A Family Christmas. Carrie Alexander

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СКАЧАТЬ needles that was the backyard. God, she’d been dumb. And naive, even though she’d thought she was tough.

      “Rose?” came her mother’s voice, carrying out the window. “Are you finished with the phone?”

      “Shut the window, Mom. I’ll be there in a minute.”

      She went over to the small garden she’d put in that spring. Nothing much to speak of, just a few rows of carrots, squash, cucumbers and lettuce. Several old rusty barrels contained the tomato plants and she bent over them, searching through the cold leaves for the remaining green fruits. More of the tomatoes remained on the vines than she’d expected and she cradled the pile of hard globes in her sweater, her fingertips gone numb with cold.

      The wind was sharp and brisk. Beyond the darkness, the river rushed and gurgled, a sound so familiar it had taken moving away for her to miss the soothing constant.

      For a long time, she’d believed she hated this place.

      Now…maybe not. The memories had faded, even the worst of them. At least to a livable degree.

      She’d learned not to expect more than adequacy from her life.

      Rose straightened, folding the edge of her sweater over and holding the awkward bundle to her abdomen. She walked to the back door, feeling nearly as unwieldy as a pregnant lady.

      Unexpectedly, the comparison made her smile. She’d pushed the pregnancy to the back of her mind for many years, but returning to her hometown had brought it all up again. There were times she had to consciously work to keep her feelings to herself. Aside from a small circle of people—her nonsupportive family, the despicable Lindstroms, Pastor Mike—it was still a secret to Alouette that she’d once been pregnant.

      She didn’t suppose that the townspeople would be too surprised to learn the truth. They’d always believed the worst of Wild Rose.

      AFTER AN HOUR OUTDOORS in the quiet, shaded woods, stepping into the school gym was an assault on the senses. The intense illumination from the banks of overhead lights bounced off the varnished floor and white cement-block walls. The sight, sound and fury of the basketball players was overwhelming—running, flying, crashing bodies, shouts and animal grunts, the constant tattoo of the basketball on the floor and the backboard. Evan’s shouts and the shrill pierce of his whistle added to the cacophony.

      Although Lucy should have been somewhat accustomed to the raucous scene, Rose wasn’t surprised that the girl remained by the door, staring at the scrimmage in progress with wide eyes. Rose took Lucy’s hand and they walked into the gym, past the rows of blue metal bleachers.

      Evan saw them and waved. He said something to his team and then ran across the floor, all bouncy energy and squeaking sneakers. He wore a sleeveless T-shirt with sweatpants, his face and arms glistening with perspiration. “Hey! Lesson over?”

      Rose stepped back, her nostrils flared. So much testosterone. Muscles. Male. “We came inside to warm up.” Her tongue was thick in her mouth. “Is that okay?”

      “Sure it is. Go ahead and take a seat.” Evan glanced at his watch. “I’ve got another twenty minutes of practice. You’re welcome to stay, but if you’d rather leave…”

      “I’ll stay.” Rose was trying not to stare at the boys, but only one thought was running through her head: Danny’s there, Danny’s there.

      “Great.” Evan jogged away, turning on nimble feet to continue backward as he added, “There are vending machines in—”

      Rose waved him on. “We’re set.” She’d stuck a Thermos of hot chocolate and a few cookies in her backpack.

      He saluted and returned to the practice.

      She squeezed Lucy’s gloved hand. “Come on. Let’s sit in the bleachers.”

      “Can we go all the way to the top?”

      “I guess so.” Rose would have liked the close-up view from a courtside seat, but it was probably better if she didn’t draw attention to herself. At Rose’s request, Danny’s adoptive parents had never told him his birth mother’s identity.

      Also by Rose’s choice, the contact between her and Ken and Alana Swanson had been kept to a minimum. They were childless and in their forties at the time of the adoption, which would put them in their mid-fifties now. She’d kept her eyes and ears open since returning to Alouette, and by all accounts the Swansons lived a quiet, respectable life. Fifteen years ago, they had offered to share information with Rose, to keep her up-to-date on Danny’s life, even arrange face-to-face visits. She’d thought that knowing him would make her feel worse, so the contact had been limited to photos and cards that were her greatest treasures.

      Since her return, she’d daydreamed about what would happen if she changed her mind and asked to be included in their daily life. Not that she’d actually follow through. The last thing she wanted to do was cause trouble for the Swansons, who’d given Danny an exemplary home.

      Rose threw glances at the court as she and Lucy climbed to the top row of the bleachers. Danny was a good player, a sophomore who was expected to be a starting guard this year.

      “Still feeling cold?” she asked Lucy, who nodded and shivered. Rose slung her backpack around and set it on the bleacher in front of them. “I brought hot chocolate and cookies. Do you like Chips Ahoy?”

      Lucy nodded again.

      Rose took out the sketchbooks, then dug in the bottom of the pack for the Thermos. Her gaze remained on the court, watching the players race up and down the floor. Danny wasn’t the tallest, but he stood out, at least to her. He had gleaming black hair and a quick smile. He was skinny but not gangly, more the wiry, compact, athletic type. Like Rose, though she’d gained a little weight over the years and had become sturdy instead of lithe.

      Lucy piped up. “Rose?”

      “Oh. Right.” She gave herself a mental shake. Don’t stare so hard. You’ll look like a stalker.

      “Hot chocolate and cookies, coming right up,” she said, pouring out a cup for Lucy. She reached into the backpack for the packet of cookies. “These may be sort of crushed. But you can pick out the biggest pieces.”

      Lucy seemed satisfied by the inelegant refreshments. She had peeled off her gloves and unzipped her jacket. Her pale face was dotted with rosy color—even the tip of her nose. She sat back on the far edge of the bleacher, alternating between sipping and munching, mindlessly swinging her feet so her heels and toes tapped the metal seat with a rattling rhythmic beat.

      “You’ve probably been to practice before,” Rose said. Danny was dribbling the ball, so capable and grown-up her heart ached at the visual reminder of the years she’d missed.

      “Sometimes,” Lucy said.

      “Do you know the players?”

      “Uh-huh.” The girl pointed her cookie. “That one’s Steve, that one’s Brad, and that big one’s Jeremy. I call him Germy ’cause he teases me.”

      Rose managed to get a chuckle past the lump in her throat.

      “The boy with red hair is Corey….”

      “And СКАЧАТЬ