by Amanda Tru
Christmas Stalkings
Christmas Embers
The Second Noel
Silenced Knight
Merri’s Christmas Mission
The Ghosts of New Cheltenham
Sand & Mistletoe
Tangoed in Tinsel
Wrong about Mr. Wright
Hello again Crossroads Reader!
After Hank and Ronni settled their differences in Juniper Springs and Long Beach, you’re probably ready for a change of scenery! Well, how about the beautiful Southwest?
It is my treat to introduce the fourth book in this collection, More Than Enough, by newcomer, phenomenal author, and very welcome addition to the Crossroads collections, Jaycee Weaver. When we were considering who we wanted as authors for this collection, I’d just read a new-to-me author’s book, Love, Laughter, and Luminarias and loved it so much that I chatted with her about it online and got to know her a bit. The fact that we share a lot of interests means one of these days, I’m going to make that left turn at Albuquerque and stop by to see her. We’ll get all crafty and sing while we do it. I hope she knows the same songs I do!
I’ve got to tell you, this woman is more than just a fellow author—she’s an inspiration. Her kindness and the way she gives of herself to her online community is a beautiful thing to watch and has taught me so much about getting out of my little bubble and getting involved with others. I begged Amanda to ask her to join us. Truth be told, she probably only agreed because she was afraid I’d really make that left turn at Albuquerque and show up on her doorstep with a barbershop quartet singing, “I Will Never Pass This Way Again,” and adding “If you’ll do it” each time they sang that line. So, folks… I sacrificed a craft day with the fabulous Jaycee Weaver to get her to join (that’s my story and I’m stickin’ to it) so you could have her fabulous book. You’re welcome!
Speaking of Jaycee’s book, in More than Enough, single mom Ada struggles with inadequacy and the compulsion to keep her world neatly ordered. She feels like there's never enough—time, money, patience, joy. Ada’s convinced even she's not enough, though compassionate Kent disagrees. When a freak snowstorm traps the couple and her three kids in a theater for Christmas, she'll either discover her worth in Christ or crumble under the pressure.
Please enjoy this story of finding wholeness in Christ, whose love and grace is sufficient even when we fall short.
Chautona Havig author of Wrong About Mr. Wright
A Novella By
Copyright Notice
More Than Enough by Jaycee Weaver, Copyright © 2019. First edition. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, or recording—without express written permission by the author and publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed or broadcasted articles and reviews.
Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or intended to be used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, organizations, places, or persons living or dead is purely coincidental and beyond the intention of either the author or the publisher. The characters are products of the authors’ imaginations and used fictitiously.
Some scripture quotations taken from the Amplified® Bible (AMP), Copyright © 2015 by The Lockman Foundation. Used by permission. www.lockman.org.
Some Scripture quotations taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com The “NIV” and “New International Version” are trademarks registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office by Biblica, Inc.™
Each book in this collection is the intellectual property and the copyrighted material of the respective author and/or publisher and is reprinted as a part of this collection (anthology) only once and only by permission of the owners. The publisher makes no claim on, or to, the property of the owners which exceeds that permission. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the authors’ imagination or intended to be used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, organizations, places, or persons living or dead is purely coincidental and beyond the intention of either the authors or the publisher.
I don’t have time for this.
Through the windshield, Adaline Danvers registered an endless line of cars disappearing into the horizon. Three lanes’ worth, creeping along at a whopping fourteen miles-per-hour on what should’ve been an uninterrupted sixty-mile-an-hour stretch of westbound Paseo del Norte.
She should be used to it by now. It’s not like she didn’t make this drive home five days a week. More, if her ex had a scheduling conflict and needed her to pick up the kids early on one of his weekends.
Her weary sigh fluttered the dirty blonde bangs she’d carefully styled nine hours earlier. Now the mirror reflected limp wisps badly in need of a trim. Add that to the list of things she didn’t have time for. Right along with shaving her legs, fixing dinner, cleaning both toilets, and six loads of laundry. Was there ever enough time?
“Hey, Mom? Saturday is my snack day.”
Of course it is.
Adaline swallowed the urge to glare at nine-year-old Karalee in the rearview mirror. It wasn’t her daughter’s fault that the soccer moms were still caught up in outdoing each other like parental peacocks.
She should have anticipated this. Hadn’t she put it on the color-coded calendar with a back-up reminder on her phone? Another sigh slipped out. Something always fell through the cracks, no matter how carefully she planned and coordinated.
Oh well. She didn’t have to give in to the ludicrous competition for League’s Greatest Soccer Mom. A bag of easy-peel oranges and a warehouse pack of water bottles would suffice. Praise God soccer season was almost over.
“You okay, Mom?” Jane’s concern came through loud and clear from her coveted spot in the front seat.
“Yeah,” Ada managed a fleeting glance at her fifteen-year-old daughter. She both longed for and dreaded the driver’s license that would be coming next year. “It’ll sure be nice when you get your permit, and I can surf the web while you inch along in this.”
She could feel Jane’s eye roll. “Yeah, I don’t think I’ll enjoy driving in this any more than you do.”
“Well, I can’t wait,” came Xander’s confident tenor from the back seat. After a summer of squawking, his mature voice finally showed up around Labor Day. It was still shocking to hear it.
“You’ve got a ways to go, bud.” Thank God for that. No way could she teach two teenagers to drive at once.
Jeff certainly wouldn’t do it. He’d leave it all up to the driving school, and then her kids would turn out like all the other knuckle-headed New Mexican drivers on the road.
No, sir. This California girl would raise kids who knew how to actually drive.
Ada mentally picked through the fridge as they crept forward another two car lengths. With two days ‘til payday and another week before Jeff’s child support and alimony came through, the choices were clear.
“Dig out night, or stir fry?”
“Dig out!” All three kids sang in unison.
Score! No cooking tonight. “Leftovers it is. Now, what’s tonight’s homework situation?”
Five hours later, Adaline collapsed into her favorite chair with a book and a steaming, fragrant cup of tea. For once, homework hadn’t been too bad. Karalee had also fallen asleep without freaking out over the movie Jeff let them watch at his place last month. Genius move, Jefferson Danvers. Ugh.
Stop.
Her irritation with the man would not ruin a perfectly nice moment to herself. Why spend precious minutes of alone time thinking about her ex-husband when she could be enjoying a sappy Christmas story instead? Ada sipped her spiced chai, savoring the exotic blend and feeling peace wash over her for the first time since lunch.
And what a lunch.
&nbs
p; A smile played on her lips. The good-looking school counselor had recently begun dropping by the library for one small errand or another, lingering to chat. He’d done it again today, carrying on a pleasant conversation as she stabbed at her salad.
She shouldn’t have spared the time to sit with him. Admin had reassigned her assistant to the Special Education team due to budget cuts, leaving Ada perpetually playing catch up. The books waiting to be shelved multiplied by the hour, and the latest Scholastic delivery still needed to be entered into the system, tagged, barcoded, and put away.
Still, Mr. Clark had merely flashed that slightly misaligned smile, and she’d folded like a bad poker hand.
How was it after four months, she hadn’t built up a tolerance to that charming grin? Darn thing sent flutters through her belly every time. The guy is at least five years younger than you! Get it together, girl!
It was just a crush. A teeny, weeny little crush. Nothing would ever happen, nor did she want it to. She didn’t have time for even a mild flirtation—let alone relationship—with a genuinely nice guy whose discerning brown eyes blinked through her mind. No time for anything.
There was never enough.
Ada tossed aside the lackluster novel with a disgusted sigh. Every time she read the author’s description of the stereotypical white male hero, Ada’s imagination rewrote him as five-foot-ten, bald-in-a-sexy-way with dark-olive skin similar to a certain school counselor.
Ridiculous. She was far too old to have a crush.
She reached for the book and studied the cover before setting it down, aligning it with the corner of the end table. No, this book wasn’t going to cut it tonight. She needed something thoroughly unromantic to hold her attention. One with a strong female protagonist and absolutely no love interest.
Could she spare the time for an episode, since reading wasn’t cutting it tonight? Ada reached for the remote but changed her mind, then gave it a nudge to make it parallel with the book. She should finish her tea and go over her to-do list, shopping list, and calendar a final time before bed.
Adaline rose with her empty cup and noticed an abandoned pen on the floor. She picked it up and placed it diagonally on the book and then straightened the couch pillows and tucked everyone’s stray socks under her arm to carry upstairs to their proper place.
The kids were forever leaving things on the floor, between the couch cushions, and on every possible horizontal surface. Some days it seemed her whole lot in life was to pick up after and take care of everyone.
She rinsed her cup and set it in the top rack of the dishwasher, giving it a quarter turn so the handle pointed the right way. Ada heard the weariness in her sigh and decided to let the to-do and shopping lists wait until the morning.
Or not. Better just to get it over with.
“And now, our meteorologist, Stan Stickler.”
Adaline sipped her morning coffee at the dining room table while the news team made corny jokes and small talk from the television in the adjacent living room. Stan moved to give the ten-day forecast.
After a blistering summer, it’d only truly felt like fall for a few weeks. How long would it last before winter weather set in? Would they see snow this year?
No time to contemplate it now. Back to business.
Adaline clicked off the television and resumed her morning ritual, shouting for the kids to hightail it to breakfast, grab their lunches, and hustle out the door.
“Mooooooom! You forgot to wash my gym shorts!”
“Check the dryer, Xander!” Ada hollered back. “I haven’t had time to fold the load that’s in there yet!” She didn’t have time for any of this.
You definitely don’t have time for a bad attitude.
Too true, but it was getting harder and harder to contain the mounting frustration that already competed with resentment and inadequacy.
Ada’s eyes went to the women’s devotional Bible on the coffee table. Conviction wrapped around her heart and squeezed. The last several times she’d touched it had been to dust. When had she last made quiet time with the Lord a priority? The fact she couldn’t remember filled her with shame. She was better than this. How had her priorities gotten so out of whack?
The alarm on her phone went off, reminding everyone to grab their coats and backpacks and hustle to the car immediately. Ada resolved to download a Bible app for reading on-the-go. There was just never enough time to fit everything in and check all the boxes.
Never enough.
Traffic on eastbound Paseo del Norte moved like a hundred-year-old tortoise most mornings between seven and nine. If she timed it just right, they could make the trek to the private Christian school the kids attended, where she also worked as a librarian, in thirty minutes. She nearly always timed it right.
Today, however, some yahoo caused a fender-bender that left all three lanes looking like the freeways in every disaster film ever made. All the scene lacked was people running between cars to escape whatever horror awaited them.
Perfect. Just the way to start the day.
Tension stretched like a fitness band across Adaline’s chest, and the inside of her upper lip felt raw from where she’d been worrying it with her teeth. Her fifteenth glance at the clock only increased her frustration at the delay.
After twelve minutes in the stand-still with little change in sight, Adaline debated the merits of exiting at Second Street. By the time she reached the exit, things had thankfully cleared enough that she stayed on route. The sight of an old man standing behind his ancient truck talking to a frazzled young woman in a red sedan with a crumpled front fender humbled her.
The car’s flashers seemed to blink in time with her thoughts. Give grace—could have—been you. Lord, I’m—sorry—help me—be kinder.
Swallowing her guilt at being so thoughtless of someone else’s rough morning, she spent the last six minutes of the drive to school praying while the kids dozed. The four of them reached the front doors just as the first bell sounded. She waved to the older two as they veered toward the high school wing. Karalee gave her a quick hug before racing to join her friends lining up on the elementary school playground.
A few deep, cleansing breaths in and out lent enough clarity to get her through the doors and down the hall to her library. Thankfully, she had twenty minutes before her first class would come in.
After flipping on the ancient fluorescent fixtures that would gradually brighten the space, she set about turning on the computers, logging in, and starting a pot of sanity-restoring coffee. She needed it desperately if she ever hoped to get back on schedule.
Coffee had just begun filling the tiny glass-walled office with its glorious aroma when she heard the telltale shuffle of feet and bodies outside the library’s double doors. One minute ‘til showtime. Ada breathed a sigh of relief that she’d managed to get her day back on track.
If only she could wrangle her attitude back on track as easily. It would take all of her limited patience to keep this group of third graders in line.
But first, coffee.
“Knock knock.” Mr. Clark’s cheerful voice soothed her fraying nerves.
“Good morning.”
Ada hoped she’d kept the fatigue out of her voice. She even attempted a pleasant smile, but it was already eleven and there hadn’t been time to drink even half of that first cup of coffee. Her head was so heavy, one good jab, and she’d become a living bobblehead doll.
Everything was out of sync today—crawling just beneath skin that felt itchy and tight, and not from late-fall dryness.
“Doing all right?” His voice sounded as appealing as the prospect of finishing that half-drunk cup of coffee.
“I just need a full dose of caffeine.”
“Can I help?”
Ada stifled a yawn. “I’m a walking disaster today. I wouldn’t even know what to tell you to do.”
The charming school counselor flashed a grin that revealed his beautifully white but not completely straight teeth. Deep lines on ei
ther side spoke to how frequently he smiled.
Heat bloomed in her cheeks, and she looked away, realizing she’d been staring.
“Coffee?” She asked while fleeing.
“Sure. How about I shelve?”
“That’d be great. Thanks.”
Grateful for the reprieve, she prepared the coffee and tried to bring her emotions back under control. Her movements were jerky and hurried. Mugs filled, she turned and stopped abruptly to avoid slamming into him. Coffee sloshed over the rims of both mugs and all over her hands.
“Aw, man, I’m sorry, Adaline.” He lifted the mugs from her reddening fingers and set them on the counter, pausing to twist the cold-water tap. “Here, run them under the faucet.”
When she didn’t move fast enough, he reached for her hands and guided them under the running water. It didn’t even hurt that badly, but she couldn’t tell him that. He might take his hands off hers, and right now, she enjoyed the contact too much.
Far too much. Ada managed to jolt herself back to reality, pulling her hands free and shutting off the tap.
“I didn’t expect you to be right there, Mr. Clark.” Her lips pressed into a fine line. She didn’t mean for it to come out a chastisement.
“I think we’ve known each other long enough for you to call me Kent, Adaline.” He frowned, but his tone was gentle.
She returned his frown. Kent? Four months working together, chatting in the halls, and admiring him covertly, and all this time she’d thought his name was Ken. “I-I didn’t expect you to be right there, Kent.”
Is it hot in here?
“Sorry. You seem especially stressed today. Thought I’d help. You okay?” He gestured toward her hands.
Ada reached for a towel and dried off while avoiding eye contact. His presence unnerved her further, but she didn’t want him to leave. It was an annoying dichotomy, the way he both frayed her nerves and soothed them. His hands gently reached for the towel, stilling her movements.
