The Missing Piece (Inspirational Love Story)

by Carol McCormick

  Lorraine felt herself blush, even though no one would have heard the comment. Then, when it was time to throw the bouquet, Lorraine pulled Connie aside and whispered, “Please don’t tackle anyone.”

  “Who, me?” she said, raising her eyebrows and lifting her shoulders in an innocent shrug. Amazingly, Connie caught the bouquet without knocking anyone down.

  Dylan parked in front of the Temple Street house that he and Doug had restored. “Your Christmas present’s in here. Come inside with me. I want you to see the house anyway.”

  Snuggling further under his arm, Lorraine smiled up at him and playfully brushed her fingertip across his lip. “It’s our honeymoon, Dyl. Can’t we look at it later?”

  “It’ll only take a minute,” he said, kissing the pad of her finger before sliding out of his seat and opening her door.

  Lorraine stepped out of the car and grasped her dress at the knees to lift the hem out of the snow. Her cream-colored boots just covered her ankles where they were daintily laced and tied in a small bow. The heels were only two inches high. Thankfully, the snow was only two inches deep.

  It was already dark at five o’clock and the porch light was on when they walked up to the house. Lorraine’s gloved hand touched the snow-covered railing when she ascended the stairs. Soft shades of mint green and white spindle-posts were secured to the banister that wrapped around the porch before attaching to the house. Two large picture windows graced the front exterior, divided only by the front door. Dylan pulled the keys from his pocket and flipped through them looking for the right one.

  As she waited, Lorraine hitched up her collar then glanced up at the beautiful cut-glass globe above their heads. Her gaze drifted toward Temple Street where the snow fell lazily to the ground and covered the earth with a shimmering blanket of white. Their sole footprints were the only tracks on that tranquil Christmas Eve. The traffic seemed to have come to a halt. Lorraine imagined families snuggled together in warm homes with gifts piled high under twinkling trees, while sipping eggnog and eating sugar sprinkled cookies of red and green.

  She looked up at Dylan in awe, truly amazed at the man he’d become. It was a night like this when they had separated and now on the same type of wintry night, they were joined together again as man and wife. It seemed only fitting that their marriage took place at the same time Christ’s birth is celebrated, since He is the One who birthed new life in both of them.

  Dylan slipped the key into the lock and turned the knob as he pushed the door open. He swept his hand forward for Lorraine to go in, and said, “After you, my dear.”

  She tipped her head in appreciation. “Why, thank you, sir.”

  They stamped into the entryway while wiping their feet, as Dylan flicked on the light.

  When they entered the house, Lorraine immediately noticed that the living room was fully furnished. “Is someone already living here?” She began to whisper, “Won’t the owners be upset that we’re in their home?”

  Dylan laughed. “It’s Christmas Eve, Lorraine.” Then he stepped back to watch her reaction.

  Still puzzled, she stood there looking at him.

  “Lorraine, this is your Christmas gift!” His smile widened further.

  Lorraine looked at him in disbelief then surveyed the living room furniture again. “You mean this is all mine?” When she saw him nod that it was true, she screamed like she’d won the lottery. “Oh, Dylan! It’s beautiful!” She rushed to the sofa and sat down on it, then pulled her gloves off and spread her hands over the cushions, and then over the coffee table in front of her. She picked up a pillow and hugged it to herself. “It’s all so gorgeous!”

  “You’re the one who’s gorgeous.” Dylan looked so calm, so content and peaceful as he watched her joyous merriment, and then he said, “You can change anything that you don’t like.”

  “Why would I want to change anything?” She set the pillow down. “I love it! Let’s go back to the church to get Connie and my parents.” She gently bounced on the sofa in childlike excitement. “I want to show them tonight. Pleeease?” A slight pout appeared.

  Dylan nonchalantly propped his shoulder against the wall and rubbed his chin. After a brief pause of apparent contemplation, he crossed his arms and said, “I don’t think so.”

  “Oh, Dylan, please!” She stood with steepled hands as though pretending to pray, but as she stood there ready to plead, ready to beg, something caught her eye, and her hands slowly fell to her sides. Everything moved in slow motion now. Her walk to the table across the room. The way Dylan seemed to be holding his breath. Her hand reaching for the china doll, all dressed in velvety red. “Why...why is this here?” Her voice softly cracked as she tipped the doll to one side.

  “Because it’s yours, so it belongs here with you.”

  Lorraine looked at Dylan through a blur of tears and her lips slowly parted in confusion. “Here? With me?”

  “The ladies of the church came in last night and set up the kitchen as part of their wedding gift to you.” He nodded in that direction.

  Lorraine turned around and looked toward the kitchen and then turned around in the room. “I don’t understand.”

  “This is your Christmas gift. The whole thing. Everything. Doug offered me a deal that I couldn’t resist. He’s buying the old place to fix up and resell, while he holds the mortgage on this one for us.”

  Lorraine threw herself into Dylan’s arms and buried her face on his chest.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked, prying her face from his coat. “Why are you shaking?”

  “You didn’t have to do this.”

  “I know, but I thought it would give us a fresh start.”

  Lorraine lifted her head while wiping tears from her cheeks. “Everything’s so beautiful, Dylan. Thank you, thank you so much.”

  “Why don’t we go to Niagara Falls after Christmas? It’s only an hour-and-a-half away. We can stay here tonight and have our families over to see the place tomorrow. The fridge is well stocked and towels are in the bathroom.”

  “That would be wonderful! Oh, Dylan, this is the best Christmas gift in the whole world!” She looped her arms around his neck and stood on her tiptoes to kiss him.

  “Not quite the best,” he said, while lifting her feet from the floor. “Next Christmas we could have something even more special, a son or daughter who looks just like you.” Dylan’s mouth curved into a playful smile. “And, if we start right away, it’s entirely possible.” Then he whispered low and close to her ear, “You’re all I want tonight.” He slowly set her down and lowered his lips to hers, kissing her with the gentlest of pressure on her neck, her throat, all perfect and all the while, pulling her close to him while whispering, “I love you, Lorraine. I love you, Lorraine. I love you, I love you, I love you.”

  The warmth and tenderness of his kiss and the way he said her name made her knees feel weak. And he caught her, held her, and led her to the couch as he guided her into a sitting position. His eyes riveted on hers as she responded in kind with the same loving intensity.

  Bending down on one knee at Lorraine’s feet, Dylan lifted the hem of her dress to her knees and laid it there. He gently caressed her calf then slowly worked his hands down to unlace her leather boot, pulling it off and massaging her foot before setting it down on the floor.

  After repeating the entire process on her other leg, Dylan kicked off his own shoes, and then swept Lorraine into his arms and carried her up the oak staircase. With her arms looped around his neck, he flicked the light switch then turned her around for a full view of the room.

  Inside the bedroom, Lorraine slid from his arms and pressed a hand to her chest. “Oh, my, Dylan! This is too much!” Their walnut chest of drawers stood against the left side of the room and their bed sat directly between two ceiling to floor length windows that were covered with blinds and adorned with rose brocade valances. And to the right stood a bookcase like none she’d ever seen.

  “Where did you ever find this? It’s like
a piece of the Taj Mahal!” Dylan watched Lorraine as she rushed to the bookcase and stooped down to trace her fingers across the indentations, like a blind person reading Braille. “It’s a work of art. Wherever did you get it?”

  Dylan remained silent as he walked to the windows and closed the blinds and then took Lorraine by the hand. He led her to the mauve covered quilt where they both sat down on the bed. “I made it for you.” The comment was so casual, so nonchalant that she’d have thought he’d merely baked a cake rather than crafted a work of art.

  “For me? But you’ve done so much already.” She surveyed the room again. The layout of the furniture couldn’t have been better if she’d arranged it all herself, the bed, the dresser, the nightstand. Yet, in the midst of all the loveliness, her attention was drawn back to the beautiful bookcase. “Dylan, it’s incredible! When did...?”

  He silenced her question with a kiss.

  “How...?”

  “Shhhhhh...not now.” He lifted her face and cradled it in both of his hands as though poised to drink from a delicate chalice made of the finest china. And as he lowered his head to sip her sweet nectar, he whispered, “Are you nervous?”

  And she shyly smiled, and said, “A little.”

  He tenderly kissed her and whispered again, “It’s been a long time.”

  And she whispered in response, “I know.”

  He slowly removed the pins from her hair to release the waves of honeyed silk and set it free to spill across her shoulders. “Do you know how long I’ve waited for this night?” His raspy voice barely above a whisper, his hands cupping the back of her head, his fingers entwining her hair.

  “Dylan?”

  “Yes?” he said, kissing her neck.

  “We might,” she said, as he kissed her again, “have to wait,” he kissed her again, “a little bit longer,” she finally managed to say. “I think I had too much wedding punch. I’m so sorry. I’ll be right back.”

  Dylan slumped backward onto the bed, groaning in feigned agony while smiling up at her.

  Lorraine stood and kissed the palm of her hand and then blew it off to him. She stepped into the adjoining bathroom and flicked on the light before she closed the door.

  Once inside, she paused in awe at its beauty. Silver sconces with frosted cups lit up both sides of the mirror. Monogrammed towels hung perfectly on the rack above the sink where little peach-colored soaps in a ceramic bowl sat on the edge of the vanity. To the left, washcloths were folded and tucked in a silver wire basket, and behind those, a peach-colored rose stood in a frosted glass vase.

  The peaches and cream effect was dreamy. Lorraine touched the towels, lifted them, and then closed her eyes, pressing the soft cloth to her face. Thank you, Lord, for everything. Thank you so much.

  She released the towels and turned to see the rest of the room, where there on a padded hanger, hung a vanilla colored silk chemise and a feather boa. She pressed her fingers to her smiling lips and then called out through the door, “Dylan, do you like feathers?”

  Lorraine heard the outer bedroom door close as she slipped the boa from the hanger and heard Dylan answer, “Of course, my love, all angels have feathers.”

  THE END

  ♥

  Thank you so much for reading my novel. If you enjoyed this story, please consider posting a review.

  .

  About the Author

  Carol was born during a time when traditional family life and values were the norm. Elvis had recently made his debut, rotary phones and black-and white televisions were in most homes, and air raid drills were practiced at school.

  During her teen years, the Vietnam War was in full swing, as were student, political, prison, and race riots. The 70s brought a revolution, and with it, turbulence and a change in American culture and its values.

  Enticed by the lure of pleasure, excitement, and the illusion of invincibility, Carol was caught up in a wave of rebellion during her teenage years and engaged in many of the typical activities that were prevalent during the hippie era.

  It wasn’t until years later when she heard a minister’s wife speak of her sinful past that Carol felt there was hope for her own lost condition. It was the Word of God that finally convinced her that Christ loved her and would free her from her sins and addictions. When she gave her life to Jesus Christ, she found forgiveness, peace, and the hope of eternal life. And as promised, the Lord gave her new desires and the power to carry them through to fruition.

  If you would like to read more about Carol’s conversion, please click here.

  A Note from the Author

  If someone you know has a drinking problem, he or she may relate to Dylan’s struggles and find hope in this story. It was only when I found someone that I could relate to, someone who had come out of the darkness and was living in the Light, that a glimmer of hope was sparked in my soul. Links to resources that may also be of help are listed below. ~ Carol McCormick

  Celebrate Recovery

  Alcoholics Anonymous

  Al-Anon

  Besides my website, you may also connect with me on Twitter, Facebook, Goodreads, or my blog. I would love to hear from you, so please feel free to contact me.

  Also by Carol McCormick

  Your Special Gift

  A Preteen Primer to the Facts of Life

  Watch the Your Special Gift book trailer here

  The simplicity of the gift, lock, and key analogy opens the door of communication between adult and child in an effective straightforward, and yet sensitive way, so that any question concerning sex can be answered by using this method. Well-suited for 8-to-12 year-old children.

  Window Pains

  (Modeling Positive Behaviors)

  “Window Pains” is a short story that was originally published in WINNER, a scholastic magazine endorsed by a former president and two first ladies. The aim of the periodical was to teach children preventative measures and instill positive behaviors that contribute to success in life. Well-suited for 7-to-11 year-old children.

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  REVIEWS

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  TWENTY-FIVE

  TWENTY-SIX

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  About the Author

  A Note from the Author

  Other books by the Author