Holiday Homecoming by Jean C. Gordon

heard from him.
    Before they could move, the inner trapdoor slammed closed, followed by a muffled giggle.

Chapter Four
    C onnor sensed Natalie hovering behind him as he pressed his palm against the trapdoor. It didn’t budge.
    â€œYou can open it, right?” she asked.
    He didn’t know, but hearing the strain in her voice, he wasn’t going to say that. He straightened and pulled his Swiss Army knife from the front pocket of his jeans. “Your niece must have flipped the latch. I’m going to see if I can unscrew the hinges.”
    Natalie stood next to him and glared at the trapdoor. “I don’t know what’s gotten in to Aimee and Amelia.”
    Connor unfolded the screwdriver tool from the knife and kneeled on the floor. “The twins think I’d make a good Christmas gift for you.” He placed the screwdriver in the slot of the closest hinge screw.
    â€œWhat?” she said so loudly that if the attic wasn’t so well insulated, everyone downstairs would have heard her, and they wouldn’t have to worry about getting out of the attic.
    â€œI overheard them before the pageant practice the other night,” he said.
    As she crossed her legs on the floor, her knee brushed his leg. His knife slipped out of the screw. Not that the slight contact had rattled him. No, it was a Phillips screw and the knife had a slot screwdriver tool.
    â€œI’ll talk to the twins and to Andie.”
    â€œNo need to make a big deal about it.” Her lack of any reference to what the twins had said hit him in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t know why he’d even said anything. What did he expect her to say—
best Christmas gift
ever
?
    â€œI could talk with Andie about taking over directing the choir, too.”
    Connor torqued the screwdriver to the left. It slipped out of the groove again and he grazed his knuckle against the metal hinge. He started to lift his hand to his mouth and stopped. “You don’t want to work on the pageant?”
Or you don’t want to work with me?
    She avoided his gaze, resting her elbows on her knees, chin on her crossed hands, eyes focused on the trapdoor. “It’s just... I mean...isn’t it awkward for you? Wouldn’t you rather be working with someone else?”
    â€œWe’re both adults. Anything between us ended a long time ago. I agree with your mother that you’re the best qualified person to step in for her.”
    â€œYou didn’t answer my question.”
    No, he hadn’t.
    She lifted her head as if to challenge him to.
    He wasn’t sure he could. “The pageant and church service are my job. I want the best person we can get for the choir director. You’re good. You could have majored in music, probably been a professional pianist if you’d wanted to. What more could I, Hazardtown Community Church and the Paradox Lake Association of Churches ask for?” He gave the screw another hard twist and the screwdriver snapped.
    â€œMaybe I should have majored in music and saved everyone a lot of grief.” She lowered her gaze to the trapdoor, her thick black lashes brushing her cheeks.
    He scooped up the broken screwdriver tool before she could see it. The quaver in her voice told him it wasn’t the time to tell her they were trapped up here. He shoved the broken tool in his pocket and lifted her chin with his forefinger. “Was it that bad? What happened?” Connor was uncertain whether he thought it would help to address the elephant in the room, or if he was hoping to hear her disprove what Jared had told him.
    Her eyes clouded. “This isn’t easy to talk about.”
    â€œYou don’t have to. That was just Counselor Connor kicking in. You know, all that listening and conflict-resolution training I had at seminary.”
    â€œNo, you’re right. Talking will help us find grounds for starting over—as friends—so we can work together on the