“How about you make it a point to work on it? Just take a few moments, before you do anything rash and ask yourself if it makes sense. Sometimes those brief seconds can make all the difference in the world.”
She sounds like me, or rather, I sound like her. Regardless, I recognize good advice when it’s given. “Thanks Mom. I know all this. It just feels better to bounce it off from you.”
“You’re entirely welcome, dear. And don’t doubt yourself so much. Because of you, a serial killer was sent to prison and a horrible cult destroyed. Right?”
“Right.” I check the time on my cell phone. “I got clients of my own to see today. I should go. When do you leave for St. Thomas?”
“Tuesday. You sure you don’t want to come with us?” She stands and gives me a warm hug.
“Honestly? I would but I’ll just get tired and I should be thinking of the baby. I promised Jack we would have Thanksgiving when he has off again. I want to be home for him.”
“Okay, dear. We’ll talk when I get back.”
We embrace one more time and I thank God for sending me a second mother, a better mother, when I needed one most. If it weren’t for her, I might’ve lost my nerve and went back toThe Church of Heavenly Bliss.She saved me, adopted me, and sent me to college. I will be eternally grateful.
It really is time to stop feeling sorry for myself. My life could’ve been a whole lot worse.
With a new goal in mind for the holidays, I busy myself with clients. Some, who I haven’t seen in years call for an appointment and I try to say yes to them all, even to the point of booking Thanksgiving Day.
Better that, then sit at home, alone.
As a young woman describes her past Christmases, my mind wanders to my own. My teen years were filled with the wonder of The Rockettes, skating in Rockefeller Center, and shopping on Park Avenue.
Before I escaped, life was very different. I recall my father’s many wives and my twenty-five half-siblings. Christmas was wrapped hand-me-downs, dollar store toys, and if I was lucky, a pair of boots.
When my client stops reminiscing, I do too, and pat her hand. “You can do this, Martha.”
She clears her throat, grabs a tissue, and blows. “Yes, I can. It was just good to talk to someone about how sad I feel. I just can’t celebrate the holidays with my children. Am I being selfish?”
“Not at all. Is there something you want to do instead?” I smile kindly, yet imagine how nice it would be to have a large family to celebrate with.
The sixtyish woman grins, almost childlike. “Do you think I could go someplace warm and tropical?”
“My mom is. Why not? Put your needs first this year.”
I stand, give her a hug, and check the time. The last client of the day, I can go home to my empty house. My best friend Melanie just moved to North Carolina or I would’ve shared a meal with her. Slate’s girlfriend, Lilac, had to work a double at the hospital and I didn’t feel up to the Patten’s spectacular feast.
To be honest with myself, I don’t want to be sick of turkey and cranberries when I prepare our first Thanksgiving together. With warm thoughts of our lovemaking, I head back to my apartment, and take out an old recipe for sticky buns. The smell of yeast in a bath of honey-water makes me smile as I turn on a Lifetime movie in the background.
When my phone bleats, I figure it’s a text from Jack and it is, but not in a good way. It’s a slideshow of Jack at Senator McAlister’s mansion. The first photo is at the dinner table. Dianna’s boobs are almost popping out of her dress as she kisses him on the cheek. The second is of her in his lap. The third is of her kissing him under mistletoe.
In none of them does Jack look happy. In fact, he looks downright furious. It doesn’t take a brain surgeon to figure she staged these and Jack is trying his best to be polite.
Dianna follows up by sending me a kiss emoji and instead of being angry or jealous, I sigh at her childishness. It makes me sad because I know Jack must be as miserable as I am. He said he would call as soon as he could and it isn’t long before I hear from him.
My heart beats fast when his warm voice envelopes me. “Hi luv.”
I wish so bad we were together. “Hi yourself. All done dinner?”
His sigh is uncharacteristic. “Yes, but McAlister wants me to fly back with him to DC. I’ve only got a minute or two. I miss you so damned bad, Blake.”
“Me too. Are you any closer to finding out who tried to kill you?” The oven buzzes and hot air warms my face as I check my bread.
“Patten’s got his best guys on it. All we know for sure is some company based in China fronted the money and paid those thugs.”
“There’s really that much at stake? Enough to kill a senator?” Putting on hot mitts, I slide the buns out and place them on my cooling rack.
“Yeah, I guess preventing the flu is a multi-billion-dollar business. The growth potential is staggering.”
