Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 46197 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 231(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46197 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 231(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
I started to put my phone down when the ding went off.
Songbird: Merry Christmas, Kash.
Bolting up, I began typing out more and then stopped. I wasn’t blocked, but if I pushed too hard, she may stop responding again.
FUCK! I wanted to call her. Hear her voice.
Slowly, I set the phone down and let go of it. That had to be enough for now. It was something. I could hold on to it. Possibly make it through another day of fake joy.
My bedroom door eased open, and my eyes narrowed, unsure who the hell would be coming in my bedroom this late. The moonlight from the windows lit up the area well enough that I could make out my mother’s form. I tossed the covers off and stood up. I’d half expected to see Oz here to remind me to make tomorrow good for her. This was concerning. She should be in bed.
“Mom?” I asked, walking over to her.
“Merry Christmas,” she said softly.
“Merry Christmas,” I replied, still unsure if this was bad or not. “What are you doing up?”
She held out a small gift bag to me, festively wrapped in red and green paper. “You might be grown, but I’m still Santa Claus.” Her voice was teasing.
We’d made jokes about that growing up. How Dad always looked as surprised as we were over our gifts on Christmas morning. It had been obvious who Santa was when we all found out the truth behind the myth.
“This couldn’t wait until morning? You should be in bed, resting,” I told her, taking it.
Her smile was weak, and that scared the shit out of me.
“Not on my busiest night of the year,” she told me. Still with the Santa jokes. “Open it.” The excited look on her face was almost as if she were the one getting a gift.
I knew whatever she’d brought me wasn’t going to bring me any joy, but I’d do my damnedest to smile for her. Pretend the best I could. She might be making visits to all our rooms tonight with presents. Part of her making this Christmas extra special.
The bag was so light that it felt empty. But I opened it and reached inside, only to find what felt like a postcard. I smiled at her because she looked so fucking giddy and hopeful about the odd gift that I wanted to react the way she was hoping.
When I took it out, there was a holiday scene with a little boy and Santa Claus on one side. I flipped it over after glancing up at her to find her eyes twinkling and her hands clasped to her chest. Dropping my gaze back to the card, I read an address. It was in Ocala, Florida.
“There is something else in the bag,” she told me.
I reached inside and this time found what felt like a gift card or credit card and pulled it out. It was neither. It was a key card. But to where?
Was I getting transferred to fucking Ocala?! Did they think I wanted that?
“Go get her,” Mom urged.
I froze and stared at my mother, processing what she had said. Did she mean …
“Is this …” I was scared to ask. What if I misunderstood?
“Cressida Beck,” mom said. “Go get her. She’s your happy.”
I held up the card. “This is … this is her address?”
She nodded, her eyes glistening and a smile stretching her face. “Yes! The plane is waiting on you at the strip.”
What?
“Are you serious?”
She nodded again, almost bouncing on the balls of her feet now.
“How … Dad … Linc …” I stammered.
She grabbed my hands with her much smaller ones. “Your dad has been asking me for months what I wanted for Christmas. I just wanted my family happy and together. But you weren’t happy. You were lost. And I told him that until you were happy, I wouldn’t be. So, he went to speak to Blaise. Oz went with him. I got my Christmas wish. Now, go get yours.”
I stuffed the key and the address into the pockets of my sweatpants, then pulled her into a hug.
“Thank you.” My voice sounded tight. The shitstorm of emotions going through me right now had me on the verge of tears.
“Has Santa ever let you down?” she asked.
I smiled then, but the reminder of her reality only made the influx of feelings worse, and I swallowed hard, holding back a fucking sob.
“No, Momma,” I said, closing my eyes as I held her. “She sure hasn’t.”
Twenty-Five
Cressida
I regretted not splurging on a Christmas tree now. Sitting with my cup of nighttime sleepy tea while curled up on the sofa, looking out the window at the other buildings with festive twinkling lights, I wished I had one to wake up to in the morning. It wasn’t that this was my first Christmas to be alone. Even living in my father’s house, I’d been alone at Christmas. He and Lucy always left on a trip a couple of days before and didn’t return until the new year.