Holiday Magic

by Fern Michaels

  “Because I have a prosthesis, because I’m not whole….”

  “You’ve got to be joking.” He did not say those words too nicely.

  “No, I’m not—”

  “You’re not that self-pitying are you? You can’t possibly believe that?”

  I closed my eyes. Had I been self-pitying? Had I let my resentment of the loss of my leg, the anger I felt toward my sister, mottle my thinking that badly? Had I allowed the accident to take more than part of my leg, but also a huge chunk of my self-esteem, my joy, who I am as a woman? Had the anger taken me from me? Yes, I thought instantly, yes, it has.

  “I do…I have…Other men…”

  “Meredith, I am not ‘other men’,” Logan semi-shouted. “I have never been ‘other men’. I will never be ‘other men’. Has this been why you’ve pushed me away? Why you can’t commit, why you can’t be…” He struggled to find the word. “Is this why we can’t be together?”

  “Yes. I don’t want you to see me…I’d feel exposed…I feel ugly…I don’t like to be naked with that…I always wear pants…Doesn’t it bother you?”

  Now that steamed him to the boiling point. “After all the time we’ve spent together, do you think I’m that damn shallow? Do you think I’m the kind of man who would let something like that bother me?”

  I bit my lip.

  “You did, didn’t you? Haven’t I shown you that I’m more of a man than that? Why would you think I would break up with you once I found out?”

  Why would I think that? Because I didn’t like that part of myself. Well, of course you don’t, I thought, of course you would rather have your leg back. Anyone would. And yet, your leg is only one small part of yourself. It isn’t your compassion, or your kindness to others, or your smarts, or your ability to shoot targets in the center, fly fish, or hug Sarah and Jacob. It’s a sad thing. It’s done. You’re still here, aren’t you? You’re still alive, right, at Christmastime, in Telena, with Logan?

  “I…I didn’t…I judged you unfairly, Logan, I did. I assumed you would react a certain way, based on my past, how I let others make me feel, how stupid men made me feel, and based on how I feel about myself. And I was wrong.”

  “You certainly were!” he roared, a bull now who was not happy. “One hundred percent wrong.”

  For a long time we locked gazes, his furious, mine apologetic. I knew I still looked like a menopausal porcupine.

  He stood and turned around, those shoulders huge and solid, and I heard him swear, and mutter something about me being “an impossibly difficult woman,” but by the time he turned around, hands on those yummy hips, I knew we’d crossed a threshold. He sighed. “Damn, but I thought I was going to lose it in California, alone, lonely, wanting you by me. Is there anything else, sugar, that’s going to keep you from kissing me for the rest of my life?”

  For the rest of his life? Dare I hope? I shook my head.

  “Nothing?”

  “As long as you promise never to give up your cowboy boots, I think we’ll be good.” The menopausal porcupine smiled through her tears.

  He pulled me into his hug and this time, with that Christmas tree glowing in the distance, the North Star extra bright, I gave Logan Taylor a big smackeroo right on the lips.

  “I love you, Meredith,” he murmured. “I love you so much.”

  My life had not turned out as I had planned. I had lost part of a leg. I had spent months grieving, had to relearn to walk, and was in mind-smashing pain because my sister drove drunk. After that I had had to leave New York and my career to take care of her kids, who had brought me pain and joy, but much more joy than pain, and I had faith there would be more joy to come. Plus, I loved those kids with my whole happy heart.

  Everything had worked out near perfectly, barring the loss of my leg. It wasn’t the plan, but it was a near-perfect plan.

  “I love you, too, Logan. And thank you for saving me that night at Barry Lynn’s.”

  He laughed, and that laughter flew up and around us, swirling around, like Santa’s magic, sparkly and bright.

  “Thank you for saving my life years ago, too, cowboy.” Then I did what any tough Montana cowgirl/fly fisherwoman would do: I went toe to toe with him with our cowboy boots and didn’t stop those happy tears slipping down my face, mixing with his, as I kissed those luscious lips.

  I had a sudden, yummy vision of me and Logan kissing in front of his giant gingerbread house.

  Chapter 11

  For the concert I wore a black, satiny, sparkly dress that displayed a bit of cleavage (for Logan). The dress dropped to a few inches below my knees. I wore black cowboy boots with sparkle and my red cowgirl hat with the Santa Claus from the mayor. My prosthesis showed, and I felt fine about it.

  It was time for me to stop hiding. I was me, Meredith Ghirlandaio. I’d lost part of my leg. I still had my heart. Still had my arms, my white streak, and my frazzled brain. More importantly, I had Sarah and Jacob, Logan, my parents, and my friends. Logan said I looked like the bionic woman, exposed. I kissed him. He kissed me back, and Simon whipped out his violin and played part of a passionate love song.

  I’d learned a lot these last weeks. From Norm, Howard, Chinaza, and Maly I’d learned about enduring hardship and still embracing life. From Simon I’d learned to be brave again. From Logan I’d learned how to love and trust, and to continue my independence while depending on him for who we were together.

  From my sister I had learned who I did not want to be. Maybe we learn as much from others about how not to treat people as we do about how to be good, kind, and compassionate. I also learned I had to let go of the anger I had for Leia and the impact she’d had on my life. I had to stop wishing I could lasso her around the waist and drag her to Florida and leave her in a swamp with chomping alligators. That had to stop. Not for her, for me. My anger was hurting me. And, it had hurt my relationship with Logan. That was never, ever going to get in the way again.

  So I wore a shimmery black dress and my cowboy boots up on stage, smiled hugely, and said, “Good evening, everyone! Merry Christmas to all of you!”

  The concert began with the pink-haired teenagers rockin’ the house with “Jingle Bell Rock” with their own special slant, and we were off. The lights came down, and the full choir, wearing white robes and carrying candles, swayed down the center aisle singing upbeat Christmas carols. We put the words on two huge screens, and the audience stood and sang with them. Jacob came out next and softly played “O Little Town of Bethlehem,” while his new friend, Tuck Daniels, who held the hand of his sister, Marky, a specially-abled child, wondered aloud why we celebrated Christmas.

  A ringing solo by Ranna May, the former opera star, of “Let There Be Peace on Earth,” came next. While Tim and Claudia painted a lone, decorated Christmas tree on a snowy hill, their work projected on the screen, the choir belted out, “Rocking Around the Christmas Tree.” We had a duet backed up by the choir with “Go Tell It on the Mountain,” and a gospel number that brought the house down. The Wise Women Christmas skit could sometimes hardly be heard through the laughter. I can only explain it by saying it was about Christmas, single women, hot flashes, men, push up bras, tummy tuckers, math, birthing cows, runaway horses, Santa, and dating.

  Maly and one of her sons iced and decorated an exquisite gingerbread house, their work also projected up on the screens. The Old Timers Still Kickin’ Band came out and sang, in their shepherds outfits, “O Come All Ye Faithful.” A children’s choir sang two songs about Santa with Stan on his xylophone, with a bunch of little girls in red tutus and Santa hats dancing around. There were no devil masks. Norm and Howard spoke about their wartime experience, how the soldiers sang Christmas songs, and how their friend Paul said, “I’m grateful to be alive, and even more grateful you two are alive, thank you Jesus and Merry Christmas.” You could not hear a peep when they were talking. The Old Timers sang “Silent Night,” all lights off, each man holding a candle.

  Chinaza played his drums after telling
a short story of his life in Nigeria, Jacob played “What Child Is This,” and we launched into the story of baby Jesus with Terry narrating and Tuck throwing in more questions about what Christmas is all about. We ended that scene in total silence with one spotlight right on Joseph and Mary/Sarah/Rebel Child as they held Jesus, the cross glowing behind them.

  Finally, Simon played his violin. Two Christmas songs. “I’m going to be brave, Meredith.” I heard the quick intake of breath as the audience gasped, almost in unison, “Oh my gosh, it’s Simon Baumgartner!” At the end, Simon beamed, his relief a palpable, breathable thing. It had been a battle for him to get back on stage. Battle won.

  We ended with everyone up on stage, in the balconies, candles lit, three more Christmas songs, including “Joy to the World” with Santa Claus (Logan) waving his way down the aisle, tossing candy, followed by a bunch of kids dressed like elves, and bam.

  We were done.

  Long, long, long standing ovation. The best part? After the concert I saw a whole bunch of girls surrounding Sarah, laughing and chatting, and a bunch of boys wrestling and talking with Jacob. Both of their faces were so joyful, so happy. I knew we had a new start.

  As I locked up the Community Center well after midnight, Logan pulled me close. “You are the most incredible person I have ever met in my life.”

  “Thank you, Santa.”

  We were booked solid starting the next morning and had to add three shows.

  We hadn’t bargained for Mary’s baby to be born on Christmas Eve. The sweetheart was two weeks too early. But babies have tiny minds of their own; this one was ready, so out it came.

  The only problem? The mother, Mary.

  Mary, despite my insistence that she go home and rest, did not. So, when she felt those universal pains that all mothers recognize, she ignored them and kept working around the bed and breakfast.

  Me, Logan, Jacob, Sarah in her Mary outfit, Joseph (her new friend) in his outfit, the shepherds (the Old Timers), the Three Wise Women (still laughing about their skit), Martha, and the drummer man from Nigeria, Chinaza, arrived home for pecan pie and eggnog to celebrate Christmas Eve together.

  When we found Mary, in the kitchen, on all fours, we knew we would soon be joined by one more. The paramedics were called and rushed in, but could not transport her because she was too far along. Her husband sprinted in, saw she was in pain, went pasty white all over, and raced to the bathroom. He came back in, hugged her, cried, went pasty white, raced for the bathroom.

  “He’s not very good at being pregnant,” Mary panted. “It makes him feel sick.”

  Logan propped her up. The Wise Women and I encouraged her, breathed with her, and held the baby when she arrived, squawking. The shepherds stayed in the other room with Sarah, Jacob, Chinaza, and Joseph.

  “Next time I’m going to make it to the hospital,” Mary panted, “but thank heavens I didn’t have to ride in on a donkey or give birth in a barn, amidst lambs and hay. That Mary was an incredible person.”

  That she was.

  The sweet baby’s name was Noelle.

  “Merry Christmas,” Logan murmured against my mouth before he kissed me on Christmas Day.

  “Merry Christmas to you.”

  I gave him his gift. It was a wicker picnic basket filled with food. I’d made him turkey sandwiches carved into salmon shapes, two salads, and platesized chocolate chip cookies. He knew it stood for family.

  His eyes shone with tears, and he had to sit down. He patted the couch beside him and hugged me close. I saw him wipe his eyes but I pretended I didn’t. The big, emotional grizzly bear was a lot more emotional than he let on.

  He handed me a pink box. Inside there was a pink cake. On top of the pink cake there was a jewelry box. A jewelry box for a ring. Inside the jewelry box was a gorgeous sparkler with smaller sparklers surrounding the mongo sparkler.

  “Meredith, honey, I want you to marry me.”

  I could tell he was nervous about my reaction, which I thought was so infinitely sweet.

  “I want you to be my wife, I want to be your husband, forever, and if you say yes—” He paused and that ol’ grizzly bear got more emotional. He blinked fast, brushed his eyes with his hand. “If you say yes, it can be a long engagement, a short one, whatever you want. There’s no rush. None. I wanted you to know, however, that I’m not looking for a date, or a girlfriend, I’m in this for life. I’m in this for you, for us.”

  I grinned up at him. “Me too, honey. For life. For us.” I kissed him. He made me sizzle in special secret spots, and I envisioned us inside a pink cake on a pink bed. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too, Meredith. More than my own life, I love you.”

  I swear I could hear the sound of ladies applauding with white gloves on. I looked around. Nope. No one.

  I would so haunt this house with my cooking.

  Barry Lynn’s toy drive was an enormous success. No one got suspended.

  That night I dreamed of the accident again.

  The car flipped, but this time it landed softly, no noise, amidst snowy Christmas trees, all lit up with colorful lights and shiny ornaments. Logan pulled me out of the car and hugged me close. He opened up a pink box, and it grew and grew and we stepped into it. Inside there were fly fishing rods and pink cake. When we opened the door again, we were fishing on a river.

  Epilogue

  Six months later

  “Did everyone bring their Grateful Journals?” Vicki asked, after we were all settled on our stools at Barry Lynn’s, the bar that has been around for over a hundred years and has the bullet holes to prove it.

  I pulled mine out of my bag. “I’ve got mine. I am grateful that my sister let me adopt Sarah and Jacob.” It had taken two aggressive attorneys who Logan had insisted on paying for, but the kids were now legally mine. Abandonment does not sit well with the courts. The brave testimony of two kids who no longer wished to live with their mother because of various sordid reasons also helped our case.

  I stopped talking as the Three Wise Women clapped and hooted and hugged me.

  “I am grateful that I am not angry anymore.”

  The Three Wise Women clapped and hooted.

  “And I am grateful that Logan and I will be getting married by the river and I will have the four most wonderful boot-kicking bridesmaids in the world, you Three Wise Women, plus Sarah, standing right by me.”

  Oh, how they clapped and hooted and hugged and made a big, teary, emotional fuss.

  “I will give you a cow for your wedding present,” Vicki said, wiping her eyes.

  “I will give you a new china tea set,” Hannah said, blowing her nose.

  “Not a math book?” I asked.

  “Of course not, Meredith. This is about you and your wedding and what you would like, not what I would like. You have a fondness for tea, therefore a delicate, hand-painted tea set is needed.”

  “You’re getting married, Meredith!” Katie yelled, bopping in her seat with excitement. “I am so happy! I know exactly what I’m going to get you and Logan! Two pirate outfits! You’ll feel wicked sexy in them. Wicked sexy! My pastor’s wife, Cheryl, recommended them to me. They come with swords, eye patches, and one parrot.”

  I was going to say, “Katie, I hardly know what to say,” but instead I growled, pirate style and said, “Argggh! Bring ’em on board, lassie!”

  “A Very Maui Christmas”

  MARY CARTER

  Chapter 1

  Good things come in small packages, but so does anthrax. This occurred to Tara Lane during her weekly phone call with her little sister, Nadine. At five-foot-three inches, Nadine was certainly a little package. And, she was using her sweet voice with Tara, at least on the surface. But Tara knew better. Nadine’s message was laced with a poison they had all learned to dread, one Tara had catalogued as “Unresolved Issues.” Alone, it was harmful, but not deadly. However, combine “Unresolved Issues” with “The Holiday Season,” and suddenly, you were dealing with a combustible
situation, possibly a lethal one. Or, maybe, just maybe, Tara was being a tad too melodramatic. After all, Nadine was simply upset with Tara for cursing during last year’s Christmas dinner, and she didn’t want her to do it again.

  So why didn’t she just come out and say that? Because then she would miss out on an opportunity to play professor. Thus, Nadine’s current lecture: “Substitute-Swear Words for when Children are in the Room 101, the Holiday Edition.” Tara wished she could sit in the back of the room and slink into obscurity. Unfortunately, she seemed to be the only one taking the class.

  “Like you could say—‘Get the elf out,’” Nadine prompted.

  Nadine had a point, and even before the lecture had begun, Tara had sworn to herself that she was going to be on her best behavior this year, no matter how crazy her family drove her. But between work and the impending holidays, Tara was stressed to the max (like she used to say in high school; geez, wasn’t there a time when everything was, like, to the max?) and if she could squeeze a tiny drop of pleasure out of riling Nadine up, she figured it was worth the price she would eventually have to pay. After all, Tara had to put up with Nadine’s shenanigans every year, and she did it with grace if she did say so herself.

  “Get the elf out,” Tara repeated. She said it slowly and clearly, like a foreigner in a survival English course.

  “Exactly,” Nadine said with a sigh of relief. “Or ‘elf off’ or—‘elf you,’ or you know—whatever variation shoots out of your mouth.” Nadine sighed again; this time Tara registered slight disgust in her sister’s gentle voice. “Of course,” Nadine continued, “you could give me the biggest Christmas gift ever, and not say it at all, not in any form. But I suppose that’s asking too much.”

  “Get the elf out,” Tara said with a little more gusto.