Christmas Star Sapphire (Inspirational Romance): A Second Generation Jewel Series Novella (The Jewel Series Book 6)

by Hallee Bridgeman

  “Maddie!” Cora greeted as the two women embraced. “I can’t believe it’s been a whole year since I’ve seen you!”

  “You look fantastic.” Madeline made a show of feeling Cora’s biceps. “How do you stay so fit?”

  “Discipline.” She kept the deadpan face for about three seconds before she burst out laughing. “That and Daddy sends me training texts every single day.” She patted her flat stomach. “I’m on vacation right now, though. No gyms. No weights. Might even eat some processed sugar. Who knows?”

  “You’re going to be a powder puff by the time Christmas break is over. You’ll end up having to work extra hard.”

  “Now you sound just like dad.” She stuck her tongue out at her. “Way to ruin Christmas, cuz.”

  Madeline snorted as she watched her bag come down the conveyer belt. Bag collected, they walked arm-in-arm out of the airport. Minutes later, they turned onto U.S. 1 and headed north.

  “So, how’s Alabama?” Cora asked, stealing a quick glance at her cousin.

  Madeline smiled, thinking of Joe Westcott. “Would you believe I found the man of my dreams in Alabama?” She dug through her purse and pulled out her sunglasses, slipping them on her face.

  “Seriously?”

  “He’s coming for Christmas.”

  “You’ve never brought a boy home before. He must be something special.”

  “I’ve never felt like there was someone worth bringing home.” Looking back over the last few weeks, she felt a smile cross her face and felt a little flutter in her heart. “His family isn’t close. I hope throwing him into the mosh pit of Viscolli Christmas won’t scare him away.”

  “Better to get it over with than to wait another whole year before exposure,” Cora laughed. “Besides, he’ll get less of Uncle Tony’s undivided attention this way.”

  Madeline sighed and smiled. “Actually, I think Papa will like him. Your dad will approve of his taste in football teams. Uncle Derrick will like his sportsmanship. I think overall, they’ll approve.”

  “So it’s just his opinion you’re worried about?” She reached over and put a hand on her arm. “You know what my mom would say. You should examine your feelings and consider their root.”

  With a laugh, Madeline said, “Seriously, Cora? When have I ever been prone to bad decisions and some sort of emotional rationalization? I don’t think there’s a track record for me there.” She didn’t add that Cora likely projected her own really disastrous high school experience. Even though nearly three years had passed, she knew without a doubt her cousin wasn’t over it yet. “I’m not concerned about how he’ll like the family. I’m just curious and a little on edge about his comfort level during the festivities. It’s not a small shindig, I don’t have to remind you, and not a typical family Christmas.”

  Cora didn’t reply. Madeline knew that her younger cousin had just transported herself back to her senior year of high school. Wanting to fix it, she said, “How’s Chase doing?”

  Cora’s twin brother, Chase, played football in Texas. “He’s playing in a bowl game New Year’s. Daddy, mom, and I fly out the Wednesday before.” She stuck her lip out. “I’m disappointed he won’t be here for Christmas. This will be his second year.”

  “Football players don’t get Christmas breaks,” Madeline said, quoting her Uncle Barry. “At least you were able to spend part of the summer with him.” She pulled her phone out and sent a quick text to Joe.

  IN FL. CAN’T WAIT TO SEE YOU NEXT WEEK

  Once she sent it, she dashed off another one to her mother.

  WITH CORA. EN ROUTE.

  “Who all is here so far?”

  Cora kept one hand on the wheel and held her other up, counting by putting a thumb to each finger. “Your parents, Faith and TJ got in yesterday and they’re still pretty beat so I haven’t seen much of them, me, and my mom. Daddy’s coming next week with the O’Farrell’s and your grandfather. Uncle Derrick and Aunt Sarah won’t be able to come until Christmas Eve. The kids are all in a community youth Christmas production the twenty-third.”

  At the mention of Derrick and Sarah she asked, “How is Rebekah?”

  “So far, the last treatments are still the last. I haven’t heard anything more.”

  “Me, neither.” She thought of their baby cousin, a fragile redhead with big beautiful eyes. Wanting to change the subject, she said, “You should see what I got Faith for Christmas. I found a flight scarf that once belonged to Florene Miller, the first WASP commander.”

  Cora frowned. “Women Air –”

  “Women Air Service Pilots.” She stifled a yawn. “The auction last summer got hot and heavy. I can’t believe I won it. Oh, and she was also the WASP chaplain for, like, ten years!”

  “YOUR mother tells me there’s a man in your life.” Tony pulled out a chair to sit under the shade of the umbrella. He set his glass of lemonade on the table and stretched his legs out in front of him. They sat on the second floor balcony of Tony and Robin’s beach home.

  Madeline smiled. “I do. He’ll be here next week.” She waved at her brother below her, who helped the longtime groundskeeper, Nelson, string Christmas lights into the palm trees that bordered the pool.

  “It would have been good to have him here before everyone showed up so we could spend some one-on-one time with him.”

  “I agree.” She ran her finger down the moisture on the outside of her glass. “He’s a Cru missionary. Right now, he’s in planning meetings for the rest of the week with his team.”

  “A missionary?” Her father’s eyes gleamed. “Tell me more.”

  He knew she’d always been a part of Cru. Now that she had some knowledge from Joe’s side of things, she explained more about the administrative side of Cru, the outreach, the mission trips, the student involvement. Her father asked her in-depth questions and she did her best to answer them. She tabled a few to ask Joe about later.

  Tony pursed his lips and sat quietly after she answered the last question. “So, he does good work. Now tell me more about the man himself,” he finally said.

  Out of nowhere, she felt hot tears sting her eyes. It surprised her, this emotional reaction. Unsure of where to start, she simply said, “He had a terrible childhood.”

  As she cleared her throat, Tony reached over and took her hand. “I understand.” She knew he did. As far as bad childhoods went, her father could probably win most competitions.

  “He’s alone.”

  “No family at all?”

  Trying to decide what to say and what to keep close to her heart, she finally said, “He has had nothing to do with his family for many years. As far as I know, they have nothing to do with him.”

  “How very difficult that would be. Maybe I had it easier by having no one at all.” She studied her father’s face, taking in the Italian features, the dark brown eyes, the graying at the temples, and wondered if he spoke sincerely or ironically.

  Never one to remain in the unknown, she challenged the proclamation. “In what way?”

  “Well, when you’re alone, you’re simply alone. But, he has to make a choice to not have his family in his life, and it would have to be a choice made at every holiday and every birthday. Any special occasion like a wedding or a baptism, really. Even funerals. That can’t possibly be easy.”

  She pulled her hand from his and took a long drink of lemonade. “What do you know about Westcott Marine?”

  “Don’t change the subject, figlia.”

  “Actually, I’m not.”

  Tony’s eyebrows furrowed in concentration. “I see. Well, I think I remember something – some sort of tragic news with one of the Westcott brothers’ wife. Was she murdered?”

  She shook her head. “Suicide.”

  “E’ una tragedia.” He shook his head. “How is this related to your young man?”

  “She was his mother.” She crossed her arms on the table and leaned forward. “Papa, the way he grew up – an absolute absence of love. I am amazed he found God a
t all.”

  “Mia bella figlia, when you have no love, imagine encountering perfect love. Agape love. Unending love. The Bible tells us that God is love, and that every good and perfect thing comes from Him. When all you have is an absence of love, the love of God fills you to the point of an all-consuming radiance inside of you.” He leaned back in his chair. “There is nothing like it, and only people who have experienced it can explain the magnitude of it.”

  He gestured in her direction with an open hand in a way that looked distinctively Italian. “You have had such a good life. You are surrounded by an extended family who loves you and will do anything for you. I suppose it would be harder for someone raised like you to accept the love of God because you would think you needed nothing else.”

  Again, the emotions overwhelmed and she almost started crying. “I just don’t know how….”

  Her father cut her off. “If you love him – and I will assume that you do because we have never talked of a man before – but, if you love him, then all you do is that. You just love him and respect him. Don’t try to make up for something he never had. Don’t try to be anyone other than yourself. You, Madeline, love him as he is with what you are, and respect him. Semplice.”

  He smiled. “Of course, sometimes it’s trickier to actually do it than to just say it. But there isn’t a magic mathematical formula.”

  The tears that had threatened suddenly dissipated. “It’s still rather soon, don’t you think? I met him the first day of school last year, but we’ve only been dating since Thanksgiving.”

  “When it’s right, God sometimes tells you right away.” He grinned. “Ask your mama how quickly I knew I was in love with her. I say it was love at first sight, but she insists it took a day or two.”

  She hopped up and went behind his chair, putting her arms around his neck and kissing his cheek. “Thanks, Papa. I’d worried….”

  He patted her forearm. “You should know better. I trust you, Maddie.”

  Robin appeared in the doorway, holding a bowl of red frosting. “Did you want to help decorate these gingerbread cookies? I made arrangements to have them at the fire station at four.”

  Madeline checked her watch. “Sure. As long as I get to sample one.” She straightened and added, “Or, you know, five.”

  JOE stared at the envelope sitting on the galley counter. He’d pulled it out of his post office box yesterday morning, but still hadn’t quite brought himself to open it.

  The return address was his father’s palatial home near Providence, but the handwriting was a feminine hand that he did not recognize. He assumed it was from his father’s current wife.

  Nothing good, he knew, would come from opening the letter.

  Before he could talk himself out of it, he ripped it open and pulled out the card. A cartoonish ‘W’ in black and white tiger print filled the front of the card. Already he regretted opening it.

  On the inside, the simple note read:

  Your father is on his deathbed.

  It also contained the name of the hospital.

  He wadded it up and brought his fist up to his forehead, closing his eyes. A headache started somewhere near the base of his skull. His father was on his deathbed. Was that good, or bad? How was he supposed to feel about that?

  He’d last seen his father’s face, bloodied and bruised from his own fists, just three years ago. He couldn’t possibly have sent for him. Maybe the new wife thought she would help her dying husband by bringing his estranged son home, though Joe couldn’t imagine why she would think that would be a good idea.

  Making a sound of frustration, he threw the card across the room. It landed on the table, then skidded off and hit the floor. He tried to ignore it, but it screamed at him like a flashing light, and with a sigh, he picked it up and threw it in the garbage. His environment back in order, he went back to his bedroom and made an attempt to pack.

  When he opened the narrow closet, his hands brushed against his suit – the one he hung on to for weddings and funerals. His father was on his deathbed. Was he not supposed to care?

  He had spent a year on the open water of the Atlantic Ocean, coming to terms with the fact that his father didn’t love him, had never even cared for him, and likely never would. So where did this feeling inside of him come from? The one that threatened to break down every wall he’d ever built up. From where did this little kid emerge that thought that maybe, if he came now, the man would suddenly realize he had a son for whom he loved and cared.

  He took the suit out of the closet and laid it across his bed. As he packed, he added shoes to match the suit, a tie, and a dress shirt, and knew that he had decided where he would spend his Christmas.

  How would he tell Madeline? He’d have to just tell her. Quick and simple and short. Direct and to the point. No room to negotiate. Can’t come meet your family whom you love. Have to go see my family for the first time since my mother’s funeral during which I physically attacked my father. Hope you understand.

  Shored up, he dialed her number. It rang six times before going to voice mail. He sighed and closed his eyes. He’d wanted to speak to her, but leaving a message worked for him, too. “Hey, Maddie. I won’t be able to come to Florida. I have to go to Providence. Apparently, my father is sick and his wife has sent for me. I…” he paused. What did he think he was about to say? Did he honestly just nearly deliver some declaration of love over a voice mail? “I’m really sorry. I’ll try to get there before the new year.”

  He hung up and tossed his phone on the bed, then went into the main cabin to go online and see if he could find an available flight to Providence three days before Christmas.

  CHAPTER 8

  THE family sat in a cluster of vinyl chairs in the intensive care unit waiting room. He saw his two uncles, two of his three cousins, and his father’s new wife. When Joe approached, their conversation stopped. His father’s oldest brother, Martin, stepped forward and intercepted him before he reached the group.

  “Joe. What are you doing here?”

  “She sent for me,” he answered. “No idea why. I assumed you all knew.”

  “You being here will only upset him.”

  With a raised eyebrow, Joe replied, “Wouldn’t want that, would we? Don’t ever want to upset daddy. Someone might get hurt if he gets upset.” Martin’s face turned red and he looked away, no longer able to meet Joe’s gaze. He added, “Seems like my mom said that to me a few times in my childhood, Uncle Marty. But you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

  He wanted to ask why no one ever protected him, why no one ever reached out to him. He had a thousand questions, and none he would allow himself to ask. The answers couldn’t matter. He gestured at the door to the ICU. “I’ll just go see a nurse. I’m not here to break up the family cabal.”

  Inside the doorway, he approached the nurse’s station. No one in his family followed him. A poinsettia plant sat on the counter next to a wooden nativity. In front of the counter, ruby red garland hung in a scalloped design, held up by clear tape. “May I help you?” the nurse asked as she typed on the keyboard in front of her.

  “I’m Joe Westcott. I was told my father’s here.”

  She paused in her typing and glanced at the clock on the wall, then looked at him over the rim of her glasses. The Christmas bell earrings in her ears gave a faint jingling sound as her head moved. “Your father’s visitors are limited. You can go in, but you only have ten minutes.” She stood and slipped her glasses off of her face, putting them in the pocket of her lavender scrubs. “Follow me, Mr. Westcott.”

  She led him to a room with glass walls. Next to the door, a computer hung suspended from an articulated mechanical arm. She paused and swiped her badge on the card reader next to the keyboard then she quickly typed something. Joe stared at his father through the glass. The once domineering and powerful oldest brother of the Westcott Marine boys lay stretched out looking like a fragile shell in a hospital bed. He had expected wires and tubes, but he
simply had a nasal cannula in his nose and a pulse-ox monitor attached to his finger.

  “Your father is at the end stage of congestive heart failure. He’s signed a DNR. Right now, we keep him comfortable and manage his pain. We don’t expect him to make it through the end of the week.” She pushed a button and the glass door slid open silently. “He should hear you.”

  Why had his hands suddenly gone cold? Why did a nervous fluttering start in his heart and plummet like a sickening tide to his stomach? This man couldn’t hurt him anymore.

  At least, not physically.

  As sweat broke out on his upper lip, he stepped into the glass world. The door slid shut behind him. He had ten minutes, but he used half that time to just stare at the man in the bed, trying to remember anything happy. Any time at all. But he had no memories about this man that weren’t centered on fear or pain.

  “Joseph,” he said, refusing to call the man father.

  His eyelids fluttered and eventually opened. When he focused on Joe, his eyes widened. “Joey,” he whispered.

  “So you recognize me.” He slipped his hands in his pockets and stayed well away from the bed. “Your wife told me you were on your deathbed. I suppose I had to come see for myself.”

  His father’s upper lip snarled. “Yeah? Well, now you’ve seen me,” he gasped. “Mother Nature hurt me more than you could ever dream of. Going to relish in my pain? Celebrate when I finally die? Spit on my grave?”

  Something inside of him twisted painfully. He stepped forward, wanting to reach out, but unwilling to bridge any physical gap. “I have no intention of celebrating and whether you’re worth my spit is up for debate. The truth is, I’ll mourn the fact that you are an evil man doomed to suffer an eternity for the life you lived on earth, while I did absolutely nothing to try to change that. One day, we will all have to answer for our sins. My silence is something I believe God will demand an accounting for from me.”