On the 5th Day of Christmas…More than a Miracle
More than a Miracle
by
Cynthia Selwyn
December 15th. Morning
"Mommy! What is Santa doing to that man?"
Kelly stopped frosting the gingerbread house and peered under the table where her four-year-old daughter recently sat with a cache of stolen gumdrops. Shelby wasn't there; she was calling from the front room. Surveying the leaning gingerbread structure—more shack than house, really–Kelly sighed. "I don't know, honey. What is Santa doing?"
"I don't know. But the ladder just fell on them."
She dropped the frosting-smeared spatula and picked up her cell phone, then hurried to the front room. Shelby sat on one of the many moving boxes Kelly had yet to unpack. Out the picture window, she saw a man lying in the bushes, a plastic Santa atop him and a ladder across them both. Neither Santa, nor the man, were moving, but standing on the cement stoop and waving a dishtowel, her elderly neighbor stared at the man in horror—apparently too panicked to do anything else. "Come with me, Shelby," she ordered in a voice that made the child comply without question. She took the child's hand and together they went outside.
As they crossed the street, she could hear the woman shrieking, "O-di! O-di! Madonna mia! Trey! O-di!" in time to her dishcloth waves.
Kelly dialed 9-1-1 as they neared the man. "Shelby, go stand next to the lady," she told her daughter as she took in the scene. "This is Dr. Pierce. I need an ambulance."
Trey opened his eyes, wondering why his bed was so uncomfortable and who was lying on top of him. And why was he so cold? He struggled to move, but a soft, feminine yet commanding voice told him, "You've had an accident. Lie still. I'm trying to get the ladder off you. The ambulance is on the way." A woman's face loomed over his and his heart stopped. "Theresa?" His wife had died in Iraq; he'd buried her three years ago last Christmas and felt her loss every day. So what was she doing looming over him, a halo shining brightly around her head? "Am I dead? God, I've missed you, baby."
She frowned. "How many fingers am I holding up?"
Fingers? Who cares about fingers? He smiled at her; she was beautiful to behold, even though her dark eyes were now as blue as the morning glories she'd loved. "I like what you've done with your hair."
She nodded. "Thanks. The ambulance will be here, soon." She looked up and spoke to someone nearby. "He'll be all right, ma'am. Don’t cry."
Nonny. She was talking to Nonny. Trey closed his eyes and took a deep breath—or tried to, anyway. It hurt too much. Why was she talking to his grandmother? Because I'm at her house. I was putting that stupid plastic Santa up next to the chimney. God, I hate that Santa. He's all faded.
"I fell off the roof," Trey realized aloud. "I'm in the bushes."
"That's right." Theresa loomed over him again. His heart fell. Not Theresa. A woman, but not his dead wife. She gently touched his face. "I got the ladder and Santa off of you. He's been crushed, I'm afraid."
"Good," Trey said. The vibrant blue of her eyes held his own. He realized that he ached all over, but through the pain he felt something else, something connected to the woman whose gaze locked with his. It was…wonder.
"O-di!" Shelby muttered as one of Mrs. Natale's—Nonny, she said to call her Nonny—many grandsons knocked an ornament off the tree. He bent and picked it up amidst a wave of ribbing and more o-di's. He turned to Shelby and held the ornament out to her.
"Here, Princess. You want to put it back on the tree?"
"Up there." Shelby pointed to a high point on the tree and he lifted her up so she could hang the ornament on her chosen branch. "There."
"No problem." He put her down and turned back to his conversation.
Kelly shook her head. In the days after the ambulance had taken Mrs. Natale's grandson away, she'd somehow become enfolded in the familial embrace of this big, warm-hearted—and loud—Italian family. An only child herself, she'd always envied people with families like this and she couldn't deny Shelby the opportunity to experience it. Especially on Christmas Eve, when the entire Natale clan gathered at Nonny's for the traditional Feast of the Seven Fishes. She'd had to Google it after she'd agreed to attend the gathering.
There was other food, besides shellfish and salted cod balls and fried squid—calamar', Nonny had called it. Cheese lasagna, salads of every description, fresh bread, cookies, cakes, pies. Shelby was so full of sugar, Kelly was sure she was going to have to detox the child for days.
Despite the house full of people and food, however, something was missing. Nonny had said that her grandson, Trey, would be there as soon as he got off from work. Kelly hadn't asked anymore, because she didn't want it to be obvious she couldn't stop thinking about him.
Something about Trey had touched her. It had been odd to feel her heart hitch and her stomach jump as he lay on a flattened bush under the squashed Santa and heavy metal ladder. But there was something in his dark eyes that pulled at her. It wasn't that he'd thought she was his deceased wife. She'd asked Nonny who Theresa was and was struck by the similarities between them; she'd lost James in Iraq three years before, as well. She'd wondered if that was what drew her to him but then realized she'd felt this pull even before she'd known the story of his lost soldier wife.
A ruckus broke out in the kitchen, a chorus of "heys" and "Merry Christmas" and "It's about time you showed up, you chooch" that made her pulse begin to race. Was it him? She made her way to the doorway to watch the family greet their missing member.
But Trey's dark eyes met hers right away, and the grin that spread across his handsome face made her breath catch and her knees grow weak. He pushed through the throng to stand before her.
"You're so tall," Kelly blurted before she could think. "I mean, you looked shorter lying in the bushes."
"And you're so beautiful." He laughed and brushed the back of his fingers over her cheek. The warmth of his hand left a trail of tingles on her skin. "Thank you for saving me the other day."
She shrugged. "I’m an ER doctor. It's what I do."
He nodded. "I'm an EMT. Which ER? I don't recognize you."
"We just moved here. It was an impulse decision. I wanted to be in a new place," she explained, pulling her gaze from his to take in his uniform. "You're a firefighter?" Her breath caught. Prior to going to Iraq to fight terrorism, James had been a firefighter.
"Yes I am." He lifted his hand for her to shake. "Company 12."
"Kelly Pierce. St. Joseph's Hospital." She put her hand in his; his fingers folded around hers and she trembled at the wave of emotion that washed over her at his touch.
"Hey." Trey's brother shouldered his way up to them. "That's how you're gonna thank the lady? By shaking hands? I'm ashamed to call you my brother."
Trey tightened his grip around Kelly's fingers. "Yeah, well maybe I'm a gentleman and not a buttagats, like you."
Joey said something that sounded like "Gee-drool," and punched Trey in the shoulder before holding up a sprig of mistletoe. He held it over them. "There you go. Now you can thank her for real and still be a gentleman, stoonod."
Trey looked down at Kelly—she laughed up at him, unoffended by his brother's suggestion. When he lowered his face so that his mouth hovered over hers, she stood on tiptoe to make their connection complete.
As soon as their lips touched, emotion so strong swirled around and through her; she clung to Trey in case she fell. She realized then, he hung on to her as tightly as she held him. Love, powerful—and inexplicable—swept over her. As if it were meant to be. And she knew that Trey Natale would be her husband—and she, his wife—for the rest of their lives.
December 15th, one year later…
"Thank you for coming with me." Trey blinked back tears as he placed roses on Theresa's grave. "It feels weird, in a way, but–"
"It feels right." Kelly finished the sentence for him, as she so often did. It was spooky how well they were in sync, often understanding one another without words as if they were telepathic. "I understand." She shrugged. "Besides, I wanted to visit James, today, too." Then her eyes narrowed and she frowned as she studied Theresa's stone. "She was killed today? I mean, on this date?"
Trey nodded. "I thought you knew. I said it was her anniversary."
"I thought you meant your wedding anniversary." Kelly looked up at him with wide eyes. "James was killed today, too."
"They died on the same day?" He shook his head. Too strange.
Kelly bent and read his dead wife's stone; she gasped and lifted her hand to her mouth. "She was in James' unit! They served together."
He gaped at her. Her unspoken thought hung in the air between them. And died together.
Suddenly, it all made sense. Her practically unplanned move to the house across from Nonny's. His accident with the ladder, though he climbed them every day in far more dire situations. Their unexpected attraction and the strength of their love. Trey and Kelly had called it their Christmas miracle…but as they gazed at one another, they realized it was more than that. It was a final gift from their soldier spouses who'd lived and worked and died together, a Christmas gift of love.
Merry Christmas…Buon Natale!
A trapped-at-home mom of three, freelance fiction editor and romance writer, Cynthia Selwyn has been married to the same man for nearly twenty years. If there's anything she knows about relationships, it's that humor can keep the love alive (or at least on life-support).
Cynthia started writing at the age of six and has been writing since then. She writes for Breathless Press, where she hopes to earn enough money in royalties to support her coffee habit. Her goal with each book is to bring a smile to her readers' faces and love to their hearts, by writing a sexy story with a touch of magic. Her e-books, romantic comedy, Dog-Gone But Not Forgotten and eroticas, In the Cards and Naughty Can be Nice, can be found at Breathlesspress.com and Amazon.
She invites writers and readers to reach her at cynthia@author-wise.com or check out her blog at: cynthiaselwyn.blogspot.com. You can also find her at: http://www.facebook.com/cynthia.selwyn and follow her at: http://twitter.com/#!/cynselwyn
