Mistletoe Melody (Christmas Holiday Extravaganza) Read online

  Quentin helped Janie into the middle spot. Then he took Melody’s hand and assisted her up into the sleigh. He tightened his hold on her fingers as she settled her into her seat. Shivers skittered through her arm. Not shivers from the cold, but the good kind.

  He leaned forward and whispered into her ear, his warm and minty breath heating her earlobe. “For someone not planning to have kids, you have strong maternal instincts.”

  Melody’s insides toppled. She wasn’t sure what scared her more, his nearness, his words, her secret desire for a family, or the way his exhalation caressed her.

  7

  Melody lingered in the bath until the steamy water had cooled to lukewarm. The fog on the mirror had long ago cleared, and the water had ceased to soothe her aching body. In fact, it had begun to chill it. She wrapped herself in a large towel and dug through her suitcase until she found her flannel pajamas. After slipping her feet into thick, warm slippers, she padded down to the kitchen to boil the kettle for tea. She needed warmth from the inside out.

  That’s where her mother found her, with her hands wrapped around a steaming mug, her face dipped over the rising heat, and uncontrollable tremors still wracking her body.

  Mom made that infuriating tsking sound as she entered, and Melody tensed. Her mother carried an afghan that had been draped over the back of the couch in the family room and tucked it around Melody’s shoulders. “You know you are not supposed to get cold like that. It can trigger you.”

  Melody inhaled the hot vapours rising from her mug. She needed those extra seconds before responding. Her mother over-corrected because she loved her, but Melody wasn’t a teenager anymore. “I’m fine.”

  Her mother must have picked up on the ire in Melody’s tone because she softened and changed her approach. “Will you make the Happy Birthday Jesus cake? I think it’ll be nice to pass the tradition along to the next generation. One day, you’ll want to do it with your family, and you’ll be happy you had this chance to practice.”

  Melody flicked her gaze from her mug and looked her mom in the eyes. The apparent concern and love etched into her expression eased Melody’s frustration over the family comment. It didn’t seem to matter how many times she explained that she couldn’t have children while taking part in this drug trial, mom never seemed to hear the words. She just kept picking, suggesting, and problem-solving from that place of love that rubbed Melody like sandpaper.

  Mom wanted to fix this, but she couldn’t. Mom wanted to see Melody back to normal, but normal no longer existed. Melody had to learned to function within her new normal, and until her family accepted it, life would continue to be hard. There was no going back to the old life. It was dead.

  “I’m struggling,” Melody admitted. Struggling with her mom to be precise, but she wouldn’t say that.

  Mom dropped down to a crouch in front of her and looked up into her face. “I know, and I wish I could take this from you, but I can’t. All I can do is tell you to lean into God not away from Him. I think that making the cake will help you remember that God came near to us through Jesus. It will help you lean in.”

  Mom’s earnest expression held such hope that Melody carefully considered her words. She traced the rim of her mug with her fingertip. “It’s hard for me to celebrate Jesus’ birth and his coming near when he feels so far away.”

  Mom stood and rubbed circles onto Melody’s back just as she had when Melody was younger and had a bad dream. If only all this were a nightmare that she could wake up from.

  “I know this is hard, Mel,” she said, “but if there is a distance between you and God, don’t be mistaken about who put it there.”

  Melody poked her tongue into the inside of her cheek at her mom’s trite phrasing. “I know, I know, it’s only ever one step back to God. But on a day I can’t get out of bed because the MS has flared, that one step might as well be a mile.”

  “A mistletoe mile?” Mom lifted her brows.

  Melody frowned. “That’s for Travis and Leah, not me.”

  “I overheard Quentin’s comment about kids. Is it possible that you’re upset because he is forcing you to think outside your comfort zone? Is he forcing you to reconsider decisions you made in haste? Decisions about a family?”

  Melody’s frown wavered. “I just met Quentin. Don’t be ridiculous. Besides, I didn’t make any decision in haste.”

  Mom tsked again. “You’ve known Quentin for years. You were good friends when you were younger. You need to get reacquainted. It’s a second chance.”

  She coughed to hide her shock at her mother’s inflated version of her friendship with Quentin. Sure, they’d played together as kids, but in four years of high school, their paths never crossed. They were hardly the second chance romance her mother was painting. “A lot has happened in those years apart. He’s had a child. We don’t even know what happened to Ashley.”

  “Ashley?”

  “Janie’s mom,” Melody clarified. She stood and deposited her mug into the sink. “And whether you like to hear it or not, the fact is, I’m not normal. I’ve got—” She stopped. She gripped the edge of the counter. She couldn’t say it. She wouldn’t say the words out loud again. They didn’t deserve it.

  “You should tell him.” The weight of her mom’s hand rested on Melody’s shoulder. “Perhaps it would help him understand Janie better. You have a perspective about rehab that many don’t.”

  “I don’t have to tell him anything,” she snapped.

  Just like that, her warm touch was gone. Melody immediately regretted her sharp tone. Her mom was only trying to help.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Quentin and Janie deserve to know why we are here, really here, and not in our home celebrating Christmas,” Mom defaulted to her no-nonsense tone. “I think they’ll understand why you kept it quiet at first.”

  “I said, no.” Melody clenched her teeth. She’d been down this road before. Sure, Quentin was nothing like her ex, but Brent wasn’t the only one to walk away from her after her life changed. Friends didn’t understand why she sometimes cancelled last minute plans on difficult days. They had no context for the constant pain and frustration simmering beneath the surface, and they had dropped out of her life one by one. Quentin would be the same, and that would upset her parents. That would ruin the holidays. The last thing she wanted to do was throw a damper on Christmas because she and the old neighbour boy couldn’t get along.

  The ever-present tsk echoed through the room as her mom shook her head in disapproval. “I’ll be upstairs.”

  Melody eyes followed her retreating form. Was she wrong? Did she owe the Oxford family something more? A creak from behind spun her around. She pressed a hand over her heart. “Is someone there?”

  Daisy wandered lazily around the corner, and Melody’s breath rushed out in a whoosh. She bent down to scratch the cat’s back. “You won’t tell Quentin, right?”

  Her secret was safe. For now.

  8

  The floorboard creaked beneath Quentin’s feet, and he froze. He didn’t intend to eavesdrop, but before he could round the corner and join the women, he’d heard enough to know their conversation was private, so he stopped. Then, Mrs. Staff left the kitchen, leaving him stuck. He couldn’t turn around and return the way he had come, or he would meet Carol on the staircase, and she would know that he’d heard them. He couldn’t go into the kitchen, or Melody would know and feel betrayed, and any second she would round the corner to investigate the origins of the creaking sound.

  Quentin did what any other man would do in his position. He bent down and poked the cat.

  Hard.

  Daisy sprung up meowing her displeasure. She cast a glare of annoyance at him and then wandered around the corner into the kitchen.

  Quentin sagged against the wall.

  The minute Mrs. Staff ascended the staircase, Quentin skulked away to his room. Why was the Staff family really here? What didn’t Melody want him to know? And how was cold weather a trigger? A
trigger for what?

  Just the word trigger brought back a flood of memories. Responsibility had triggered Ashley. Whenever life became overwhelming, she’d ingested whatever drugs she could find. It started back in high school when her parents pressured her too much to excel at everything she did. Ashley cracked under pressure and pulled Quentin down with her. He had been bucking his parent’s conservative faith and was looking for a way to rebel.

  They’d partied hard through their final year of high school, and nothing either of their parents said or did could stop them. By the grace of God, Quentin never used the drugs that flowed freely at their gatherings, but to his shame, he never stopped Ashley from participating, and he never resisted her aggressive physical advances, which a high produced. Predictably, Ashley became pregnant. Her parents threw her out of the house when she wavered on the idea of aborting the baby that, according to her parents, would destroy whatever life she had left.

  He thanked the Lord every day that Ashley had confided in him, that his family had welcomed her without judgment and helped her get clean, and that Ashley had carried Janie to term. Despite everything that happened to them after Janie was born, despite Ashley abandoning them and returning to her old party life, he would always be grateful for those months of sobriety when she carried Janie. He couldn’t imagine life without his daughter, or without the God he found during that difficult stretch of being forced to grow up quickly.

  Quentin sank onto his bed, and the springs groaned under his weight. Melody said earlier that she starts over nearly every single day. Ashley used to say something similar after she finally got clean. She had to choose it every day. Could Melody’s family have brought her here to get sober?

  He dragged his hand down over his stubbly chin. Melody didn’t appear strung out, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t. Ashley had always looked pulled together for school and family functions, and she spent most of her senior year on drugs.

  He pulled out his phone and dialled his parents. “Hey, Mom, do you have a minute?”

  “For you, dear, I have two,” Helen quipped. “How are things with the Staff family? We hope to return before they leave.”

  “It’s about them. I get the feeling there is something they are not telling me. Do you know why they are spending Christmas in Mistletoe Meadows?”

  Mom paused too long for it to be meaningless.

  “Mom?”

  “Yes, of course, I know. Carol told me everything when we made the arrangements, but she swore me to secrecy. If you want details, you’ll need to ask them directly.”

  He paced the floor, assuming the worst. “How could you not tell me? With Janie here—”

  “There is no reason to fear for Janie,” Mom cut in. “Nothing happening in the Staff family is a danger to her. Trust me.”

  They exchanged some more pleasantries before Quentin disconnected. Would Melody tell him what was going on if he asked? Did he have any right to pry?

  Asking personal questions invited personal questions. Melody must wonder about Ashley, about what happened, but she never asked. Not once. His gut twisted at the thought of having to answer those types of inquiries if he started down this road. He had failed Ashley when she needed him most.

  He reached for the Bible on his dresser. God, what should I do?

  He opened to the book of John, flipped a few pages until he found chapter eight verse thirty-two, “…the truth will set you free.”

  Jesus wasn’t referring to the idea of being honest. Jesus was talking about spiritual freedom from the bondage of sin that comes when you understand the truth that Jesus is the only acceptable deliverer. Quentin understood that. Only Jesus sets people free from their bondage to sin because Jesus is truth. As his follower, Quentin was mandated to not only accept Christ’s teachings, but also obey them.

  And Christ commands his people to be honest.

  Could he really ask Melody to be completely honest with him if he was unwilling to be honest with her? Was he ready to tell her how Ashley had reappeared shortly after Janie’s stroke? After getting involved in a church rehab ministry, Ashley sought forgiveness for running out on them. Janie’s stroke was an overwhelming time for them all, but Ashley stuck it out. She stayed clean, and she and Quentin had married.

  He spun the wedding band that he wore around his right-hand ring finger. He had believed God would bless his desire to make their family whole and that he would, eventually, fall deeply in love with the mother of his child. He’d moved the ring to his right hand after Ashley died.

  He and Janie had just begun to emerge from the darkness of grief, and he had no desire to encourage a friendship that might bring unnecessary drama back into their life. He snapped the Bible shut and replaced it on his dresser. He didn’t want to dredge this up, but if he had to tell Melody everything to settle his questions about her, so be it.

  He strode purposefully into the kitchen; only Melody was no longer there.

  Carol looked up as he entered.

  He pushed his shoulders back. “Do you know where Melody is? I want to ask her something.”

  Carol beamed. “I think she went up to her room.”

  Within a minute Quentin stood outside Melody’s bedroom door. He planted his feet in a wide and solid stance, lifted his chin, and positioned his hand to knock when sounds from the autoharp wafted through the walls. He froze.

  Someone was cajoling a beautiful and unfamiliar refrain from the simple instrument. Was it Melody?

  He tipped his head against the doorframe, and the lilting inflection washed over him. He was so lost in appreciation for the sound that he didn’t notice the music had stopped until the door opened and he fell into the room.

  Melody yelped. She hid her hands behind her back as if trying to protect the harp. “What are you doing?”

  Warmth flushed his face. His ears burned, and he pulled at the collar of his shirt. He didn’t plan to begin their conversation on the defensive. “I, ah, I came to say thank you, again, for Janie.” He cleared his throat, stuffed his hands into the front pockets of his jeans, and nodded at the instrument behind her back. “I thought you said it was for a friend.”

  She straightened and lifted her chin. “That doesn’t mean I can’t try it out.”

  He was really messing this up. He forced his breathing to slow in an attempt to calm his racing heart rate. “You’re very good.”

  Her features remained neutral, but her rosy complexion betrayed her amusement at his gaffe.

  He plucked at his clothes, suddenly very hot. “And you don’t play anything anymore?”

  She shrugged again. “Not usually.” She smiled sadly and then walked down the hall before he could voice what he had come to say.

  Usually. Hmmm. The teacher in him couldn’t help but wonder what it might take to free the music inside of her.

  9

  The following night, Melody flipped her Bible shut. She stacked her journal on top of it and put them both on the desk in her room. She rested her pen across the top of the green leather cover and shut her mind to the deep thoughts her mother had stirred about children and a family. Was she right to close herself off from it?

  In honest moments, she had to admit how badly she longed for normalcy. Her heart quickened at the thought of falling in love, getting married, and having kids. She wanted it so much that her insides ached each time she handed Ava back to Julie, each time she witnessed tenderness between Janie and Quentin. But she couldn’t reconcile those desires with the road on which God had placed her. How could she ask a man not only to love her but also to care for her when her M.S. deteriorated her ability to function? How could she ask him to forgo a family because the best treatment for her health restricted her ability to bear children? She couldn’t do it.

  Any man she loved enough to marry would be a man to whom she wanted to give good things, not the hardships in store for her.

  A knock jarred her from her thoughts. For a minute she wondered if Quentin would fall through the door
way again. Just thinking about his quirky awkwardness brought a smile to her lips. She opened the door.

  Janie bounded in.

  Melody was going to miss this girl when her family left Mistletoe Manor.

  Janie sprawled across the bed. “I’m here to cheer you up.”

  Melody lifted a brow. “Who said I needed cheering up?”

  Janie blinked owlishly. “Your mom.”

  Of course. Melody closed the bedroom door and sat on the edge of the bed by the girl. “And how do you plan to cheer me up?”

  Janie wrinkled her brow and sat up. She folded her good leg underneath her and swung the other over the edge of the bed. “I should have asked your brothers for some knock-knock jokes before they left.”

  Melody snorted. “Do you think if my brothers were home that they’d be here telling knock-knock jokes?”

  Janie tilted her head to the side curiously. “Of course. That’s what brothers do.” She leaned closer to Melody. “I wish I had brothers,” she whispered.

  “Be careful what you wish for.” Melody playfully pinched Janie’s arm.

  “Why’d you do that?” Janie slapped a hand over her wound.

  “That”—Melody nudged the girl’s shoulder—“is brother love. They are a sweet blessing now, but when I was your age, they drove me bonkers.”

  Janie’s expression grew sombre. She spoke at the air, neither looking at Melody nor avoiding her. “I think you’d make a great sister.” She dropped her voice a notch. “And a great mom.”

  Melody’s pulse throbbed in her throat. From your lips to God’s ears. Her voice cracked, “Let’s see if I make a great teacher.” She pulled out the autoharp from under her bed. “I wrote a song last night. It’s perfect for your performance at church on Christmas Eve.”

  Janie gawked at her. “You wrote it?”

  Melody shrugged like it was no big deal. It didn’t slip past her that Janie ignored her comment about the performance. She turned the harp until it sat across her lap. She leaned over it and coaxed beautiful notes from the instrument.