Single mom Lexie Bell hopes to make this first Christmas in their new home special for her six-year-old son, Brock. Festive lights and homemade fudge, check. Friendly neighbors? Uh, no. The reclusive widower next door is more grinchy than nice. But maybe he just needs a reminder of what matters most. At least sharing some holiday cheer with him will distract her from her own lack of romance…
Stanley Mann lost his Christmas spirit when he lost his wife and he sees no point in looking for it. Until she shows up in his dreams and informs him it’s time to ditch his scroogey attitude. Stanley digs in his heels, but she’s determined to haunt him until he wakes up and rediscovers the joys of the season. He can start by being a little more neighborly to the single mom next door. In spite of his protests, he’s soon making snowmen and decorating Christmas trees. How will it all end?
Merrily, of course. A certain Christmas ghost is going to make sure of that!
A LITTLE CHRISTMAS SPIRIT
By Sheila Roberts
MIRA Books September 28, 2021
Lexie Bell
awoke on Black Friday before her six-year old son and went downstairs to the
kitchen, where she pulled out the leftover pumpkin pie she’d brought home from
the so-called Orphans Thanksgiving dinner she’d attended.
She didn’t
know very many people in the town of Fairwood yet, and she’d appreciated the
invite from one of the older teachers at Fairwood Elementary, who had wanted to
make sure everyone, especially a newcomer like Lexie, had a place to go. She’d
met some nice people at that party and it gave her hope that she’d find her
tribe and be able to settle into her new town as well as she was settling into
her new job. She’d already made one good friend, Shannon, another single
teacher at school, and she was looking forward to adding more.
As for
settling into the job, that had been easy. What was not to like about being a
kindergarten teacher? She enjoyed working with children, especially the little
ones. She looked forward to going to work every day and seeing all those
smiling, innocent faces, looking up at her every day, eager to learn.
And she was
always eager to teach. She loved children, would have liked to have more than
one herself. But so far one was all that was in the cards. She’d just
discovered she was pregnant when her fiancé confessed that he’d been cheating.
She’d ended things right then and there, and there had gone the plans for the
big, destination wedding they’d been saving for, not to mention the big, happy
family she’d dreamed of having.
“That’s what
comes of putting the cart before the horse,” her grandma had said.
Thankfully,
she only said it once. The last thing Lexie wanted Brock hearing about was
horses and carts and how foolish his mother had been and what a loser the man
she’s fallen for had turned out to be. She supposed there would come a time
when she’d have to address that but not yet.
The cheater
had signed over his parental rights and moved to San Diego, so it had always
been just Lexie and Brock. A sweeter, more precocious boy you would never find,
and while she may have made a mistake in the man she picked she didn’t regret
the child she’d gotten out of the deal.
She wished
her grandma was still alive so she could see what a great kid Brock was. She
hoped Granny would be proud of how Lexie was raising her son. She felt she was
doing okay. They both were.
She cut the
big slice of pie in two, leaving the slightly smaller half for Brock, then
squirted a pile of canned whipped cream on top. Nourishment for the quest that
lay ahead: shopping Black Friday specials online for the perfect presents for
her aunt and uncle and cousins back in California, and her mom and, of course,
Brock.
She loved
holiday sales. They were the only time she could actually afford all the
expensive gifts that were usually out of reach for a single mom on a teacher’s
salary. She settled on the couch with her pie on the coffee table and her
laptop in her lap, started some Taylor Swift playing, cracked her knuckles,
limbering up. Then she brought her computer to life. Let the adventure begin.
She’d already
purchased a plane ticket for her mom so she could fly up from sunny California
and join them for the holidays, but Lexie wanted something to put under the
tree as well.
What to get?
Perfume? No. Mom would say, “Your father’s gone. What’s the point?”
It was what
she said about everything, from getting her nails done to whipping up the
gourmet meals she used to love cooking. For years Lexi had gotten her a can of
tennis balls as a stocking stuffer because Mom loved to play tennis, but that
wasn’t an option. She’d stopped playing. She’d also given up her book club,
claiming that since Daddy’s death it was hard to concentrate on the words on
the page, so there was no point in getting her a book. Something for the house?
Her mother had enough stuff.
Chocolate!
Even the most miserable of women could be helped by chocolate. Lexi knew that
from experience.
She ordered a
box of Godiva truffles.
She found a
deal on body butter and ordered some for the cousins, then started the search
for the perfect present for her aunt.
“I’m awake,
Mommy.”
She looked up
to see her son entering the living room, looking adorable in his superhero
pj’s. His brown curls (a gift from the father fail) were tousled, and he rubbed
his eyes (brown, also from the father fail) as he joined her on the couch,
snuggling up next to her.
“What are you
doing?” he asked.
“I’m checking
out the sales. I have to get my holiday shopping done.”
“And we have
to see Santa,” Brock reminded her.
“Don’t worry.
We have plenty of time to see Santa,” she assured him.
“Does he know
I want a puppy?”
“I think he
does, but I think he also knows that Mommy said no puppy yet. You have to wait
until you’re older.”
Brock’s lips
dipped downward. “I just want a puppy.”
“You’ll get
one eventually, but not this Christmas. Start thinking about something else to
ask Santa for.”
The lower lip
jutted out.
“Oh, my, what
a sad, pitiful mouth,” she teased. She leaned over and picked up her pie from
the coffee table. “I think it needs something to make it happy,” she said,
forking off a bite.
Brock
squirmed in delight and opened his mouth.
“There. Did
that make your mouth happier?” she asked once it was in.
He nodded,
chewed and swallowed. “My mouth wants some more.”
“It’s a good
thing I have a piece saved for you in the refrigerator, then. Want to go get
it?”
He nodded
again, this time even more eagerly, and followed her to the kitchen.
Not the most
nutritious breakfast in the world, she thought as she dished it up. But not the
worst either. After all, it did have pumpkin and eggs. Anyway, it was
Thanksgiving weekend. Everyone deserved to party a little on a holiday weekend.
She’d hoped
to find some people to party with right here in her cul-de-sac when she’d first
moved in. She’d fallen in love with the house, with its simple lines and big
front porch, and had assumed that there’d be another family living in one of
the neighboring houses.
But she
hadn’t found a family when she moved in. Instead, she’d found workaholics who
were rarely around and a divorcing couple whose quarrels she’d heard clear over
on her front porch. They’d soon moved out and taken their sulky teenager with
them, leaving the house standing empty. The Sold sign now posted in the front
yard gave her hope, but it was about her only hope. The little old lady who
occupied the house two doors down didn’t come out much, and there was a
reclusive older couple next door.
At least she
assumed it was a couple. So far she’d only seen the husband, and he wasn’t
inclined to chat.
Once, she’d
caught sight of him driving toward his house when she was outside, raking the
leaves from the big maple tree in her front yard—a hefty man with thinning gray
hair and bushy eyebrows. She’d given him a friendly wave and a smile, and he’d
nodded and managed to lift his fingers off the steering wheel, then he’d turned
into his garage, and it had swallowed him up. She’d seen him one other time and
gotten the same half-hearted acknowledgement. She’d taken over some cookies
once when she’d thought she caught sight of someone in their dining- room
window, but the only welcome she’d gotten had been from a couple of garden
gnomes sitting on the front porch. When no one had answered the door, she’d
wound up leaving them on the doorstep.
Did he have a
wife? If he did she had to be bedridden or as reclusive as him. It was like
living next door to Boo Radley.
Well, she’d
find her peeps. She was working that direction with Mrs. Davidson of the Orphans
Thanksgiving dinner and Shannon, who was also nearing the big three-oh and who
taught fourth grade. Her social life would sort itself out. Maybe, if she was
lucky, her love life would also.
She settled
Brock at the kitchen counter with his pie, promising him a trip to town for
hamburgers for lunch—let the fun continue—then returned to her computer. There
was a lot of Black Friday left, and she had shopping to do.
Stanley sat
down at his computer to check the stock market and then his email. Not many
emails came for him anymore. Still, out of habit, he checked. The inbox was
filled with Black Friday offers. Fifty percent off this. Get that now before
it’s gone. BOGO. Enter this coupon code.
He deleted
them all. No need for shopping bargains when he wasn’t going to shop. That had
been Carol’s department, not his. She’d spent a fortune on her sister’s family
and all her girlfriends, buying stuff that would probably end up in a garage
sale or a landfill.
“It’s a way
to show people you care,” she’d tell him.
She had a
point there. He still fondly remembered the year she’d gotten him a slick, new
bowling ball. She’d wrapped it and put it inside a huge packing crate with a
bow on it so he couldn’t guess what it was.
“Do you like
it?” she’d asked when he took it out of its box.
He had, and
more than the gift itself, he’d liked that loving expression on her face.
Even though
he never bought gifts for anyone else, he’d always gotten something nice for
her: bubble bath, chocolates, jewelry. One year he’d bought season tickets to
the local theater because the season included several musicals. Carol loved
musicals. (Stopping in the middle of what you’re doing to sing a song never
made sense to him. But then he’d been an electrician, not a poet, so what did
he know?)
There was no
one he needed to lavish presents on now, no one he needed to show that he
cared. “Waste of time and money,” he muttered. No holiday shopping this year. Or ever.
No presents for anyone.
Did you hear that, Carol?
People
shouldn’t waste so much time buying crap. When you weren’t wandering in and out
of stores, you had more time for other things.
Stanley gave
his nose a scratch. Other things. Like checking the stock market, doing your
Sudoku puzzle … He scratched his nose again. Watching TV. Yeah, he had a busy
life.
But don’t
forget keeping the house maintained, emptying the garbage.
Shaking his
fist at heaven.
How he’d
looked forward to retiring and enjoying himself, spending more time with Carol,
doing things together. There was no together. Only the solitary doing of
routine.
He sighed and
turned off the computer. It was almost time for lunch. A slice of toast with
some peanut butter. A glass of milk. A couple of cookies. Hardly gourmet fare,
but who cared? He’d never been much of a cook. He wasn’t going to start now.
After his
busy day of Sudoku and TV, he made dinner. This time a ham sandwich. No more
spicy food before bed. He topped his meal off with some more ice cream and
called it good.
Now, what to
watch on TV tonight? He flipped it on and checked his options. Hulu, Netflix,
Amazon, Home Movies.
Home Movies!
He didn’t have a Home Movies option, and he’d never seen that old-fashioned
movie projector icon before. He blinked and leaned forward, squinting at the TV
screen. There were his options. Hulu, Netflix, Amazon.
Okay, take a
deep breath. That was just a weird…something.
He went to
Netflix and opted for one of his favorite police series. There you go. Cops
called to a murder scene, people standing behind the yellow tape, gawking.
There, toward the back of the crowd was… He let out a yelp and pushed back against
his recliner. It was Carol, middle-aged and with that short haircut he’d told
her he liked even though he hadn’t. She waved at him.
Oh, man. What
was wrong with him? He took a deep breath, leaned forward and stared at the
screen. She was gone. He kept looking for her throughout the rest of the show,
but she never returned.
Both
frustrated and unnerved, he shut off the TV and opted for a book. That would do
him just fine.
He read until
he was sleepy, then went to bed, torn between hoping Carol would make another
appearance and dreading another scold. Being nagged from beyond the grave was
unsettling.
She did
return late that night, and where her first visit had been unsettling, this one
was downright scary. She wasn’t cute like she’d been the night before. The
nightie was gone, and she was in jeans and a red sweater, topping off the
outfit with a Santa hat.
That part was
okay, but the face under the Santa hat was a different story. Her pretty blue
eyes replaced with what looked like red hot coals. Aaah!
He bolted
upright, his heart pounding. “Carol?” he whimpered, pulling the covers up to
his chin like a shield.
Some shield.
What he needed to do was dive under the bed.
“Don’t be
silly. I’d find you there,” she said, reading his mind. “I wanted to watch home
movies, Stanley. Obviously, you didn’t get the message. I don’t think you’re
taking me seriously.”
“I am,” he
whispered, averting his gaze.
Averting
didn’t work. She whooshed right in his face, forcing him back against the
headboard. “I heard what you said about not shopping.”
He squeezed
his eyes shut tightly. “That was your thing, not mine.” Arguing. He was arguing
with a ghost. What was he thinking?
“All right,
I’ll give you that. But you’re going to have to find some way to get involved
with life. Take an interest. There are people all around who need you.”
“Nobody needs
me,” he grumbled. Not anymore, not with her gone.
“That’s not
true. There are always people who need you. Open your eyes, and you’ll see
them.”
He didn’t
want to open his eyes. He might see her.
“If you’d
watched those movies like I wanted, you’d have realized how good life is when
you’re out there doing things.”
He’d gotten
all their home movies digitized, and they’d barely made a dent in watching them
before she was gone. “There’s no point, because I was doing things with you.
Life’s not good now, and watching them will just piss me off.”
“Stanley,
stop feeling so sorry for yourself. Start looking out and focusing on others
instead of in and only on yourself. It’s the season of peace on earth, goodwill
toward men. Get out there and show some goodwill. And, while you’re at it,
decorate this place. It’s so…un-Christmassy.”
Decorate? “Oh
come on, that was your thing, too,” he protested, eyes still squeezed shut.
“Not hanging
lights. That was always your job.”
“There’s no
reason to hang the lights. You’re not here to appreciate them.”
“I’m here
now.”
He cracked
one eye open, only to see those fiery eyes boring into him. Yes, she was.
“I know,” he
said, “and, no offense, but you don’t look so good, babe,” he added and shut
that eyelid back down.
“It’s because
I’m not happy. You’re killing me, Manly Stanley.”
It would
probably come across as callous to point out that she was already dead.
“You’d better
start taking me seriously.”
“I always
took you seriously.”
“Then, get
with the program. I’m going to haunt you till you do.”
“Please, no.
Don’t do that,” he begged. “I can’t handle seeing you like this.” Those glowing
eyes really were creepy.
“Then, I
suggest you start thinking about making me happy.”
“I will, I
will,” he promised.
“Good. I’ll
be watching,” she said and left in swirl of cold wind.
Stanley’s
eyes popped open, and he saw his covers had fallen off. No wonder he’d felt a
breeze. It was his subconscious telling him he was cold, that was all. Like
those times he’d dream he was looking for a bathroom and would wake up to realize
he needed to take a whiz.
But why was
he seeing Carol? Why was she choosing now, of all times, to haunt his
subconscious?
Because she’d
loved Christmas, of course. That was it. That was all.
He could
swear he smelled peppermint again. Was there such a thing as olfactory
hallucination? That had to be what he was suffering from. Had to be.
He abandoned
the idea of trying to go back to sleep. It was four thirty in the morning. He’d
conked out around eleven. Five and a half hours was enough. Anyway, he’d rather
walk around gritty-eyed than take a chance on meeting Burning Coals Carol
again.
He showered,
he shaved. He got dressed. Proof that he was, indeed, taking an interest in
life.
“That ought
to make her happy,” he muttered.
Make her
happy. He’d have liked nothing better. If she was still alive. But she wasn’t.
And he was laying off the ice cream. Ice cream was the culprit.
Or else he
was going insane.
No, that
couldn’t be. Surely if he were going to lose his mind he’d have done so long
before this. Of course, it was never too late to go around the bend.
He drank his
morning coffee and ate a bowl of cereal. Then he watched the morning news and
went online and checked the stock market. His stocks were still holding strong.
All was well. Not that his stocks mattered much these days. He had what he needed
to live on stashed away in a retirement account that was intended for two, and
no one to leave any money to. Still, it was good to have something to check.
Come ten
o’clock, he fetched his coat and hat and gloves and went to the garage. Time to
take the SUV to the shop and have snow tires put on. There was no snow in the
forecast yet, maybe wouldn’t be any at all this winter, but Stanley liked to be
prepared.
Stanley also
liked to be organized, which was why he always kept the garage immaculate—a
sheet of cardboard under the SUV to catch oil drips, his tools neatly hung on a
peg board or stored under his work bench, bins of seasonal decorations that
he’d hauled in every year for Carol belonged on the shelves.
But now one
was sitting in the middle of the floor, tipped sideways.
On the floor! What the heck?
~~~~~~~~~
The
author of more than 50 books, Roberts is best known for her holiday stories,
women’s fiction and romance novels in small-town settings. Her On Strike for Christmas was a Lifetime
Network movie, and her The Nine Lives of
Christmas is a perennial Hallmark channel movie favorite. Before she
launched her author career, she played in a band and owned a singing telegram
company. She divides her time between two homes in Washington and a beachside
retreat in southern California and writes at all three.
Do you enjoy Christmas stories?
How early do you begin reading them?
Two randomly chosen people posting a comment before 11:00 PM, September 9 will each receive a print ARC (advance review copy) of A Little Christmas Spirit. My thanks to Sheila Roberts for the giveaway.
*U.S. / Canada only
*Must be 18
*Void where prohibited
Birthday Giveaway #8
One randomly chosen person who posts a comment before 11:00 PM, September 9 will receive a book from my conference stash.
*U.S. only
*Must be 18
*Void where prohibited
