Page 70 of Resisting Fate
Chapter Sixteen
Christmas Eve started out terrible and went downhill from there. First thing in the morning Missy discovered the Christmas turkey she’d planned to cook for the Harper family was rotten—tinged gray and reeking. Then the supermarket was sold out of turkeys. The whole meal had been planned around the turkey, so she’d driven to two more supermarkets, finally finding one the right size, but it was frozen solid. She’d settled for two roast chickens. Then she’d slipped on a patch of ice in the supermarket parking lot, landing mostly on her hip. It hurt like a sonuva bitch, and she was sure she’d have a massive bruise.
On the way home she got caught in crawling traffic near the Eastman mall, cursing all the last-minute shoppers to hell.
And now that she was finally pulling into the parking lot of her apartment building, the thin hold on her composure blew right along with her tire.
She swore a blue streak, smacking the steering wheel several times before pulling into a parking space, the car shaking and clunking along. To say that her Christmas spirit was low was an understatement. She felt like Scrooge, wanting the whole thing to be over with. Though she knew it wasn’t just the stupid turkey or traffic or her flat tire, she was miserable over Ben. She missed him and hated that she missed him. Hated that her bed felt empty, hated that she saw his teasing blue eyes and ready dimpled smile every time she closed her eyes, hated that she felt so much for a man she couldn’t trust. She knew the high cost of love, yet she’d stupidly let him into her heart. He wasn’t as awful as Louis, she knew that, but he’d still hurt her. And she wouldn’t let him hurt her again, even if she was miserable for a while. It would pass. She was a survivor.
She left the tire for later, grabbed the grocery bag, and went up to her apartment to get started on the cooking. By noon she was feeling a little calmer, or maybe she was just tired. She’d gotten up at five a.m. to get started on the meal preparation. The chickens were cooked; all the side dishes were prepared and in plastic containers. She’d made homemade apple pie last night. Now she just had to change the flat tire, load the food, decorations, and gifts into her car, and drive to the Harpers’ apartment. She’d already confirmed with Rena that she’d be home this afternoon for a quick visit.
Missy changed her tire with the spare in the trunk, pleased with her competency. She used to have to call triple A for help, but her brother-in-law, Nico, had been happy to show her and Lily some basic car-maintenance skills. She admired her handiwork for a moment. The tire was smaller than the others, but it should hold for the ten-minute drive across town. She slowly stood, her hip sore from squatting on the ground to change the tire. She shivered in the damp and cold and looked to the sky—a pearly gray that promised snow. Oh, how she’d love to have a white Christmas. But not yet. She still had a lot to do for Christmas Eve.
She made her way back upstairs to her second-floor apartment, sore but determined. Three trips later, her car was packed to the gills with the perfect Harper family Christmas. She blew out a breath. Okay, she was back on schedule. It was time to bring the merry.
“Merry, merry, merry,” she chanted, willing herself to cheer up as she slowly pulled out of the lot, the car rocking with the low spare tire.
Only two traffic lights to get through, slowly and steadily she made her way through town, then turned onto Main Street. So far so good. She turned right at the church, the Harpers’ apartment wasn’t far now, three blocks down, one over.Bam!Her heart raced at the sound and she gripped the steering wheel tight as the car lurched to the right. She’d hit a pothole she hadn’t seen. What the hell, she could barely steer. She slowly pulled over to the curb, the car shaking violently. This could not be good. She got out and stared at the culprit—her spare tire had a flat. Grrr…
She looked up and down the street at the rows of houses all decorated for Christmas, the families inside probably enjoying their pre-holiday preparations. She wouldn’t disturb them for help. She could do this. All she had to do was walk four blocks with her stuff. Sure, it might take a few trips, but she’d get it done. First decorations, she’d leave those on the front porch of the Victorian where the Harpers rented the third-floor attic apartment. Hopefully none of the kids would notice her until she was all set. Then presents, then the food.
She delivered the decorations—two boxes in her arms plus two bags slung over her shoulders. Her hip was sore and her face felt frozen, but whatever.
Next the presents. She wrestled the garbage bag full of gifts out of the backseat, then retrieved the wrapped picture frame with a gift certificate for a family photo session from the trunk. She couldn’t chance that breaking. She was about to set out when a man called out to her.
“Need any help there?”
She turned to find the owner of the house she was parked in front of, an elderly man with balding white hair, peering at her from his front porch, where he stood in a flannel shirt, loose slacks, and slippers. “No, thanks,” she called. “I’ve got it.”
He approached, checking out her car. “Looks like you got a flat.”
“Yes, I’ll deal with that when I get back.”
He rubbed his hands together and blew on them. “You got another tire?”
“No. It’s okay. I’ll get a tow and walk home.”
He gave her a sympathetic look. “How far are you walking? I could give you a ride.” He smiled. “A young lady shouldn’t be walking far on a cold day like today.”
She took a step away, uneasy with his offer. “It’s not far, thanks. I’ll be out of your hair quick as I can.” She took off and didn’t look back. The bag of gifts bumped her hip painfully and she had to switch it to her other side. She soldiered on, ignoring her sore hip, frozen face, numb fingers and toes. One more trip.
Thankfully, by the time she returned to her car, the older man had gone back into his house. This trip would be a little tougher. Four bags of food and the pie wrapped in aluminum foil. Luckily she’d used her sturdy handled grocery bags. She arranged two bags per shoulder and carried the pie. Oh, she almost forgot. She’d bought two homemade jars of jelly from the craft bazaar. She snagged that plastic bag, hooking it around her wrist. She felt a little like a packhorse, shoulders aching, hip protesting, but she carried on.
Almost there, you got this, ignore the pain, ignore the cold.
She reached the front path to the Harpers’ home and looked up as she walked, the lights were on in their apartment. It made her smile thinking of the joy on the kids’ faces when they saw all this Christmas cheer—
“Ah!” She tripped on the uneven sidewalk. The pie flew from her hands, the jars of jelly slipped out of the bag to the sidewalk with a crash, and she fell sideways on top of the food bags, no doubt squishing the homemade cheese popovers. She shifted off the bags and just sat there on the cold sidewalk, surveying the broken glass, the ruined pie, and the goopy red and blue jelly splattered everywhere. The kids would’ve loved that strawberry and blueberry jelly, their favorites, for their peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. It was the little things that made kids feel secure. Her throat tightened. She’d wanted that so much for them.
She lifted her head to the sky, fighting back tears. This day had been hell and she suddenly wished she had some help. None of this would’ve happened if she’d only called Lexi or Sabrina for a ride. They lived just down the hall. Or she could’ve called Lily or Nico, who lived in town, to help with all of the bags. At the very least she could’ve borrowed someone’s car. She’d done it all herself, just like always, and now she was cold, tired, sore and about to have the mother of all breakdowns. Everything hurt, everything sucked, everything was just too damn hard.
A hot tear leaked out and she wiped it away. No. She was stronger than that. This was a delay not a failure. She just needed to empty a bag to get rid of the glass safely, then she’d clean up the mess, and they’d still have their Christmas dinner. The kids needed to know that even without their dad in the picture, even in a new place with very little money, they could still enjoy Christmas. How she wished she’d had someone to make that happen for her as a kid after her parents died. Her aunt couldn’t have cared less about Missy’s Christmas or anything else for that matter. She got to work, reorganizing the bags, and then carefully picked up the broken glass and put it in the empty bag.
She walked back to the house where her car was parked, put the bag of broken glass in the trunk of her car, and then knocked on the door of the older man who’d tried to be helpful earlier.
He answered the door with a smile. “I thought you’d be back with this weather. Thirty degrees gets into your bones. You want a ride home now?”
“No, thanks. I was hoping for a roll of paper towels and a garbage bag. I dropped some jars of jelly and a pie a few blocks away.”
