Read Online Coming Home for Christmas by Marie Ferrarella - Free Book Online Page A

as she called the first of many people to announce solemnly his mother’s passing.
    He caught himself being drawn to the sound of her voice even though he tried not to listen.
    He fully expected Kenzie to keep her end of the conversation identical from call to call. But after listening to her phone what he assumed were the first two people in the book, he realized she was tailoring what she said.
    Kenzie Bradshaw was nothing if not personable. He found himself admiring her.
    He had spent the first night here on the sofa rather than going upstairs to his old bedroom. But with the sound of Kenzie’s voice filling up the living room and perforce the surrounding area, he decided he needed to escape. So he reluctantly went upstairs to his room, thinking he’d give what he’d left there ten years ago a cursory look on the off chance that there actually
was
something he might want to keep from that period of his life.
    As he climbed up the stairs, Keith couldn’t help thinking that he’d lucked out hiring Kenzie. What she was doing right now was definitely over and above the call of duty. He appreciated that she had taken on what would have been to him nothing short of an ordeal. Notifying people that someone they knew and presumably liked was dead was an onerous task. That went double since the deceased was his mother.
    Yet Kenzie had taken the job on more than willingly.
    He wondered why she’d done that.
    Was she playing some sort of an angle? And if so, what?
    He’d been a lawyer much too long. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be on his guard like this. Not everyone had an underhanded motive in mind, he reminded himself. Sometimes a kindness was just a kindness.
    The embroidery-worthy slogan caught him up short as it popped into his head.
    That was something his mother used to say. Now that he thought about it, she had always been a champion of good deeds for their own sake, not for any sort of financial gain or reward other than a feeling of satisfaction.
    And then he frowned, remembering that their last argument had been about just that.
    * * *
    A strong feeling of déjà vu swept over Keith the moment he crossed the threshold into his old bedroom. Until this point, he had been convinced he was in no danger of feeling even remotely nostalgic. After all, he’d left in the heat of anger, and anger had continued to be his shield all these years.
    When he thought of the house on Normandie, there was no overwhelming fondness vying for his attention. There was just that feeling of anger, anger that effectively managed to cocoon him.
    So where was that shield, that cocoon now? he silently demanded.
    Keith felt naked and exposed, and he definitely felt vulnerable.
    He almost turned on his heel and walked out again, but that would have been cowardly and he refused to be a coward, even if only in his own eyes.
    So he forced himself to remain in the room, opening bureau drawers and looking into his closet.
    Much to his frustration, the feeling of nostalgia refused to abate. It grew. Grew until he could feel it emanating from every corner, from every nook in his room.
    Even looking at his high school jacket, the one with the letter he’d been so proud of, wound up being another occasion for nostalgia to ambush him. It happened not just when he put it on but also when he slipped his hands into the pockets. He expected them to be empty.
    They weren’t.
    His fingers in his right pocket came in contact with something soft. When he pulled it out, he found it was a ribbon. For a moment, he stared at it, unable to remember whom it belonged to.
    And then he remembered all too well. His stomach tightened.
    The ribbon had belonged to Amy. It had come undone from her hair and she’d lost it. He’d found the ribbon, and out of habit, he picked it up. Amy was always losing things. Ribbons, schoolbooks, those funny little dangling earrings she loved so much. He’d teased her, saying that with her