Debra Kastner - A Holiday Prayer

Maddie unconsciously leaned away from him, wondering what she’d said that had set him off.

He obviously didn’t like what he heard. He probably expected her to be some debutante from old money, not a widow with a tragic past and a son to boot.

Well, the truth had to come out sooner or later. There was nothing she could do about it if he was disappointed. None of this was real, anyway.

His eyes became dull and shaded, the fire in his eyes extinguished as effectively as if it had been doused with water.

The fairy tale was over, blown sky high by her own big mouth. She should have kept her identity a secret, she silently reprimanded herself. She should have extended the fantasy—for what it was worth—as long as possible.

She stared out onto the darkened street and sighed deeply, remembering. She hadn’t even threatened March with a lawsuit or anything. She hadn’t wanted a penny of his money. It had just showed up in the mail one day—a certified check for half a million dollars. The first of six checks! Even now she found it hard to comprehend.

She turned back to face him, wondering at his silence.

His dark eyes were full of a mixture of regret and—What was it? Pain? Anger?

She never had the opportunity to find out.

Tapping the driver on the shoulder, he demanded the carriage be stopped. “I’ve got to go.” The words were softly spoken but cut into Maddie’s heart as if he’d screamed.

He cleared his throat, then shook his head as if he had decided against explaining further. Tentatively, he reached forward, brushing the inside of his thumb along her cheek in a featherlight caress.

“I…” he said, his voice husky. He leaned forward, his eyes never leaving hers. For Maddie, time moved in slow motion as she waited breathlessly for his lips to meet hers.

When the moment came, she closed her eyes, savoring every touch, every sensation, storing up for the long, empty nights ahead. His lips were cool and firm, but his breath was warm.

With a sigh, he leaned forward, deepening the kiss, just for a moment.

Maddie wanted to cling to him, but she clenched her hands in her lap, willing them not to betray her, shaking so hard that she was sure he could feel it.

“Oh, Maddie,” he whispered against her lips, the words deep and razor-sharp.

She opened her eyes when he abruptly pushed away from her, the sweet taste of his kiss still lingering on her lips.

Without another word, he jumped out of the carriage and strode away, disappearing into the darkness.

Maddie sighed and brushed a stray tendril of hair from her forehead. She felt hot and sweaty and her muscles ached from carrying boxes up from the basement. Yet she hadn’t ventured to open a single one of the cartons that now filled her living room.

It was the handwriting scribbled in wide, black marker ink that stopped her.

Peter’s handwriting.

Christmas. The boxes set aside for the happiest time of year, laden with bright and glittering decorations that she knew would delight her young son.

But the sight of the festive decorations had no effect on her, except maybe to tighten the vise around her heart.

She wasn’t happy. And she didn’t know if she could fake it, even for Nicky. Could she really put together a six-foot artificial tree by herself? Never mind lift Nicky to place the angel on top—a tradition formerly and laughingly performed by Peter.

She muttered a prayer for help, but it smacked against the ceiling of her apartment and came showering down again in thousands of tiny pieces. Or at least that’s how it felt to her.

She was living in a tiny wooden crate with no air and no light. She’d been abandoned. First by her father. Then by Peter. And now, it seemed, even God had left her to flounder on her own.

Madelaine Anne! She could hear her mother’s voice as if it were yesterday. If you can’t find God, it’s because you’ve backed off. He hasn’t gone anywhere.

She toyed with the idea of making a phone call. Mom always knew what to say. But Maddie’s faith wasn’t as strong as her mother’s. In fact, she wasn’t sure if she had faith at all. Would someone with real faith question what God had done?

Maddie did. Every single day. Peter’s death didn’t make any more sense to her now than it had a year ago. Even the newspapers had called it a senseless tragedy.

God is in control.

If that was true, why hadn’t she even been able to find a crack in the woodwork of this crate of hers?

Except, perhaps, last night. Last night, for one brief, shining moment, she had remembered what it was like to laugh. The deep melodic voice of her Phantom rang through her memory, and she smiled. He had given her a precious gift. He had helped her laugh again. She would always be grateful to him for that.

Her smile faded. Last night it had been easy to think about celebrating Christmas again. Last night she’d even believed she might enjoy the festive spirit, revel in the preparations.

But not now. Not with all these boxes as glaring reminders of the love she and Peter had shared, love that had brought her dear Nicky into the world.

She would not cry.

And she would not let Nicky down. He deserved a memorable Christmas. And if God was here, she was going to give Nicky the best Christmas of his life.

She gritted her teeth against the waves of nausea in her stomach and the ferocious pounding in her head. The huge box containing the Christmas tree was waiting for her attention. With a deep breath for courage, she plunged her arms in, triumphantly emerging with an armful of tree limbs in various shapes and sizes.

After five minutes of work, she’d managed to find the tree base, and had buried herself knee-deep in branches.

She’d never paid the least attention to Peter when he put the tree together, but if he could do it, so could she. Didn’t the dumb tree come with instructions?

She burst into frustrated tears. What a stupid thing to cry over, she reprimanded herself. But she didn’t try to brush the tears away. If it wasn’t this, it would be something else. She hadn’t realized how much she depended on Peter.

And now she was alone.

“Why did you leave me, Peter? Why? I never was good enough for you, was I?” The words echoed in the empty room, an echo answered in her empty heart.

She scrubbed a determined hand down her face, resolving to divide and conquer. No stupid artificial tree would get the best of her, even if it took her all day to assemble.

Her lips pinched with determination, she leaned into the box until she felt as though she were being swallowed. She groped around the bottom, her fingers nimbly searching for anything resembling paper, but found nothing but a stray line of garland.

What might Peter have done with the instructions?

Tossed them.

The thought caught her by surprise and she barked out a laugh. Of course. That’s exactly what her handyman husband would have done. In his opinion, written instructions were the bane of a “real” man’s existence, to be scoffed at and referred to only as a last resort.

Which left her with a gigantic, tree-size problem. Hands on her hips, she surveyed the limb-strewn room.

Christmas music. She’d throw on a CD of favorite Christmas tunes for a little holiday spirit. Maybe all she needed was to set the mood. Though she thought it highly improbable that the tree would put itself together even with the proper ambience.

“Oh, Mama!” Nicky exclaimed, scuffling sleepily from his bedroom. He was still clad in his superhero pajamas, his white-blond hair rumpled from sleep. “A Christmas tree!”