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Dedication
Dedicated to Charles and Margaret Dunlap
Whose love lasted throughout the seasons of life, planting seeds of inspiration. This celebrates your love.
By Pamela Johnson
"Boy, Aunt Sabrina! You really kicked his a -- "
Sabrina DuChein cast a sharp-pointed look at her nine-year-old nephew. The young boy did not lose his awe-inspired gaze, even when reprimanded. At least she wouldn't have to suffer the added embarrassment of his pre-teen language. She had more than enough to deal with already.
"I'm so sorry, it's just that you startled me with that chainsaw." She grimaced at the pain the poor man was obviously experiencing. Unfortunately, noticing it delighted her nephew to no end. "Can I help you up?"
The man raised his hand, waving away her offer. "My shoulder...."
Sabrina blinked, adjusting her eyes to the darkened hallway of the Chamber's community haunted house. She really didn't like this particular fund-raising event, as the 'hack 'em up' variety of horror never had appealed to her. But Aaron begged her to take him, and since she could not spoil his fun by telling him no --
"No! I think you've done enough here already! Thanks just the same!" The man snarled
Sabrina's brows arched at his abrupt tone. He was awfully stubborn, not to mention unreasonable. After all, she just tried to help.
Fisting her hands to her hips, she glared down at the huddled figure crouched at her feet. "Well, for goodness sake. What would any self-respecting adult do, seeing a grown man come at a nine-year-old with a chainsaw?" She shook her head in disbelief, watching as he uncurled himself to stand. How could she know that only eight weeks of karate lessons would be so effective? His form blocked out what little light emitted from eerie blinking strobe lights.
She looked up and the mustiness of the closed in hallway caught with a gasp in her throat. He towered a good four inches over her. Granted that view was from the back. He slowly turned, holding his hand to his shoulder as he stared down at her. Funny, he didn't seem all that big when she threw him over her shoulder.
"It's a haunted house, lady." His voice was cool, this side of patronizing.
"This is your idea of fun for little kids?" His attitude irked her even more. She tipped her chin in defense of her beliefs. Part of her was glad the shadowy hallway disguised his expression. She could sense a spark of tension, pawning it off as agitation, and nothing more. Still, she wondered what sort of face matched that smooth- as-brandy voice. Fortunately, given his attitude, she was certain to never find out. She shoved her curious thoughts away.
"It's all fake. The kids who come through here know that," There was a short moment of stretched-tight silence. "And most of the adults know it, too."
Maybe she'd over-reacted a bit. Still, good lord, this man was a huge specimen of the male race, yet whining about a tiny shoulder injury like a -- were his shoulders that broad? She blinked twice, taking in what she could of him in the squeezed in closeness of the hall. His silhouette boasted of a finely sculpted set of long legs and a trim waist. He had the exquisite form of someone who obviously kept himself in powerfully good shape. So what was his problem? He could easily over power her. The thought sent a shiver running up her spine. She rubbed her arms rationalizing it was simply the dark cold dampness of the house.
"I'm sorry; I just reacted to the potential danger I thought Aaron was in." She turned, looked down at her adoring nephew and smiled, roughing his sandy hair.
"Yeah. Aunt Sabrina's been taking karate lessons and she can really kick a -- "
"Aaron?"
"Sorry, Aunt Sabrina."
"Karate? So that's what that was?"
His curious tone captured her attention, and she turned toward it like a magnet. Perhaps he wasn't angry, as she'd thought? Maybe he could see why she carried the opinions that she did and determined she really wasn't all that out of line.
"Humpf. Too many reruns of Charlie's Angels. So, you'll pay for my x-ray then?" The change in his voice was icy and indifferent.
Sabrina's mouth gaped open a moment before she could speak. "That's fine. I don't think I really hurt that bad but -- -"
"I think my shoulder is sprained, possibly worse." His voice was gruff.
She dropped her hands to her sides and stepped back, slamming against the wall directly behind her. "Look, I said I was sorry."
"Yeah, well, you're holding up the line." His tone smacked of disgust, mingled with pain.
Still, she had said she was sorry more than an adequate number of times. "Tell you what. How about I leave my insurance agent's number out front with the man at the ticket booth. Unless, you'd like a lift to the hospital?"
"No thanks, really." His voice was flat.
"Again, I'm sorry about this." She waited for him to step aside and sighed when he stood his ground. Squeezing past him, she was more than a little aware of her chest brushing feather-light to his. Her heart paused bumping up against the solid wall of man in front of her. Gently, she pushed Aaron ahead of her. "Maybe if you used something other than a chainsaw..." She paused looking over her shoulder.
Her eyes widened as his bulk of a silhouette twisted toward her; it was a frightening image in the frenzied strobe lights of the darkened hallway.
"Thank you. I'll take that into consideration." His foot could not have booted her out with as much efficiency.
Glad to be out of the irate man's suffocating presence, she fished out a piece of paper from her bag. "Just a sec, Aaron. I need to leave this with that ticket man over there."
"He was kind of a wimp, huh, Aunt Sabrina?"
She considered Aaron's words thoughtfully. "No, Aaron. I think I just caught him by surprise. Never try that on your friends!" She tapped her finger to his chest and he nodded with a smile. "Come on, we better get moving. You know you're mom's dying to show me the costume she got for tonight's charity benefit. She revels in making my life difficult." Sabrina bent down and leaned nose to nose with her nephew. "She didn't happen to tell you what it was, did she?"
He smiled and shrugged his shoulder, making a point as to where his loyalty lay.
Sabrina tipped her head, her lips forming a thin line as she narrowed her gaze at her nephew. "You wouldn't tell me if you knew, would you?"
Aaron smiled his broad dimpled grin.
"Traitor." She tweaked his nose, heading towards the ticket booth.
"He was a pretty big guy, wasn't he?" Aaron sidled next to her as she pulled a pen from her coat pocket.
The bigger they are, the harder they fall. Sabrina chuckled to herself as she jotted down the insurance information and handed it to the confused volunteer. "A little mishap. Big guy, you'll notice he's holding his shoulder. Tell him he shouldn't go around wielding a chainsaw!" She grabbed Aaron's hand, ignoring the puzzled look on the man's face. Big men with sprained shoulders are nothing compared to her sister's game plan to find Sabrina her Mr. Right!
"Brie, you look stunning." Sabrina's sister clapped her black-laced hands together with joyous glee.
She gave Morgan a dubious glance. "This outfit is not me." Sabrina looked at her reflection in the oval mirror of her sister's master bedroom.
"Why in heaven's name, do I let you talk me into these ridiculous things?" Yet she knew the answer was the same for any of her family. She simply couldn't say no to any of them. "Are you sure that Rick has to leave tonight? I know I told you I'd be your date, but that was before..." Sabrina's shoulders slumped and she pouted at her image like a child being forced to a dress-up dinner.
"This just isn't me, Morgan." She turned to see the hurt flicker in her sister's eyes. Social events were much more suited to Morgan's personality. Sabrina frowned at her gorgeous sister. Even made up to resemble a haggardly witch, she was a knockout. You just needed to overlook the giant plastic wart blobbed on the end of her nose.
"Okay -- all right. Don't give me the 'hurt-sister' look! I'll go!" She raised her hands in surrender then glanced at herself again in the mirror. Shaking her head, she followed Morgan downstairs.
"Can I wear a coat over this?" Sabrina asked over the top of the rustle of her sister's short taffeta skirt and layers of just-as-short petticoats. No, Morgan was not your 'run-of- the-mill' witch. She might be ugly as a witch, but she'd be ugly with style.
"Well, of course you can wear a coat, Sabrina," she spoke in a condescending "big sister" tone, as she glanced over her shoulder.
Sabrina's heart soared. Could it be her sister finally understood her discomfort with the costume? Was this her way of allowing her an 'out', a way not to embarrass herself in front of hordes of people?
"Until we get to the ballroom. Then it'd be silly to where a coat over that lovely costume!" Morgan stepped primly off the last step and smiled at her son.
Sabrina cast a weary look to the ceiling and sighed as her heart plummeted to reality.
"Whoa! You look cool, mom!" Aaron waited at the bottom of the stairs, dressed as a pirate. His trick or treat bag dangled from his plastic hooked hand.
"Aye matey, you're looking especially gruesome tonight." Sabrina swaggered from behind his mother and the boy's eyes widened in astonishment. Sabrina stared at Aaron, then looked to her sister for support. "I told you it wasn't me."
"We're going to an adult costume party, you'll fit right in. Stop fussing."
Sabrina sighed and turned back to her nephew. "Would you please blink? Didn't anyone ever tell you your eyes could freeze open all bug-eyed like that?"
Aaron shook his head side to side and then blinked once.
"At least I know you're alive." Sabrina leveled a concerned face toward her nephew, clipping him under the chin.
She turned to her sister. "Are we about ready?" Sabrina didn't like the draft she was beginning to feel and started for her coat.
Aaron blocked the closet staring up at her wild-eyed. "Wait a sec, Aunt Sabrina! Tommy Openheimer has got to see your costume! He'll be here any sec; please just wait?"
It was the single most odd request she'd ever received from a male. Even if the male happened to be less than five feet tall and in third grade. Sabrina gave her sister a wry look, hoping she'd heard his ridiculous request. Now, maybe, she'd see why she felt so uncomfortable.
Morgan leaned closer to the hallway mirror applying her black lipstick.
"Morgan. Can we please go? I'm beginning to feel like the centerfold of a teen drool magazine."
Aaron doubled over in laughter and Sabrina ignored him, keeping her gaze on Morgan, apparently unfazed by the entire situation. "Are you finished yet? Because I'm about ready to wake up and decide I'm not really comfortable here in your nightmare."
Morgan sighed, and then beamed at her sister. "Let's get Rick's approval, shall we?" She turned, her skirts swishing a joyous rhythm as she walked.
Sabrina turned, feeling Aaron's penetrating gaze. "Don't you have some trick or treating to do?" She shifted her coat from one arm to the other, averting her eyes from his stupefied stare. "Aaron. It isn't polite to stare." She hoped her voice indicated her ability to maintain her patience and maturity level, even while she wanted to sling the coat over his head.
"I can't help it, Aunt Sabrina. You look hot! I don't know why you haven't had a date in a long time. It's sure not because you're ugly."
She arched an eyebrow and stared at her nephew. "Well, thanks, I think." It was not like she needed the reminder. Maybe tonight, the full moon would bring a welcome treat in that respect.
By Sher Hames Torres
"You know, I'm having the hardest time trying to figure out if you were a hooker or bank robber in your last life." From behind the only cluttered area at The Carter Center for Disease Research, Paige Wilkins leaned her elbows on her desk. She stared narrow-eyed at her best friend, Eden Tyler, the psycho.
"What a thing to say!" Despite her pout, Eden's eyes flashed with a wicked twinkle.
"Oh, don't even try that shocked routine on me. You're preening, for crying out loud. Besides, look on the bright side." Paige dropped her gaze slyly, and straightened the tiny plastic ghosts, ghouls and jack-o-lanterns lined up on her computer monitor, the only personal thing she allowed herself in her otherwise all-business office. "You have two costume choices for Halloween, and you're equally suited to both."
Eden swung her perfect sun-streaked hair over her shoulder and offered up her oft- used 'I've been found out' grin. "Still, you shouldn't say things like that about me."
Paige threw up her hands in defeat. "Well, what do you expect me to say?" She knew she should be used to Eden's stunts by now -- she'd been pulling them since Kindergarten and age hadn't slowed her down, but 'used to it' was impossible. "You come in here all excited, telling me you've 'secured our attendance to this year's Masquerade.' Yet, you refuse to explain how you came to be in possession of not one, but two five-hundred-dollar tickets, except to say 'not in the usual way'."
"How do you know how much the tickets are?"
"Never mind that. I'm not discussing this anymore until you explain what 'not the usual way' means."
Eden leaned her hip against Paige's desk and grinned.
"Come on, Ed, please tell me they're legit. If they're scalped, then you know they could be stolen." Paige searched her friend's face looking for something in her expression that would alleviate this sinking feeling in her stomach. She would settle for a little remorse.
Eden merely continued to grin.
"Stolen! Larceny! Do you get it? I know we would never get to go any other way, but..."
"But nothing. You have other plans for Halloween?" Eden's tone was the same firm one she'd used countless times in the past eighteen months. She planted her palms flat on the top of Paige's desk. "Come on! It's time you stopped moping and got on with your life. Jeff's a creep. He chose a job in Denver over a life with you. He wouldn't know a good thing if it jumped up and bit him on the -- "
"Look, he had the chance to make a name for himself at the Denver station."
"I've got a name for him."
Paige stood with a chuckle. "You get entirely too much enjoyment from bad- mouthing him. The anchor's position was an opportunity he couldn't pass up. You know that." She pushed her chair under her desk, grabbed her clipboard, and turned to the door. "I don't have time to listen to this. I've got to check on my baby viruses."
Eden stepped in front of the door, successfully barring her way. Her expression was a comical mixture of shock and revulsion. "I'm not even going to get into how weird that sounds. Only you could look at a snot specimen that has the potential to wipe out human-kind as we know it, and think of it as a 'baby' virus."
Paige laced her smile with saccharin. "Well, let me by and I promise not to bring any home in my pockets. It would keep quite well in the fridge until the next time you stop by at midnight."
"Can I help it if some of us have a social life?"
Paige knew the late night visits had nothing to do with her social life. She worked two full-time jobs to raise money for her design business. Eden hardly had time to sleep, but she managed to come by and check on Paige. Paige was lucky to have such a good friend. Even if she was kind of -- out there.
"Paige, I'm not moving until you say you'll go to the masquerade."
"You've got to be crazy. Ted Turner, Elton John and probably even TLC will be there, and they'll be bringing everybody who's anybody in Atlanta. It wouldn't surprise me if one of those Backstreet Boys showed up. That baby-faced one just married some girl from Marietta, I think."
"Well, there you go."
"There I go what?"
Eden stared at her with an exasperated look on her face, as though Paige were being purposely obtuse. "There are still a couple single ones left."
"Oh, give me a break." She started to push past her friend, when Eden's tone abruptly changed.
"Please, Paige. I can't stand to see you this way. You've shut yourself off from the rest of the world for too long now. You're not a widow and you're not dead, either. I know you love Jeff, but honey, is he really worth that?" Paige tried to edge past her again, but Eden grasped her arm.
"I know you want to believe Jeff is coming back, and sweetie, if that's what you want, then I hope and pray he does. But ask yourself this: when he does come back, do you want him knowing you sat around mooning over him the entire time he was gone?" Before Paige could protest, Eden grasped her hand and adopted a pouty look. The twinkle in her eye belied the act, though. "Besides, what else have you got to do on Halloween?"
"Give out candy, of course."
"And just how many trick-or-treaters do you think you're going to get in a high- rise?"
"A few." Paige felt her resolve weakening the way it always did. Her friend must have seen the chink in her armor, because she brightened a little and rushed on.
"I'll take care of everything. I'll get us the perfect costumes. Mata Hari and Gypsy Rose Lee, I think."
"And you'll become a statistic." Paige smiled sweetly.
Eden grimaced. "Okay, if you insist, tasteful it is. After all, we'll need to keep a low profile."
Paige closed her eyes and groaned, rubbing her fingers across her forehead. "Why am I even considering this? They'll have high-tech security, and pick off the "unusual" tickets in a heartbeat. We'll cap off the evening by going to jail for crashing the party of the year."
"But what a Halloween story to tell your grandchildren."
"What grandchildren?" Paige pushed Eden away from the door and muttered over her shoulder. "I'll be grabbed up by Bertha, Fulton County Prison's star inmate who murdered the bag-boy for not double-bagging her pig's feet and head cheese."
Eden's laughter followed her down the hall to the lab. "Well, at least you'll make some new friends."
by Elaine Hopper
"Bye Mama." Jenny Profitt fought back scalding tears as she trickled a handful of dirt over her mother's shiny casket, newly closed and ready to be lowered into the deep, dank ground. Distraught, she swiped the unwanted moisture on her cheeks away with the back of her hand. "Sleep tight."
Sharp November wind bit into her flesh, mocking her as if whispering, you're all alone. Cancer had finally claimed her mother after a long, hard battle. Her father had died several years before and she was an only child of only children. She didn't even have any close cousins she could call family. Thanksgiving and Christmas loomed dreary and she could well understand why this was the most depressing season of the year for so many lonely people.
"All alone," she mumbled, clutching her coat lapels against her throat. She hated the sound of that, almost as much as she hated the sound of this terrible silence that could only come from long dead souls -- hundreds of them, maybe thousands. It was creepy, especially as the fingers of night cast shadows all around; shadows from ancient oak and maple trees and worse yet, shadows from grave markers and obelisks. Creepier still was the sound of fallen Autumn leaves crunching under foot.
Drawing in a long sigh, she shuddered. It was past time for the gravediggers to lower the casket. What should she do now? Where should she go? She had no one and nothing left. She'd quit her job when her mama's illness became so bad she'd needed total care. Fed up with lack of attention, her fiancé broke their engagement and stormed out of her life. On one hand, she couldn't blame him, and yet she did. He should have stuck by her through good and bad and he hadn't. But he no longer mattered. Only her mama mattered, but she could no longer tell her.
Tired swollen eyes took in the dispassionate city nestled in the valley below while she shivered on the hilltop. One of the famous seven hills of Cincinnati, the wind whipped and howled around her, prompting her to draw her coat more securely around her.
Cincinnati had always been her home, yet the tall majestic buildings did nothing for her, cared nothing for her. There was nothing and no one left for her here. She didn't want to stay where there were memories of her mama on every corner and in every building. Maybe someday the memories would comfort her, make her smile and laugh. But she was still too raw and too wounded, to deal with them -- especially during the holidays. Falling autumn leaves reminded her that Thanksgiving was less than two weeks away. She'd prayed she'd be given one last Thanksgiving with her mama, but her prayers had gone unanswered.
"Why God?" Pained eyes looked Heavenward as she trudged back to her car. "How could you take her? She was all I had, all I wanted." Sobs racked her body, but she pressed forward, out of the increasingly chilly wind, away from this cursed place. Snow scented the air, but she couldn't remember what the weatherman had said on the radio that day. Had she even turned on the radio on her way to the cemetery? Everything was a blur -- she couldn't remember most of what she'd done that day.
Although she averted her gaze from the marble gravestones, she was well aware that she had promises to keep and a mission to perform before she could start a new life. Back home, at her mama's tiny trailer, a puzzle awaited her. She frowned, trudging to her Toyota Celica.
An amateur genealogist, Linda Sue Profitt had been researching their family history for the past decade. It had comforted Linda to gather so many beloved family members close and become acquainted through old letters, journals, and history books. Rumor had it that her great-great-grandmother's brothers were the infamous Jarvis Gang that had terrorized eastern Kentucky and Tennessee in the 1880s -1890s. Her mother had been on their trail, trying to connect links between her grandmother Rhodie Jarvis and Uriah, Zeke, and Ike Jarvis, the cornerstone of the gang. Jenny couldn't fathom why it had been so important to her mother that she'd made her promise to continue the research.
Deep in misery, Jenny didn't see the traffic light blink red until she was almost on top of it. Stomping on her brake, tires squealed and skid. Burning rubber scorched her nose. Nerves screeched as her abdomen clenched, nausea bubbling in the pit of her stomach.
"Sunday driver!" A man's angry voice penetrated her fogginess. The driver behind her stuck his pudgy head out of his open window and shook a fist at her. Tufts of gray fluff stuck out from under a Cincinnati Red's baseball cap. "You trying to kill us all?'
Lip sinking to the man's mirror image, "I'm sorry," she sped away as soon as the light pinged green. Somehow she made it home on auto-pilot, her mind as jumbled mess as her shattered heart.
She hesitated at the trailer steps dreading going into the empty house where her mother's imprint embossed everything. How long she stood on the threshold, a pathetic sight for all the neighbors, she wasn't sure. It was long enough for the sun to set and the last melting rays to dissipate into the black morass of night, like the void in her soul ripped wide by her mother's death.
A heavy mist shrouded the interior, almost as if a ghost floated from room to room. She trembled violently. "Mama?" The name rolled off her lips before she realized she'd spoken aloud.
No one answered of course. There were no such things as ghosts or spirits or spectors. She didn't believe in the paranormal. Mama was in Heaven, and she, Jennifer Marie Profitt, was completely, totally alone. She sucked in a deep, shuddering breath, trying to quell her nerves.
An envelope fell off her mother's desk, landing on her feet, face up. 'Jennifer' stared up at her in her mother's scrawled handwriting.
Her heart stopped beating. She must be dreaming -- or hallucinating. Had she stepped into some freaky movie?
Dream, movie, or whatever, she picked it up and tore into it. She extracted a long handwritten letter on creamy paper. Her mother's scent -- magnolias -- wrapped around her flushing out a new round of tears.
She read and reread her mother's words: My dearest Jennifer, I love you with all my heart and soul. I want you to be happy, to be with family who loves you. Go to my first cousin Barbara Jasper in Pulaski County, Kentucky. Spend the holidays with her family. Let them help you get on your feet and find our ancestors..." She sank to the floor, the parchment burning her hand.
Her mother wanted her to travel down to Kentucky in this cold, snowy, treacherous weather and impose on distant relatives she'd never met and who quite possibly had never heard of her?
Crazy! "I know you mean well, Mama, but I can't do this." She sniffed back tears that welled in her eyes. "I don't know Cousin Barbara or her family. I can't just show up on her doorstep."
Gulping back tears, she read further. Be happy my darling. Find your special someone. Hold him tight and never let him go. Have lots of babies and name the first girl after me. Don't ever be lonely. Don't ever lose sight of your dream.
Her dream? What dream was that? Her life had been on hiatus so long due to her mother's illness that she'd not given any thought to her future.
And now the future was here, she seemed to hear her mama say that it was time to move forward. Please hand-deliver a special letter to Cousin Barbara for me. It's very important you grant my final wish. Do this for me, Baby. Don't let me down.
She was still hugging the letter close to her chest four days later as she crossed into Pulaski County. Her nerves jittered as she consulted the unfolded map on the front seat beside her. Soon she came upon Somerset, the fabled town her mother had raved about.
The snow flurries that started when she crossed the Ohio River into Northern Kentucky from Cincinnati had increased to near blizzard proportions making driving near impossible. Truckers packed the hotels and since the map told her she was within a hop, skip, and a jump of the hollers of Pulaski, Kentucky, she decided to push forward and reach Barbara's house before sundown. But that was before she realized what steep mountain roads lay ahead of her or just how bad the storm would get.
A hairpin curve loomed dead ahead, and when she looked down a sheer cliff of ice and snow to the holler below, her pulse almost jackknifed in her throat. "Oh God, I can't see." Her breath fogged the windows, hindering her vision. Tapping her brakes, she tried to rub a small window on the windshield with her coat sleeve but the ice crystals resisted her attempts. The cliff dropped off to her right, thus she hugged the left lane by the sheer mountain wall praying no one would come upon her at this juncture. Why oh why did anyone make narrow, windy roads without shoulders? Why did anyone choose to live so far away from civilization, so high they almost touched the clouds?
Almost immediately an ear-splitting foghorn blasted through her, making her jerk the wheel to the right to avoid head-on collision. But she veered too far and she stomped on her brakes too late. The Celica's tires skid on the icy pavement as the brakes locked up. The car spun around in a dizzying vortex, clipping the other vehicle. Her wheels left solid ground as the car seemed to leap off the cliff.
High-pitched screams, crunching metal, shattering glass, pierced her ears and then she was thrown clear of the burning car. Searing pain slashed through her head when it hit a boulder. Blood trickled down her face from several cuts, tasting bitter on her swollen tongue as her mouth filled with blood.
When she squinted her eyes to look for her car, her mother floated before her instead, stretching out her hand.
"Mama?" Jenny tried to lift her arm, to take Linda's hand, but her strength evaporated. The muscles in her shoulder screamed when she tried to move. Blessed cold started to numb the pain, as the snow melted and washed away some of the blood and dirt covering her. And then, everything grew fuzzy and her eyelids grew very heavy.
By Ruth D. Kerce
Kayla rushed around like one of Santa's elves on a sugarplum high, trying to get everything just so. A major case of the holiday guilts had pushed her into a decorating frenzy.
She wrapped garland around the porch railing and set out artificial holly in a pot beside the door. The outdoor lights she briefly thought about hanging over the garage didn't work. She threw the string out, along with a bag of old candy canes that had melted together sometime during the summer.
Truth be told, she was grateful the Christmas lights didn't work. The thought of tacking anything up so high gave her the heebie-jeebies. Her body shuddered, just imagining it. And candy canes were not her favorite decoration. Their little necks always broke when she handled them. Talk about depressing! Anyhow, for someone who put off decorating until the last minute, she hadn't done half bad.
Now she was tackling the front door.
Holding a nail against the wood, she hammered at lightning speed. She didn't have much time left to get everything together before her best friend, Kirk, was due to arrive. Running late as usual. They'd probably chisel that on her tombstone. Mentally chastising herself, she made a resolution to try and manage her time better from now on.
The hammer glanced off the nail and banged her thumb. Pain exploded up her hand, and before she could stop it, an unholiday-like word escaped her lips. She raised her hand to her mouth and sucked at the wound.
Self-consciously, she glanced over her shoulder, expecting to see nosey, old Mrs. Crumbly standing on the porch across the street, shaking her head in disapproval. Thankfully, the stoop was empty. In fact, the neighborhood looked uncharacteristically void of activity, except for two small children trying in vain to form snowballs out of icy slush at the end of the block.
A wire pricked Kayla's skin, and she glanced with disdain at the circle of fir hanging from her arm. She'd never understood the purpose of putting a wreath on the door. It only scratched the wood or got stolen by the neighborhood kids before she could take it down. However, she'd conform to the tradition. But she did so only because the traditions of the season meant so much to Kirk. And Kirk meant so much to her.
She hung the decoration, trying and failing to get it straight. Something round shouldn't have a top and a bottom. She stood back, trying to gauge which way it would hang best. If whoever designed the wreath hadn't loaded it down with poofy ribbons, she could stick it up any which-way.
As she eyed her handiwork, the cold seeped into her bones. She pulled down the sleeves of her thin sweater, but it didn't stop her shivers. At least the really ferocious winter storms hadn't moved in yet. After another unsuccessful wreath adjustment, she gave up. So -- it hung a little lopsided.
"Good enough." Her thumb still throbbing, she cursed the evils of hammers and holidays, and dropped the tool into the box at her feet.
She knew she needed a major attitude adjustment. But after her parents had died, her enthusiasm for the holidays had pretty much died, too. She would try to make her home feel festive, though and maybe, eventually, the spirit of Christmas would return to her soul.
A cold breeze snatched her attention, and she rushed inside to get warm. She shut the front door and entered the utility room. Pushing aside a pile of junk in the packed closet, she located the stepladder and carried it into the entry. After positioning it carefully below the wood archway leading to the living room, she slowly climbed the three steps, muttering repeatedly, "It's not that high; it's not that high." If she kept saying the words, maybe she'd convince herself they were true.
She hated heights -- ever since she was seven, and that little dweeb, Lindsay Taylor, pushed her off a slide. Teetering dangerously on the top step, visions of broken limbs assailed her.
It's just a little stepladder. She breathed deep to calm her nerves, reached up, and secured a stiff, artificial sprig of mistletoe to the wooden beam.
The poor branch was nearly leafless from old age and as hard as a head full of hair spray. All the little white berries had long fallen off, leaving the mistletoe naked and not very Christmas-looking. She shrugged. Oh, well. Anyone with an ounce of holiday spirit would recognize what it was.
She carefully stepped down the ladder, her legs shaking like a pair of rubbery noodles. Relieved to be on steady ground again, she studied the sprig.
The mistletoe's sad state made her wonder why she had risked life, limb, and good sense to hang it up. It wasn't as though she ever used it. She should have thrown it out long ago with the other Christmas decorations she'd tossed. Mistletoe was simply another traditional holiday decoration Kirk had insisted she must have.
If not for him, she would have gotten rid of every last bit of her holiday items by now. Christmas was his favorite time of year though, and she hated to see the disappointment on his face whenever he stopped by and her house looked Scrooge- ish, as he once put it. For his benefit, she did what she could to make it seem like she enjoyed the season as much as he did.
With another glance at the mistletoe, Kayla did acknowledge that somewhere deep down she hoped one day to have 'that special someone' to try it out on. One Christmas kiss wasn't too much to ask, was it? Unfortunately, 'that special someone' she had in mind only viewed her as a good friend.
She returned the stepladder to the closet, then walked into the living room. The small Christmas tree, tiny box of multicolored bulbs, and sleeve of silver tinsel atop the coffee table caught her attention. She needed to decorate the scraggly tree, but didn't have the time or inclination right now to do a decent job.
Every year she bought an artificial Christmas tree, and each year the one she bought got smaller. This year the tree was tiny -- the smallest she'd been able to find, thinking she'd have less to decorate. Still, as little as it was, the chore seemed enormous, so she'd put it off. The tree was still sitting on the coffee table after a week, waiting for her to spruce it up.
She sighed, doubting she'd even bother with a tree next year. Maybe she'd just put out plastic poinsettias and bake Christmas goodies. That was festive enough for her, even though Kirk would complain. She didn't know why he cared how she decorated for the holidays. He always went out of town to visit his family on Christmas anyway. But he'd said once that she would never heal emotionally if she kept ignoring what caused her pain.
Unfortunately, the holidays brought that pain to the surface, and left her feeling raw and vulnerable. Her parents had died in a plane crash right before Christmas, during her first year of college. As an only child, the accident left her feeling totally alone in the new school so far from home.
After taking care of the funeral arrangement and putting the house on the market, she returned to school to finish her studies and grieve. She had nowhere else to go.
She missed her mother's nurturing, and her father's quirky sense of humor and comforting hugs. She'd shed many tears over the past ten years. Memories of joyous Christmas pasts, never to be seen again, made depressing holiday companions.
If it weren't for Kirk, she wouldn't even acknowledge the season at all. It would be easier to handle that way. But he was like a little boy when it came to Christmas. How could she disappoint him? Especially after he'd been such a good friend. Without his strength, caring, and companionship, she'd probably be a bag lady right now.
A quick glance at the clock told her it was getting late. She'd better put the cookies in the oven if she wanted them ready in time.
Kirk would be over soon to unclog her bathtub drain. It had become a ritual for him to do that for her once a month.
Her long hair had clogged many a pipe, and she never did have much luck with drain cleaners or getting it out herself. She was a total klutz with things like that.
Okay, so maybe she could get the hair out herself if she really wanted to try, but it gave her a perfect excuse to ask him over. He'd probably come just to hang out, but she knew he couldn't pass up a 'damsel-in-distress' call. It went against his nature.
All Kirk ever asked in return for his monthly de-hairing service was to sample some of her baking. Her heart did a funny little tumble as she recalled him asking for his Christmas cookie reward.
It thrilled her to know that someone enjoyed her sweeter-than-sin creations. Most people ran for the antacid when she brought out her goodies.
Not Kirk. He was her biggest fan. He loved everything she baked, no matter how sweet. Getting sugar-shocked was one of his favorite past-times. The lovable lug.
She fluffed the pillows on the couch, then dragged out the vacuum cleaner for a quick carpet run. The machine only picked up every other piece of lint. She needed to ask Kirk to de-hair the roller while he was here.
She didn't know what she'd do without him. He had been her best friend for what seemed like forever.
When she'd first met Kirk three weeks into her freshman year at college, they'd immediately clicked. Probably because she loved horror flicks, and he could never find anyone to go with him to one.
The type of women he dated didn't care to be scared more witless than they already were. Okay...that was catty. She knew it, acknowledged it, and still thought it.
Kirk could do much better than those boob-babes he had a tendency to date. Kayla didn't know where he found them, and frankly, she didn't want to know.
Back then, she'd sneak peaks at him, admiring his body and almost too rugged to be handsome face. She had often fantasized about stripping him bare and having her way with him -- still did. What was the harm?
Their classmates must have suspected her feelings, because they were relentless, always making fun of her. And Kirk always came to her rescue. Her hero. He'd call them 'immature idiots', then buy her a large cone of Chocolate Delight ice cream at the Student Union.
Now they were both out of school and had their own places. Her job as a computer analyst provided a fairly good income, and with a small loan, she'd moved from an apartment to a real home.
Kirk had landed a good position in a brokerage firm and found a nice condominium not far from her, but Kayla knew a handyman lurked inside him. He loved to tinker. So whenever she had a problem, he was the one she called.
The phone rang, disrupting her thoughts. She turned off the vacuum, then plopped down on the sofa and picked up the receiver. "Hello."
"Hey, baby. You naked?"
Laughter bubbled up inside Kayla as she recognized the male voice. The greeting that had started out as a joke, long ago, was now a friendly routine, and the familiarity warmed her heart. "Aren't I always?"
"I wish."
"Where are you, Kirk?" She twisted the phone cord around her finger, needing something to do with her hands. Even through the phone line, she ached to touch him.
By Su Kopil
Mr. Pearson had never personally requested Celia's presence in his office before. The thought that he did so now sent her heart pounding in her chest. Not that he was cruel. No, the gaunt old man who'd headed the Eastside Orphanage for the past thirty years was strict, but Celia recognized a gentleness in his watery blue eyes that belied his sometimes harsh words.
She hesitated before the partially opened door, then pulled her shawl tighter across her shoulders in an effort to ward off the chilly Boston air. All winter it seeped through the cracks and crevices of the old building with long, icy fingers. The children, always cold, didn't mind sleeping two or three to a bed, and Celia continually worried about them getting sick.
"Celia, girl. Don't stand there. Come in and close the door. Yes. Sit, sit." Alfred Pearson stood with his back to the single window, his height still impressive despite the slight bend to his shoulders.
Celia obediently sat in the straight-backed chair facing the desk. "Is there something wrong Mr. Pearson? Have the children made mischief? Did I do -- "
"Sit, child. Sit."
Celia hadn't realized she'd risen from the chair. She lowered herself back on the hard wood.
"I wish to talk to you about Jonathan Kimball."
"Johnny?" There it was -- the gentleness again. Celia knew she wasn't the only one with a soft spot for the pale, sickly boy.
"There has been a request for Jonathan to spend the holidays out West. The Southwest, to be exact." He glanced at a sheet of paper on his desk. "Silver Springs, Arizona."
"A request by whom? Why Johnny?" Celia moved to the edge her seat.
"Nathan Clemens. A friend of the boy's parents."
"But -- "
The old man held up his hand. "I have done some investigating. He is a rancher in good standing in the community. Although I cannot prove his claim, it could be a chance for Jonathan to have a real home."
"But, why after all this time?" Celia whispered.
"Mr. Clemens claims to have made a promise to care for Jonathan should anything happen to the boy's parents. He has only just been able to track Jonathan to the orphanage."
"A likely story. No doubt he wants free labor for his ranch." Like many of the men who came looking for older boys, she thought.
"That is why you'll be accompanying Jonathan. You are to send me a telegram reporting your findings."
She gasped. "Me?" Only rarely had she been out of the orphanage and never out of Boston.
Mr. Pearson leaned on his desk. "You leave the day after tomorrow."
"So soon? But what of the other children?"
"Emily is old enough to take on more responsibility." His voice softened, matching the look in his eyes. "You are the only one I trust to do this, Celia. I would go myself, but must consider my duties here. It will do the boy good to be out of this cold weather. And it's high time you saw a bit of the world."
Perhaps Mr. Pearson was right. The orphanage had been her home for as long as she could remember. She had always been a caretaker. Even as a child she had tended the others. Yet, she'd often wondered what lay beyond these brick walls.
Besides, Johnny's nagging cough worried her. From what she had read, Arizona's warm, dry air might be good for him. The thought of traveling so far excited her even as it scared her.
"Then it's settled." She stood. "I'll tell Johnny."
"You are a good girl, Celia."
"Thank you Mr. Pearson." She smiled. "I shall miss you over the holidays."
"And, I you. Go on with you now," he said gruffly.
She nodded and left the room.
The stagecoach, pulled by six galloping horses, thundered into town, announcing their arrival to the residents of Silver Springs. Sticking his head out the small side window, Jonathan bounced with excitement.
"Are we there yet, Miss Celia?"
"Yes, Johnny." She brushed back a lock of brown hair that had fallen across his pale forehead. "This is Silver Springs."
"Will Mr. Clemens be here to meet us?"
All Johnny talked of on their long and tiring trip across country was Nathan Clemens and the fact that he knew Johnny's mother and father. Celia understood how much the child yearned to feel a sense of belonging. It was a longing she herself experienced, one she'd learned to bury years ago.
"I'm sure he will, just like his letter promised."
"Silver Springs." The driver called out. The carriage slowly rolled to a stop. Passengers shuffled about in the cramped interior, gathering what belongings they had carried on.
"Stay close," Celia reminded Johnny once they'd disembarked and their luggage had been unloaded.
Fifteen minutes passed and still they waited. The other passengers, and those meeting them, had long since departed, leaving Celia and Jonathan alone.
"Where's Mr. Clemens?"
The disappointment on Johnny's face fueled Celia's anger. Refusing to wait a moment longer, she picked up their two bags. "No sense standing here while the hotel gets booked up." She strode forward.
Johnny followed, his feet dragging.
"If Mr. Nathan Clemens wants to find us, he will have to look a little harder."
She glanced at Johnny to be sure he was behind her. "Oomph!" She barreled into the solid wall of a man's chest. The impact sent her stumbling backwards, and she would have fallen if not for the large callused hand that reached out and grabbed her arm. As it was, both bags hit the ground. With horror, she watched hers pop open, scattering her unmentionables in the dirt.
Heat suffused her cheeks. "I'm s-sorry." She scurried about, trying to stuff her clothes back into the valise. "I should have watched where I was going."
"No harm done." His deep baritone held a hint of amusement. "You missed one."
She looked up to find the dustiest, dirt-encrusted man she'd ever seen holding her worn chemise.
"Allow me." He bent next to her, lifted the lid, and placed her chemise inside, along with a smattering of dust that fell from his hand. She wrinkled her nose at the powerful smell of horses, leather, and sweat surrounding him.
Picking up both bags, he stood before her. "I believe you were saying I'd have to look a little harder if I wanted to find you?" His eyes sparkled beneath the dust on his face.
"If you -- " She rose and stepped back, placing her hand on her hip. "You're Mr. Nathan Clemens!"
"Nate." He nodded. "And you must be Celia Stanton."
"Miss Stanton," she answered primly. The nerve of the man, standing there fondling her chemise without introducing himself immediately. She felt Johnny sidle up to her and clutch her skirt.
"I'm Jonathan. Thank you for inviting me to Christmas, Mr. Clemens."
Nate's frown appeared, then vanished so fast, Celia thought she must have imagined it. She heard him chuckle and silently dared the man to say anything to disappoint the boy.
"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Jonathan. I've been looking forward to your arrival."
"Do you think Santa Claus will find me here, Mr. Clemens?" Johnny's eyes were hopeful.
Nate frowned again.
Afraid of what the man might say, Celia quickly responded. "I'm sure Santa will know where to find you, Johnny. But first we must get there ourselves. Unless, Mr. Clemens plans on keeping us standing here all day."
"My apologies to the lady." He tugged the brim of his Stetson, shading his eyes. "If you'd be so kind as to follow me."
Celia's fury refueled itself as they hurried to keep up with Nate's long strides. "I'm glad to see you didn't waste a moment preparing yourself for our arrival." Her gaze raked his dusty, lean frame. But instead of making her point, she felt an unsettling flutter in her belly similar to the time she had unwittingly gulped spoiled milk.
He stopped in front of two chestnut mares hitched to a wagon. "An axle broke on the way here. I mended it best I could." He placed the bags in the wagon bed. "It should get us home."
"Should? You're not sure?" She glanced at him warily.
"There's not much I'm sure about in this life, Miss Stanton," he drawled, offering her a hand up.
She placed her fingers in his, instantly regretting the move. His touch sent tingles clear up her arm to her shoulder. Clearly, the weariness from her extended travel caused the strange reaction. She needed a nap.
Johnny scrambled up after her, coughing from the exertion.
Nate slid into place on the long bench, eyeing first the boy then her, but he made no further comment. Releasing the brake, he unwound the reins from the lever, and clucked to the horses. The wagon jerked forward.