Read Online No Time to Cry by Lurlene McDaniel - Free Book Online

something brought the memory of her friend back to her, her eyes would fill with tears. “I wish she were here,” she said softly.
    Brent stared at the tree and continued. “That first Christmas, late in the afternoon, Daddy and I went out to the cemetery where she’s buried. It was really cold. The sky was all gray, and the wind kept whipping through the tree branches. There were some snow flurries. Daddy and I just stood there looking down at her headstone. I kept thinking that it wasn’t right for the dates of her birth and her death to be so close together. Thirteen years. That’s all she had.” Brent linked his fingers together and hunched forward on the sofa. “It was the only time I ever saw my dad cry.”
    The lump in Dawn’s throat had grown impossibly large, and her eyes swam with tears. “I wish I knew what to say . . .”
    He smiled at her wistfully. “There’s nothing anyone can say. I had a sister, and she died too young.” His expression changed. “I really don’t sit around thinking about it all the time. I don’t want you to think I’m morbid or anything. It’s just that it’s Christmas, and this is the hardest time of the year for me. I wish I could talk to her one more time, you know?”
    Dawn sniffed. “I know what you mean about wanting to talk to her. I’d give just about anything to hear her voice.”
    Brent nodded. All at once, Dawn was struck with an idea. “Wait right here,” she told him, scooting off the couch. “I’ll be right back.”
    She hurried up the stairs to her room and rifled through her closet shelf until she found what she was looking for. Quickly, she descended to the living room and returned to the sofa, thrusting a shoebox into Brent’s hands. “I want you to have this.”
    His brow puckered. “You said my Christmas gift was under the tree.”
    “This isn’t your Christmas present.” She took a deep breath. “It’s—it’s some of Sandy’s things. The stuff she left to me.”
    He shook his head vigorously and thrust the box onto her lap. “I couldn’t. She wanted you to have this stuff.”
    “I know she gave it to me,” Dawn said. “But I think you should take it now. It’s a way for you to hold on to her.”
    Slowly, he took the old shoebox and lifted the lid. The reflection of the tree lights twinkled on the glitter from the popcorn necklace Sandy had made during her stay in the hospital. “Looks pretty bedraggled,” Brent said with a half-smile as he held it up.
    “It’s a work of art,” Dawn countered, returning his smile.
    His hands played over the combs and hair ribbons. “She sure liked fixing her hair. I remember how she cried when all of it fell out from the chemo.” He held up a handful of the colorful ribbons, gently brought them to his nose, and sniffed. “They still smell like her hair,” he said in wonderment.
    Dawn wasn’t so sure. After all, they’d been shut inside the box and stored in her attic until this past summer. But if the items smelled that way to him, she didn’t want to take away the comfort they might provide.
    “You sure you want me to take these?” he asked. “She gave them to you.”
    She felt her heart clutch, and for a moment she almost backed down. But seeing his fascination with the items and understanding how much they meant to him gave her courage. “I’ll just hold onto a few things for memory’s sake. I want you to take the rest. You’re her brother, and someday you can show them to your kids and tell them all about their special aunt.”
    Dawn saw that his eyes looked misty. She glanced quickly down into the box and rummaged through it. Finally, she settled on one set of combs, the popcorn necklace, and the page from the Bible imprinted with Ecclesiastes 3.
    He closed the lid and laid the shoebox next to him on the sofa. He raised his hand and stroked Dawn’s hair, all the while gazing into her eyes. “Thank you, Dawn.”
    “We both loved her,” Dawn said. “It’s only right we