Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Posts Tagged ‘reading’

Below, see the seventh installment of my Christmas short story, The Christmas Sweater. Curl up with a cup of hot chocolate and Christmas music in the background.

 

Chapter Two—Scene Seven

With the date of our trip coming up quickly, I spent a lot of time packing and making lists. I used the spare bedroom to lay everything out so I could see it at a glance and have a better idea if I’d missed anything. I even googled Paris and “what to take.”

I couldn’t remember being this excited in years and I knew I had no one to blame but myself. The more I thought about it, the more I felt badly for Sam and how I had kept him from doing some of the things he had really wanted to do. But I knew where he was now and that no earthly regrets bothered him.

I’d been living on the sidelines for so long I felt like a completely different person. I think my renewed excitement for life surprised even Debbie, which is a stretch. We’d been walking every day and as I grabbed my gear and headed out the door to pick her up, I thought of some things I needed to discuss with her about my trip.

It took several minutes for Mickey to answer the door, and when he did, I was stunned by his expression. His face was pale and pinched, his smile non-existent, and his manner subdued.

“Mickey, what’s the matter,” I asked as he stepped back to let me in. “Are you unwell? I just came by to pick up Debbie for our walk.”

He ran one of his large hands over his stubbly jaw and blinked rapidly a few times. “Listen, Jeannie,” he said. “Debbie isn’t feeling too well today, so you’ll have to excuse her. Sorry, I should have called and let you know.”

“Not well? How so? She looked fine yesterday. Maybe it’s a bug she’ll be able to shake in a day or so.” But in my heart I knew it could be something worse. When I stopped to think about it, Debbie had been quieter the past few days, and we had strolled more than hiked. Dread crept into my mind as I considered the possibilities.

“Can I see her?”

Mickey bunched his lips. “Can you give her a few hours? She didn’t sleep well and it’s taking her a while to pull herself together.”

I put a hand on his arm, aware that all the physical strength in the world couldn’t withstand emotional strain. “Of course. And count on my prayers in the meanwhile.” I paused, wondering if I should voice my worst guess, then thought of Debbie and plunged ahead. “Is it the cancer again?”

Tears formed in Mickey’s eyes. He turned his face away and shrugged. “Don’t know for sure. Going for more tests tomorrow, so we’ll see.”

“I’m so sorry. Please tell Debbie I love her.”

His grief kicked me in the gut and I turned to go. “Just let me know if there’s anything I can do.” An idea came to me. “Let me take Scruffy out. She’d love a walk.”

So I walked, more out of routine than anything else, but knowing the brisk air would clear my head. The silly mutt trotted along on her leash, as happy as if I’d given her a new chew toy. I’d done it again. First the endless months of grieving—not so much for Sam as for me I now knew, with my focus no more than six inches around me—then thinking of nothing but my upcoming trip. It was always about me, while Debbie spent her time counseling and encouraging me, even when she probably had a good idea her health was failing.

“Oh Lord,” I prayed as I walked. “Forgive me for my selfishness. I can’t believe what I’ve turned into this past year.” No, it had taken much more than a year to create the self-absorbed woman I’d become. Well, I had asked for forgiveness, and believed it granted, so now I had to do something about it. Walking Scooby was my first effort, and I’d continue to do so up until I left for Paris.

I stopped in my tracks, surprising the dog, and suddenly I knew what I had to do. Debbie had been there for me since she and Mickey had moved back. Now, when she really needed me, I was not going to take off on her.

 

**Only one more scene to go! Please come back next Thursday for the final installment!

Advertisements

Read Full Post »

November 2018 New Releases

More in-depth descriptions of these books can be found on the ACFW Fiction Finder website.

Contemporary Romance:

Christmas in Jingle Junction by Tabitha Bouldin — In the small town of Jingle Junction, Holly Winters owns the local coffee shop, Jolly Java. It’s here that she meets Patrick Cooper and promptly throws coffee everywhere. Not only does Patrick not like coffee, he also despises Christmas! It’s up to Holly to show Patrick that Christmas is worth giving a second chance, just as Patrick himself deserves a second chance when he is accused of robbing a local convenience store. In a town full of Christmas spirit, lively debates over the best superhero and riding in a sleigh pulled by actual reindeer is just a normal day. Will Holly be able to prove to Patrick that Christmas is more than a holiday that has to be endured? (Contemporary Romance, Independently Published)

A Picture Perfect Christmas by Candee Fick — Freelance photographers Liz Foster and Ryan Callahan are finally making plans for their future. And what better time to get married than during the festive holiday season that brought them together? If only Liz’s parents weren’t standing in the way of a picture-perfect wedding. Spurred on by the ghosts of Christmases past, Dan Foster has already written Liz out of his will, so even attending the wedding—let alone walking his daughter down the aisle—is out of the question. However, this is the season for miracles and Ryan will do anything to make his bride smile. What will it take to bring this family back together in time for the wedding? (Contemporary Romance, Independently Published)

On Magnolia Lane by Denise Hunter — When his secret crush joins a dating website, Jack takes a leap of faith and soon becomes Daisy’s online suitor. But when they begin growing closer in real life also, Jack finds himself with an unexpected dilemma. Is Daisy falling for the real Jack or for the online version of himself? And how is she going to respond when she finds out they’re one and the same? (Contemporary Romance from HarperCollins Christian Publishing)

A Merry Miracle in Romance by Melanie D. Snitker — Baxter Reid returns to his hometown of Romance, eager to see his childhood crush. Unfortunately, Savannah hasn’t forgotten all the ways he used to tease her back then. He’s got his work cut out for him if he’s going to get a second chance. Savannah Miller avoids Baxter and the embarrassing childhood memories he evokes…until he apologizes and suggests a truce. Now what is she supposed to do? Only time will tell whether the spirit of Christmas in Romance is enough to transform a grudging relationship into true love. (Contemporary Romance, Independently Published)

I Still Do by Melanie D. Snitker — What’s worse than running into your ex-husband? Becoming snowbound with him and an avalanche of memories you can’t escape. (Contemporary Romance, Independently Published)

Contemporary/Women’s Fiction:

A Southern Season by Eva Marie Everson, Claire Fullerton, Ane Mulligan, and Linda Yezak — Four seasons. Four stories. Each one set in the enchanting world of the South. These are the kinds of stories your grandmother told you from a front porch swing. (Women’s Fiction from Lighthouse Publishing of the Carolinas)

Historical:

Second Chances by Carol Ashby — A widowed father, still grieving the loss of his wife and child, and a devoted mother, who leaves behind everything she’s ever known to rescue her daughter from the ex-husband who would hurt her, are first drawn together by their love for her little girl, but God has much more for them than either could have imagined. (Historical, Cerrillo Press)

Historical Mystery:

Murder of Convenience by Linda Shenton Matchett — May 1942: Geneva Alexander flees Philadelphia and joins the USO to escape the engagement her parents have arranged for her, only to wind up as the number one suspect in her betrothed’s murder investigation. Diagnosed with Retinitis Pigmentosa, she must find the real killer before she loses her sight…or is convicted for a crime she didn’t commit. (Historical Mystery, Independently Published)

Historical Romance:

The Great Lakes Lighthouse Brides Collection by Lena Nelson Dooley, Rebecca Jepson, Carrie Fancett Pagels, Candice Sue Patterson, Kathleen Rouser, Pegg Thomas, and Marilyn Turk — Along the Great Lakes, America’s inland seas, lighthouses played a vital role in the growth of our nation. They shepherded settlers traveling by water to places that had no roads. These beacons of light required constant tending even in remote and often dangerous places. Brave men and women battled the elements and loneliness to keep the lights shining. Their sacrifice kept goods and immigrants moving. Seven romances set between 1883 and 1911 at Great Lakes Lighthouses bring hope to the lonely lighthouse keepers and love to weary hearts. (Historical Romance from Barbour Publishing)

A Musket in My Hands by Sandra Merville Hart — Two sisters have no choice but to disguise themselves as men to muster into the Confederate army in the fall of 1864–just in time for things to go very badly for the Southerners at the Battle of Franklin. (Historical Romance from Lighthouse Publishing of the Carolinas)

Uncharted Journey by Keely Brooke Keith — Young widow Eva Vestal assumes loneliness is God’s permanent plan for her life. She keeps busy by raising her son and co-managing the Inn at Falls Creek with her elderly father, but her heart yearns for more. Solomon “Solo” Cotter has spent his life working with horses, but he secretly wants to write a book of the children’s stories his grandfather told him as a boy. He barters with Eva’s father for a 40-night stay at the inn, a needed respite from work to get his stories on paper. Once Eva discovers the barter, she believes Solo is taking advantage of her father’s failing memory. But when tragedy strikes and Solo works hard to save the inn, Eva sees his true nature. As her heart stirs with feelings for Solo, she wrestles with the guilt of loving someone new. (Historical Romance, Independently Published)

Snow Angel by Davalynn Spencer — Lena Carver works as her physician brother’s medical assistant, housekeeper, and cook. Maimed in a childhood accident at Christmas, she believes she is beyond love’s reach—until a dark-eyed cowboy arrives broken, bruised, and bent on changing her mind. Wil Bergman wakes in a stranger’s home with a busted leg and a bullet-creased scalp. Trail-weary, robbed, and penniless, he is at the mercy of a country doctor whose sister’s healing touch has power to stitch up his heart and open his eyes to the impossible. (Historical Romance from Wilson Creek Publishing)

Romantic Suspense:

Tell Her No Lies by Kelly Irvin — After Nina Fischer is accused of murdering her uncle and adopted father, she must unlock deadly family secrets in order to clear her name and learn to trust love again. (Romantic Suspense from HarperCollins Christian Publishing)

North by Starlight by Diane and David Munson — Attorney Madison Stone hurries to help her client Jordan Star defeat a mysterious relative who claims a share in his inheritance, and during the Christmas season Maddie learns to leave past regrets behind her, embrace the warmhearted people of Starlight, and dig deep to find her true heart. (Romantic Suspense from Micah House Media)

Her Deadly Reunion by Beth Ann Ziarnik — What will it cost an estranged daughter when she meets her birth father at his home and discovers it’s a dangerous place to mix past and present? (Romantic Suspense from Lighthouse Publishing of the Carolinas)

Speculative:

Mark of the Raven by Morgan L. Busse — When the new Lady of Ravenwood inherits her family’s secret gift of dreamwalking, she discovers a dark history. Women in her family have been wielding the gift to preserve her family’s legacy—through assassinations. She’s determined to find the true reason behind the gift, convinced there must be a more noble purpose. But she’s torn about upholding her family’s legacy–a legacy that supports her people. What will she do when she is tasked with assassinating the one man who can bring peace to the nations–but who is also prophesied to bring about the downfall of her own house? One path holds glory and power and will solidify her position as Lady of Ravenwood. The other path holds shame and likely death. Which will she choose? And is she willing to pay the price for the path chosen? (High Fantasy from Bethany House [Baker])

Thriller/Suspense:

Stratagem by Robin Caroll — Psychologist Grayson Thibodeaux creates mind-bending adventure games for businesses as team-building explorations. When his ex-wife’s company hires Grayson’s for their executive retreat, he doesn’t see how things can get worse. Until she dies during the course of the game he created…making him the prime suspect for murder. (Suspense from Barbour Publishing)

Read Full Post »

Here we are for the sixth scene of my Christmas short story, The Christmas Sweater. I hope you enjoy it.

 

Chapter Two—Scene Six

Debbie stuck her head in the door about suppertime and asked, “Have you called Emily yet?” Snuffles wagged behind her.

“No,” I admitted. “I will.”

I’d been thinking of Emily’s invitation all day, as well as Debbie’s counsel that I’d be sorry if I didn’t go but never sorry if I did. Wouldn’t they both be surprised if I accepted.

She glanced at her wristwatch. “You have an hour to call before I get back and call her myself.” She seemed a bit nervous, which was out of character. I waited.

“Listen, Oh Friend of Mine. Mickey’s at work and I have to go to an Alzheimers meeting at the  Seniors’ Centre and they won’t let me take Steena inside. I know you don’t like animals in your house, but could she stay right here in the entry? Just for an hour or so? I’d leave her at home but she’s been really scared of being left lately. I think she’s going through separation anxiety. We took her to Regina with us last time and it seemed to throw her to see my folks again but in a new place.”

I couldn’t believe my ears. Not only was she commanding me to phone my daughter, she was requesting that I babysit her dog. In my home.

“Or you could come to my place and sit with her,” she said, as if reading my mind, “but I know you want to call Emily so I thought this made more sense.”

Well, I was tired of everyone thinking I was a wimp. I’d show them all, shut them up for good. The thought took root so quickly it shocked even me, spontaneity not being my forte.

“Go ahead. I’ll look after Stumpy,” I said, and tried to keep from laughing at her incredulous expression.

“Thanks…I think,” she said, and told the dog to stay put. I doubted the mutt understood, but it sat and wagged as Debbie backed out quickly, probably expecting me to change my mind.

When she’d gone, I sat down on the entry steps and spoke to my guest. “Well hello, Stinky. Nice of you to come by. I have nothing to offer you but my presence.” Tentatively, I reached out and patted her head. Her hair felt so soft and silky to my touch that I couldn’t help scratching her ears. She leaned her head on my knees and closed her eyes, and I had to chuckle. That launched a bout of tail wagging that made me laugh for real.

“You are a strange little creature,” I said. “Now I have to clear up my supper and make an important phone call. You remember what Debbie said: stay put right here while I call. The rug is quite comfortable enough for you.” I gave her one more pat on the head and went back into the kitchen.

I forgot all about the dog while I washed my few dishes and considered what I’d say to Emily. I hung the dishtowel under the sink and rubbed lotion onto my hands. Sam used to joke about the amount of lotion I rubbed into my skin, but he liked the resulting softness.

The phone sat mocking me from its cradle near the table, and I decided there was no time like the present. I had Em on speed dial, I’m not sure why since I rarely initiated the calls, so I hit the button and waited, wandering back and forth through the house just like Sam used to do when he spoke on the phone. Emily answered after three rings.

“Hello? Mom?” She sounded surprised I was calling and I guess I couldn’t blame her since it didn’t happen often.

“Hi, honey. How was your day?”

“Good, yours?”

Enough small talk. I was on a mission here. “Listen, about your invitation to Paris, you know how I feel about the timing and all, but I’ve decided, after a good deal of interference and coercion from an unnamed source, that I’ll take you up on it.”

Her silence lasted so long I thought the line had gone dead. “What did you say?”

“I said I’ll come. Have you changed your mind? You said you needed to know by today.”

The silence stretched between us, and a giggle escaped me at the incongruity of the situation.

“Are you jerking my chain, Mom? Because I was serious about the offer. I mean, if you don’t want to come, just say so.”

“After all this emotional upheaval, you want me to change my mind again? Sorry, Em, but the decision is final. I’m going—we’re going—to Paris. In two weeks.” I must be crazy.

I wasn’t prepared for her scream, but it ripped through the phone lines and into my house with such clarity that Stocky came running and buried her head in my lap. I started to chuckle and then the situation overcame me and I was laughing. In the background I heard Emily say, “Mom, are you all right? Have you started drinking?”

Her words made me laugh harder and that’s how Debbie found us, Spookie and me, when she returned from her meeting. She looked as troubled as Emily sounded. I knew I was on an adrenaline high, but I hadn’t had this much fun since…since Sam died. My laughter faded, but the bubble of joy inside didn’t go away.

“Listen, Em,” I said when I’d caught my breath. “I have to go. I’m babysitting Debbie’s dog and we’ve frightened her and Debbie’s here now. Just tell your friend I’m in and we can talk another day soon. Good night, my dear.”

“Goodnight, Mom.” I heard the uncertainty in her voice just before I disconnected.

“Hey, Debbie, how was your meeting?” The look on her face made me want to start laughing all over again, but I was too tired. It was exhausting being this happy.

 

**I hope you’re enjoying The Christmas Sweater. Only two more scenes to go. Join us next Thursday, November 22, for the seventh installment.

 

Read Full Post »

This is the fifth scene of my Christmas short story, The Christmas Sweater. Enjoy the story and the season.

 

Chapter Two—Scene Five

Monday morning came without me aware of the day or the time. Being so close to winter solstice, it seemed to be always semi-dark outside. The jangle of the doorbell and the dull pounding finally brought me out of my stupor. Was the world ending? No, but my world already had. It couldn’t get worse.

The pounding stopped and my phone rang. I reached for it reluctantly.

“Hello?”

“Oh, thank goodness you’re okay. Jeannie, what’s up? Are you sick or what?”

I shook my head to clear it. “No, I’m fine. Just slept in…So, you’re back. How was the weekend?”

She ignored my polite questions. “Jeannie, you’re always up at the same time every morning. Now tell me…no, just open the door. I’m coming over. I can’t believe we’re sitting here talking on the phone when we live next door. And if you don’t open up, I’m gonna get Mickey to pick the lock on your door. He knows how.” And she hung up.

I rolled out, threw the covers over the bed in a quick but completely unacceptable fashion, and pulled on a sweat suit and Sam’s shirt, realizing it needed washing again. I could hear my mother’s words in my mind: Jeannie,your first task upon rising is to make up your bed. AndA lady never, ever leaves the house in dirty clothes.Somehow the memory of her scolding was a link to sanity, albeit a flimsy link.

The doorbell rang as I was brushing my teeth. She’d have to wait. Pushy woman. I remembered her threat about Mickey picking the lock, and although I didn’t believe he’d ever agree to do it, the thought made me hurry.

When Debbie blew into my kitchen, she took a look at my puffy eyes and swollen face and wrapped me in a wordless hug. The only thing that can ever stop her tongue is compassion. She’s hard to resist. Like water eroding stone. Over time you succumb.

She pulled back and stared at me. “You haven’t been outside all weekend, have you?”

“Yes, I have,” I said in my defense. “I walked on Saturday.”

“It’s Monday. That’s two days ago. That’s a lot of alone time, Kiddo. So you sat here in the dark and brooded?”

I shrugged.

“No one came? No one called?”

“Well, it’s none of your business, but yes, someone did call.”

Her eyes looked a bit less severe and she turned to get the tea things. “Good. Who?”

Incredulous, I stared at her back.

“I know it’s not my business,” she answered with her head in the tea cabinet, “but I’m curious. Who called?”

Fighting Debbie was like trying to stop the wind. I sat in my chair at the table and accepted peppermint tea in my cup with the roses on it, while she sat in Sam’s chair with a double-double Earl Grey in a black mug. “My daughter Emily called from Vancouver. She’s planning to go to Paris for Christmas.” May as well get it all out right away instead of parrying the questions one by one.

Debbie’s eyes widened and she slapped the table so hard I spilled some of my tea. “Get outta town! Paris? Who’s she going with? Did she ask you?”

The questions kept coming until I held up my palm to stop them. “Yes, she asked. I declined.”

Her eyebrows disappeared under her curls. “What the heck? Are you crazy?”

I waited for her to understand. When her expression didn’t change, I leaned forward and explained. “Debbie, remember what time of year it is. It will soon be the anniversary of Sam’s death. I simply cannot go traipsing around that romantic city of Paris with my broken heart in full view of everyone.”

“No, of course not,” she said, and I leaned back in my chair, satisfied that I’d connected with her at last. But she had more to say. “No, you have no business going to Paris on the anniversary of your husband’s death. Your place is to sit here in the dark with no tangible sign of Christmas and weep. Or stay in bed till mid-morning because you spent all night feeling sorry for yourself.”

I stood up so fast I almost spilled the rest of our tea. “How dare you? You have no idea what I’ve experienced and yet you judge me!”

“Simmer down, Cinderella,” she said, as if the argument was over spilled tea instead of death and grieving. Her silly comment took the punch out of me and I sat while she grabbed a clean tea-towel and wiped up the tea.

“I’m not judging you, Jeannie, but I have to watch you suffer every day, and I’ve only been here a couple of weeks. If this is what you’ve been doing for a year, it’s time you changed your ways or one morning all I’ll find upon breaking into your tomb of a show home is a puddle of tears on the kitchen floor. How long do you have to make your decision?”

I rubbed my bleary eyes. “I’ve already made my decision. I told Emily to accept her friend’s offer and go.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” she said. “When’s the deadline?”

I blew out my breath forcefully. “Today. Debbie, I’m just not up to it.”

She sat back and pretended to write something on an imaginary paper with her finger. “Excuse number one: Jeannie’s not up to it. Next excuse?”

I rubbed at my forehead with my fingertips, trying to massage away the ache. “I can’t go so soon, It’s a bad time of year. I have to get through it.”

“What do you mean, a bad time of year? It’s the best time of year!”

“Used to be. Not anymore. Ever.”

“So you’re gonna let it spoil Christmas from now on?”

I felt a burning in the pit of my stomach as the words boiled up from deep inside. “It’s not my fault,” I shouted, my voice quavering like an old woman’s. “It’s Sam’s fault. He’s the one who up and died on me. At Christmas, for heaven’s sake! He ruined it all. My favourite time of year and now I’ll never be able to enjoy it again!” The sobs started their way up my throat. “I hate him for robbing me. For leaving me.”

I took my cup with the roses on it and threw it into the sink, shattering it. Grabbing the counter with both hands I wailed, loud and ugly and guttural, till I thought I’d turn inside out.

The whole time, Debbie stood behind me, running her hands up and down my arms, murmuring comforting words, praying out loud, waiting. When I’d used up all the tears and felt like an empty husk, she turned me around and hugged me and patted my back as if I were a child. Later, we sat side by side on the couch, fresh cups of tea on the coffee table in front of us, Debbie’s arm around my shoulder.

“You know he didn’t leave you on purpose, right?”

My voice came out in a squeak. “I didn’t know I was so angry.”

Debbie’s answering smile looked sad. “We never do. Anger is one of those emotions that evolves into a monster over time if we don’t face it. I could see it consuming you.”

I narrowed my swollen eyes at her. “You goaded me into this hysterical fit.”

“Goaded? No. I may have nudged a bit, but you were well on the way without me, honey. I knew you had to get it out.”

The tea felt like sweet healing going down. “How’d you know?” I asked.

“Been there.”

“What? When?” I stared at her now, focused for once on someone outside of myself.

She pursed her lips, set down her cup and pulled up her knees, hugging them. “I have cancer,” she said in a quiet voice. “It’s in remission now and hopefully it will stay that way. But one never knows.” She stared out through the frosted window in a more contemplative manner than I’d ever seen her.

“I was so angry at everyone and everything, but mostly at God. Mickey didn’t know what to do with me. He tried everything: counseling, pastoral visits, deacons, friends, but I pushed everyone away, groveling in my pain and fear…and anger.”

Tears slipped from my eyes. “As I’ve been doing.”

She shrugged and gave me a crooked grin.

I had to know. “What happened to change that?” I was holding onto the end of the rope she’d thrown me, hoping to be pulled out of the quagmire I’d been sinking in.

“I admitted the anger.” She looked at me again. “You can destroy yourself with anger. Pretending all’s well, or pretending you aren’t angry or afraid. When I finally admitted how I felt, it was like a dam burst and reality was released. I could name it and face it.”

I nodded, recalling the feeling of release after my outburst.

“And I knew it wasn’t God’s fault,” she continued. “He’d been there the whole time, arms reaching for me. I’d stepped out of his arms when my anger and fear took over. I’d avoided him.”

She cupped her hand on my cheek. “Honey, you gotta let him in. He’s the only one who can help you become whole again.”

On the tip of my tongue the words gathered. I’ll never be whole again.I bit them back and swallowed.

“Yes.”

Such a simple word, but the release overwhelmed me. Tears I’d thought spent poured down my cheeks, not the exhausting upheaval at the kitchen sink, but a sweet peace.

“Okay, listen up, sister.” Debbie leaned forward to look into my eyes and brought me back to reality in a hurry. “You have a decision to make sometime today. You may forfeit Paris and be sorry later, but if you go, you’ll never be sorry. And another thing. Maybe Emily needs you with her right now. She can’t bear to be here in this empty house with memories of her dad everywhere, but she doesn’t want to be alone either.”

I stared at her. She really was pushy.

On her way out the door, she looked back and said, “Promise me you’ll seriously consider this, for Emily’s sake as well as yours. I will follow up, you know.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” I said, more to get her out of my house than anything. I appreciated that she cared, but she hadn’t lost her husband. I couldn’t suddenly change my feelings because I had faced the truth, and I needed time to adjust.

 

**Come back for the sixth installment of The Christmas Sweater next Thursday, November 15. Until then, enjoy the season.

Read Full Post »

This is the fourth installment of my Christmas short story, The Christmas Sweater. Look for it through October and November on my blog. Enjoy!

 

Chapter One—Scene Four

Next day I woke with a headache. Must have been a change in barometric pressure or something. When I turned on the radio, Christmas carols assaulted me on every station. December first. ’Tis the season. I snapped it off and tried the TV just for white noise.Jeopardydidn’t necessarily air December reruns in December, but even the ads were all about Christmas, all the gifts you could/should buy for everyone from Great-aunt Hilda to the mail carrier.

Last year I’d loved it all, the music, the lights, the decorations, the shopping. I had begged Sam to put up the tree as soon as December rolled around.

I sank into my recliner, pulled the butter-yellow crocheted throw over me and leaned my head back. How could I be exhausted when I’d slept fairly well and only been up for an hour?

A couple of times I perked up, thinking I heard Debbie at the door, then remembered she and Mickey were in Regina and the noise was probably just the wind. She’d reminded me to go for a walk every day, but the outside world looked so gray and cold, I elected to stay put under my warm blanket.

I watched the flicker of movement on the TV screen without seeing it, lost in thoughts of yesterdays. Ever since Debbie came back, she’d dominated my mornings with tea, visits, interruptions, and walks. I’d been upset about having my well-planned schedule interrupted, yet the first day she was gone, I couldn’t get myself moving.

I woke an hour later, angry with myself for sleeping in the morning like an old woman. Maybe I was old, like yesterday’s newspaper. A sliver of sunshine had forced its way through the layers of cloud, making my frosted windows sparkle, and it seemed the wind had calmed. Without allowing myself time to think, I pulled on my winter garb, including the lime green toque, some thick mittens and my hiking boots, and forced myself out the door.

I felt like the Abominable Snow-woman, all muffled like that, but I was warm. I walked east then south toward the new school, passing homes in the process of being built. For a few minutes the sun shone on my face and I could almost hear Debbie’s joyful comments. I actually caught myself looking around for Snuffy. Silly dog.

Then the clouds huddled together and pulled a slate gray sheet over the sky again, and the wind picked up. Like my life. Gray. Cold. Empty. Ugly. Pointless. In spite of my flagging spirits, I forced myself to go the usual distance. Back home, I warmed up with hot chocolate and settled on the couch to read.

The phone rang about noon. My heart jumped with anticipation when I recognized the number on the call display. Emily! I mentally counted the weeks since my only child had called. I didn’t like to push, but was anxious to know when she’d be home for Christmas and how long she’d be able to stay.

“Em! How are you? I’ve missed you.”

“You too, Mom. How’s the weather in Winterland?”

I chuckled. “Wintry. How about you?”

“Rainy but warm and green. I love Vancouver.”

We talked of little things, I told her all about Debbie and her intrusive kindness. She skipped a beat and so did my heart. “What’s up, Emily?” I’d always been able to read between her words, even if I couldn’t see her face.

I heard a long-distance sigh and knew. She wouldn’t be coming home for Christmas. I felt like I was slowly slipping down a dark chute.

“Mom.” She had a way of saying it that sounded like a command. “You know I miss you and I know it’s only a year since Dad—you know—but, umm…”

“Just tell me, Em. You’re not coming. Something better came up.” As a mother, I should have been kinder, but the thought of being alone over Christmas bothered me more than I’d thought it would.

“Mom,” she repeated. “Just listen, okay?”

Did I have a choice?

“So, a friend of mine found a Groupondeal for a trip to Paris and you know how I’ve always wanted to go, and we’d see the Eiffel Tower and the Louvre and the Arc de Triomphe, and we could wander along the Champs-Elysees. All in the beauty of Christmas, and well, I haven’t decided yet, said I needed to talk it over with you, but I have to let her know by Monday. What do you think?”

What could I say? You go ahead and have a good time in Paris while I die of loneliness here at home? I had to say something, it was just difficult to make my voice work. I cleared my throat and said, “Sounds like an offer too good to pass up, Em. Go ahead and have a good time. I’m sure I’ll survive here.”

Again there was a strange silence before Emily filled it. “I guess I haven’t been clear. I’m asking if you’ll come with me. I want us to experience Paris at Christmas. Together. How about it?”

I couldn’t even breathe, I was so surprised. “Me? To Paris? I’ve never traveled. Your dad and I never got farther than Maui the year you graduated. Paris! Paris?” What a ridiculous idea. Didn’t she realize the implications?

“Emily, it’s sweet of you to think of me, but I can’t go. I’m just not ready.” I paused to gather my emotions. “It will be the first anniversary of your father’s death. How could I possibly go now?”

I could envision the scowl on Emily’s face. “And how do you plan to “celebrate” Dad’s death? Sit in the dark and cry?” Even as my heart withered at her words, I heard her long-distance sigh. “Mom. Think about it. Dad would want you to go.”

“How do you know what Dad would want me to do?”

“It’s a guess, and a pretty good one, I think. Now are you coming or not?”

I took a deep breath. “No, Honey, I can’t. I’m sorry. But you go ahead. I’ll be fine.”

“I won’t go without you. I can’t leave you home alone over Christmas.”

“Why not? I’ve been alone for almost a year and I’m fine.”

“You don’t sound fine, Mom. You sound mad. Angry.”

Why did everyone think I was angry? They could all just leave me alone in my misery. “Emily, I’m telling you to go. Understood?”

Another sigh told me she was weakening. “Would you at least think about it until Monday? I’ll wait to give Carly my final answer until then.”

“I won’t change my mind, but thank you for thinking of me. I love you, Emily.”

“You too, Mom. Talk to you Monday.”

She sounded hopeful and I didn’t want to squelch her hopes, but really! What did she expect of me? I grabbed my book and sank back into the recliner, but I couldn’t read. It was all right. I was all right. I would cope, just as I had when Sam up and died on me. I pushed out of the chair and shuffled to the window. The emptiness of my life stared at me from my faint reflection in the glass, like the fading light of day outside. I fixed a small bowl of Greek yogurt with almond butter and raisins, had a cup of tea, and went to bed very early, hoping for blessed sleep to rescue me from my brokenness.

 

**Meet me here again next Thursday, November 8th, for the fifth scene of The Christmas Sweater.

Read Full Post »

This is the third installment of my short story, The Christmas Sweater. Look for it every Thursday through October and November. Enjoy!

 

Chapter One—Scene Three

“We need to walk,” said Debbie Friday morning when she’d let herself into my house.

“Walk? Where to?”

“Just walk,” she said. “Doc says to keep the heart and lungs healthy we should walk every day. So how about it?” She was bouncing on the balls of her booted feet.

“Now?”

She shrugged. “Why not now? You have to vacuum first or what?”

I chose to ignore her ill-concealed sarcasm. “What about Mickey? Wouldn’t he like to go with you?”

“Can’t. He’s working.”

“Where?”

“Got hired on at the cop shop part time, just to help out over Christmas.

“He’s a cop?”

“Sheriff, actually, but he retired last year. Anyway, love, you’re my next choice and I’m getting too warm waiting.”

I stared out the window at the falling snow and shivered. “Looks cold out there.”

“Nah! It’s gorgeous. C’mom, grab a jacket and some mitts. I’m going to get my hat and scarf. Meet you outside in five. Steena’s gonna love it!”

Oh joy. We were going to take the dog too. I sighed. With no acceptable excuse, I donned my quilted jacket over Sam’s shirt, pulled on my heeled winter boots and a scarf and my driving gloves. I stepped outside into a chilly wind and hoped I wouldn’t freeze solid. When Debbie arrived, she took one look at me, ran back inside her house and came out with a lime green knitted toque which she unceremoniously pulled over my head.

“My hair!” I yelped. “I just had it done yesterday.”

“Fix it later. You have to dress properly if you’re gonna enjoy it. C’mon Steena.”

I was cold, but Debbie’s chatter kept me from dwelling on it. We talked of everything from the weather in Saskatchewan compared with Texas, to her grandkids and their antics, to Sam’s death. Again. Debbie seemed to home in on it like an hummingbird to sweetened red syrup.

“Are you set up okay?” Debbie asked.

“You mean financially? Yes.”

“Good. That’s a big worry for some people, you know, when their spouse dies. Sorry, passes away.”

“Passes. That’s what they call it now. As if he slipped away from me on a foggy night and I didn’t realize it in time.”

“I sense some anger here.”

The girl was nothing if not relentless. And tactless. “I’m not angry, only shocked and left reeling. Anger is pointless.”

“Anger is part of the grieving—”

“Don’t start with that,” I interrupted. “I’ve heard the sermons, read the books about the phases of anger and how we all go through them, only at different levels and in various orders. I am not angry.” So shut up already, I said in my head.

Seeger ran in front of me and I almost tripped over her. Nuisance of a dog.

By the time we returned to my door, my fingers were numb, my feet and legs ached, but I was thankful for the toque, even if my hair would be a mess.

“Thanks for coming, Jeannie. Next time wear flat boots or you’ll kill your feet. Yeah, Mickey loves law enforcement. So tomorrow we’re going into Regina to see my folks and figure out how to help them. So I won’t see you till Monday…or Tuesday, depending on how it goes. Bye for now, love,” and she gave me a hug and a peck on my frozen cheek while I tried to keep up with her scattered conversation.

As I took off my winter clothes and hung them back in the hall closet, I thought about several whole days without chatter, interruption and unwelcome walks. It would be a lovely, quiet weekend.

 

**Next installment next Thursday, November 1 right here on my blog. Only one month until Christmas!

Read Full Post »

As stated last Thursday on my blog, I will be releasing my Christmas-themed short story scene by scene through the rest of October and November. Stay tuned each Thursday for the next installment, and enjoy!

 

Chapter One—Scene One

I wrapped Sam’s ratty red-plaid shirt around me more securely as I sat on the couch and watched the snow pelt down from a leaden sky, indiscriminately covering both the immaculate lawn in front of my house and the mess my new neighbors had created while moving in. The mess didn’t surprise me. Debbie had always been surrounded by mess and half-completed projects back when I knew her as a kid growing up. Apparently, she hadn’t changed.

I still couldn’t believe that spunky little Debbie Doram, now McCorkmick, had moved back to Moffat’s Landing. The biggest shock came when she and Mickey bought the house next door to mine.

I’d always liked my former neighbours, the VanWoordens. They were friendly but discreet. We had coffee back and forth several times a year, but they never intruded into our lives, although Jerry and my Sam did collaborate on a few yard projects. I hated to see them leave, but Mrs. V was beginning to show signs of Alzheimers and her husband needed a low maintenance home where he’d be able to care for her.

I couldn’t have been more surprised when Debbie and Mickey bought the house. They were anything but discreet, as far as I had observed. As if to prove the fact, my doorbell rang—not once but three times—and, if my door hadn’t been locked, Debbie would have burst right in. As it was, she called to me through the door while I set aside my photo albums and carried my tea to the kitchen table. She was bouncing up and down by the time I unlocked the door.

“Jeannie!” she squealed as she wrapped me in a hug. “I can’t believe we’re next door neighbors.”

I extricated myself from her smothering hug and stepped back. “I go by Jeanne now,” I said, as she brushed past me.

“You got the coffee on, Jeannie?” she asked.

“It’s Jeanne,” I insisted, but I don’t think she heard me.

“So? Coffee?” Her brown eyes danced in her round face, surrounded by the bobbing auburn curls I remembered from high school, now streaked faintly with gray.

I took a steadying breath. “I don’t drink coffee.”

She shrugged. “Tea? Water?” She grinned widely, showing her beautiful teeth. “I bet you drink water.”

Her effervescent grin gave me a dull pain at the base of my neck. I glanced at the hall clock. Ten a.m. Time to dust and vacuum through the house. I doubted Debbie would understand. If I made her a cup of tea, maybe she’d go home and leave me to my work.

“What about this weather, eh?” she commented. “I haven’t seen a lot of snow these past thirty years. Texas doesn’t get much. I can hardly wait to go sledding and skating and make snowmen when the grandkids come. You have grandkids, Jeannie?”

I opened my mouth to answer but she was talking again. “We have eight now, mostly in Texas, a few in California. Have you been to California? Great place to visit but way too ‘out there’ for me.”

I couldn’t imagine. I led the way to the kitchen and plugged in the kettle.

“Whoa! Nice place you got here. Bet I could eat off the floor! My place is still in shambles, but I’m hoping to at least have the kitchen straightened up by Christmas.”

“Christmas!” I couldn’t help but comment. “That’s a whole month away.”

“Yeah.” She grinned and winked. “But I can do it.”

I was about to ask Debbie what kind of tea she wanted, but she beat me to it.

“Just don’t give me any of that herbal junk.” She pronounced the “h” in herbal. “Makes me gag. If I’ve gotta have tea, then give me the strongest you got.”

She reached past me into the tea cabinet and rummaged through it, knocking several boxes out of place.

“Hmm. Guess I’ll risk Earl Grey. Where’s the sugar?”

She pulled open the next cabinet, stepped back and shot me a look of disgust. “Has someone been filming a kitchen organization show from your home? Geez, Louise! You scare me.”

Frowning, I pulled out the seldom-used sugar bowl and handed it to her, then took the cream carton from the fridge and reached for the cream pitcher.

“Whoa, girl!” Debbie said. “Don’t fuss over me. If you make a big production of it every time I drop in for coffee—I mean tea—you’ll wear yourself out.”

My headache had crept forward to my temples.

“Don’t mind if I do,” said Debbie as she settled her rounded frame into Sam’s kitchen chair. I sat across from her, picking up my morning tea to finish it. She propped her elbows on the table, hands wrapped around her cup, and smiled at me with sadness in her eyes. Here goes, I thought.

“So how have you been doing these thirty years since I left you for life’s adventures?”

This time she waited for me to answer but I needed time to come up with something acceptable. I took a sip of my lukewarm peppermint tea, hoping it would calm the sudden sharp pain in my chest, and rubbed the rim of my cup with my thumb as I fumbled for words.

“Well, it’s…I’ve been…” I looked into her eyes, now soft with compassion. “It was a good life till Sam left me.”

“Left you?” Two deep ridges formed between Debbie’s eyebrows. “I thought he died.”

I didn’t look away. “Yes. He died and left me alone.”

She stared a moment longer, then smoothed out her features and reached across the table to lay a hand on my arm. There were tears in her eyes.

“I know, Honey. I always got Moffat’s Musings, even when we were in Texas. I read Sam’s obituary and my heart broke for you.”

Her words, meant to comfort, only pinched the nerve of grief that pulsed constantly within my chest. But Debbie, who had rarely been comfortable with silence when I knew her, carried on.

“What happened anyway? The paper said it was sudden.”

The pain in my chest spread to my gut and I set down my cup to hug myself. It was so difficult to put into words.

“He, ah, he was working in the driveway clearing snow. We had an early winter last year and he didn’t want it to pile up on the driveway and get icy, so he tried to keep it cleared.”

I could still see Sam attacking the heavy snow with his new yellow snow shovel from Canadian Tire, his green knit toque pulled down over his ears, breath coming out in white puffs.  A former farmer, he dubbed the backyard and driveway his “back forty,” and claimed it as his own turf.

“Sam always whistled while he worked. It didn’t register with me right away, but suddenly I realized he had stopped whistling. I looked out and there he was, lying in a heap in the driveway.”

On edge with the telling, I stood and moved to the kitchen window where I’d been that terrible day almost a year ago. “I heard a shout and saw our neighbour, Mr. VanWoorden, running toward him.”

I grasped the countertop with both hands to still their shaking. “I ran out the door and Mr. V yelled at me to call 911, so I did. The ambulance only had to come from the hospital two blocks away, and it probably only took five minutes, but it seemed like hours.” I leaned against the counter, remembering.

“I held Sam, begged him to stay with me, begged God not to let him die, but somehow I knew he wouldn’t make it. The EMTs tried their best, but they couldn’t bring him back. Massive heart attack.”

I turned to look at Debbie and was surprised to see tears running down her face. I picked up the Kleenex box and took it to the table for her. My own eyes were dry. Maybe I’d cried out all my tears through the months of being without Sam. She grabbed a couple of tissues, wiped her eyes and blew her nose. Then she jumped up.

“Oh Jeannie, I’m so sorry. You’ve lost the love of your life and I’m sitting here bawling my eyes out. I’ll get us some fresh tea.”

She plugged in the kettle again and fished around in my cabinet for whatever kind she thought I liked. “Here you go,” she said. “Chamomile. That’s relaxing, isn’t it? Oh girl, you’ve gotta learn to make coffee. This Earl Grey just isn’t cutting it.”

She refilled my cup with hot water, then added some to her own, along with two spoons of sugar and a generous splash of cream straight from the carton. Then she sat down across from me at the table again.

“So how have you been managing everything this past year? Did you have family here to help?”

“Emily—that’s our daughter—came out to stay with me for a couple of weeks, but she has a life out in Vancouver, and a job she apparently likes, so that was that. I had to pull up my socks and deal with reality.”

“What does that mean?”

Her question stumped me. Most people are content with stock answers because they really don’t want to delve into personal pain. But Debbie had never been most people. I rubbed my forehead to ease the ache. My fingers were cold. I was always cold.

“It means I’ve done what I had to do, asked for help when I needed it, hired a few people when I couldn’t do something myself. I’ve adjusted.”

Debbie frowned. “You’ve adjusted. Does that mean you’re coping or you’re content?”

I remembered Debbie being nosy and it irked me now.

“Yes.”

Her eyes narrowed and then she snorted. “You and your dry humour. At least you didn’t lose that.”

I couldn’t work up a smile for the life of me. Even when she was young she could move from caring to crass in very short order. I’d have to learn how to handle her if we were going to live in such close proximity. Set a few guidelines. Be upfront with her.

Suddenly she stood, carried her cup to the sink and set it down. “Well, Honey, I gotta go. Poor Mickey is up to his eyeballs moving furniture so I’d better tell him where to put it. He hates moving stuff too many times, poor guy, but I’m not sure myself where I want it all.”

She opened the door to leave, then turned back. “Too bad it snowed again. Makes everything wet and messy. Well girl, keep your chins up and I’ll see you later. Drop by for coffee if you can handle the mess. I’d love for you to meet Mickey. By the way, I love your shirt.”

I sensed sarcasm in her comment because the shirt, with its tattered tails, didn’t suit my image, not even at home, even though it was clean. Debbie came back over and hugged me, then walked out the door hollering “bye” as she went.

I sank into my chair, rested my head on my arms on the table and sighed deeply.

 

** Come back for the second scene next Thursday, October 18th.

Read Full Post »

« Newer Posts - Older Posts »

%d bloggers like this: