well."

Her father's hand caressed her back in a soothing manner, after covering her shivering body with a flannel throw. At this contact, Victoria shrunk like a small, scared child and laid her head on her father's lap, her arms clinging to his waist. The hand moved from her back, to her hair, and for a while they just sat there; Victoria crying and her father stroking her mane reassuringly.

"I've always wanted what you and mom have, you know? I can see you still love her and she loves you. You’ve shared this house,." Victoria squeezed him. "I've seen you two argue—I mean, who doesn't? But you always stay together. And you always will."

"We will."

"You were lucky to find each other." Victoria looked up at the man who had raised her with effort, love, and supreme dedication. "And find each other at the right time. Not everyone is lucky to find someone they'd tolerate for a lifetime."

The wind outside had calmed, and during pauses, everything was dead silent. It only made the screaming thoughts in her mind all the more cruel. Looking away from the brown orbs of the man who would walk her down the aisle and hand her to Joseph, Victoria buried her face in his shoulder.

"Why didn't he want me, dad?"

"Who?" he cooed, bending to kiss her head.

"Cole," Victoria squeaked. "Why did he have to wait so long to realize..."

The sentence could not be finished because in actuality, Victoria didn't know what Cole had discovered. Perhaps that she wasn't in love with Joseph? That she wasn't going to be a grandma? All he had said was that she deserved better, and that Joseph was not the right man for her.

"Did he say or do something to you?" her father asked defensively.

"No," Victoria replied.

"So, this is about you?" he queried.

"I'd loved him for a very long time. I had moved on. I thought I had." She sighed. "He got married. He had chosen someone else... but--"

"Now he's alone." He arched one brow. "And you haven't really forgotten."

"It doesn't make a difference, Daddy, and that's exactly why it hurts." Victoria bit her lip. "It's too late now."

"Marrying for security, for companionship is one thing." He sighed once more. "Another is marrying when you love someone else."

"That’s not what this is," Victoria said, sitting up slowly. "I'm tired of being alone."

He gave her a sideways smile. "You know I support whatever choice you make." He then looked at her, and all humor drained from his face. "But don't tell me that it's too late. Time is irrelevant when feelings are true. Don't move away because of that excuse--you'll regret it."

"No one likes being second best," Victoria said sternly.

"It's not about first, second, or third, Victoria," he said softly, "It's about not making a mistake because pride gets in the way. There aren't too many chances in life to be happy."

Was it pride that kept her from running to Cole? A part of her knew that might be true. Standing from the couch, she made excuses. "Thanks for the talk, daddy." She kissed his cheek. "I have a lot to think about. I'll be upstairs."

“I love you, Victoria.”

The words were almost more than she could bear. She knew they were true, but they didn’t come from a man with brown hair and blue eyes. “I love you too…”

Going up the stairs, she turned the corner to the hall that led to her bedroom. The painting was there-- as it had been for years. The two figures sitting outside on the maple tree, the view from her bedroom window. If Cole had shown her what she was missing out on by choosing Joe, then she would show him what he had already missed. She’d send him another image to replace the one he’d returned to her.

Victoria took the painting from the wall. The date was from a month before she had left to Florida. She had wanted even then, for Cole to turn back and seek her, and her hopes were colored in the blurry image in the painting.

Frame and picture in hand, she entered her dark bedroom to find the picture of the old couple staring back at her in the moonlight. Victoria put the paintings side by side, and wept.