Elijah didn’t say anything. He just shook his head.
“I want…” She swallowed. “I need to honor my mother’s dying wish.” She wrenched free of his hand. “I want you to leave me alone and never talk to me again.”
His face went ashen. “Chris, please! Don’t do this.”
“I mean it. We’re through.” She pushed past him and made her way to the family limo. In the background she heard Elijah whisper, “I love you, Chris.”
But she didn’t stop, because her happiness didn’t matter anymore.
A Girl Named Christmas
A Girl Named Christmas
Chapter Ten
Twenty-five years later.
“Christmas! Chris.”
Chris slowly opened her eyes. Marty stood in a blur over her head.
“Wake up, dear sister.”
Chris rubbed her eyes and yawned. “What time is it?”
“Eight. Did you sleep out here all night?”
The realization of the evening came back to her. She was on the couch, clutching her new journal. A soft morning glow streamed through the cracked shades. The haze of ashes from the fireplace floated through the rays of light. “I guess I did.”
“You really should have gotten a good night’s sleep.” Marty handed out a cup of coffee.
“Please don’t lecture me.” Chris stretched her arms, then took the cup. “Not today.”
She nodded and offered a tight smile. “I’m sorry, Chris. I know I can be a little motherly sometimes.” Marty rested on the rocking chair and sipped her morning tea.
“Can I ask you a question?”
Marty looked over the top of her mug. “Mmhmm.”
“Do you regret never marrying?”
Her sister thoughtfully placed her cup in her lap. “Once upon a time, maybe.”
“Really? Who was he?”
Marty smiled. “I guess I can’t take my dark secret to the grave.”
Chris scooted to the end of the cushion and leaned forward on her knees. “Go on.”
“He was a preacher at the Memorial Chapel. I really liked him, but he didn’t want to wait for Amy to be grown and I didn’t want to bring a teenager into a new marriage.” She took a sip from her mug and continued, “We probably could have worked through it, but I was stubborn. I figured it wasn’t God’s will. That or Mom’s voice in my head.”
Chris knew that voice all to well. “Did he ever marry?”
Marty’s smile wobbled a bit. “Yeah, about fifteen years ago to a choir member.”
“I’m sorry.”
She shook her head. “Nah, I’m happy with my life. I’m too headstrong for any man to manage.”
“I was in love once.” Chris swallowed.
“Really?” Marty seemed surprised. “I always thought you were against the idea of dating.”
Chris crossed her arms and sat back. “You don’t remember the night Mom died?”
A flicker of pain flashed through Marty’s eyes. “Vividly.”
Chris cupped her mug in her hand. The warm steam seeped out and caressed her hands. “Do you remember what we were fighting about?”
She shrugged. “Not really…wait, about the gardener boy.”
“Elijah Thompson.”
Marty placed her cup on the floor by her chair and leaned forward. “So, we weren’t imagining things. You really did like him.”
Chris nodded. “Yeah.”
“But if that was so, why did you stop seeing him. We assumed it wasn’t true, because we never saw him again.”
Chris let out a deep sigh. Though it was a long time ago, it still hurt. “I told him not to come back. That I wanted him to let me grant my dead mother’s wishes.” She held up the heart, diamond ring and laid it on the table.
Marty leaned forward and scooped up the ring. She met Chris’ eyes. “Did he give you this?”
“Yeah, the night mom died.” She sighed. “It was supposed to be a promise ring.”
Marty pinched her lips together. “Mom thought it was an engagement ring. It’s all coming back to me now.” A sudden look of panic came over her expression. “You drove him away because you blamed yourself?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, hon. No. It wasn’t your fault.”
Chris sniffed. The memory of that night still seemed fresh in her heart. As fresh as the love for the man she chased away. “It was. Mom died because I was selfish.”
Marty got up, wrapped her arms around her and pulled her back to the couch. “Mom’s heart was a ticking time-bomb. If it wasn’t you, it would have been something or someone else.” She squeezed Chris’s hand. “The doctor said he was surprised her heart hadn’t given out years ago.”
Chris stared at her hands. Tears formed that seemed to come from way back in a hidden place, a spot that hadn’t been allowed to feel in a long time. Secretly, she still loved the boy who stole her heart. Yet, the guilt of losing her mother, well she wasn’t sure that would ever go away. She rested her head on Marty’s shoulder, and allowed herself to cry.
“You miss him?” she asked softly.
“Yes.” Chris sat up and wiped her eyes with her nightgown sleeve. “But I think it is the reason this birthday is harder than the rest—I’m forty, making me officially an old maid.”
“If you’re an old maid, what does that make me?”
“An ancient maid.” Chris laughed through her tears.
“Thanks a lot.” She pushed Chris and laughed. Marty stood and offered her hand. “We’d better get ready. There will be a lot of people here in a few hours.”
“I’m glad everyone is coming, but why didn’t you tell me who, so I could buy enough gifts?”
Marty smiled. “It was Amy’s idea. It’s a birthday party for you and Jesus. Christmas is out. No one is to bring a gift for anyone else. Just for you or the church.”
“What?” Chris didn’t know what to say. “Why?”
Marty shrugged. “You’ve never really had a good birthday party and Amy was insistent. You know how she can be.” She knocked Chris’s arm. “Now go get beautiful. They’ll be here soon.”
****
The doorbell rang and Chris moved to go down the stairs, but halted. Instead, she sat on the landing like she had so many times as a kid and listened as Marty answered. “Amy!” Marty said. “It’s so good to see you. Look how fashionable you are.”
Chris slid down a couple of steps and peered around the wall. Amy was breathtaking, as always. She wore a pink and black pleated skirt, a black knit top, a short leather jacket and heeled boots. Her blonde hair was cut in a wispy bob, streaked with hi-lights.
“This is Brian.”
“Nice to meet you, Brian,” Marty said.
Chris couldn’t see him. He must be tall. His head was hidden behind the archway. Take him in the living room so I can see the “best boyfriend ever.” They must have read her mind. He stood about a foot taller than the five-foot-two Amy. He had dark features that made him appear either Hispanic or Italian. A slight patch of hair lay on his chin and a black turtleneck gave him a bohemian look. Perfect for Amy .
“It’s been too long. Aren’t I a genius to do this?”
Chris smiled. Amy may be in her thirties, but she was still the same girl.
“Absolutely,” Marty said. “Can I get you two anything to drink?”
Brian shook his head and Amy batted at the air. “Don’t fawn on me. I know where the kitchen is if I need anything. I spent most of my childhood in there cleaning dishes and peeling potatoes.”
Martha sat in the rocking chair and folded her hands on her knees. “So, Brian. Tell me about yourself. Where did you and Amy meet?”
He brought a balled hand to his mouth and cleared his throat. “I work at the college.”
She touched his knee. “He’s too modest. He teaches at Harvard and is an acclaimed author in his field.”
Marty pressed her lips together, obviously weighing her repeated question. “And how did you meet?”
&
nbsp; They glanced at each other. “I was his student.”
Chris laughed. They all turned her way. Whoops.
“Chris, is that you? What are you doing?”
She tiptoed back up the stairs. Hopefully, they didn’t see her. She wasn’t ready to face them just yet. Her makeup wasn’t even done. She stepped to the mirror and stared at her reflection. Black rings lined below her eyes. A bit of foundation might fix that. She wanted to look as good as possible. Her health was likely to be on the topic of discussion. The less they had to judge, the better.
In the back of her closet, she located the plum wrap-dress her sister bought her when she came home from the hospital. Though she dressed up a lot more these days, mainly to make herself look better than she felt, she still preferred jeans. She pulled off her nightgown and stepped into the rayon dress. She wrapped the side around her waist and tied it at her side. Her figure looked better than she imagined. Curves. How she hated them as a kid. She pulled the sides of her hair up and frowned at the hints of gray. When was the last time she curled her hair instead of fastening it with a clip or rubber band? Now that her hair had grown in again, maybe it was time. She turned on her curling iron and let it heat.
A knock at her door startled her.
“Can I come in?” came Marty’s voice.
“Sure.”
“Are you okay?”
Chris glanced at her sister. She wore a simple Christmas sweater and slack combination. “Maybe this dress is a bit much, huh?”
She shook her head. “No, it looks great. Do you want a sweater?”
Here it came. The mothering. “No, I’m not cold. The central heating Tom put in is actually working today.”
“All right. Well, almost everyone is here. So, hurry if you can.”
Chris forced a smile. “I’ll be down shortly. Just want to put on a bit of make up.”
Marty lifted an eyebrow.
She probably didn’t even know I owned any.
“Okay, see you downstairs.” Marty closed the door and lingered outside. Chris stared at the shadow under the door. Finally, she moved away.
Chris exhaled at her reflection. After an application of foundation, powder, blush, mascara and a light layer of lip-gloss, she actually looked pretty. No one would ever know the year I’ve been through. She finished with curling the ends of her hair. By the time she was done, she looked five years younger. Maybe ten. She winked, then laughed.
“Well, Marty, I hope you’re happy. I’m going to give it the old college try.” Chris opened the door and caught her breath in her throat. At the end of the staircase she saw the most amazing blue eyes. Elijah?
A Girl Named Christmas
A Girl Named Christmas
by
Kimberlee R. Mendoza
A Girl Named Christmas Page 5
