Yuletide Redemption. Jill Kemerer

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      “It will.”

      “Celeste—”

      “Let’s drop it.”

      “I don’t want you getting your hopes up only to be devastated.” She stepped forward and cupped Celeste’s chin with both hands. “You’re beautiful.”

      Celeste jerked away. Beautiful? Only a mother could say that.

      She had a mirror. She was not beautiful.

      Mom continued. “Josh’s benefits should be enough to cover your basic expenses, especially since you don’t have to pay rent. Dad and I have your medical bills almost paid off, so don’t worry about money.”

      Celeste hugged her mom. “Thank you.”

      “You don’t have to thank us. We’re blessed your insurance covered as much as it did.”

      “But still... I want to pay you back.”

      Mom shook her head and patted Celeste’s cheek. “Dad and I can afford it. We both have good jobs. You worry about yourself and the baby.”

      When she had enough clients to support herself, she planned on setting aside money for Parker’s college fund. In the meantime, she’d research what it would take to get certified as a teacher.

      Mom pushed up her sleeves. “It might take Parker some time to get used to this change, too.”

      “Yeah, I know.” She was new at this parenting thing. She’d been caring for Parker while living with her parents, but they’d helped her when they got home from work. Would she be able to do this all by herself?

      “We’re only half an hour away. Call if you need anything. Dad and I will come by a few nights a week, and we’ll take him anytime you need a break.”

      The sliding door leading to the deck opened, and her father, Bill Monroe, stepped inside. “Is your mother giving you a hard time?” He kissed the top of Celeste’s head and squeezed her arm. “You doing okay, kiddo?”

      The tension in her neck dissolved. Dad had always been her champion, the one she ran to when life got her down. Since Josh’s death and the accident, worry lines had dug deep around his eyes, but his tall, trim figure and thick gray hair still gave him a vital appearance.

      “I’m fine, Dad. Just got back from Sam’s. He’s the first person I’ve met in a long time who has as many, if not more, problems than me.”

      “I’m sorry to hear he’s struggling. Sounds like he needs your help.”

      “Thanks, Dad.” She wiggled one arm around his waist and leaned her head against him.

      “Nice yard you’ve got back there. You’ll have to watch Parker with the ornamental pond, though. It’s wider and deeper than it looks. It only takes a few inches for a child to drown.”

      “Do you think we could fence it off?”

      “We have to do something. I’ll run over to the hardware store.” He patted his back pocket to check for his wallet, then pulled out his keys. “Be back in a few.”

      Mom returned to the kitchen and unpacked glasses. “Are you sure you can handle Parker? If it’s too much for you, say the word and we’ll move you home with us.”

      She grimaced, shaking her head. “I need this, Mom.”

      “But—” Concern glinted in Mom’s eyes.

      “Don’t worry. If my headaches get bad again, I’ll consider it, but I don’t think it will be an issue. They’ve been much better since summer.”

      “Okay, okay.” Mom stretched on her tiptoes to place a glass on the upper shelf.

      Celeste stripped packing tape off a box in the kitchen and stacked plates in a cupboard. This cabin felt like home already. And knowing she wouldn’t run into anyone from her past took a layer of pressure off. All the rumors about the accident had gotten back to her over the previous months. Variations on the same theme—she’d been either texting or negligent or intoxicated before the car jumped the ditch and wrapped around a telephone pole.

      A shiver rippled over her skin. No, she hadn’t been texting or drinking. But if she’d paid more attention to the weather conditions, she would have realized the pavement was covered in black ice. She would have driven slower.

      And Brandy would be alive.

      The plate in her hand slipped. She tightened her grip.

      When she got the surgery and no one could see the scars anymore, they would forget about the accident. She’d be able to face herself in the mirror. She could look at Parker and not want to crush him to her, crying out, “It was my fault! I killed your mommy!”

      She’d lived with the visual reminders for too long. They’d forced her into hiding, away from the options that used to be available to her. Her mind flipped to Sam, his comment about not wanting his life.

      She didn’t want hers, either.

      The life she wanted depended on more surgery.

      * * *

      Sam wiped the sweat off his forehead with a towel Saturday morning. The clock read 9:20, which meant he needed to get ready. Celeste would be here in ten minutes to work out a schedule. Schedule. The word brought a bad taste to his mouth. It was impersonal, reminding him he was a duty, nothing more. It had been three days since Celeste moved in, and he hadn’t been able to get her or Parker off his mind.

      He tightened his hold on the crutches as he clip-clopped to the kitchen. Regardless of what his family thought, he hadn’t completely given up on himself. Every morning he spent an hour performing range-of-motion exercises and working his upper body with weights. The effort always exhausted him, and the pain in his legs? Excruciating. He dreaded returning to physical therapy next week.

      Maybe he should cancel.

      And break his promise to Celeste? If he was that much of a coward, he might as well give up on life now.

      He’d go to PT. He was a fighter.

      Was being the key word.

      When was the last time he’d fought for anything other than to maneuver his body out of bed without aggravating his leg? Lately he’d played the role of invalid a little too well.

      Fumbling with the cupboard door, he almost dropped his crutch. It had been a long time since he used them to get around the cottage. Both arms and legs already ached. Whenever he put weight on his bad leg, his ankle rolled and knee caved. Balancing on his left leg and crutch, he pulled a glass out of the cupboard and flipped on the faucet, letting the water stream until it ran cold.

      In some ways he’d been fortunate. Within six months of his first surgery, he’d regained feeling in his foot. Most of his leg followed. He’d used crutches until June, when one slip in the shower had thrown him back to square one. The ligaments in his right knee had torn and the healing nerve graft СКАЧАТЬ