His Christmas Angel: A Sweet YA Holiday Romance (Christmas Snow)

by Kylie Key

  “No?” Hands on hips, Mom tilted her head. “Well, what did happen then?”

  “I just stopped to see Savannah, I didn’t go in, I swear.” It sounded lame to my own ears because regardless, I knew I’d been in the wrong, trying to outsmart them.

  Mom’s expression reminded me of May Taylor’s, complete disappointment. Her eyes dulled and she spun back around to resume slicing the loaf.

  “We grounded you for a reason, Chase,” she said. “We did it so you could learn a lesson. We didn’t do it for the sake of it, to stoke our egos, to play authoritarian. And for you to outright disobey us and to lie about it, well that hurts. It really does.” She sniffed and set down her knife.

  “I’m sorry,” I mumbled, aware that she was genuinely upset. “But I really didn’t go to the party.” From the corner of my eye I could see Dad and Nene standing in the doorway. In the past I would have exploded, answered back and stormed out.

  “Really, Chase? I saw a photo,” she said through clenched teeth.

  Dad closed the door, keeping the twins out of hearing range. “Is it true, Chase?” he asked in a measured voice, “Did you go to the party?”

  “No, I didn’t go to the party. Honest, Dad! I did talk to Savannah, but that was it.”

  “Chase,” Dad said, and I could sense a lecture about to start. “Life isn’t all about fun and games. You have to be accountable for your actions. You have to start being responsible at some point.”

  “But I just...”

  Mom’s interruption was soft but definitive, like she was over me. “I don’t want to argue on Christmas Day,” she said, turning back to the kitchen counter. “I don’t want the girls getting upset.”

  I glanced to Dad with a plea that he should believe me. But he dismissed me too. “Let’s enjoy the day, shall we?” And he nodded to the coffee mugs. I poured drinks for everyone, the mood in the room somewhat frosty. In their minds I’d broken the rules, and that meant I’d lost their trust.

  I can’t say I was proud of myself.

  I had a feeling it was going to be a long day.

  The door burst open, and the twins came racing in with their ukeleles, an annoying present from our next door neighbors. Guess it could have been worse, they could have been trumpets.

  “We’ve made up a song,” they said, giving us no choice but to listen.

  “Reindeer feet, reindeer feet,” they sang to the tune of Jingle Bells, pulling me up to dance, and we slid along the floor in our matching socks.

  Staying out of everyone’s way and sulking for the rest of the day seemed like a good plan, but the girls didn’t let me. They asked me to read their new books to them, play games and taught me how to make bracelets. Karolina had said we could make them for the sick children in the hospital and that sparked an idea.

  “Could you make one for a boy who broke his leg,” I said.

  “What’s his name?” Annalise asked.

  “Jordan. He’s 10.”

  “What color does he like?”

  “I dunno. I think he had green pajamas.”

  “Okay, I’ll do green and purple for him,” Annalise said, carefully selecting strands of thread from the new kit Nene had given them.

  “Who can I do one for?” Karolina asked.

  “There was a little girl called Carlotta,” I said, and Karolina immediately decided lilac and yellow would be right for her. “You have to make one, too,” she said. “Is there someone else?”

  “Uh, there’s a girl called Angelina,” I said, my heart wrenching as I said her name. Angelina was probably having chemotherapy today. Today, on Christmas Day. How much did that suck? And how brave was she to go through it on her own? Well, probably she wasn’t on her own—surely her family would visit her.

  “She might like pink?” Annalise offered, picking out a baby pink thread for me.

  “And this would look pretty,” Karolina said, holding out a bright pink strand for me. “Does she like pink?”

  “I’m sure she does,” I said, wishing that I knew more about her.

  Wishing I knew everything about her.

  Mom and Nene joined us at the table, enthused that we were being creative but I was still reeling from Mom’s dressing-down. I concentrated on my sisters’ instructions, the two of them behaving like they were the older siblings.

  Annalise was giving a detailed explanation of the bracelets we were making for 'the sick children in hospital,’ when she held up a small angel charm and said, “This will be perfect for you, Chase.”

  “Yeah?” The weaving of thread wasn’t as easy as they were making it look.

  “Yeah, if her name is Angelina she must be an angel.”

  A rush of heat surged across my cheeks, and my hope that it would go unnoticed was well and truly obliterated by the beady eyes of Karolina.

  “Why is your face all red, Chase?” she asked with the tactlessness of a seven year old kid.

  I mumbled something about the heating system and pulled hard at the thread in my hand, refusing to lift my head. My skin was now at boiling point, or beyond. My fingers had gone un-co and I couldn’t make anything work. Annalise grabbed my bracelet from me, expertly threading on the charm in one swift movement, announcing to Mom and Nene, “Chase is making this for Angelina.”

  “Mmmmmm.” The lilt in Mom’s tone told me she was smiling, though I daren’t establish eye contact.

  “Mine is for Charlotta,” Karolina said.

  “Car-lotta,” I corrected.

  “Carlotta,” Karolina said. “Why is she in the hospital?”

  “She has something wrong in her chest,” I said, my simplest explanation of pneumonia.

  “And mine’s for Jordan. He broke his leg,” Annalise chipped in, never wanting to be left out of the conversation.

  There were sighs of sympathy from Mom and Nene and then big-mouth Annalise asked, “What about Angelina? What’s wrong with her, Chase?”

  My chest tightened as I tried to find words that would downplay Angelina’s condition. But whether I called it leukemia or cancer there was no way to diminish the disease. In fact I couldn’t find any other way to describe it, and my heart broke as I spoke, “She’s got leukemia.”

  “What’s that?” Annalise asked, but I’d heard Mom’s sharp inhale and she answered for me.

  “It’s when there’s something wrong with your blood, and you need to stay in hospital to get better,” Mom said gently and then she looked to me, lowering her voice. “Is she having chemotherapy?”

  I could only nod, the action of swallowing all of a sudden problematic. So too, breathing. I’d done an online search for leukemia. Apparently it was the most common cancer for teenagers, though I’d never met anyone with the affliction. Survival rates were high but I had no idea how long Angelina had been sick or how much treatment she’d had, or would need. It cut to my bone, that terrible realization that I’d made Angelina do my work when she was seriously ill.

  The girls jumped up and said they were going to find their other beads. Nene went with them.

  I kept my fingers busy trying to finish the knot.

  “How old is Angelina?” Mom asked, setting her coffee mug down on the table.

  I shrugged. “I dunno, maybe 16 or 17.”

  “She’s not from Snow Ridge High?”

  I shook my head, trying to act nonchalant but there was so much I wanted to know. “Uh, do you know much about chemo?” Mom hadn’t worked since the twins were born, and she’d done most of her nursing in the community so I wasn’t sure if she’d dealt with cancer sufferers.

  “A little,” Mom said, explaining how patients could be given both intravenous doses and oral medication when they were staying in the hospital.

  “May said she’s in remission and that this is a maintenance cycle or something.”

  “Well, that’s good,” Mom said.

  “It is?” I perked up.

  “Yes. It’s very good. Remission means there’s no detection of the disease in her body a
nd no symptoms.”

  Hope surged through me, causing my heart rate to accelerate. “So, she’s cured?”

  “Not exactly. Usually a patient has to be clear of the disease for five years before they can be called cured. But remission is the first step to beating the disease.”

  May had called Angelina a fighter but I wondered how long she’d been battling. There wasn’t much to her, and yet I’d made her stack chairs! Thinking about how ludicrous it was made me chuckle.

  Mom looked up with raised eyebrows. “What?”

  “You won’t believe it,” I said, “but I thought Angelina was a volunteer.” I recalled the story, feeling more and more like an idiot but Mom smiled and said, “This girl has caught your eye, hasn’t she?”

  The heat returned to my cheeks. Crazy how thinking about Angelina sent my body into all sorts of chaos. And even crazier was that no matter what I thought about her, it was all going to be in vain.

  After all, she’d made it perfectly clear that she didn’t like me one bit.

  Chapter 7

  Angelina

  LAST DAY OF CHEMO—THAT was how I had to look at it. Instead of thinking that I was spending Christmas Day in the hospital away from my family, I had to tell myself that as long as I got another day I was lucky. Didn’t matter where I was or who I was with, I had to keep the positivity high.

  Nurse May was sad; I could see it. The little boy Austin hadn’t survived heart surgery. He’d been in and out of the hospital his whole three years, and I remembered him from my second course of treatment. But I hadn’t seen him this time round.

  That was another reason I didn’t want to make an issue about being here. Being here was better than not being here. I’d already lived six lifetimes more than Austin.

  My chemo was scheduled for early morning, therefore I was hoping I’d feel better by the time Santa came to visit us. And even maybe well enough for Christmas lunch. Usually at home I’d be helping Mom with the cooking, a glazed ham and turkey and mashed potatoes and a whole bunch of vegetable dishes which none of us kids would eat. The boys always piled their plates with meat and rolls, and then waited for the desserts. Last year it had been a sticky toffee pudding and lots of ice cream, and cookies, so many cookies. I had made snowflake sugar cookies earlier in the week, but I suspected the boys had demolished them by now.

  Dad always kept the farm open until noon on Christmas morning, just in case there were late tree buyers. Sounds crazy I know, but there were always people coming in for last minute purchases—either arriving home as a surprise, or visiting elderly relatives who hadn’t bothered with a tree. So many people hated that—finding their parents had dismissed Christmas either because they thought they’d be alone, or deeming it too much of a hassle. They’d rush in for a tree and spend money on all the decorations too.

  I had it planned in my head that Mom would feed the boys early, and as soon as the farm closed they’d make the trip to Snow Ridge which would take about forty five minutes, allowing for the windy road. That was my wish. I’d cross my fingers that it would happen.

  “Merry Christmas! How’s our Angel today?” Nurse May came in, followed by Nurse Jeffrey with a breakfast tray and a dancing musical snowman that was playing Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer.

  “I’m good,” I said, rubbing at my eyes as I sat up. “Merry Christmas to you, too.”

  Nurse May adjusted my pillows and did all the necessary checks that were second-nature to me now.

  “We’re lucky we’re in here today,” May said, “it’s cold and windy out there.”

  “Is it going to snow?” I asked, the closed blinds giving me no clue as to what was happening in the outside world. Nurse Jeffrey passed me the tray and pulled on the cord to let the light in. Not much, but enough to see it was gloomy out.

  “There’s a few flurries, but not much is hitting the ground,” Jeffrey said with a smile. “This really is the best place to be.”

  I knew they were trying to make me feel good about being here, but I was missing out on Christmas morning with my family. The boys would be madly checking their stockings, and running into the barn to find the secret Santa gifts that were hidden in there. One year Phillip hadn’t been able to find his and we’d all searched frantically. (Yes, even Dad had forgotten that he’d put it under the seat of the ride-on mower.) And the kitchen would smell of bacon and pancakes and cinnamon rolls. And the living room floor would be covered in torn wrapping paper with toys and books scattered all around. And from the dining room window the view overlooked the fields of little trees, the ones in their third or fourth years, dusted with snow.

  I would never take that for granted, ever again.

  May and Jeffrey left me to eat and dress and take my pre-meds, which would help to reduce the nausea and fatigue. I considered myself lucky because the side effects of my chemo had been fairly mild in contrast to what I’d been warned about. After my first round of treatment I’d been worried about my hair falling out but it had only thinned. I’d startled the first time I’d brushed my hair and a clump came out, but in fact worse than that was my eyelashes disappearing, making me look totally weird. I’d made Mom cut my hair after that, psyching myself up to go bald but it had never happened. I’d managed to grow it back to ponytail length now, but it was finer than before. Thankfully my eyelashes had returned, a little shorter and sparser, but as Mom had said there was always mascara. Though I’d never bothered with it, well, not around home.

  It was only since meeting Chase Masters that I’d wished I’d brought my make-up bag with me.

  Chase Masters. Yes, he was an enigma.

  Well, he probably wasn’t—it was most likely me not knowing how to act around him.

  If I could take back yesterday, I would. Pretend it had never happened? Yes, please.

  Being around him made me act like a crazy person, the way I deliberately brushed him off. But it’s like he made chemo brain a real thing. I couldn’t think clearly! My brain seemed to shut down in his presence.

  And it had happened again when I found him standing in my room with a mug of hot chocolate. My embarrassment at waking up with my hair a frizzy mess was equal to his in finding out I was a patient and not a volunteer as he had presumed.

  And the cancer fog had clouded me, making me all teary, and when I’d been on the verge of a breakdown he’d comforted me.

  And I liked it,

  but I didn’t want to like it.

  Because he was too cute, too good looking and the mayor’s son.

  And I was sick and underweight, and could barely keep my eyes open.

  And possibly delusional.

  Yeah, his warm gesture made me forget that I was a cancer sufferer, and his smile made my stomach twist but with butterflies, not nausea.

  So, yeah, I was delusional.

  Besides, he was a volunteer so he had to be kind and helpful to everyone. My fanciful crush was best kept under wraps, guarded safely in my imagination, a hidden place where I could dream a little.

  I brushed my hair, a few loose strands in my hand a stark reminder of my reality. I dipped my fingers into a pot of moisturizing cream and dabbed it on my face. My skin was always dry, but that was likely due to spending time outside and not so much the medications I took. I rubbed the lotion in, noting how sunken my cheeks looked, another indicator that I’d not eaten much in the last few days.

  Oh yeah, Chase’s niceness definitely had to be part of the job description. Because Angelina Smith on Day Four of chemo was not a pretty sight.

  Christmas music was playing in the treatment room. I was the first one in today and Ramela, the technician helped me settle. She was bright and cheery as usual, but I was happy it was my last visit with her.

  She talked about the vacation she was taking to visit her husband’s hometown, making me realize that she was also separated from her family today. So many people made sacrifices to work on Christmas Day, Nurse May, the other nurses and staff. I couldn’t dwell on not being at home, n
ot when my family would be coming in later.

  Back in my own room I dozed a little, woken by my phone chiming beside me. Battling my heavy eyes I saw Mom’s name, prompting all my senses to awaken.

  Sitting up, I clicked the screen to see Mom and Noah’s smiling faces accompanied by an out-of-tune rendition of Hark the Herald Angels Sing. I laughed as Phillip, James, Samuel and Dad all popped in and out of the screen.

  There was a bustle as Samuel and Noah, the two youngest, told me what Santa had brought them, and Mom asking me how I was, and James making silly faces in the background and Phillip with candy canes sticking out of his ears.

  “Was it busy this morning?” I asked. “Did you sell many last minute trees?”

  That’s when Dad came back on screen, his cheeks ruddy as if he’d been outside all morning, his green beanie and thick beard brushed with snow.

  “No,” he said, his face glum. “We didn’t open this morning, Angel.”

  “Why not?” I said, a glimmer of excitement that they were about to surprise me—that they hadn’t opened the farm but instead had driven to Snow Ridge early and were about to burst into my room. Yes, that flashed through my mind, but behind Dad’s head I could see the corner of the calendar that hung on the kitchen wall, and my heart sunk in despair.

  “We’ve been hit with a snowstorm out here,” Dad said, and my eyes instantly averted to my window.

  “It’s not snowing here,” I said.

  “It had been forecast, and a blizzard hit overnight,” he said. “We were so busy yesterday, everyone trying to beat the storm.”

  “There’s hardly any snow here,” I claimed, glancing back to the window for confirmation.

  Mom’s face reappeared on screen. “Angel, we’re snowed in here, baby,” she said, her eyes shining with tears. “The road to Snow Ridge is closed.”

  “Whaaa...?” I couldn’t finish the word. A chill swept through me, and I could barely understand what Dad was saying, something about the road being blocked by heavy snowdrifts and falling trees. My heart had stilled as I grasped what that meant: I was going to be alone this Christmas.