Hope at Christmas

by Nancy Naigle

  Haley ran her hand through her hair. “I promise you he will not slip by me again. I really feel awful about this.”

  “You know I don’t blame you for that.”

  “I know, but I do feel bad about it. I’ve always wanted children, but maybe I’m not cut out for it.”

  “You’re going to make a great mother one day.”

  He realized now that playing Santa to RayAnne’s four-wheeler dreams might not be the best way to be helpful to Sydney. Being a parent wasn’t easy even when everything went right. Adding to her stress was not his plan. He’d tread lightly about the four-wheeler this afternoon. If Sydney wasn’t comfortable, he would find something else to do besides hot dog it on the ATVs. There were other options.

  He pictured Sydney riding on the back of his ATV, hanging on and laughing when he went too fast. Had the invitation ever really been about RayAnne, or more about having a chance to see Sydney again? He wasn’t sure.

  He’d better figure it out quickly, because they’d be here in less than an hour.

  Chapter Twelve

  Sydney walked into The Book Bea, but instead of a greeting she was met by a glare from Bea and a snippety, “What are you doing here? It’s your day off, and today’s the big day.”

  “The big day?”

  “You’re meeting Mac.”

  “Oh stop it.”

  “You need to get gussied up for the most handsome available man in all of Hopewell. That takes time.”

  “Bea. You know it’s just an early supper with our kids. Not really a gussy-up type of thing.”

  “What I know is that you need someone to remind you how fantastic you are. You’re a beautiful, smart, vibrant young woman. You should be appreciated for that.”

  “You appreciate me plenty for a lifetime.”

  “That is not the kind of admiration I meant and you know it. And he’s a good one. I have an intuition about people.”

  “He seems very nice. I do have a question about him, though.”

  “I have most of the answers around this town.” She lifted her chin. “What is it you want to know?”

  “It’s just not often you see a father with custody of his child. Which seems to be the case with Mac. What’s the story there?”

  “Oh, yes.” Bea rubbed her aching fingers. “That’s not your usual story. His wife was younger than him. She was a wild one, but boy he loved her. They hadn’t been married long when she got pregnant. He was so excited. Handing out cigars the day they found out it was going to be a boy. She never seemed as excited as he was about it, but then she was pretty sick through the pregnancy, too, if I remember correctly.”

  Sydney thought back to when she’d been pregnant with RayAnne. She’d had one of those horrible, sickly first trimesters, too. It was torture.

  “Once the baby was born she spent more time out on the town than home. She really didn’t have a very nice reputation, if you know what I mean. Mac was home taking care of the baby most of the time. He was pretty much a single parent even when she was around.”

  “So they divorced?”

  “No. She left. Well, yes, Mac finally got the divorce as irreconcilable differences. It wasn’t easy, though. She up and left on Christmas. He had to track her down to get the divorce. She just abandoned them both and never came back.”

  “Not even for a visit?”

  “Nope. She moved on to something new and never looked back. No communication at all, from what I hear. Quite bizarre. The girl had absolutely zero maternal instincts.”

  “Wow, and I thought my situation was bad. Just goes to show you things can always be worse.”

  “It depends on your perspective. Mac was sad. He adored Genna. Worked two jobs just to spoil her. He was so happy, I think it really came to him as a big surprise.”

  “That’s too bad.”

  “But I think once he got over the initial shock, it was also a huge relief for him to not live with that frustration. No one wants to be with someone who doesn’t want them.”

  Sydney couldn’t agree more.

  “Where is RayAnne this morning?”

  “She’s spending the day with a friend from school. So I have the morning to myself.”

  “She’s making friends already,” Bea said. “I knew she would.” Bea eyed her cautiously. “Are you okay? You seem a little melancholy today.”

  “I guess. It really bothered me when I heard Jon was taking his girlfriend to Paris. That had been my dream trip. He’d never wanted to go. I’m not the jealous type. At least I never thought I was, but boy did that hit me wrong.”

  “That’s not jealousy. That’s disappointment. Very different.”

  “Is it really?”

  “Of course it is. And you’ll get Paris. Your own kind of Paris, and it will be more special than any trip you and Jon could’ve gone on.”

  “You are the most optimistic woman I’ve ever known. I hope you’re right. But right now what I need is to get some stocking stuffers. I hadn’t planned on RayAnne being home for Christmas. I’ve got work to do to piece the holiday back together.”

  “Well, you know the inventory almost better than I do. Take whatever you want. On the house.”

  “No. I won’t do that. This is a business. We can’t give away the store. Was that a test?” She shot Bea a glance.

  “No. But if it had been you’d have passed. Not that I’m surprised.”

  She left The Book Bea with a bag full of stocking stuffers, but she had no idea how she was going to get the farmhouse looking festive before RayAnne got home. Especially since their Christmas tree was now sitting in the middle of The Book Bea.

  She tried Jon’s cell phone again on her drive home. He’d avoided her calls ever since the big letdown. Why he’d felt the need to call RayAnne’s phone just because she didn’t answer still boggled her mind. Wasn’t like his news couldn’t have waited another day.

  Her call to Jon went to voice mail again.

  When she got home, she went up into the attic to find all their Christmas stuff. Stockings, ornaments, and wreaths.

  The first stocking she lifted out of the box was Jon’s. She was so tempted to throw his in the trash. Instead, she shoved it down into the bottom of the box. Out of sight.

  She found hers and RayAnne’s. Hugging them to her chest, she remembered the weekend they’d stayed at that little island off the coast of Georgia a few summers ago. She could only spend so many hours in the hot sun on the beach while Jon golfed, so she and RayAnne had taken advantage of a workshop at a little Christmas store. For twenty-five dollars a piece they’d spent two afternoons working on personalized Christmas stockings. They’d cut, whipstitched, appliqued, glued, and bedazzled one for each of them and then one for Jon, too. It had been a wonderful mother-daughter project. She wondered if the store was still there.

  The things she’d picked up this morning filled RayAnne’s stocking with just enough room for a few sweet treats and fruit—an apple, an orange, and a banana, just like Sydney’s mom had done for her when she was that age—it would be perfect. She’d bought herself two novels and some drawer sachets to fill her own stocking from Santa. She’d been a good girl, too, after all.

  Feeling good about getting that done while RayAnne was gone, Sydney dumped the gifts back into the bag and hid it away in the top of the closet under the stairwell.

  Then she looked for the wreath boxes. She’d brought only three of them from the old house in Atlanta. Each year everyone in their old neighborhood had tried to outdo each other with their door wreaths. Not just for Christmas either, but year round. These three had been her favorites.

  She spread the boxes out on the couch and took the tops off of them. Their house in Atlanta had been quite different from this one. The two-story brick house had twice the space, too. Not the nicest in the neighborhood, but all she’d cared about was that it was in the best school district in the entire city.

  Although each of these wreaths was quite beautiful, none of them seemed righ
t for this house. Or this year. A fresh start was in order. She hated to dismantle the high-dollar wreaths, but she was sure she could combine some of the pieces to come up with something a little more in line with the cozy rural setting that wouldn’t cost her a dime.

  She went upstairs, where she’d turned the extra bedroom into a craft room for her and RayAnne to work in.

  She got her glue gun, scissors, and some floral wire, then went downstairs to see what she could create.

  She spent the next hour cutting, gluing, and tucking the pieces together until she had a whole new creation in front of her.

  Sydney stepped back and looked at her handiwork. The fancy pheasant feathers had looked a little too highfalutin in the copper and gold wreath, but by combining them with traditional pine cones and poinsettias, she’d been able to give the wreath a rustic feel that was perfect for this house. Something she thought RayAnne would like, too.

  She carried it to the front door and hung the wreath from a rusty nail that had probably been there since she was just a baby.

  She walked out to the middle of the yard to see how it looked. Bright and warm, it would give RayAnne a nice Christmassy welcome home when Diane brought her back. She glanced at her watch. That wouldn’t be long, either. She went back inside and wove a length of green pine garland through the stair railing and then followed that with a string of lights. She plugged the lights in. It instantly made the room look more festive.

  She went upstairs and changed into a pair of black jeans, hiking boots, and a plaid western shirt. Her red sweatshirt was downstairs. It was definitely a layers kind of day outside, although the sun was warm if she could stay out of the breeze.

  Better safe than sorry, she gathered their jackets and put them by the door.

  She sprawled out on the couch to read. She was turning the page to start a new chapter when the doorbell rang, startling her out of her reading daze.

  RayAnne must’ve forgotten her key in the excitement this morning. She jumped up and ran over to the door, expecting RayAnne, but instead it was the mail carrier.

  “I have a registered letter for you, ma’am.” He scanned the code on the thick envelope and then handed her his computer device. “Sign here.”

  She used the stylus to sign, although if anyone could recognize that as her signature it would be a miracle. “Thanks.” She shut the door behind her.

  Trepidation filled her.

  She turned the envelope over in her hand. If the fine quality of the envelope hadn’t been hint enough, then the Atlanta lawyer’s address was a sure thing. Her lawyer.

  Divorce papers. Jon was on a flat-out roll, spreading disappointment among the Ragsdale girls equally this Christmas. He’d finally signed the papers.

  She laid her hand on the chair near the door and lowered herself, feeling as if someone had just punched her in the gut. She’d been the one to push for the quick divorce, and now that she had exactly what she had asked for, it hurt. It hurt a lot.

  The timing couldn’t have been worse. One more reminder she’d be spending this Christmas alone. Then again, maybe the timing was right. A reminder to move forward and quit looking back.

  Like Bea had said, she needed to open herself up to new opportunities. Professionally and personally.

  She slipped her finger under the edge of the envelope and pulled out the papers. Just like that. One person decides, and it can all be washed away like it never happened.

  She stuffed the papers back into the envelope. She’d been mourning the loss of her relationship since February, so there weren’t any tears. Just that black heaviness in her heart.

  It was over. And there wasn’t a single word to describe how she felt. She wasn’t Mrs. Ragsdale anymore. She wasn’t a wife. Just a mom, and there was no reason to feel guilty for spending time with Mac when this relationship was behind her. But then why did she feel so awkward about it?

  Mac was a nice guy. They were friends. Two single parents making memories with their kids over the holidays. No harm in that.

  With that freshly planted in her mind, she heard Diane’s car pull into the driveway. She placed the envelope in the drawer of the table next to the door. She didn’t need to bring RayAnne’s mood down with the news. Better they should have some fun before letting Jon land another disappointment on RayAnne.

  If she dared be honest with herself, she wasn’t ready to speak the words aloud, either.

  * * *

  Mac paced the living room, waiting for Sydney and RayAnne to arrive. Wasn’t like he hadn’t invited tons of people to the house over the years, but for some reason this felt a little different. He looked out the front window again.

  How many times had he looked already?

  He walked past the Christmas tree again, and adjusted a couple of the lights to fill a bare spot. Music? Should he put music on? Would that seem like he was trying too hard? It was just a friendly get together. They’d said so. It’s not a date unless both of you say it is, and he hadn’t and she’d clarified it, so there was no problem.

  “We should put Christmas music on, Dad.”

  Smartest kid ever. “You’re right,” Mac said. “Why don’t you do that?”

  “Okay.” Seth plopped down on the couch and started thumbing through his phone for music.

  “You can play my Christmas music,” Mac said.

  “The CDs and old plastic records? Get real, Dad.”

  “They’re vinyl, not plastic.”

  “They’re totally lame,” Seth said.

  Mac’s collection took up two shelves of the bookcase. He still wasn’t a fan of the whole download music craze.

  A moment later Seth had his phone playing Christmas music through the house speakers.

  A car pulled into the driveway.

  “They’re here.” Seth ran for the door.

  Mac counted to four and then walked that way, trying not to look too eager. He stepped out onto the front porch just as they were walking up.

  “This place is cool,” RayAnne said. “I’ve never known anyone who lived in a log house before.”

  Sydney smiled as she walked toward him, balancing a covered dish.

  “No problem finding the place?”

  “Nope. Pretty drive out this way.”

  He’d lived in this house for six years now. His dream home. Simple in style. Kind of like him. The wraparound porch had been the most important feature. Well, aside from the extra garage space he’d had the builder integrate into the design. That had meant giving up the porch on the east side of the house, but how much porch did one man really need anyway? That had been an easy decision.

  Out here there weren’t many neighbors, but the ones he had were of the kind from generations ago, when people helped people just because they lived nearby.

  It had been a while since he’d considered what the first impression would be like to an outsider visiting.

  “It’s great. I thought the farmhouse was quiet,” Sydney said as she stepped up onto the porch.

  “You didn’t have to bring anything.”

  “Are you kidding me? I’m a southern girl. We do not arrive without a proper host gift.”

  He took the dish from her and started to lift the lid. “May I?”

  “Absolutely. It’s homemade fudge.”

  “It smells good. Should I do a quality check?” He reached in and took a small piece off of the top row. “Chocolate peanut butter? How did you know that’s my favorite?” He chewed slowly, letting the sweet chocolate fill his mouth. He swallowed, then took one more piece. “I may have to hide this from Seth so I won’t have to share. If you’re going to bring these kinds of host gifts I’m going to have to go ahead and invite you back now.”

  She tossed her hair back as she laughed, and followed him inside. “Glad you like it.”

  “I do, come on in.”

  She followed behind him, and Seth and RayAnne came in right behind her.

  “Real tree?”

  “Is there any other kind?�
��

  “It smells so good.” She stepped into the living room, her eyes trailing all the way to the ceiling. “Not an inch to spare.”

  “Takes precision selection skills to do that.”

  Seth interjected, “That and sometimes a chainsaw. Last year we made three wreaths out of all the limbs Dad had to trim off to fit the tree in the house.”

  “Years of practice does improve my precision.”

  “So I hear. Do I smell spaghetti?” She took a second sniff in the air. “Maybe garlic bread?”

  “Lasagna.”

  “Homemade?”

  “My grandmother’s recipe. It’s the best. I’m warning you now, you’re going to be begging me to cook for you again.”

  “Really? You’re pretty sure of yourself.”

  She seemed comfortable, and that put him at ease, too. “My lasagna skills are even better than my tree selection skills.”

  “And a lot more useful throughout the year. I do love lasagna.”

  “And way easier to eat than spaghetti. Although I have a good recipe for that, too.”

  “Should’ve known from that olive skin that you had some Italian in you.”

  “Italian, Portuguese, and a dash of French.”

  “Ooh la la. Hope I get to try the French cuisine sometime.”

  “That can be arranged. Ever been to Paris?” He regretted it as soon as the words spilled out of his mouth. “Sorry. That’s probably a sore subject with your ex headed there. Wasn’t thinking.” He picked up a bottle of wine. “Can I pour you a glass of wine?”

  “Maybe later. It’s fine. No, I’ve never been, but have always wanted to. Except for the eight-hour flight, I can’t imagine anywhere more perfect to go. It’s totally on my bucket list. The food. The wine. The art. Everything. I picture it breathtaking and amazing.”

  “It is. I’ll have to tell you all about my time there one day.”

  “You’ve been? Do you speak French? Not knowing the language might be a little daunting.”

  “I speak it well enough to get around. I’ll tell you all about it some time. But for now, I think we have enough daylight to spend some time outdoors. Work up an appetite and then eat. Unless y’all are really hungry now.”