Read Online Peace by Shelley Shepard Gray - Free Book Online

about her life, he asked, “What have you done in the past on Christmas Day?”
    â€œOnce, when I was younger, we went hiking in the woods while the turkey was cooking. It was great fun. Both my parents went. My mamm was healthy then,” she explained, her tone wistful. “Another time, I visited all my friends. A few of us went ice skating. Sometimes now we all get together at each other’s houses and have a Christmas potluck.”
    â€œHmm.”
    â€œWhat about you, Chris? What did you used to do on Christmas Day. Before . . .”
    â€œBefore I couldn’t go home? Well, most Christmases my brothers and I received too much and played too hard. We used to love to get Hot Wheels—those are little metal cars. We’d race them around the house.”
    â€œAnd who would win?”
    â€œMy oldest brother, of course. That’s how it goes with brothers, Beth. The oldest always wins.”
    Because she was there, he gave himself permission to think about things that he usually made himself forget. “My mom makes a beef tenderloin for Christmas dinner. And some kind of potato casserole that probably has about a thousand calories in it, which is so good. And green beans. And squash.”
    She chuckled. “You wrinkled your nose at the squash.”
    â€œI don’t care for it. At least I didn’t use to.” Now, though, he imagined that he’d probably lick his plate clean, he’d be so grateful for the comfort of a familiar meal. For the life of him, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a meal like that. A homemade Christmas meal served on china.
    â€œWhat else?”
    Since Beth seemed so interested, Chris continued, his voice warming at the fond memories in spite of his best intentions to forget his past. “My mother gets out her fancy wedding china and we eat at the dining room table, trying not to break anything or spill gravy on the white linen tablecloth. But of course, we always do.” He chuckled. “My father’s the worst. He can’t keep a tablecloth clean to save his soul. He always apologizes and my mother always looks irritated but pretends it doesn’t matter. We all try to use the manners she taught us, but it all goes out the window about five minutes after we say the blessing. Next thing you know, we’re arguing and giving each other grief.”
    â€œYour Christmas dinner sounds wonderful-gut ,” she whispered.
    â€œIt is. I mean, it was. I haven’t been there for dinner in a long time. I wish . . .” Hating to sound so weak, he let his voice drift off.
    But of course Beth prodded. “What do you wish?”
    â€œI wish I could see it all again one day.” But more than that, he wished he could take her to his parents’ home for Christmas dinner.
    He’d be so proud, bringing her in through the front door. Instinctively, he knew she’d love the tree in their living room and the bands of garland wrapped around the banister with wide silver ribbon. She’d love the big marble fireplace decorated with stockings, lights, and yet more garland and ribbons. She’d enjoy his mother’s pecan pie and almond tarts and would no doubt love Beasley, his parents’ old English sheepdog. Beasley was too big and too furry and, worse, he loved to sit on the couch and cuddle and get dog fur and dog slobber all over everyone’s clothes.
    He was a wonderful dog.
    Just as important, he knew that his parents would love her. After all, who wouldn’t love Beth? And his brothers? Well, they’d probably curb their cussing and become almost gentlemanly. And when she wasn’t in the room, they’d most likely jab him in the ribs and ask how a beautiful woman like her would ever look twice at a guy like him.
    Yes, if he brought someone like her home for Christmas? He would feel like he had finally done something right. Getting a woman like her to love him