A Holiday To Remember. Jillian Hart
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not God’s handiwork, she thought sensibly, but the result of someone renovating a house. Debra was on her way to touch bases with her half brother not because of some grand design by God. Really. It was happenstance—mere chance—that they’d even learned about Ben at all. That was why they were here. The only reason they were here.
But she didn’t say that to Mia, not when she knew those words would dampen her daughter’s happiness. Debra cut her eyes from the road long enough to take in Mia’s dear face. She had a light scattering of freckles across her perfect nose and a peaches-and-cream complexion. Dimples bracketed her bright smile, and she radiated hope and life.
When was the last time she saw her daughter so bubbly? Her dark eyes glinted with a joyful brightness that had been missing since, well, Debra realized with a heavy heart, since her mom’s passing. There was no way she would take an ounce of Mia’s hope away, but larger questions had plagued her since all of this came to light.
What if it was a mistake getting involved with Ben and his family? They were strangers. They’d only met Ben once, when he’d made a short trip to Maryland to meet them. He’d been nice—but so were a lot of people on the surface. What if once his curiosity about them was satisfied, Ben cut off all ties? What would that do to Mia?
Debra had plenty of other doubts and concerns, but that was the greatest one. Which was why her stomach was becoming a tighter knot with every click of the odometer. She checked the cross street at the corner signpost adorned with Christmas lights and realized they were a block away. One more block and they would come face to face with Ben. With all her uncertainties and questions and doubts.
Don’t think about them now, Debra, she told herself. She was here for Mia. To make this a good experience for her daughter. Goodness knew, they’d had enough bad ones lately and it was taking its toll.
“A Christian bookstore, Mom! Cool. We’ll have to stop there later, promise?” Mia seemed enchanted by the town’s streets, which did have a certain charm. “Oh, and that’s a school. A junior high. That would be better any day than my yucky school.”
“The Stanton School is one of the best in the country.” And also their biggest source of conflict, Debra thought, but decided to keep her tone light. “I went there. Your aunt Lydia went there. Your grandmother Millie went there.”
“I know.” Mia rolled her eyes. “I’m a Cunningham and a Watson. There would be nowhere else I could possibly go. Family tradition is so-oo important.”
Normally Debra would comment on the sarcasm, but this wasn’t the time. She had enough on her mind, and did she dare break Mia’s wonderful good mood? Absolutely not. It had actually lasted all morning long. A record for recent times. Debra pulled the SUV to a stop in front of Cavanaugh’s Carpentry and cut the engine.
“We’re here! I can’t stand it.” Mia hit the seat-belt release. “I’m so excited. I’m glad we’re seeing Uncle Ben and all, but I don’t know if I can wait much longer to meet Aunt Leah and Cousin Olivia and baby Joseph.”
“You’ll manage.” Before Debra could pull the keys from the ignition, Mia was already out the door, the frigid gusts of wind tangling her hair and blowing her coat open. Her hand-knit, designer sweater might be made of wool, but it was hardly protection against this kind of weather. “Zip up and pull on your hood, sweetie.”
“I’m too happy to feel cold!” Mia argued, but did as she was told in an absentminded way, gawking about as if this were the most remarkable place on earth.
As the passenger door slammed shut, Debra buttoned her wool peacoat and wrapped a scarf over her head. In the two moments it took for her to pull her warmest gloves from the console, Mia had circled around and was opening the driver’s door for her.
“Mom! Hurry up! You’re taking forever.”
Debra couldn’t help laughing just a little. It helped with the mounting worries that just kept plaguing her. So much could go wrong.
Then again, maybe that only meant there were a lot of things to go right. After all, she’d already met her half brother once, right? Ben was a nice man—it was hard not to like him. Although months had passed since she’d found out this shocking news, she still couldn’t quite grasp it. Her mind understood it, but her heart could not accept it.
“Snowflakes!” Mia held out her mittened hand, palm up, to let the first airy, dizzying flakes of snow land. “Mom, it’s a sign.”
“How is that possible?” She climbed down from the seat and closed the door. “You think everything is a sign.”
“That’s ’cause everything is a sign. God is everywhere, watching over us. Grandmother Millie always said that and it’s true. See?”
It looked like there would be no escaping Grandmother Millie or her religious influence on Mia—and although these things were thorns in her side, Debra decided to ignore the sting. She’d made a promise to her daughter and considering the difficulties they’d had lately, she wanted to put her best effort into this trip, into bringing them closer together.
“They are lovely,” Debra said of the snowflakes. If one had an overactive imagination, like Mia, then, Debra conceded, the crisp, lovely fragile flakes could look like a sign of good things to come.
“Not lovely, Mom. Perfect.” A gust of wind threw her hood back and Mia twirled, letting the snowflakes catch in her cloud of soft brown hair. “Everything’s gonna be perfect. I just know it. This is gonna be a holiday to remember.”
“I hope so, sweet pea.”
If she were a religious woman, Debra would pray for it to be true. But why put her energies into something so unproven? Faith was like those snowflakes on the wind, dizzily falling where the air currents took them. She could catch one on the tip of her fingers if she wanted to, but what good would it do? It would melt away and she’d be left with nothing.
Besides, she had learned to rely on herself and nothing had been the same since Mom’s passing. Now, with Ben, it could never go back to the way things were. Even the memory of her family—of her mother—was tarnished.
She beeped the door locked as the snowflakes swirled around her, not at all surprised to hear the thump of her daughter’s fashionable boots on the shoveled front step.
The wind gusted, catching the fringe of her scarf and the hem of her coat. It felt like a touch against her face, turning her gently leftward. Her gaze aligned perfectly with a large window, offering a view inside the carpenter’s workshop where a lone man was kneeling in a fall of soft gray daylight. Broad of shoulder, humble in appearance and deeply masculine, the man worked with his head bent, carefully brushing sandpaper over a corner of something made of wood—his big body blocked any view of it.
Who is he? The question filled her mind and stilled all the worries and cautions in her heart. She forgot to take a step forward and simply stood rooted in place with the snowflakes sifting through the icy air like pure sugar, unable to take her eyes off the man. He was so big and rugged looking, he could have been made of steel.
Not that she was prone to noticing men or how they were built. Maybe it wasn’t him that held her attention at all, she rationalized. Perhaps what caught her attention was the unlikely contrast between the intimidating-looking linebacker of a man working so patiently at his craft. It seemed like a paradox.
“Mom?” Mia had retraced her steps to see what had captured her mother’s attention. “That’s not Uncle Ben. Who is it?”
“I don’t know. Probably one of his employees.”
Before she could move, the woodworker stiffened, as if he sensed her gaze. The breath left her lungs when he suddenly stood, all six feet of him, and stared back at her. He was pure silhouette, backlit by the faint light spilling from above. Caught between darkness and light he looked almost unreal, a shadowed form and nothing more.
Even before he took a step forward and moved into the light, Debra felt the power of his protective spirit; how silly was that?