Read Online Holly Blues by Susan Wittig Albert - Free Book Online Page B

sister, who became her court-appointed guardian after her father died. Marcia would have been an ideal mother for Caitlin—except that she was diagnosed several months ago with a virulent form of breast cancer. It has already spread to her spine, and the prognosis isn’t good. As if Caitlin hadn’t faced enough losses, now she’s losing Marcia.
    There is no one else in Caitlin’s life, so with Marcia’s encouragement and blessing, McQuaid and I petitioned the court for appointment as her guardians. Our petition was granted a few weeks ago. Caitlin is our daughter now. And while I may not have much confidence in my ability to mother a young girl, we’re all she has. Since this Christmas was the first one she would celebrate (if that was the word) without either her mother or her father, McQuaid and I were determined to make it as happy a holiday as possible, hence the Christmas tree outing, a planned shopping expedition, a neighborhood party, and a couple of big family get-togethers. I could only cross my fingers that Sally—or Juanita, or Hard-luck Hannah—wouldn’t complicate the situation.
    But tonight, at least, Sally was on her best behavior. She and Brian seemed to have come to some accommodation of her past failures and forgettings. As they came into the kitchen, he was telling her about his plan to get a job as soon as he can drive. McQuaid thinks that as long as Brian keeps up his grades, this is okay. I don’t agree. I’m in favor of high-school kids focusing on their schoolwork, not dividing their attention between school and work—and certainly not plowing every penny of income into an automobile. But I’m not likely to have the last word on the subject, and from the snippets of conversation I overheard, Sally seemed to be endorsing McQuaid’s position.
    When she sat down at the table, she turned her attention to Caitlin, beside her. Sally and I hadn’t had much time to talk, but I had briefed her on the situation. To her credit, she seemed to be handling it sympathetically, asking about Caitlin’s interests (photography and fairies), her favorite subject in school (art), her least favorite (arithmetic— yuck! ), and her favorite sport (soccer). Sally confessed with a sigh that arithmetic was her worst subject, too, but brightened at the mention of fairies.
    “Really?” she exclaimed. “Oh, I love fairies, Caitlin! I used to adore the little Flower Fairy books that my grandmother gave me. And even now, I’m always on the lookout for a good fairy story.”
    “Honest?” Caitlin seemed intrigued. “I didn’t know grown-ups believed in fairies.” She slanted a resigned look at me. “Aunt China doesn’t.”
    This is not exactly true. I happen to believe in the tooth fairy, for I have personally watched as he sneaked a silver dollar under Brian’s pillow. However, I doubted that Caitlin would consider hairy, mustached McQuaid as qualified for the tooth-fairy position, and I didn’t want to throw cold water—or too much realism—on the discussion.
    “Actually, I try to keep an open mind on the subject,” I said, feeling that I was being measured against an invisible (fairylike?) standard and found wanting.
    “Everybody should believe in fairies,” Sally said decidedly. “It would be a very sad world if there weren’t any.”
    “Fairies are lame,” Brian remarked, and made that L thing that kids do with their thumb and forefinger against their foreheads.
    Caitlin looked crushed, and Sally came to their common defense. “That’s all you know, buster,” she said spiritedly. “And let me tell you, Santa had better not hear you talking that way. He just might decide to skip your presents.”
    I could see the phrase, There’s no Santa Claus, either—it’s just parents , forming on Brian’s lips. I was riding to the rescue when McQuaid stepped in.
    “Your mother’s right,” he growled. He leaned over and put a heavy hand on the top of Brian’s head. “Anybody who thinks he’s