There's Something About Christmas. Debbie Macomber
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tell me everything, understand?”
Phoebe laughed softly. “I’ll make a full confession.”
“Good. Now, what do you know about Oliver Hamilton?”
“Just that…he likes you. He specifically asked for an opportunity so the two of you could fly together.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
Oliver had done that because he knew she was frightened to death to get into his little plane. The man was a sadist, and between them, her employer and her best friend had willingly handed her over.
“He told Walt you’d done a wonderful job of selling him on advertising and he wanted to give the newspaper his business because of you.”
“Did you tell Walt that if I didn’t get an assignment soon, I’d quit?”
“I couldn’t let my best friend quit,” Phoebe said—although Emma noted that she hadn’t really answered the question. “Not if I could prevent it. Then Oliver showed up and, well, it was meant to be.”
The truth was out. She’d gotten this assignment thanks to her friend. Walt hadn’t thought she was ready; he was just trying to keep Phoebe happy.
“I can’t understand why you don’t like Oliver,” Phoebe said.
Emma pinched her lips tightly together. “Oliver Hamilton is accustomed to women swooning over him.”
“He’s not like that,” Phoebe protested.
Emma knew otherwise.
“You’re not upset with me, are you?”
Emma considered the question. “I guess not.”
“If our situations were reversed, you’d have done the same thing for me,” Phoebe said. “Now tell me what’s going on in Yakima.”
Emma looked out the window and noticed that Oliver had walked across the street, presumably to get an updated weather report. “At the moment we’re stuck.”
“Together?” Phoebe asked with an inappropriate amount of amusement.
It figured she’d see this unfortunate situation in a humorous light. “For now, and trust me, I’m not happy about it.”
“You should be. Oliver and Walt get along really well. He’s a cool guy.”
The problem was he knew it. Emma didn’t bother to comment. She chatted with Phoebe a few minutes longer before ending the phone call.
The waitress refreshed Emma’s coffee and took the money she’d left on the table. While she waited for her change, she read over her notes from the interview with Earleen Williams. But it wasn’t the older woman who dominated her thoughts, it was her own mother.
Pamela Collins had wanted the very best for her, Emma knew. What she could never understand was why her mother had stayed in the marriage as long as she had. From as early as Emma could remember, she’d known her father was having affairs, betraying his wife and family. To this day, her father didn’t get it. Her mother had been so forgiving; Emma wasn’t. And she was too smart to be taken in by a man who had all her father’s worst traits—and all his appeal.
She couldn’t imagine what her mother would think of Oliver. No, she could imagine exactly. Her mother would think he was wonderful and treat him like a king, the same way she’d done with Emma’s father whenever he’d seen fit to bless them with his presence.
The café door opened and Oliver returned, his leather jacket splotched with damp. He walked across the room, sliding into the booth. He handed her a sheet of paper.
“What’s this?” she asked.
“The weather report. You aren’t going to like it.”
Emma’s heart sank. “How long are we trapped here?”
He hesitated as if weighing how much of the truth he should tell her. “Overnight.”
The word echoed in her brain. “No!”
“Have you looked outside lately?”
Emma hadn’t. She stared out the window now. Thick flakes of snow drifted down; already the sidewalks were covered and the sky had grown darker. No wonder his coat was wet. She closed her eyes. “What are we going to do?” she whispered.
Oliver shrugged. “It happens, especially this time of year. I don’t like it any better than you do, but I try to make the best of it.”
“How?”
“I don’t know what you’re planning, but I’ve already got a line on a poker game. I don’t suppose you’d care to join us?”
The snow fell fast and furious as the afternoon wore on. Although Emma strongly suspected Walt wouldn’t be willing to reimburse her, she broke down and rented a motel room near the airfield, using her credit card since she was almost out of cash. Her knight in tarnished armor had disappeared inside one of the hangars with three other pilots for a poker game, and she hadn’t seen him since.
The motel room was about what you’d expect for $39.95. The mattress and pillows were thin and no matter what she did, Emma couldn’t get comfortable on the bed until she marched down to the office for extra pillows, which she propped up to support her back while she used her laptop on the bed. Her fingers flew across the keys.
Lessons from Fruitcake: Earleen Williams
by Emma Collins
For The Examiner
Earleen Williams of Yakima bakes masterful fruitcakes but she’s the true masterpiece.
It’s no surprise to anyone who has tasted one of her fruitcakes that Earleen and her recipe have achieved national acclaim. With a shy smile, she’ll laughingly say that her secret ingredient is stored in her liquor cabinet. But there’s more to it than that.
Now Earleen’s recipe has been chosen as one of the twelve nationwide finalists in Good Homemaking’s fruitcake contest. The winner will be announced December 20th on the magazine’s Web site. The January issue will feature a profile of the winner. That winner might be Earleen Williams.
Earleen admits her life hasn’t been easy, not that she’s complaining. She was married to her first husband, Larry, for sixteen years, but as she says, he was more trouble than she could handle. They parted, and in her pain and loss she returned to the days of her childhood and the happiness she’d known, surrounded by family and love.
Earleen’s parents had little money for frivolous things, but there was an abundance of love in the home. And somehow, through good times and bad, there was always fruitcake at Christmas. It was this spirit of love, laughter and joy that Earleen sought to recapture in making her own fruitcake. Adding local apples, cooked down into a sauce, and using only ingredients of the highest quality, she began with her mother’s recipe and expanded on it. When asked, Earleen was happy to share her secrets—liquor and apples. In the years since her divorce, her fruitcake has become a holiday staple for family and friends.
The former bartender continued baking through two subsequent marriages. Discussing her three husbands, Earleen commented that none of them appreciated her. Each pursued other women—or sought escape in a bottle. Over time, Earleen says, she gained perspective on her life and learned to recognize that her husbands’ infidelity wasn’t due to any lack in her.
Earleen Williams creates a moist, succulent fruitcake—a baking masterpiece. But she, too, is a masterpiece, just the way she is.
This was a draft, but Emma felt it was a good start. The more she read over her notes, the more she realized that the interview hadn’t been about