Page 46 of Promise Me This Christmas
And yet, she still felt annoyed at Carson.Even though his intentions had been good, maybe even noble, she didn’t like that he’d gone behind her back.His actions made her question the wisdom of rekindling their relationship.Especially when the path ahead was far from certain.She had her family and her job in Denver.He had his family and the ranch in Yellowstone.
With a sigh, she pushed the curtain back into place.She had a more immediate problem facing her.Her article was due tomorrow morning.She was happy with what she had so far, a watercolor portrait of a charming bed and breakfast rooted in the town’s copper mining past.But what should she do about the troubling events with the brownies and the dead mouse?It felt wrong to just ignore problems that were happening right in front of her eyes.
If only she could figure out who was behind the trouble.She had a hunch who might be responsible.But a good reporter needed more than a hunch.She needed evidence.Facts.And not only did she have no idea where to get them, she’d also run out of time.
Larkin sank into the comfortable reading chair in her room, propped her feet up on the footstool, and opened her laptop.On an impulse she looked up the goal of journalism.According to her search engine’s AI, the purpose of journalism was to inform the public of current events and matters of public interest.All while maintaining objectivity and factual accuracy.
She thought for a while about this, then did a search for famous pieces of Christmas journalism.Among the hits was an 1897 editorial written by Francis Pharcellus Church for theNew York Sun.“Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus.”
As she read through the editorial, she found herself smiling and even tearing up in places.One line in particular moved her.“The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see.”
Larkin closed her laptop.She needed to think, but though the bedroom was relatively spacious, she felt confined.A short walk outside would clear her mind.Quietly she went down the stairs, put on her outerwear, and made her way down the steps, and along the pathway to the river.Though it was dark, she could hear the rushing and gurgling of the Marietta River.The water was indominable, slowed, but not stopped, by the harshness of winter.
Amy pondered Church’s editorial and her journalistic obligations for almost half an hour.Finally, she went back inside to her room, opened her laptop, and started revising.An hour later, when she finally went to bed, she felt at peace.Her article was ready.She’d submit it first thing in the morning.
*
Tuesday, December 23
Robin awoke athis usual six-thirty, calling out, “Mama!Dada!”When Amy came into his room, already dressed in yoga pants and a cherry-red sweatshirt, he gave her a big grin.
“Hello, happy boy.Are you excited it’s almost Christmas?”He’d only been a few months old for his first Christmas.Though he was still very young, Amy expected he was going to have a lot of fun tearing up wrapping paper and playing with boxes this year.
“Maybe we should take him to visit Santa this afternoon?”Chet was in the doorway, dressed in jeans and a white T-shirt.He had his arms crossed, which made his biceps bulge in a very sexy way.
“You want to see Santa?”Amy asked her son as she changed his diaper.
“Let’s make an afternoon of it.”Chet took the sodden diaper from her hands and tossed it into the disposal pail.“We can have a hot chocolate at Sage’s, visit Santa, then maybe do some last-minute shopping.”
“Do you mean to say you’re not finished?”She grinned at him, knowing he usually left buying presents to the last possible moment.
“I need something special for my wife.”He kissed the skin exposed at the back of her ponytail.“Any suggestions?”
“Maybe a talisman to protect us from all the bad luck we’ve been having this week?”
“Come on now.It’s not been that bad.”
“Num, num,” Robin said, his way of reminding them he hadn’t been fed.
They made their way quietly down the stairs.Both she and Chet knew how to avoid the squeaky spots.In the kitchen, Chet went to put on the coffee while she started Robin’s hot oat bran cereal.
“Make sure to check the beans in both machines,” Amy reminded her husband.
“Aye, aye, Captain.”
Oh dear.“Am I being too bossy?”
“I’m just kidding you.And yes, I checked.We’ve got our Kicking Horse, Smart Ass medium roast beans in the coffee maker and our Organic Black Cat Espresso beans in our espresso machine.”
“Awesome.Thanks for indulging my paranoia.”
“I wonder who comes up with the names for these coffees?”
“Maybe the same people who name nail polish.And wall paint colors.”She glanced out the kitchen window.The back porch light illuminated a yard blanketed in snow.“I bet we got an additional three inches last night.”
“It’s like a whole new world out there,” Chet agreed.
“Maybe Bramble House needs its own transformation,” Amy mused.“I can’t do anything about all the mishaps that occurred this week.But I can make sure that from here on in, everything is perfect.”
