by Leah Atwood
He rolled up the vacuum cord and ran a dust cloth over his furniture. Stepped back and examined his tree, searched for any empty branches. Zoe had decorated her tree with perfect spacing between each ornament and lightbulb. When Donovan looked at his, he became aware how amateurish his looked.
Too many ornaments huddled together on the lower branches, and they’d been arranged—if one could call it that—with no rhyme or reason. He reached for a snowflake with the intention to move it, then stopped. Brody had hung those ornaments, and even if they weren’t perfect, Donovan wouldn’t change it.
His imperfectly decorated tree had provided an afternoon of perfect fun for him and Brody. They’d laughed and smiled, sang Jingle Bells and O Christmas Tree. He’d lifted Brody to put the star on top, and when they’d finished, had turned off the house lights and plugged in the tree, then watched A Charlie Brown Christmas.
The tree wouldn’t win any awards, but it was his and Brody’s tree, and that’s how it would stay. He stepped back and looked at it anew. On second examination, he decided it was the most beautifully decorated tree he’d ever had.
He went to the kitchen and started a fresh pot of coffee brewing. Whatever still had to be done, could wait. His home was presentable, clean, and organized. For the most part. He didn’t need to strive to impress Zoe with a false sense of who he was and how he lived. He wouldn’t leave dirty socks lying around, but neither would he worry if every countertop appliance didn’t sit in a perfectly aligned row.
Once the coffee finished, he poured a cup and sat at the counter, looking at the menu for La Pizzeria. Zoe liked Peruvian peppers and mushrooms, and he preferred his loaded with meat. He could do half and half, but why not splurge and have leftovers? Then neither would have to worry about lunch or dinner tomorrow. He called in the order and scheduled the delivery for one that afternoon.
The minutes ticked by, along with the time Zoe had said she’d be there. Hmm. Punctuality was her trademark, and if she even thought she’d be late, she’d call or send a message. She’s probably stuck in traffic and can’t call because she won’t use her phone when behind the wheel. No need to worry yet.
A half-hour later, a worrisome knot formed in his stomach. Something wasn’t right. He slipped his phone out of his pocket and called her. When she didn’t answer, the knot grew. Please, Lord, let her be safe. I don’t know why I have this gut feeling, but please let it be wrong. He sent her a text, asking her to call. There wasn’t much else he could do but wait.
Another thirty minutes passed, and he heard a car pull into the driveway. He jumped up and rushed to the window, hoping to see Zoe. Disappointment flooded him when he saw the delivery driver from La Pizzeria. He met him at the door, paid and tipped, then set the pizzas on the counter.
He didn’t want to come across pushy, but he couldn’t shake the concerned feeling hovering over him like a dark raincloud on a summer night. Giving in to his emotions, he called her again and left a message.
Maybe she took a nap and slept later than she’d planned. He’d done that before after a late night of work, and he knew she’d stayed up several hours after they finished with the candy canes last night because she wanted to have tonight’s ready. That had to be the answer. Now that he’d found a reasonable explanation, the unsettled feeling in his stomach eased.
Forty-five minutes later, another car pulled into the driveway. Relief poured into him when he saw Zoe’s car, then immediately tensed up when she stepped out of her car with a tear-stained face. What happened? His heart froze in fear for her. She’d suffered more than any one person should have to. He prayed nothing had happened.
He opened the door to greet her before she could knock. “I was getting worried about you. Did you get my messages?”
Every muscle on her face was strung tight. In his relief to see her, he hadn’t noticed her angry countenance.
A tear slid down her cheek. “How could you?”
He jerked his head backward, stunned by her accusatory tone. “How could I what?”
“Don’t play dumb with me, Donovan.” Her throat constricted. “I knew better than to trust someone in the media, but I thought you were different.”
“What are you talking about?” He extended an arm to lay a hand on her shoulder, but she jerked away.
“How much did they pay you?” Her words spewed out with a venomous tone. “I’m sure your boss loves you for taking the story to the competition.”
He scratched his jaw, thoroughly confused. “Why don’t you come inside from the cold, and we’ll figure this out.”
“There’s nothing to figure out. You betrayed me, and that’s that.” Her angry glare shifted to hurt.
But how could he help if she wouldn’t tell him what he’d supposedly done?
This behavior wasn’t characteristic of her. He’d never heard her utter a mean or condemning word about anyone. Even when she spoke of her parents, she’d kept her composure, and they’d given her plenty of reasons to lose it.
“Zoe…” He called out her name, but she was already halfway to her car.
She backed out of his driveway without a glance his way.
He prayed she wasn’t driving out of his life. His eyes locked on her car until it disappeared out of view. His heart pounded, and his chest froze. What had happened? How many times could he ask the same question in a two-minute span?
Closing the door behind him, his mind raced. She’d claimed he betrayed her. But how? Why wouldn’t she say?
His phone rang, and he hurried to answer it, praying it was Zoe coming to her senses, but it wasn’t.
Gerard Driscoll, his editor, spoke with an edge to his tone and jumped directly to the point. “Is your girlfriend Zoe behind the candy canes around town?”
“She’s not my girlfriend… not exactly… and what do you mean?” Had he entered the twilight zone?
“WTCH ran a story on their morning show identifying Zoe Daniels as the mystery benefactor behind the candy canes.” An unrestrained tone of censure filled his voice. “What do you know about it?”
Oh no. No. NO. NOOO. “I knew she was the person behind it, sir.”
“And you let the competition have the story?”
“Absolutely not. I gave Zoe my word that I wouldn’t tell anyone.” He blew out a breath. “Not even for a story. And why would I give it to WTCH when I could have kept it for a hit story for myself?”
“I don’t know, Donovan, but I have Talbot on my case, and he’s not very happy.” Gerard sighed.
“Isn’t our motto people first? Tell him I put Zoe first by keeping her secret.” He prayed his bosses and their longstanding traditions would come through for him. He couldn’t handle losing Zoe and his job.
“Fair enough. I’ll do my best to smooth this over because I know your character. If you kept it quiet, you must have had a good reason.”
Donovan released a silent sigh of relief. “I’ll find a way to make it up to the paper.”
He didn’t know how, but he’d figure out something. First, he had to find who at WTCH uncovered the story and how, and then he had to find Zoe and make her see he hadn’t betrayed her trust.
Her lack of faith in him hurt, but considering her past, he understood.
“Now that the story’s out, do you have anything you could add? Maybe exclusive insight to who Zoe Daniels is?” Gerard asked in a hopeful tone.
Anger bubbled within his chest, and he tried to keep it out of his answer. “First, I haven’t seen the clip to know what was said. Second, I won’t break Zoe’s trust in me. Anything that could be added to the story would have to come from her directly.”
“I was afraid you’d say that, and I have to admit, I respect you for it.” Gerard paused. “It’s not easy when integrity clashes with a good story, but integrity always wins.”
Thank You, Lord, for their understanding and commitment to ethical journalism. “I agree.”
“If you do get permission to share anything, please let me know immedi
ately.”
“I will.” When the call ended, Donovan logged on to WTCH’s webpage to watch the clip from the morning news.
He grimaced when they flashed a still shot of her at the hospital, and another at the mall. The story didn’t reveal the initial source but once given a tip, the investigative reporter had secretly followed her. On a night Donovan hadn’t been there. He groaned. One more reason to make Zoe suspicious of him.
There was only one thing to do. He’d drive over to the station, use every connection available to him, and find out who tipped off the station. If he had to offer a compromise or even first take of his next big story, then so be it. Zoe was worth whatever effort it took to correct the situation. He’d track that person down and ask them to come with him to Zoe’s apartment to offer an explanation and prove Donovan’s innocence.
One way or another, he’d get his girl back and restore her trust.
Chapter Eleven
Tears overflowed from Zoe’s eyes. She promised herself she wouldn’t cry anymore, but then she’d see or hear something that reminded her of Donovan and all her emotions overflowed into liquid pools.
In the three days since her life had turned upside down, she’d received countless phone calls and emails asking for exclusive interviews. Everyone wanted their own slice of her story. The only problem was, it was her story, not theirs.
If she’d wanted the attention, she would have announced herself in the beginning. No news outlet could possibly understand the heart of why she’d started. They’d take her pain and exploit it for ratings.
She’d stopped checking her email, had seriously considered changing her phone number. If she had one wish this Christmas, it would be to make it all stop.
No, that wouldn’t be it.
Her one wish would be for it to never have happened. Then Donovan wouldn’t have betrayed her, and her heart wouldn’t be shattered to pieces. How could she have been so wrong about him? That’s what she got for falling in love with him in a month when she’d kept herself closed off for the five years before that.
Snowball jumped on her lap, and Coal lay down beside her. Even they sensed her heartache and comforted her by sitting near her and not on their usual opposite ends of the sofa. Some Christmas Eve this turned out to be.
She scratched Coal behind the ears. “What am I going to do?”
The thought of moving crossed her mind, but she squelched it. Nativity was her home, for better or worse—and while the worse weighed heavier at the moment, she loved this town. She wouldn’t let one person’s betrayal push her away. She’d even started to make friends at church—real friends, deeper than the superficial.
Thanks to Donovan who motivated me to seek friendships. Ironic, huh?
Her doorbell rang, and she ignored it. Reporters across the state and even the country had shown up at her door, hoping for an interview. The intrusion into her privacy annoyed her more than the emails and phone calls. Was there no respect left in the world? How were they getting into the complex? Someone had to be giving out the code, which went against the policy.
She had half a mind to call the office and report the latest press member for trespassing.
Why not share your story personally since you’ve already been discovered?
Pride. She pulled her cardigan closed around her. Since Donovan had broken her trust, she’d wallowed in self-pity, letting her wounds fester. A heart could only be repaired so many times.
I am close to the brokenhearted, My child.
The reminder snapped her into reality. True, Donovan had hurt her, but she shouldn’t have allowed him the power to ruin her Christmas. Christmas was about friends and family, gifts and wonder.
But more than any of those combined, it was the celebration of the Savior’s birth.
The small inconveniences she’d experienced by having her identity discovered were nothing compared to what He’d gone through to save the world. To continue moping contradicted all that the holiday stood for. She’d been through worse than this in her life—much worse—and came out standing. She’d come out on the other side of this on two feet as well.
Her heart still ached, but her attitude shifted. She got off the sofa and went to her computer, set her music streaming service to her favorite Christmas station. To prove to herself she’d shifted perspectives, she logged into her email for the first time in days. Ignoring any pertinent messages for the sole sake of not seeing information requests was foolish and served no purpose. All she had to do was delete those with a click of the mouse.
Three hundred new emails waited for her. Her eyes widened as she scanned the subjects. Thank you. Your candy cane saved my life. My Candy Cane Story. Thank you for the candy cane wish. You don’t know me, but I wanted to share my story.
The list continued. She returned to the top and opened the first email.
Dear Ms. Daniels,
For three years, I’ve wanted to thank whoever left the candy cane in the hospital waiting room, and now I have that opportunity.
My father had a heart attack on Thanksgiving three years ago. His prognosis was grim, and I was devastated. You see, my mom left when I was five, so Dad was the only parent I’ve ever known. I was a senior in college at the time and had commuted from home all four years to stay close to Dad. I sat in that waiting room for hours, wondering how I’d go on without him.
I picked up a magazine, a last-ditch effort to reroute my worrisome thoughts. A candy cane fell out with a slip of paper attached. On it was written a verse that said God would be a father to the fatherless. It was exactly what I needed to hear at that moment.
Without your message on the candy cane that night, I imagine my life would have turned out bitter when Dad passed away several days later. I know without a doubt he is in a better place now and singing praises to the Lord he loved.
I miss him every day, but I am married now and expecting my first child next spring. Dad’s legacy will live on in all that he taught me which I’ll soon be able to pass on to my son.
Thank you again, for the candy cane wish. It changed my life, and I imagine countless others.
With Gratitude,
Meghan Dewitt
Zoe wiped a tear. This was what the candy canes had been about, and a deep sense of fulfillment began healing her own fresh pain.
She opened the next one and the next. Story after story told her how she’d made a difference in the lives of Nativity and beyond. Father, thank You for the ministry You placed on my heart. She took a break after reading the first hundred emails. Her eyes needed a rest and her emotions overflowed.
Although Donovan’s betrayal stung, she never would have heard all the inspiring stories if her identity hadn’t been made public. Each email became a healing balm that soothed her battered heart. That almost made everything that happened worth it.
Almost.
She heated a can of chicken noodle soup for lunch, then ironed her clothes for the Christmas Eve service later that night. She’d planned to attend with Donovan but would go solo again this year. Once she got to church, she’d find someone to sit with. No more withdrawing into a shell to protect herself from hurt. Even though she still reeled from Donovan’s action, she’d had a taste of friendship and couldn’t go back to only having acquaintances.
The doorbell rang for the third time that day. Instead of ignoring it as she had earlier, she decided to answer, and politely tell the person she wasn’t interested in giving an interview. She opened the door and froze, not expecting to see Donovan. He stood with the reporter from WTCH who’d run the story on her.
She clenched her jaw and crossed her arms. Stared at them without speaking a word. All the stabbing pain of his betrayal rushed to fill her face with heat. They had a lot of nerve showing up at her home.
Donovan’s gaze shifted to her hand about to close the door then back to her face. “I know you don’t want to see me right now, let alone talk to me, but I have to talk to you. I can explain what happened.”
The urge to shut the door in his face ran strong, but she stepped back and let him in, along with Marv Markel, the reporter. She gestured to the living room, inviting them to have a seat. She sat in the armchair, giving them the sofa.
Snowball jumped on Marv’s lap, and the man appeared horrified. Serves him right. She could have called the cat down from him, but she rather enjoyed seeing him squirm. Only when he sneezed, and she realized he could be allergic, did she pat her knee and call the cat to her.
Marv folded his hands in front of him and leaned forward at a slight angle. “This isn’t usual procedure, but Donovan wouldn’t relent until I agreed to speak with you.”
She stroked the cat’s fur and gauged the man’s body language. He didn’t want to be there, so she’d let him have his say, and send him out with Donovan. “What about?”
“Donovan didn’t know anything about the story until after we aired it, and he’s not our tipster.”
“Oh.” Her mouth gaped, and she processed the information. She’d been so convinced Donovan betrayed her, she hadn’t considered the possibility of anyone else. But who could have known? “How did you find out it was me?”
“A nurse at the hospital saw you on the security cam. I can’t reveal her name without risking her job, but she called the station, and we went from there.” Marv tilted his head. “This guy had nothing to do with it, and for what’s it’s worth, I’ve never seen a man work so hard to win his girl back.”
Her chest sunk to her stomach. Donovan hadn’t done a single thing wrong, and she’d treated him like dirt. Could he forgive her?
If he’d gone through all that trouble to prove his innocence, surely that meant they still had a chance, didn’t it?
She met his gaze with tears in her eyes and mouthed an apology.
Marv stood up and excused himself. “If I’m not needed here any longer, I’ll be on my way. I wish you both a Merry Christmas.”
“I’ll see you to the door.” She rose to her feet and took several steps, but Hans stopped her.
“I can find my way.” Marv darted a glance from her to Donovan. “I have a feeling the two of you have lots of talking to do.”
