Part 4 of 5 parts - Miracles and second chances - By Michelle Libby

Amaya smiled at her grandmother’s friends as they partied the night away. It was nine o’clock and the guest were still eating, drinking and being merry. There was no sign of them slowing down. Sarah, Amaya’s grandmother, was holding court with Tristan’s grandfather, Curtis, sitting right next to her on the couch. 
 

They’d cleared the room except for a few chairs and the couch. Tristan borrowed a few more chairs from his friend to round out the seating. She couldn’t stop her eyes from drifting toward Tristan. He stood near the front entry, collecting coats and older women. There were five gathered around him touching his arms and laughing at something he said. He was being a good sport. 

The lights looked amazing outlining the windows, across the garland on the fireplace mantel, and around the balsam pine tree standing in the front window. It had been decorated by the four of them, Amaya, Tristan, Curtis and Sarah. There had been no awkwardness, it was if they had been doing this together forever. 

“Amaya, come over here,” Sarah said, motioning with her hand. “You need to meet my friends.” Amaya pushed off the door jam and walking into the group of seniors. The fawned over her, telling her that she’d saved Christmas, what a perfect idea it had been to decorate her grandmother’s house. After being introduced to everyone in the room she hadn’t already met 100 times, she escaped the crush of people and walked toward Tristan. 

“Here, use this,” one woman said, shoving a plastic plant into Amaya’s hand. She glanced down at it and frowned. Mistletoe. 

Did she have the guts?

He saw her coming over the top of the heads of the women who crowded around him and he smiled. She was coming to rescue him, he knew it. Her light brown hair was pulled up away from her face and neck. He’d been thinking about her and about the column of her neck. 

“Did you see that new movie?” one of the women asked, pulling on the sleeve of his sweater. 

“Um, no I guess I didn’t.” 

“Hi Tristan,” Amaya said. The ladies scattered away. 

“Amaya. You look nice tonight.”

“I have something for you.”

He raised his eyebrows and waited for her to continue. She brought out mistletoe from behind her back.

It took no time for him to realize her intent. She touched her lips to his. They were soft and melted into his. He put his arms around her waist and pulled her closer. She let out a little purr and that one noise was like a switch going off in his brain. He pushed her away and she swayed backward.

What was he thinking? He was still grieving the death of his wife? He wasn’t in love with her? He didn’t know her? He hadn’t created lifelong memories with her? His grandfather had probably seen them kissing. That was going to cause problems.

Her eyes snapped open and he knew he was in trouble.

“Amaya. I’m so sorry.” 

She put her hand up to his face, her lips pursed in disapproval. 

“Please. Let me explain.” He saw the tears in her eyes and his heart cracked worse than when his home burned to the ground. “I’m sorry. I didn’t expect…”

She spun on her heels and all but sprinted down the hall toward the kitchen. He hesitated, not sure if he should follow her or give her space. He touched his lips with his fingertips. He could see feel the pressure of her lips on his. And he could smell the scent of her shampoo, probably because he was still using it when he showered at her place. 

Tristan glanced around the room. Most of the partiers glance away before he could catch their eye. His grandfather, however, had no problem making eye contact and shaking his head. Sitting next to him glaring was Amaya’s grandmother. Oh...

His first thought was getting out of range of the angry grandparents. He didn’t do anything wrong, Amaya kissed him. She started this and somehow he wound up the bad guy. He’d have to make it right. He headed for the kitchen. 

When he got there, she was gone. Vanished. He looked out the back door, but didn’t see her in the yard.

Retreating back to the living room and the party, he dreaded talking to his grandfather. If Amaya was angry at him, then it might jeopardize his grandfather’s relationship with Amaya’s grandmother. Tristan knew they were getting closer every day. He’d be surprised if Curtis came home after the club house was rebuilt. 

“What did you do?” Sarah asked. 

“Nothing. She kissed me. She had mistletoe.” Tristan tried to stage a good defense, but he knew he didn’t stand a chance. 

“I told you not to hurt my granddaughter.”

“I know, Sarah. I didn’t mean to.”

“Did you find her?” Curtis asked. 

Tristan shook his head. 

“You need to find her and make things right,” Curtis continued. “That girl is a gem.” 

“I’ll talk to her, but later. I’m going to go get some air.”

Tristan rifled through the jackets on the banister looking for his. Once he found it, he was out of there. Amaya wouldn’t be gone forever. She’d help them clean up or he’d come back tomorrow to do the dishes and rearrange the furniture. 

The sounds of the paper grew quieter and quieter the further he walked away from the house. His thoughts were jumbled and he didn’t understand what he was feeling. It had been such a crazy four weeks since the fire. 

His grandfather was deliriously happy. Tristan on the other hand was…confused. He hadn’t kissed another woman since the death of his wife. He hadn’t realized that he wanted to until Amaya. When he realized she was going to kiss him, he felt elated, happy, giddy. Once it happened he felt guilt. That’s what had made him push her away. They had never spoken of his wife, never suggested that there might be more than a friendship. 

He stopped when he reached the golf course and the charred remains of his life with his wife. He had no more mementoes, no pictures. He sucked in a deep, cold breath and let it out slowly. 

Light over on the second fairway caught his attention. He hadn’t notice it before, but there in the middle of the property was a tree dressed in white twinkle lights, sparkling and saying “Merry Christmas.” Who had done this? Who had taken the time to run an extension cord from the neighbor’s house? He knew there was only one person who would be that thoughtful.

Miracles and secon chances - Part 3 - By Michelle Libby

Sarah pegged her last points, sat back and smirked. “There. Skunked you that time, Curtis.” 
 

She watched his face crumble. She’d come to discover in the last week he’d been living with her that he wasn’t a very good loser. He was, however, very good company. She’d missed having someone around all the time. He was a decent man.

“Almost time for Wheel of Fortune. We should get in the living room,” he reminded her. “Have you heard from the kids about the party?”

“Last I knew they were still trying to find a place.” Sarah brushed off her dress and went into the living room. She sat next to Curtis on the couch.  “They’ll find something.”

She had noticed that Amaya had been spending a lot more time with Curtis’ grandson. They’d been seen around town together and someone even said he’d been working at her store. The man was down on his luck, but Sarah didn’t want to see her granddaughter hurt because she got attached. 

The front door burst open and a cold wind followed, then Amaya came in with grocery bags filled with presents. 

“Amaya Green, what in Heaven’s name are you doing?”

“Hi Nana. I’m here to do a little decorating.” Amaya bent over and kissed her on the cheek. “I found a place for the party.” 

“You did?” Curtis sat up straighter and clapped his hands together. “Where?”

“Here.” 

Sarah shook her head. She didn’t hear her granddaughter correctly. There was no way she said she was having the party here at this house. 

“It’s perfect. Your friends know how to get here. It’s comfortable and if we move the furniture out of the way it will be the perfect spot for dancing. Tristan even found a DJ.” 

Sarah let out a long, slow breath. “Here.” 

“Yes. Here. We’ll help get things ready. I’ve already spoken with Kaila Lang about contacting everyone. She has all your numbers since she’s the coordinator of the program. She thinks this is a great idea as well.”

“She would. Where is Tristan by the way? I heard you two were joined at the hip these days,” Sarah inquired. 

Just then there was a bang at the door, like someone kicked it. Amaya smiled, turning to answer the door. She set her bags down and opened the door. A large tree pushed through the door and Tristan followed.

“Merry Christmas. The guy over at Staples Farm gave us two trees at a discounted rate because of the fire. We put one up at Amaya’s and the other is for you.” He wrestled the tree into the living room and set it up in the front bay window. 

“I can’t get down my decorations from the attic. You know that, Amaya. It will be the saddest tree on the block,” Sarah said dejected. “Take it away.” 

Curtis put his hand over hers. “They’ll help. It won’t be that bad.”

Sarah patted his hand. “Maybe you’re right. I’m not lifting a finger you two. This is all your fault. If we had it in a restaurant then I wouldn’t have to cook, clean or decorate.”

Amaya let out a snort. “Look who’s being demanding. We’ll do it all. It’ll be good for him,” she said motioning toward Tristan who was still playing with the tree. 

Curtis walked over to Tristan and leaned into him. “You doin’ okay there son?”

“Sure.”

“No really. I can loan you some money to get you by.” 

“Seriously, Pops. I’m fine. Amaya has been helping me with the insurance, the police, wrangling you.”

Curtis smiled. “She’s a good girl.”

Tristan shrugged. 

“Pretty too.” 

He shrugged again.

“Bet she’d be a good kisser.” 

Tristan narrowed his eyes. “Back off.” 

“Just trying to help.” Curtis laughed, putting his hands up in surrender. 

“How about you give me the five bucks you offered and go back over there with your new girlfriend?”

“I was going to give you more than a fiver…I have a $20 in my sock.” 

Tristan laughed. 

“I can’t reach it, but it’s there for emergencies.” 

Satisfied with the tree, then men went back to the couch. Curtis resumed his seat by Sarah and Tristan moved behind Amaya who was sorting through decorations she’d brought over from her store. 

“Did they find out how the fire started?”

“Not yet. And I have faith they will find what started the fire,” Tristan said. “I don’t even  like going over there. Everything in town is so bright. The lights are twinkling and then there’s the clubhouse. Dark, dank ashes. I’ve got an excavator coming tomorrow. That will help.” 

“Here?” Sarah interrupted. “We can’t have the party here,” she said, like the conversation had just started.

“Why not, Nana?” Amaya asked her brow furrowed. 

She sighed. “I won’t be able to leave early if the party is dull.” Tristan, Curtis and Amaya couldn’t contain their laughter. And Curtis noticed tears from the laughing trailing down Tristan’s cheeks.  

Part 2 of Miracles and second chances - By Michelle Libby - A Christmas fiction story.

Tristan felt his heart breaking for the loss of his home, his father’s home and the dream he had of making this clubhouse and golf course into a show piece for the community. Not to mention the parties he had scheduled for the next few weeks. He was going to have to call people and refund their money. 

He wanted to curse out loud again. It had been three days since the fire. No one had been hurt and it was ruled suspicious, but the State Fire Marshall didn’t have a lot to go on, he’d said. 

He was staying with a friend and his grandfather was staying with Sarah Fuller at her house. Tristan was sure he had started to wear out his welcome at his buddy’s house. The Red Cross offered to help, as did the Chamber of Commerce of which he was a member. Everyone seemed very sympathetic toward him and all he could see was how pathetic everything was. 

His grandfather kept asking what the senior group should do for their holiday party. “Tristan, we need to have that party. The holiday and New Year’s Eve parties are what we old folks live for. It’s the only time we get to stay up late and party.” 

Tristan smiled at the memory. He’d help the senior group find a place for the party and he’d try to work a deal for the rest of the groups who were scheduled for the clubhouse and now couldn’t find a place with an open booking. 

He walked around the club house looking for anything recognizable. He ran his hand through his ruffled and soot colored hair. 

When he heard his name, he jumped. “Tristan. I didn’t mean to scare you.” It was the woman who came to pick up Sarah the night of the fire. He didn’t know who she was.

“Yes. Can I help you?”

She gave him a bright smile. “I think that’s my question. I’m Amaya Green. I’m Sarah Fuller’s granddaughter. I’ve been checking up on your father.”

“Is he okay?”

She nodded. “He’s fine. Settled right in. He and Nana are playing cards and watching Jeopardy - ,”

“And Wheel of Fortune.” 

She smiled again and he felt a light flicker in his chest. The depression had been so all consuming that to feel a little something like happiness was good. 

“I wanted you to know that I check on them every day. I’ll give you my phone number if you want to call me.” She pushed a piece of her dark hair off her face, rubbed her hand together and started to say something, but she didn’t.

He waited. 

“I know this isn’t your problem and you have more important things to think about and do, but every time I go to the house they ask about their parties and if I can help reschedule them.” She grimaced, which only made her a little more endearing. 

Tristan felt a bubble rise through his chest and he cracked a weak smile. “He’s been saying the same thing to me when I talk to him on the phone. I don’t know what to do about it. To hear him tell it, it’s the only time their families let them stay out past eight.” 

“Right?” Amaya agreed. “We keep them under lock and key.” 

Tristan’s face broke into a full-fledged grin. She cocked her head to the side with a questioning look on her face. 

“That’s the first time I’ve smiled since the fire. It hit me pretty hard.”

“Of course it did. And, what have you done since the fire? Sift through the rubble, catch a few hours of sleep in your car and eat whatever you have stuck between the back seat of the truck?”

“No,” he protested. “I’ve been crashing on a friend’s couch.” 

“Umm hum. Come on,” she said, grabbing his arm. “You look like you could use a shower and a hot, home cooked meal.” 

“That’s nice of you –“

She cut him off. “Get in the car,” she demanded.

The man was a mess. Somewhere under all the ash and grime was a relatively good looking man, but to see him lost in the disaster that used to be the club house was depressing. She had no idea what made her grab him and take him back to her house to shower, but she couldn’t imagine him standing outside in the cold without a hat or gloves. The man was lucky to still have use of his hands. 

He didn’t know her. She didn’t know him. Their grandparents were the only connection they had. And, yet she felt the pull of him. The need to help - to put a smile back on his face. There had been talk around town and in her shop about Tristan Chandler who had lost his wife and took over the old golf course and club house to cope. He’d built the business up, kept to himself mostly and did anything that anyone asked him to do. Like the senior center. They had nowhere to go and Tristan opened up time in the schedule so they could meet every day at the club house.

She heard the water turn off in her bathroom. There was some shuffling around before she heard him open the door and exit. 

“Coffee,” she asked, holding a mug out to him. 

He took it and sipped. His blond hair was clean and smelled like her shampoo. “I borrowed your hair stuff. I don’t have anything. Thanks for the clothes,” he said motioning to the jeans and T-shirt she’d left on the sink for him. Neighbors had dropped stuff off the second they saw him enter her store. She lived in an apartment above the market she owned. It was the only place people could get homemade soups, sandwiches, unique cheeses, wine and other items that her customers weren’t going to find at Walmart.

“Make yourself at home. I have nothing to hide. I’ve started some chowder for you. It’ll warm you and fill you up.” She sounded like a mother. 

“I appreciate you taking me in. I guess I needed that shower.”

She smiled at him. “You did. Now that we have that out of the way... What should we do about the party for our grandparents and their friends?”

He collapsed into the nearest chair. “I have no idea.”   

A little Christmas ditty - By Michelle Libby - Miracles and second chances

Sarah Fuller sat in the recliner her daughter had bought for her, the kind that lifted her out of the seat. It wasn’t that she was old or couldn’t shake it with the best of them, but at 81, every little bit helped.
 

“Nana?” 

Sarah’s turned toward the sound of her granddaughter and felt the rush of cold air entering the room. “In here, sweetie.” 

 

“I’m just here for a quick check up on you. I’ve got a million and one things to do today. Did you know that this is the busiest time of year when you own your own business?” She  breezed through the living room, dropping a kiss on Sarah’s head, then went into the kitchen. Sarah heard the freezer open and close and then the refrigerator door. 

“How about some of that chicken stew I made for you the other day?” she called from the other room.

“Amaya, come here.”

“Can’t, Nana. I’ve got to get back to the store after going to the post office, bank and whatever that other thing was.”

“Amaya. I’m going out for dinner.” 

She peeked her head into the living room. Sarah smiled at her surprised look. 

“It’s the dinner for my friends at the senior center. I’m sure I told you about it last week. We’re all getting together and Kaila Lang is catering the event. She’s our program director. Lovely girl.”

Amaya ducked back into the kitchen. “Wait. How are you getting there and getting home? I don’t want you driving or walking alone on the ice and snow. It is winter you know.”

“Curtis Chandler is picking me up.”

“Nana, Curtis Chandler is older than you are. He definitely shouldn’t be driving.” Amaya came back into the living room with a wet paper towel and started wiping down surfaces and collecting dishes. 

“Stop that. I’m old, not helpless. I can clean up after myself,” Sarah fussed. “Sit here and tell me what’s going on with you? Have you had any dates recently?”

Amaya sat next to her. “Too busy for dates.” 

“You don’t want to end up an old spinster do you? Your grandfather and I had 58 years of wedded bliss, until he passed. Don’t you want that for yourself?”

She shook her head. Was that a “no”? Amaya had had a terrible break up only a few months ago, but that shouldn’t stop her. She was young and attractive. Sarah would keep an eye out for eligible men or at least their grandsons.

Curtis hated having to be chauffeured around by anyone who had a free minute. Especially when he was picking up a date. The cute little Sarah Fuller had agreed to go with him to the annual holiday dinner and party. He’d even picked a gift out for her, well, his grandson had picked it out for her. 

“Where did you say she lived?” Tristan Chandler was his driver tonight. His oldest grandson and the owner of the building they used for their meetings and for their parties on special occasions. “You realize that I live where you’re partying tonight? I had to leave my home to come pick up your date?”

“Don’t blame me. You’re the one who took my license away.” 

“We are not going there. Tell me where she lives.” 

They pulled up to the small Cape Cod style house and Sarah stood waiting on the front porch. Curtis started to get out of the car, but Tristan put his hand on his arm. “I’ll get her. You’ll slip and break a hip.” 

“You really know how to hurt a man’s mojo.”

Tristan barked out a laugh. “Where did you learn a word like mojo? You know what? Never mind.” 

Curtis watched his 35-year-old grandson hold out his arm for his date to hold. Broken hip, my eye, Curtis thought. 

“Hello Curtis,” Sarah said. “You just missed my granddaughter. Sometimes I think she’s more forgetful than I am. I had to remind her that I didn’t need dinner tonight.” 

“You look beautiful. Sorry about the third wheel.”

Sarah gave a gentle laugh. 

The ride back to the clubhouse was quiet. Curtis didn’t want to say anything in front of his grandson. Tristan thought he knew everything, but he didn’t have a date. 

Red flashing lights came up behind the car. “Pull over, son. You have to…” 

“I know.” Tristan pulled to the shoulder and waited for the fire truck and ambulance to pass. 

“Heart attack,” Sarah said from the back seat. “They always send the fire truck and the ambulance when there’s a heart attack.” 

Curtis nodded. She was right. 

Another truck came up behind them. Tristan pulled the car over again, then started moving again.

The open expanse of the golf course came into view, but it was what was behind it that held Curtis’s attention. “That’s your place,” he said.

Tristan hands clutched the steering wheel and his jar was set in a hard line. His club house and his apartment were on fire. The car jumped forward as Tristan sped toward the fire. 

“No. Oh dear,” Sarah said. “I hope no one was inside.” 

The flames were 20 feet in the air by the time the car pulled up the driveway as far as the firemen would let Tristan go. He jumped out of the car and ran, leaving Curtis and Sarah sitting in the car. 

“Will he be okay?” Sarah asked. 

“He’s had a hard time since his wife died a few Christmases ago. He’s put all he has into the course and the clubhouse.”

“Poor thing. What can we do?”

“Nothing yet. Let’s see what he has to say when he gets back here. He can’t leave us like this forever,” Curtis said, half turning to smile at his date. 

“What will we do about the party? And the New Year’s party? I hope none of our friends got here early.”

Sarah reached forward and put her hand on his shoulder. Curtis put his on top of hers as he watched the flames consume the building.

Getting Away - NJRW Put Your Heart in a Book Conference

I read in a blog this week that David Pride, one of our contributors, tries to go to cities that are bigger than where he lives at least once or twice a year. It’s an interesting proposition. 
 

There is a sense of freedom when one hits the open road headed out of town. I love coming home to Windham, but at times, seeing it in the rearview mirror gives me a thrill that there is more out there to experience, new fodder for stories yet to be written. 

This past weekend, I did just that, I took a roadtrip with three of my author friends and we went to a conference in New Jersey. The following are my observations in no particular order…until the end.

Observation 1: There are a lot more cars in New Jersey. If we waited until there were no cars coming…we were never getting on Route 1.

Observation 2: Spending time with likeminded individuals is motivating and makes one feel like an adult.

Observation 3: There is more to life than shuttling the kids back and forth to soccer, hockey, baseball, ballet…there’s a whole world out there where adults sit at dinner for hours talking, sharing and experience the food that someone else cooked. 

Observation 4: When you forget medication at home and you’re four states away…there is not an easy way to get a prescription refilled. I hear that it happens all the time, but coordinating between the pharmacy, the doctor and the ride in New Jersey is why people take pills in the first place.  

Observation 5: I love to write. I love to talk about writing. I love to learn about what everyone who writes does to become successful. 

Observation 6: When you’re a published author at the New Jersey Romance Writers conference, you get chocolate covered pretzels and wine. And share it with other, often more successful, authors. 

Observation 7: By day three of the conference, everyone is exhausted. The seven or eight hour ride home seems Tolstoy long and if someone else is driving…it’s a good thing.

Observation 8: Arriving home is familiar and comforting.

Observation 9: There’s nothing like a hug from the child who wants to know “What’s for dinner?” ten seconds after you want into the room.

Observation 10: News happened while I was away, but my fabulous reporters were out there covering stories and they didn’t miss me at all.