Christmas in Miracle Cove

by Mary Manners

  “Crank the engine,” he called, poking his head from beneath the hood to wave to her. “Give it a whirl.”

  Hope turned the key once more, heard the dreaded click, click, click and groaned. “It’s still dead.”

  “I can try one more thing.”

  “Don’t hurt yourself.”

  “No worries. I’ve done this a dozen times.” He slipped into the driver’s seat of his SUV and revved the engine once, twice, three times. “How about now?”

  Hope gnawed her lip and clutched the key with all her might, turning it as if a little added elbow grease would do the trick.

  Click, click. Click, click, click.

  “I don’t think it’s going to start.” Tears blurred Hope’s vision once more. She was oh, so tired. “I’m afraid you’re right. It’s not gonna budge.”

  The guy came back around to her window. “That battery’s not just dead…it’s, well, really, really DOA.”

  “Great. Sydney’s waiting…” Hope’s voice trembled. She clamped her mouth shut quickly. No point in burdening him with personal details. “Thanks for trying, but I guess I’d better head back inside and see if I can find a ride home.”

  “I’ll take you.”

  “Oh, that’s kind of you, but no.” She shook her head. “I don’t take rides from strangers.”

  “I see.” He scratched his snow-dampened hair, and then wiped his palm on the thigh of his jeans before offering his hand through the open window. “I’m Noah Armstrong. Sam can vouch for me, if you want to go do a cursory background check.”

  “Um…I guess that’s not necessary.” She hesitated only a moment, sniffling. After all, he had gone out of his way to try to help her. “I’m Hope.”

  “Hello, Hope.” He took her hand and gave it a slight shake. His fingers were chilled, and Hope felt a slight stab of contrition for doubting him. “Nice weather we’re having, huh? It’s a bit unusual for late November in East Tennessee.”

  “Oh, yes.” Hope swiped tears of frustration from her face as she burst into a shaky stream of laughter at his attempt to make small talk, easing her distress. “You can say that again.”

  “Like I said, this is crazy weather, Hope.” He winked and squeezed her hand. “There, now we’re not strangers anymore.”

  Noah helped Hope gather what she needed from the car—her purse, a small backpack, and a few to-go containers filled with food from the diner—before they settled into the SUV together. As he eased the vehicle into gear, silence filled the cab. Outside, a gust of wind-swept snowflakes across the windshield while they pulled onto the highway.

  “Okay, you’re gonna have to give me a hint.” Noah cranked up the heater. “Act like a GPS.”

  “A GPS?” Hope scooted her feet beneath the welcome heat at the floorboard and wiggled her numb toes. She wished for a tissue, because her chilled nose was beginning to run. She sniffled. “Why?”

  “Because I need directions. Which way to your house?”

  “Oh, that. Of course you do. Sorry.” She glanced out the window and frowned at the drifting snow. “Turn left at the corner.”

  “You’re new around here, aren’t you?” Noah tapped the brake and gripped the steering wheel. As they merged into traffic, he switched on the radio. Soft music chased away the silence.

  “How did you know?”

  “Summer’s three months into the rearview mirror and you still have the hint of a tan.”

  “Maybe I frequent one of those indoor bronzing places.”

  “Nah.” Noah shook his head. “You don’t seem the type to throw money away on that sort of thing.”

  “Really?” Hope tugged off her mittens and positioned her hands in front of the air blasting from the heater. She rubbed her palms together. “And, just what type am I?”

  “I’m not sure. But, definitely not the fake-tan type.”

  “Left!” Hope lurched forward in the seat and tapped the windshield. “Turn left right here.”

  “Left, right?” Noah teased as he jerked the wheel. The SUV skidded a bit before the tires caught again. Noah gained control and they started down the sideroad. “That was close.”

  “Sorry.” Hope released her death-grip on the door handle. “That wasn’t much notice. Just a couple miles or so down now, on the right.”

  “Baneberry subdivision?”

  “How did you know?”

  “It’s the only subdivision out this way.” He turned on the windshield wipers, and they swished across wet glass, tossing snow back into the wind. “I live there, too.”

  “No way.”

  “Yes, way.”

  “Well, that’s…” Hope shook her head, speechless. “Odd?”

  “It’s probably a blessing that your battery died.”

  “A blessing? How so?”

  “Those bald tires on your car would have never got you home in one piece.”

  “Oh…I guess you’re right.”

  “You need a new set.” Noah nodded. “I’d get them along with the new battery.”

  “So would I, if I had the money.” As soon as the words escaped, Hope wished she could take them back. He didn’t need to know about her financial struggles. She frowned. “Sorry. Ignore that comment.”

  “I will if I can ask you a question.”

  “Fire away.”

  He turned the music down a notch. “You’re not really a waitress, are you?”

  “What does it matter?” Hope unwrapped her scarf from her neck. The heat was working its magic. “I am now.”

  “But you used to be…?”

  “An art teacher at Marine Point Community College.” She shook her head. “But that seems like a lifetime ago.”

  Budget cuts had eliminated her position, and Mama Cantori’s not-so-gentle prodding coaxed her home. “

  I knew it—the angel you sketched on my bill, back at the diner—the detail was captivating.”

  “I do a little drawing for all my customers.”

  “Always an angel?”

  “No, but it just seemed fitting.” She clutched her mittens in one hand as she turned to face him. “Why did you leave me such a generous tip, Noah?”

  “That seemed fitting, too.” He delved into his pocket and drew out a familiar slip of green, lined paper—the check from his lunch. “You were more than kind.”

  “You kept the bill. Why?”

  “Your battery dying—me driving you home—it truly is a blessing…for me, at least.”

  “I’m not following.”

  “Hope, have you ever considered co-directing a Christmas pageant?”

  Chapter 3

  “FOR A CHURCH? NOT IN this lifetime.” Hope tugged the collar of her jacket tight as they inched toward the small, frame house she now called home. “If the congregation knew my history, they’d chase me right out the door. Besides, my life is filled with enough drama without adding to it.”

  Noah frowned. “It can’t be that bad.”

  “Oh, but it is.” She shook her head stiffly. “Just let me out of the car and pretend you never met me. We’ll both be better off that way.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I appreciate the ride, Noah. I really do. But my plate is full. The last thing I need is to add another responsibility, especially this time of the year—at Christmas.”

  “When else is the church supposed to put on a Christmas pageant?”

  “Have you ever heard of Christmas in July?”

  “Get real. You’re joking, right?” He sighed, his gaze clearly registering that he got the memo her stance was no joke at all. Not even a tiny bit. “Tell that to all the kids who had their hopes up.”

  “Kids?” Hope hesitated. “I thought you were talking about adults.”

  “No. The pageant is presented by the children’s choir…a group of elementary school-aged kids who join together at the community church. I made a promise to them, and now I’m hard-pressed to keep it. That’s definitely not my style.”

  His words tugg
ed at Hope, and she struggled to deflect them.

  “You shouldn’t make promises unless you can keep them.”

  “I didn’t say I wouldn’t keep my promise. It’s just going to be difficult without some help.” He scratched his chin as his gaze leveled with hers. “Look, we put on a pageant every Christmas, but this year we’ve had a slight setback. The woman who volunteered to help me is in the hospital, and I can’t manage everything alone—”

  “You can stop right there. It really doesn’t matter. Christmas pageants mean lots of music, and I don’t know the first thing about music.”

  “Oh, Mrs. Chandler is taking care of the music. We’ve got that covered. It’s the set that we need help with—backdrops, props…that kind of thing. And, seeing how you have a background in art and teaching, well, you’d be perfect.”

  Open mouth, insert foot, chew carefully…

  “I don’t have the time, and I haven’t been to church in”—she counted on her fingers— “at least six years. I’m sure I don’t have the qualifications to help with anything church-related.”

  “Six years doesn’t have to become seven, Hope.”

  “Save the sermon.” Hope shifted in the seat as she motioned toward the road once more. “Pull in here. This is my house.”

  Noah set the turn signal and tapped the break. “What time do you go into work tomorrow?”

  “Five.”

  He frowned. “Tell me you mean PM.”

  “No, AM. Why?”

  The frown contorted to a grimace. His blue eyes darkened a shade or two. “I’ll pick you up and drive you in.” He set the break as they eased to the top of the short driveway.

  “But—”

  “No arguments.” Noah left the motor running as he slipped from the seat and went around the car to open the passenger-side door for her. “I’ll be back at four forty-five sharp, Hope.”

  “If you insist.” She took his hand and stepped carefully into the snow. The chill seeped through her tennis shoes to numb her toes once more. She really had no other choice than to accept Noah’s offer. It was that or walk to work. And the highway didn’t look all too safe in daylight. She could only imagine the harrowing walk through an icy, pre-dawn dark. She gathered her purse and the to-go containers that held Sydney’s dinner. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” He nodded, closing the passenger door and returning to the driver’s side. “See you in the morning.”

  Hope stumbled up the walk, her toes screaming in the damp tennis shoes. She’d have to add boots to the growing list of things she and Sydney needed. Behind her, the SUV’s engine revved as Noah backed from the drive. Taillights winked as he crawled east, turning into a snow-packed driveway across the street and only two houses down. They were neighbors.

  “Mom, look at the snow!” Sydney’s voice drew Hope’s attention. The child had thrown open the front door and rushed onto the porch. “Can we make a snowman?”

  “That depends…” Though her back was strained and Sydney, at five-and-a-half, was much too big to be carried, Hope dropped her purse and the small backpack and scooped up the child. She smelled of peanut butter and vanilla swirled with a dab of strawberries. Her wavy, copper-red hair was pulled back in a neat braid and her blue eyes danced with mischief. A spattering of freckles dusted her nose. “Have you been a good girl?”

  “Yep. Extra good.” Sydney nodded vigorously. “Mama Cantori says I get a gold star today.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Uh huh. We made sugar cookies with silver cookie cutters and I got to frost them and shake on the sprinkles.” She pressed a hand to Hope’s cheek. “They’re pretty, Mom, and I made a special one just for you.”

  “Did you?”

  “Yes. It’s an angel with wings and everything.” Sydney glanced over her shoulder toward the drive, and her mouth suddenly turned into a frown. “Where’s the car, Mom?”

  “It’s at the diner.” Hope gnawed her lower lip to keep the waterworks from starting up again. “It’s feeling a little sick.”

  “Like I was?”

  “Kind of.”

  “But I’m all better now, so the car will be, too. Right?”

  “Right.” Hope set Sydney down as they entered the kitchen, where Mama Cantori stood at the sink rinsing a baking sheet. It brought back memories of when she was a little girl, and the huge-hearted woman took her in as a foster child. Weeks had turned to months and then years until life with Mama and her generous husband, Lorenzo, became a home Hope cherished. Bing Crosby’s “White Christmas” drifted from a radio beside the microwave and Mama Cantori hummed along. The velvety voice reminded Hope of the approaching holiday. How would she buy Sydney’s gifts? The worry was like a sliver embedded beneath her skin, nagging her. On the counter, steam bubbled from a crock pot. The aroma of carrots and a plump, juicy roast filled the room. Hope’s appetite roared. “Oh, I’ll get those.”

  Hope rushed to the sink to help with the dishes.

  “Nonsense. I’m almost done.” Mama Cantori set the baking sheet in the dish drain to dry and then wiped the counter before untying an apron from her ample hips. “There, done.”

  “I’m sorry I’m late.” Hope placed the bag of to-go cartons in the refrigerator as Sydney pirouetted around the table. Yes, the child was back to her old self, completely healed. “I had some trouble getting the car started.”

  “I saw Noah Armstrong drop you off. Did you run by the church, first?”

  “The church?” Hope’s pulse stuttered. “What church?”

  “Miracle Cove Community Church.” She propped her reading glasses atop white hair, woven into a neat bun. “He’s the youth director there.”

  “Youth director?” She hesitated. “At the church?”

  “Of course, but you say that as if it’s a bitter taste in your mouth.” Her eyebrows knit together. “Did you fall and bump your head, Hope? You’re not making a lick of sense.”

  “No. I should have put two and two together. I mean, he came into the diner and then he tried to help me with the car. When he couldn’t get the battery to turn over, he offered me a ride. And then he mentioned a Christmas pageant.”

  “Yes, the children’s pageant on Christmas Eve.” She shook her head. “It’s such a shame…Mrs. Donaldson in the hospital.”

  “Mrs. Donaldson?”

  “Never mind.” Mama Cantori waggled her plump fingers. “Are you going to help Noah with the pageant?”

  “Of course not. How could I?”

  “How could you, indeed?” Mama’s dark eyes narrowed, causing a deep furrow along her forehead. “You should consider all the possible ways you might help, Hope. Noah’s a nice man…a generous man. He’s a good neighbor—always willing to roll up his sleeves and offer assistance.” She nodded. “I’m glad he’s finally getting out again—outside of church, that is. What happened to that poor man, well…” She wrinkled her nose. “…it was beyond awful.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Mama glanced at the clock. “Oh my, it’s getting late.” She shook her head, pressing a hand to her lips. “I must go start dinner for Lorenzo. He’ll be home from work soon and ravenous, as always.”

  “But the roast—”

  “I made that for you and Sydney, dear.”

  “Thank you, Mama.” Hope’s eyes filled with tears. There was no end to the elderly woman’s generosity. “One day I’ll pay you back for all the heartache I’ve caused.”

  “Nonsense. God has a way of turning heartaches into blessings.” She wrapped a scarf around her head and then gathered her long, wool coat from a hook on the kitchen wall. “I’ll be back in the morning…early, right?”

  “Yes, I have the breakfast shift again.”

  Though waking in the middle of the night was less than appealing, Hope actually preferred the early shift. She was halfway done with the work before Sydney even woke, and returned home as Sydney finished her day at kindergarten. That left plenty of daylight to spend with her daughter. Exce
pt for today, when a cluster of heavy, gray clouds stole the sunlight and made three o’clock seem like midnight.

  “Mom, can we build a snowman now?”

  “We’ll see.” Hope dipped a spoon into the crock pot and nibbled a chunk of potato. Mmm…delicious. “Say good-bye to Mama Cantori, first.”

  “Bye, Mama Cantori.” Sydney flew across the room and into the woman’s outstretched arms. “I love you.”

  “Bye, sweetie.” Mama Cantori pressed her lips to Sydney’s copper crown. “I love you too, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Noah heard Hope’s happy squeals all the way down the street, and the laughter cut like a knife. After two years, it shouldn’t still bother him so deeply…the fact that Denise had left. Who would have thought he’d end up divorced? He couldn’t help but shoulder much of the blame. After all, she’d made her plans for their future together more than clear before they’d exchanged marriage vows. He should have considered every possibility—or lack thereof.

  A sense of failure gnawed at him. Maybe he’d never get over her or the ache that had set up residence in his heart when the doctor gave him the devastating news that carved a direct route to the demise of his marriage and the future he’d so carefully planned— and so desperately longed for.

  He’d never have children.

  Noah glanced out the living room window. Three houses down floodlights cut through the cloud-covered afternoon. Hope was busy rolling a snowball across the ground while a little girl stood by her side, watching. The girl’s wavy red hair, a lighter version of Hope’s, peeked from beneath a yellow knit cap. When the ball grew large enough, Hope set it atop two others, making a snowman complete by giving him a smooth, rotund head. She hoisted the child into the air and giggled as together they added eyes, hair crafted from what looked like purple yarn, and a carrot nose.