Excerpt
"Mommy?"
Christine's young voice broke in on her thoughts.
Dara put down the romance
she'd been re-reading, the favorite she'd had since she was sixteen. She'd sold
all her others at a yard sale the previous week. "What is it,
sweetie?"
"Why don't we has a real
tree for Chribmas?"
"Why don't we
'have'," she corrected. "Come sit by me." Dara patted the couch
and tucked her chenille robe closer around her.
One arm around Matilda, her
cloth doll, Christine climbed up beside her mother and cuddled.
Matilda's going to need
stuffing before long. Her head flopped forward, face against her flat
chest. When did the lace on her dress get so ragged? Dara smoothed the
doll's dress. "Remember when Daddy went home to heaven before Christmas
last year?"
Christine knuckled her eyes
and yawned. "I 'member."
"And then Mommy got hurt
in the car accident and couldn't go to work?"
"Uh huh."
Dara took a deep breath.
"Well, it meant there was no money for a real tree this year. But I'm sure Santa
will still bring you presents." Gifts Dara bought by selling her entire
collection of romance novels at a yard sale at her friend Sherilyn's house.
"And we drew a tree, right?" She pointed at the crayon-bright drawing
taped to the wall. Construction paper ornaments decorated each branch.
"But it doesn't smell like a
Chribmas tree."
Dara hugged her. "I know, baby. I
know."
"How will Santa leave his
presents?" Christine pulled away and got on her knees. "He can't put
them under the tree, Mommy."
"Oh, honey!" She ruffled her
daughter's hair, swallowing the lump in her throat. "Santa will find a
way." She leaned forward and kissed her little girl. "We should get
you in bed so he can come. He can't leave presents while you're awake."
She followed her daughter into her room,
got her tucked into bed and sat beside her, stroking her golden hair. Christine
gazed up at her from under thick dark lashes. Her deep-blue eyes never failed
to remind Dara of her late husband.
Jack had been Dara's high school sweetheart.
Tonight marked a year and nine days since the accident that had claimed his
death. Neither she nor Jack had family other than each other. His coworkers
knew, and they'd helped that first year, bless them. His senseless death
happened right before Christmas. What if something happened to her too? As an
orphan herself, Dara experienced fear and anxiety for her daughter. Tears of
loneliness, terror of the future, of raising her daughter without Jack at her
side. Anger at everything and everyone. At his company for sending him on the
trip. At Jack for going. Guilt for feeling angry ate at her.
The night Jack had left, they'd argued
over it and he'd slammed the door when he left. But then he'd stopped the car
halfway down the drive, gotten out, and had come back inside to kiss her and
tell her he regretted having to go, but that he had to. He promised he'd be
back before Christmas. They'd shared a long, cherishing kiss and she'd waved
until he was out of sight.
Six hours later, his plane went down over
the Gulf of Mexico in a freak storm. All on board were lost.
More guilt and doubt set in with the New
Year. Things she should have said. Should have done. Why had she let him go?
Why had God allowed her child to grow up without a father?
Her friend Sherilyn had walked through it
all at her side, helping her get a job, watching Christine, being there when
all Dara needed was to cry. This year, the company had forgotten Jack and the
family he left behind. So much for "The Company with Families at Heart."
Jack's insurance had paid off the house, and there was enough money to survive
for a few months. While looking for a job, she'd sold furniture, her good
silver, and pawned all her jewelry, except her wedding ring.
Dara rubbed her face with both hands, willing
herself to hold on for her daughter's sake. To be strong. To be both mother and
father. Women had done it for centuries. They'd survived. So would she.
"Mommy?" Christine rubbed
Dara's arm. "Read me the story about the mouse that's quiet."
"That's a great story. My mother
used to read it to me when I was little." Dara snuggled beside her, and
opened her daughter's favorite Christmas book. At least she'd been able to give
her the gift of reading. When Jack had been alive, he'd always made sure there
was money for books. She would miss her own collection, but at least Christine
would have something from Santa. "'T'was the night before
Christmas..."
After Christine drifted off to sleep,
Dara pushed off the bed. She was gaining strength daily, and would finish
therapy the first week of January and return to work. Disability paid for the
basics - lights, phone, water, trash collection, and she'd never bought
anything on credit, refusing to dig herself into a hole she'd never escape once
it got started.
It'll be great to have a full income
again! I wish it could have come in time for Christmas.
She went to the closet and pulled down a
box with a ball, crayons, paper, and three books. Sherilyn had brought over a
few things as well. This wasn't the grand Christmas that Dara had wanted for
Christine, but Dara had already sold her other valuables. There was nothing
left but her wedding ring.
She didn't wear it. Removing it had been
part of saying good-bye to Jack.
Sherilyn had said it would help, and it
had. Sort of. But not much.
Dara sank into one of the kitchen chairs
and put her face in her hands.
Sometime later, when the doorbell rang, she grabbed a paper towel and dried her eyes. The clock over the stove said nine o'clock. Who would be calling at this hour on Christmas Eve? She stuffed the wet towel in her robe pocket on the way to the door.
If your book had a candle, what scent would it be?
Something Christmasy like cinnamon, or gingerbread. Or maybe
even fresh pine, like a Christmas tree. I think candles are great to put in
drawers also. You open a drawer and that wonderful smell is released into the
room. The right smell transports you straight into a memory. To this day, the
scent of an oven warming up reminds me of my mother baking. Even non-Christmas
things can do that. Whenever I got a new book as a kid, I'd always smell it.
There's something about that smell that soothes and comforts. Today's books are
printed in a different way and don't have the same smell. Have you noticed?
What inspired you to write this book?
I had a tradition for many years of writing a short story as
a gift for friends at Christmas. One year, I wrote A Romance for Christmas for
my critique group. They loved it and told me I should publish it. I put it
aside for many years, but finally decided I'd give it a shot. I was shocked to
see it hit the charts on Amazon, and stayed in the top 100 in its category for
almost 3 months. When you create something out of love, I think it has a much
stronger impact.
Where did you come up with the names in the story?
The names of the characters are almost all famous writers.
When you read the book, I bet you recognize them. The exception is the parents.
I named them after my own, and I dedicated the book to one of my sisters and
her late husband. Their love match was sweet to watch. When he passed away, I wanted
a way to honor that memory.
What is your favorite part of this book and why?
The hero comes into the kitchen at his parents' house and
finds his folks doing their usual thing. She's cooking and he's reading a
magazine, keeping her company. The parents banter back and forth, teasing each
other in sweet ways. The hero loves seeing their steadfast relationship. He'd
always hoped to have the same thing with his wife. When she passed away a year
ago, leaving him with a four-year-old daughter to raise alone. His folks help
as much as they can, but he misses having that other person to love. The
widowed mother of his daughter's friend is going through the same thing, and
he's invited her to come for Christmas dinner, which is one reason he's in the
kitchen that night. He didn't need permission to invite her -- his friends have
always been welcome in his parents' home. It's also tradition for everyone to
help make dinner, so when he shows up, his mother puts him right to work. This
family, despite its tragedies, is moving forward the best way they know how, by
loving one another and showing compassion to others. That 's what the Christmas
spirit is all about.
Thank you for sharing my Christmas story with your readers, and for the note on my blog! :) Hope you have a wonderful holiday.
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