Page 74 of The Blessings of Christmas
“See you then, Mom. Love you.” She ended the call. Could things get any more complicated?
“Your folks will be here tomorrow? Do you think you should take off?” Connor leaned one hip against the counter, concern bracketing his lips with lines.
“I just can’t. It would be so unfair to expect a substitute to handle my groups before Christmas. Besides, I’m already going to be out for my maternity leave. Apparently my parents set out to surprise us and ran into bad weather.”
“Why didn’t they just fly?”
Amanda gave him a long look. “Did you just meet my father yesterday? You know he’s way too frugal for that. I’ll just leave a key.”
Connor ran one hand over his forehead. “Fine. That’s great.”
“You don’t want my parents here?” Sometimes Amanda felt her parents didn’t measure up to the Kirkpatricks in Connor’s eyes. Sure they weren’t Big Mike and Maureen, but hearing her mother’s voice brought a rush of feelings. Amanda wanted her mother here.
Then Angie’s message came back to her with a jolt. Dropping her head, she massaged her forehead. How would she explain to everyone if the adoption didn’t go through? All those gifts from friends and family.
Head pounding, she turned into the hallway and trudged up the steps with Connor right behind her. Once upstairs, he disappeared into the bathroom. Tugging on her flannel reindeer pajamas, Amanda scooted under the covers. They kept the heat down during the winter to avoid large bills. She buried herself deep, still wanting to call McKenna. But she didn’t.
When Connor finally came to bed, she pretended to be asleep. Big sigh and his shoes hit the floor. His western belt buckle jingled when he tossed his jeans over a chair. Tugging off his rugby shirt, he unleashed a rich scent that was pure Connor. When he snugged her against his stomach, his broad chest warmed her back. “Don’t worry, babe. Things will turn out just fine.”
Always so positive. Cupping her hands over his, she couldn’t find any words.
So much was chattering in her head.
CHAPTER 4
By the time Amanda got up the next day, Connor had already left for the fire station. She pushed back the bedroom curtain. The snow had stopped and gray clouds weighted the sky. Even a quick peek at the mural in the nursery couldn’t lift her spirits. Maybe Connor was right. Maybe she should call in sick. But the students were usually off the wall before a long break. Her sophomores were the worst of all. How would a substitute ever handle them?
Shivering after a brisk shower, she pulled on her green sweater. But while she sipped her coffee, an idea bloomed. Plowing through their shelves, Amanda finally found the large red book. Her personal Christmas favorite might make the day bearable.
Her stomach wouldn’t allow oatmeal. The coffee had been more than enough. Elbows on the kitchen counter, she played Angie’s message multiple times. Her ears strained to pick up meaning in the girl’s words or the inflection of her voice.
Crazy making. And she did not need more crazy right now.
Grabbing her briefcase, she headed out to her car. Her boots crunched on the packed snow and she sucked in a frigid breath that did nothing to warm her heart. She’d learned to deal withdisappointment by approaching it head on. Didn’t matter how they buffered the news, it still hurt. Over the years, she’d heard it all.
Always another chance.
Maybe next time.
Caught in traffic on the Eisenhower, Amanda was tempted to keep driving. Go right downtown and spend the day looking at the Christmas lights, not ride herd on her students. Store windows would be full of Santa’s workshop, smiling elves and trains that tooted as they rounded the track.
Sometimes being responsible sucked. She exited the Eisenhower and headed toward school. At least she was armed with the book.
That morning students slunk into her classroom, dragging their heels. They didn’t want to be here and neither did she. Good kids, they were rough around the edges and most weren’t college bound. For some, Christmas might just be another day. On the near west side of Chicago where she taught, parents were often out of work. Many homes were anchored by a single mother or grandmother barely making ends meet with government aid. The bell rang and class began.
“I have a surprise for you today.” She dragged over the stool and perched. Then she opened the book.
“Oh, man. A book? That is so lame,” Tyrone Gilby groaned. The others seemed to agree.
“Shut up.” Clarice whipped around from her front row seat and gave them the eye. “It’s a story, you dumbass. I like to listen to stories.”
They settled down. She turned to page one.
The Best Christmas Pageant Everhad been one of Amanda’s favorite Christmas stories growing up. The reading level was grade school, which was just about right for most of this group. If anyone recognized the cover, no one said anything.
Amanda began, spinning the story of a family of children far worse than anything her own students could dream up. The class fell silent. Then they laughed. Tyrone lounged back, hands behind his head. “Man, do you believe this? This family’s bad. Worse than mine.”
Amanda let him grandstand. Helped stretch the book until the end of class. They had a few minutes for discussion.
