Page 9 of Blame it on the Mistletoe
“Oh my.” Ester’s brows shot right over those bug-eyed sunglasses. “Viagra or not, this is the best gingerbread I’ve tasted in years. It’s even better than my recipe.” The older woman took another bite and moaned. “Have you thought about selling these?”
“I have, and I do. Here.” Again with the Vanna White move.
“Have you considered selling these at the bake sale?”
Only every year when the sign-up sheet went around. But Faith was never able to scrounge up the 300 dollars to pay the booth fee. And unless she could get her hands on one of Hermione’s Time Turners and be in two places at once, Faith didn’t have the spare time necessary to bake fifty dozen cookies.
“Maybe next year,” Faith said, more a vow to herself than to Ester.
“Why wait?” Ester clasped her hands. “I hear there’s an opening for gingerbread cookies this year.”
“But you’ve made the gingerbread cookies every year since I moved here.” They were one of her favorite parts of the holiday celebration. Buying an iced gingerbread man from Ester’s booth was first on her list of stops. They were as big as her hand, tasted like Christmas, and Faith loved to walk through town nibbling on her cookie while taking in all the holiday activities.
“The arthritis is getting to be too much these days. My granddaughter was supposed to fly in from Tuscola and help, but she’s expecting, so her husband doesn’t want her to fly.”
“Congratulations, you’re going to be a great-grandma.”
“I’m going to be out a helper, that’s what I am.” Ester looked about ready to keel over from the stress. “After tasting your gingerbread and looking at your young, strong hands, I thought that maybe you’d want to take my spot.”
Faith choked. “Take your spot? I thought you were going to ask me to help you.”
“You would be helping me. You’d bake and ice the cookies. We’d split running the booth. I’ve already done the hard part.”
“What’s the hard part?” Grinding the flour from wheat?
“You know, filling out the form. Paying the booth fee.” Ester’s forehead bunched in on itself. “I’d even cover the ingredients. You just have to do the rest.”
The rest?“The event is a little more than two weeks away!” A bead of panic grew in her belly, because Faith had barely had time to brush her teeth this morning. Where was she supposed to find those kind of baking hours?
Her immediate response was to say no. But Faith couldn’t turn her away. Ester had never judged Faith, even after her family’s role in Hearse-pocalypse, she’d been nothing but kind and caring.
Not long after that first Christmas in Sweet, Faith’s mama had met and married husband number four, Wallace Kimball, who was three years into a ten-year sentence for the third-degree felony theft of his neighbor’s milking cow. He was released on a technicality—the cow was no longer lactating, dropping its value below the $20,000 necessary to make it a felony. To celebrate, Wallace partied it up with his best pals, Jack, Johnnie, and José, then led Sweet Plain’s now-sheriff on a low-speed chase through town in Mr. Rayborn’s hearse, before crashing it into a tree.
Wallace had gone away on DUI, evading police, and grand-theft auto charges, but the Rayborns’ hearse was totaled beyond repair, leaving the couple without a way to drive their clients to the cemetery come burial day. Hope never apologized to the Rayborns for her husband’s role in the damages. Heck, she didn’t even acknowledge it, just walked around town as if the business of a long-standing family in the community hadn’t taken a huge blow.
“Between working and caring for your brother, I know you’re busier than a one-legged cat in a litter box,” Ester said. “I wouldn’t even ask, but I’m afraid I’m going to let the town down.”
Empathetic fear roiled in her stomach. Faith knew how paralyzing the anticipation of disappointing others could be. It was often the driving force behind many of her decisions. And kept her awake most nights, when the house was quiet, and she was alone but for her thoughts.
It was on one of those nights that the idea of becoming a Secret Samaritan had been born. That had been over a decade ago, and the more Faith learned about her parents’ wrongdoings, the longer her list grew.
Mr. and Mrs. Rayborn were on that list. And while baking some cookies couldn’t begin to atone for the damage her family had brought upon the Rayborns, it was a start. Faith never had a whole lot of free time over the holidays, but what better way to spend it than making Christmas cookies for a good cause?
She loved her position as a medical assistant at the hospital. Loved her patients, the staff, and the idea of caring for those who needed caring for. But she felt alive when she baked. She once read that medicine healed the body, but food from the heart could heal the soul.
“Don’t say anything yet.” Ester walked behind the counter and hugged her. “You have a couple of days to decide.”
Which Faith would use to rearrange her schedule and hopefully convince someone to trade a few shifts with her at the hospital.
“The new schedule comes out on Tuesday. I’ll let you know as soon as it’s posted.”
“You’ve always been a good girl, Faith.” Ester pulled back and gave Faith’s cheeks a pinch. “Now, how about you wrap me up six of your cookies? One for each grandkid and one for Woodrow.” Shaking her head, Ester pulled a twenty out of her clutch. “Oh, let’s make that an even dozen.”
“I’ll add one of my Peppermint Barks for Mr. Rayborn. Tell him it’s for being patient.” Faith placed the cookies in the box and was reaching for a bow to tie it closed when something caught her eye outside the diner window. Her brain couldn’t exactly determine what it was that had an unsettling wave slithering down her spine, but when a black SUV drove through the parking lot, her heart jerked to a stop.
Perhaps it was the government plates or the official emblem on the door that sounded a rusty but all-too-familiar alarm. But something had gone terribly wrong.
Faith glanced around the diner, noting the people still eating their dinners and chatting with neighbors about holiday plans. TheOPENsign in the window was still flashing, Ester was still talking, and across the street Mr. Wilkins was helping a couple load a Christmas tree into a truck. Everyone was wrapped up in their daily business while Faith’s world went dim.
