Trading Christmas by Debbie Macomber

and dialed.
    One ring. Two.
    â€œHello,” a female voice answered.
    â€œHello,” Bernice responded, a little uncertainly. She must have written the number down incorrectly. There was only one way to find out and that was to ask. “This phone number was given to me by Emily Springer. Is Charles Brewster there?”
    The woman hesitated. “Yes, but he’s unavailable at the moment.”
    Bernice swallowed a gasp and before she could think better of it, slammed down the telephone. Dear heaven, what was happening? Feeling light-headed, she waited until her pounding heart had settled down before she tried to call Rayburn at his apartment. She wanted to know what was going on and she wanted to know right this minute.
    When Rayburn didn’t answer, she tried his office and learned he was still in Boston.
    â€œWhy?” she demanded of his assistant. “Why is he still in Boston?”
    â€œI’m sorry, Mrs. Brewster,” the young woman said politely. “Mr. Brewster phoned the office this morning and that’s what he said.”
    â€œHe has his cell phone?” Of course he did, because he’d called her on it the night before.
    â€œI believe he does.”
    Bernice carefully punched out the cell number and waited. The phone rang four times before her son answered. “Ray Brewster.”
    â€œRayburn,” she gasped, overwhelmed by her children’s odd behavior. His greeting had sounded far too friendly, as if he’d been laughing. Well, this was no laughing matter!
    â€œMother.” The sound of her voice sobered him up fast enough, she noticed. Something very suspicious was going on. “Where are you?” she demanded.
    â€œI’m forty-three years old. I no longer need to check in with you.”
    How dared he speak to her in that tone! She was about to say so when Rayburn chuckled.
    â€œIf you must know, I’m in Boston at Charles’s condo.”
    â€œThere’s a woman there.”
    â€œI already know that, Mother.”
    Bernice gasped. “You spent the night with her?”
    â€œI was in the same condo, not that it’s any of your business.”
    Bernice pulled out her lace-edged hankie and clenched it tightly. “I…I have no idea where your father and I went wrong that both my sons—”
    â€œMother, take a deep breath and start over.”
    Bernice tried, she honestly tried, but her heart was pounding and her head spinning. “I phoned the number you gave me and…another woman answered.”
    â€œA woman? Are you sure you had the right number?”
    â€œOf course I’m sure. I asked and she said Charles was unavailable.”
    â€œHold on, let me ask Emily who it might be.”
    Emily, was it? “I see you’re on a first-name basis with this—this house-stealer.”
    To her chagrin, Rayburn laughed. “Honestly, Mother, I think you missed your calling. You should’ve been on the stage.”
    Her husband used to make the same claim, and while she did have a good stage presence, she suspected Rayburn didn’t mean it as a compliment.
    Bernice could hear him in the background, but hard as she pressed her ear against the receiver, she couldn’t make out what was being said.
    â€œEmily says she doesn’t have a clue who would be answering the phone at her place. She’ll call later and find out if you wish.”
    â€œIf I wish? ” Bernice repeated.
    â€œAll right, I’ll get back to you.”
    Her son was about to hang up, but she still had more to say. “Rayburn,” she shouted. “You behave yourself with this woman, understand?”
    â€œYes, Mother.”
    The phone line went dead.
    Â 
    â€œA woman answered?” Emily repeated after Ray ended the conversation with his mother. “Now, that’s interesting.”
    â€œWho do you think it might be?”
    Emily shrugged. “Don’t know, but it’ll be easy