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“Okay, take the keys and go get in the van. I’ll be right out. Don’t forget your hat and gloves.” She returned her attention to the envelope as the boys disappeared down the hall. She waited until she heard the front door close before she opened the mailing. She paused. Did she really need to read this now? Maybe she should wait until the evening. But if she didn’t, it would be on her mind all day, anyway.
Inside was a copy of the mortgage and a statement summary showing the current balance and payment history. She swallowed hard. Six missed payments that year. Had it been that many? She’d expected two, maybe three, but six? She scanned the missed months. Yeah, six was correct. Money had been tight that year, especially with David needing glasses for school and the front window of the house needing replacing after Josh had thrown a baseball through it that summer.
She turned to the last page, which was a letter from Jeff Thompson, the bank’s branch manager and a guy she’d gone to school with. Now their boys played together on the same hockey team. Her knees all but gave way beneath her as she read.
Dear Ms. Myers,
We regret to inform you that due to the arrears owing on your mortgage, we are obligated to ask for payment to bring your account up-to-date. If you are unable to settle the debt, we will be forced to foreclose on the property as of January 1...
The letter continued, but that was all she needed to read. They were going to take her house? The room around her began to spin, and the little blue flowers on the outdated wallpaper she’d loved when they first moved in danced around her. She closed her eyes in a desperate attempt to stop the spinning. January 1 was less than a month away. Even with the promotion, she wasn’t sure if she could settle the debt that quickly. Thirty-two-hundred dollars just to bring the payments up-to-date. She folded the letter and slid everything back into the envelope, then hid it under the stack on the counter. She forced herself to take several deep breaths as the van’s horn sounded outside. The exam needed to be her only focus. She would figure this out. She always did. There was no way she was losing her family’s home.
* * *
THE STAFF LUNCHROOM in the back of the Play Hard Sports store served as the exam room. Melody and two other management trainees competing for the same position at the Newark store sat in the overheated room waiting to begin. Again, she was relieved there had been no one else interested in the position in the Brookhollow store. The whole process had been stressful enough, and she’d have hated to compete for the promotion. Staring at the closed booklet, she replayed over and over the things she’d studied. Heather had taught her to visualize charts and definitions in order to recall them more easily during the test, but today whenever she closed her eyes, all she saw was the notice from the bank. She forced all thoughts of that morning’s disturbing news away. The exam facilitator, a woman from head office, checked her watch and told them to begin.
Melody opened the exam booklet and scanned the first section. She felt the tension in her shoulders begin to melt. Product knowledge—her strongest subject. Not only had she worked in the store for eight months, but she also had the advantage of growing up with two athletic brothers. Now her boys were playing on every sports team in town. Sports equipment was something she knew. She flew through the hundred multiple-choice questions quickly, never second-guessing her answers.
The next section was tougher—questions about the principles of management—but as she skimmed them, images of the cue cards around her house popped into her mind. Thank you, Heather. Furiously, she scribbled detailed responses and even provided examples that weren’t required. Better to give too much in the way of an answer than not enough.
As she turned to the last section an hour later, she felt her cell phone vibrate. She’d put the cell in her purse, which was sitting on the floor against the chair leg. Who was trying to reach her at twelve-thirty on a Monday afternoon? Everyone knew she was writing an exam at that time. She contemplated not reaching for it...but what if it was an emergency? When the boys weren’t with her, she liked to be available. Lowering her right hand, she slid the zipper open on the purse and glanced down to see the caller ID. Brookhollow Elementary. The boys’ school never called unless they were sick or injured.
“Um, excuse me,” she said to the exam moderator.
“Yes?” The woman looked up from the home-and-garden magazine she was reading.
The other two employees glanced up from their exams.
“Sorry,” Melody said. “It’s my son’s school. Can I take it outside?” She held the vibrating phone.
The woman shook her head. “I’m sorry, but if you leave the testing area, you can’t reenter.”
“Well, can I answer it quickly here?”
“No.”
Melody stared at the vibrating phone. She was almost done the exam. Another hour at most. Could the call wait? The exam was too important to mess up, especially now, but family always came first. What was she supposed to do? If she left the exam, she wouldn’t get the promotion and the kids would suffer...but what if one of them were hurt? Damn it. “I’m sorry, I have to take this.” She grabbed her purse and rushed from the room, dropping the unfinished exam on the facilitator’s desk as she passed. “Hello?” she said as the room door closed behind her.
“Melody?”
She recognized the school secretary’s voice. “Yes, Amy. Are the boys okay?” She pushed her purse strap up her arm as she rushed down the hockey stick aisle in the showroom toward the front doors.
“It’s David.” The woman paused.
If only I could reach through the phone and strangle this woman. “Is he hurt?”
“No. He’s suspended.”
Melody struggled to catch the phone as it slipped from her fingers. David was suspended? How was that possible? He was a good kid. Sure, he’d been going through a bit of a rebellious phase lately, but that was normal for a boy his age, wasn’t it? Brookhollow Elementary never suspended anyone. At least this was the first suspension she’d ever heard of. “Why?”
“I’d rather tell you in person. Can you come to the school?”
Did she have a choice? “Yes, of course. I’ll be there soon,” she said. She disconnected the call.
Outside in the parking lot, she struggled with the stubborn handle on the minivan, her anxiety making her oblivious to the bitter cold whipping through her long-sleeved, ribbed shirt. She’d forgotten her winter coat in her haste to leave the exam room and answer her vibrating phone. “Come on,” she muttered, yanking the handle and steadying herself as the door flew open. Inside, her hand shook as she shoved the key in the ignition and reached for her seat belt. The strap wouldn’t budge, and glancing down, she saw it was trapped in the door. “Seriously?” Swinging the door open again, she freed the seat belt and slammed the door shut.
She tore out of the parking lot. The tires spun on a snowy patch and she cringed. She really couldn’t put off getting those winter tires any longer. Maybe she needed to allow Bailey to do them for free. If the boys got hurt because of the useless vehicle, she would be devastated.
As she drove, her mind reeled. Her son was suspended. Of all things. Of all days. What possibly could have happened that would have warranted a suspension. Lost in thought, she almost didn’t hear the wail of a police siren behind her. That couldn’t be for her...but a glance at the speedometer confirmed it was. She checked the rearview mirror, hit the brake slowly and pulled the van to the side of the road. She rolled down the window and waited, rubbing her arms for warmth. The van’s heater was useless.
“In a rush?” her father asked, coming up to the open window a minute later.
As the town police chief, her father took his job seriously. She just hoped he’d give her a break this time. A speeding ticket was the last thing she needed. “Hi, Dad. I’m sorry. I wasn’t really paying attention to the speed.”
“A tip? That’s not the best response to offer a police officer who pulls you over for dangerous driving, Melody.”
“Sorry,” she mumbled, shivering.
“Where’s your coat?” He frowned.
“I forgot it at work—I’m on my way to Brookhollow Elementary,” she said reluctantly. Her family members were always offering unsolicited advice on her life choices and the way she was raising the boys. They criticized her independence, claiming she should ask for help more often.
Her father’s face changed in an instant from annoyed cop to worried grandfather. “The boys okay?”
She hesitated. She hated to tell anyone, including her family, if one of the boys had done something that appeared to be less than perfect. In their eyes, it was a reflection of her lack of parenting skills. “David has been suspended.”
“What did he do?”
She stiffened. Without the details, she refused to judge her son’s actions as being right or wrong. “I don’t know, but I’m on my way there now, Dad.”
“Do you want me to come with you?”
She shook her head. She didn’t want her son to feel ganged up on. The boys were close to their Grandpa Bishop, and she knew they would hate to disappoint him. Besides, having the town’s squad car parked in front of the school would just cause panic. “No, thank you. I’ve got it under control.”
“Okay,” he said, “but please slow down. You’re lucky it was me on patrol.”
Who else would it have been? Her father’s partner had retired two years before, and he’d been the only law enforcer in the town since. Finding a new sheriff was proving to be difficult. “You’re the only one in town.”
“For now,” he said, sounding noncommittal. “Anyway, slow down. I will give you a ticket next time.”
He didn’t make idle threats. “Okay. Oh, and, Dad, don’t say anything about David...”
“You know I won’t. If you need anything...” He shrugged and shook his head. “You still won’t call,” he finished. “Bye, darling.”
“Bye, Dad.” Melody rolled up the window and waited until he was back in the squad car before pulling the van onto the road. She wished her family could understand her need to do things on her own. It was against their advice that she’d started dating Patrick...and then married him. They’d claimed that as a musician, he didn’t have a steady income. When she’d gotten pregnant with the boys, they’d questioned his commitment to his family, what with him being on the road almost every weekend. But she’d believed in him. In them.
Pushing the thoughts away, she parked the van in the parents’-pickup-only parking near the front of the school. She jogged through the slushy puddles of melted snow and ice in her running shoes, toward the entrance. Inside, she stomped her feet on the mat before making her way to the principal’s office. Michael Thompson sat on the bench outside the door, an ice pack pressed to his eye. Oh, no, she thought as realization dawned on her. The two boys had been on the outs lately. She’d noticed the looks between them at hockey practice, and David hadn’t invited Michael to their house since the first week of school. Come to think of it, Michael hadn’t attended the boys’ birthday party last month, either. “Hi, Michael,” she said.
He ignored her, simply turning his tear-stained cheeks away.
Entering the principal’s office, she saw David, head in his hands, slumped over in a chair across from the secretary. His eyes met Melody’s and a look of sadness flickered in them momentarily before it was replaced with stubbornness and anger. She was taken aback—she’d never seen such a look on his young face before. But she was relieved to see he wasn’t hurt. Michael was much taller and heavier than David.
Melody directed her gaze at the secretary, Amy. “So what’s going on?” She resolved to give David the benefit of the doubt. Let him explain what had happened between Michael and him. Her own parents had always treated their children fairly in disciplinary situations, and it was a practice she’d adopted with her own children.
“Principal Andrews has ordered a two-day suspension for David,” Amy said as she stood and slid the paperwork toward Melody.
Melody stared at her. “Why?” She could guess, but she wanted to know for sure.
“Physical violence against a classmate. The school has a zero-tolerance policy.” Amy pointed to that section of the report.
That was all it said. No explanation of what had transpired between the boys to cause the fight. “Do we know what happened?”
Amy shook her head. “It was during lunchtime, and the teacher on duty arrived after it occurred. Principal Andrews questioned David a few minutes ago, but David refused to say what had provoked him.”
Well, something clearly had. Neither of her children had ever demonstrated violent tendencies before. Not even in sports. “Is Principal Andrews available?” Melody refused to sign the suspension form without first receiving more information. A suspension stayed on the child’s permanent school record—it wasn’t something to be taken lightly.
“He’s with the Thompsons now. I can schedule you for tomorrow sometime,” she said, glancing at her calendar.
Melody had to work the following day at Play Hard Sports, and after running out on the exam, she couldn’t ask for more time off. “That won’t work. I’ll have to call in the morning to set up a meeting later in the week.” Inwardly, she winced. Because of her busy work schedule, things like this were always being put off—important things, things that should be top of her priority list. But then where would eating and having a roof over their heads fall?
“Okay. I’ll still need your signature on the suspension form, though.”
“I’ll sign it once I speak to Principal Andrews.” She turned to David. “Let’s go.”
David stood, pushing the chair roughly against the wall behind him.
“You’re on thin ice,” Melody warned.
He scowled as he left the office and glared at Michael as he passed him.
Melody waited until he’d climbed into the van beside her before she spoke. “What happened?”
David only stared outside, his lips locked.
“I can’t talk to Principal Andrews about lifting the suspension if I don’t know what happened.”
Still nothing.
“Did Michael hit you?” David didn’t appear to have any marks, but maybe...
Nothing.
“Did he say something to upset you?”
Silence.
Melody fought to keep her exasperation at bay. Today was not the day for her son to be stubborn. She couldn’t help him if he refused to talk. “David, talk to me.”
“He deserved it” was all David said.
“No one deserves a black eye. Not for any reason. You know that. I thought Michael was your friend. What’s been going on with you two?”
“None of your business.”
Melody gaped. Who was this kid in her van? Not the child she’d raised to have manners and be respectful. “Excuse me? It is my business when my son gets suspended for violence.” She took a deep breath. Stay calm, she reminded herself. She’d get nowhere by yelling. “I can’t help you if you won’t talk to me.”
“You never have time to listen, anyway.”
The hurtful words tore a hole through her heart. She knew he missed having her around, the way she had been when Patrick was alive, but what choice did she have? She had been so close to changing things. Hadn’t she explained that to him? With the promotion from Play Hard would have come the opportunity to make things better with her children. To spend more time with them. “I’m listening now.”
His defiant stare met hers and sent a shiver through her. “I’ve got nothing to say now.”
* * *
“SO TELL ME about your family,” Bridget Marilyn asked in her smooth Southern drawl. She had warm, chocolate-colored eyes and dark hair that curled around her shoulders, which were only partially concealed by her pink tank top. Under any other circumstance, sitting next to the beautiful woman with the sun-kissed skin and Southern manners for two hours on the plane from Nashville to New Jersey would have been Brad’s idea of the perfect way to travel. Now he just hoped the woman had packed a warm coat and wouldn’t bail on the interview the moment she arrived in cold Newark, only to learn there was still an hour’s drive to Brookhollow. “Roxanne says y’all are very close.”
Roxanne. The definition of a troublemaker. “Uh...she may have stretched the truth a little. I haven’t been home in a while, but we used to be close.” When the brunette’s perfectly arched eyebrows met in the middle, he added, “I’ve just been so busy these last few years.” As much as he’d initially been opposed to the idea of this television segment, after he’d agreed, he’d done his research. It turned out Roxanne may not have been lying about this “Home for the Holidays” Christmas Eve program having done wonders for the careers of several other up-and-coming performers. He’d found three separate lesser-known acts that had become headliners after appearing on the show. Of course, they’d also recorded breakout hits shortly afterward, something else Brad had yet to do. His first CD was good, but none of its singles had skyrocketed to the top of the country music charts.
“That’s only natural,” Bridget said, smiling once more as she crossed one long leg over the other. She wore a pencil skirt and stilettos, and Brad had a difficult time picturing her in his mother’s messy home. Of course, Beverly Monroe preferred the term “lived-in” when referring to the state in which she kept the family’s two-story farmhouse. He hoped she allowed the staging crew to make the necessary changes for filming. “And it’s yourself and five older sisters?”
“Yes, that’s right. Bobbi, Becky, Brooke, Bethany and Breanne.”
Bridget laughed. “And your parents, Beverly and Bernie. I assume the B names were on purpose?”
“Yes. You’ll fit right in.” Brad liked how at ease she made him feel. He’d expected the famous Heartland Country Television host to be standoffish, but she was anything but. “We’re all about two years apart, with Bobbi being the oldest—though she will deny having just turned forty-five until she’s blue in the face—and me being the baby.”
“Five girls and finally a boy.”
“I love to tease my sisters that my parents had been hoping each of them were a boy.” He stretched his legs out in the limited space in front of him. His right shin ached as it always did when he sat for long periods of time. The muscles in the front of that leg had taken a lot longer to heal than the others, and they still gave him trouble.
“And the family home is...”
“It’s a farm on the outskirts of Brookhollow. Three hundred acres of land. We grow crops and Christmas trees. As a kid, I worked the Christmas-tree part with my father.” It had always been one of the highlights of the season for him. Away from the house of six women, Brad and his father had bonded in those silent moments on the farm.
“I can’t say I’ve ever been to a Christmas-tree farm. Growing up, we had an artificial tree—not quite the same experience, I bet.”
Brad grinned. “Yeah, that’s a little different. My youngest sister, Breanne, and her husband, Troy, took over running the farm during the holidays four years ago when my dad got sick. Of all us kids, she’s the only one who still lives in Brookhollow. She and Troy live in the family farmhouse with my mom and their two children, Gracie and Darius.” The mention of his young nephew made him pause as a wave of guilt washed over him. The six-year-old boy suffered from what the doctors called select mutism. He refused to talk to most people, with the exceptions of his older sister, Gracie, and for some reason, Brad. It had made Brad’s absence from home over the past few years that much tougher, especially on Darius.
“I did my research on Brookhollow last night,” Bridget said, “and it seems the town has some impressive holiday traditions, as well—sleigh rides, an ice-sculpting contest...”
The small town of less than ten thousand did indeed do Christmas in a big way. As a kid, Brad had loved the festivities, and spending the holidays in Nashville the past three years just hadn’t been the same. Still, returning home hadn’t felt like an option. His past mistakes haunted him even more the closer he got to town. He let out a deep breath. Like it or not, he would have to face them now.
“Yeah, if it’s Christmas spirit you’re looking for, Brookhollow’s the place.”
* * *
ARRIVING IN HIS HOMETOWN four hours later, the television camera crew and Bridget had gone straight to the Brookhollow Inn, the local B and B, to check in. Brad had continued on in the rental car toward his family home. Now as he drove the familiar roads, the knot in his stomach grew tighter. The last time he’d gone through this area was the day after Patrick’s funeral. Despite his still being confined to a wheelchair in a disoriented state, he’d known he had to get away. Against the doctor’s recommendations and his family’s protests, he’d enlisted the help of his good friend Luke Dawson. With Dawson’s Architecture working on large projects in New York, Luke had sublet an apartment in the city for himself and his crew, and he’d let Brad stay there during his recovery, to be closer to Propel Records. It was that fragile period during which Brad had feared the record company might cancel the entire recording deal. He owed a great deal to Luke. He pulled onto the shoulder to dial his friend’s number, and then put on the headset and pulled back onto the road.
Luke answered on the third ring. “Hey, man. So, are the rumors true?”
