Her Best Christmas Ever. Judy Duarte

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      It had been a cruel blow, a double whammy for a ten-year-old. And, for a while, she’d wondered if she could handle the heartbreak, the loneliness.

      Eventually, the incredible sadness became bearable, but the loneliness never went away.

      Outside the wind howled, and the rain came down in a steady sheet. Connie never had liked the wind. Not since watching The Wizard of Oz and hearing about Texas twisters that had wreaked havoc on entire cities.

      “Do you have family?” Greg asked.

      She turned her head, saw him watching her from across the sofa. “Yes. A mom and a sister.”

      “Do they live around here?”

      “Not too far.” She didn’t particularly want to talk about them. She’d never been a good liar, and since the truth hurt, she preferred to change the subject whenever possible.

      “Granny said you didn’t want to take time off for the holiday.”

      “I thought it might be best to stick close to my doctor in Brighton Valley.”

      “You mean Doc Graham?” Greg asked. “He’s the only one in town, as far as I know.”

      “Actually, Doc retired a couple of months back, and Dr. Bramblett took over his practice.”

      “Are you okay with that?” Greg asked. “I know Doc is getting on in years. And most doctors his age would have retired a decade or more ago. But he’s got a solid reputation for having a good bedside manner and being a top-notch diagnostician, at least as far as small-town physicians go.”

      “I know what you mean. And, yes, I was a little disappointed when he introduced me to Dr. Bramblett. But I really like her, too. It’ll be okay.”

      Both doctors had assured her that she was healthy and that they had no reason to believe she’d have any problems. In fact, during her last exam, Dr. Bramblett had said that the baby was in perfect position—head down and dropped low in the pelvis.

      Still, Connie had to admit she was a little nervous and scared about actually having the baby, even if she’d read everything she could get her hands on lately.

      “Is your mother going to be with you for the birth?” Greg asked.

      “No, I don’t think so.” In truth, Connie hadn’t told her mom or her sister that she was expecting. Neither of them had approved of Ross, even though they hadn’t known he had a drinking problem and was abusive.

      Her mother had been relieved to know that he and Connie had broken up for good, but she wouldn’t be the least bit happy to learn her youngest daughter was going to be an unwed mother.

      A small part of Connie was tempted to tuck her tail between her legs and run home to Mama anyway, but she just couldn’t bring herself to do that. Her mother—Dinah Rawlings of daytime television fame—had a conservative audience and wouldn’t appreciate the bad publicity right now, even if Connie’s days of rebellion were over.

      Besides, ever since her father’s death, it seemed that their mother/daughter relationship had been steadily deteriorating. Now it was more of a facade than anything.

      In part, Connie blamed her mother’s obsession with work and those stupid television ratings for the rift. But she knew it went much deeper than that. She’d never been able to compete with her older sister.

      Yet even if she and her mom got along great, she was afraid Ross might be able to find her through her mother. And Connie couldn’t let him do that.

      Nor could she risk letting him learn they’d conceived a baby during their tumultuous time together. Ross had lost his temper more than once, making Connie the victim of domestic violence.

      What might he do to a child?

      The evening, as awkward as it promised to be, stretched before them like a bungee cord pulled to its limit, ready to bounce or snap at any moment. So Greg turned on the television, which seemed to help. At least, the men’s action flick he’d settled on had made the time pass. If Connie didn’t like the movie he’d chosen, she didn’t mention it.

      But just before eight, when the villain was about to get his comeuppance, the power went out, causing the television to shut down with a whoosh and the house to go dark.

      The only light came from the fireplace, which was still going strong.

      “Uh-oh.” Connie’s voice bore the hint of a tremble.

      “Don’t worry.” Greg pushed himself out of the leather recliner on which he’d been sitting and stood. Then he made his way to the hearth, where he took the candles from a grouping on the mantel and stooped to hold the wicks—one at a time—near the flame until they lit. When he was finished, he placed the candles throughout the room.

      He wondered if Granny still kept the flashlights in the mudroom. Probably. He would just have to carry a candle with him when he went to look.

      After he’d finished creating a bit more illumination in the room, he turned to find that Connie had pulled the afghan closer, nearly to her chin, as though hiding behind it.

      “There isn’t anything to be afraid of,” he said.

      “I never have liked to be alone in a storm.”

      “Hey.” He chuckled, trying to make light of it. “You’re not alone. You’ve got me.”

      For the first time this evening, she smiled. The warmth in her eyes made her appear even prettier than before.

      When he’d first been introduced to her, he’d been told her last name was Montoya. He’d assumed she’d had Latino blood, like him. Yet she was fairer than he was.

      “You ought to smile more often,” he said. But he didn’t see any reason to tell her why.

      “There hasn’t been much to be happy about in the past year or so.”

      He waited for her to explain, but she didn’t, and he was torn between letting the subject die and trying to revive it. But without the television or radio to distract him, all he could think about was the pregnant woman sitting next to him.

      “Are you unhappy about having a baby?” he finally asked.

      She caressed the basketball-size mound of her belly. “The timing certainly could have been better. But it’s not her fault.”

       “Her?”

      “I’m having a little girl.” Connie smiled again, which gave him a sense of relief. “At least, that’s what Dr. Bramblett said during my ultrasound.”

      Gregwasn’t often reminded of thewoman who’d given birth to him. She’d died the day hewas born, and he’d never had the chance to meet her. But his tia, his aunt, had told him howhis mother used to sing to him while he was inside her womb. How determined she’d been to provide him with a happy home and a future.

      Eventually, he’d been blessed with the things his mother had wanted for him, but she’d never lived to see СКАЧАТЬ