Read Online Sweet Christmas Kisses by Ginny Baird, Grace Greene, Donna Fasano, Helen Scott Taylor, Beate Boeker, Melinda Curtis, Denise Devine, Raine English, Aileen Fish, Patricia Forsythe, Mona Risk, Roxanne Rustand, Magdalena Scott, Kristin Wallace - Free Book Online

seemingly out of nowhere.
    The young woman stopped and turned around. “Beg your pardon?”
    “Why did you take this out of the break room?”
    Bridget entered the periphery of Christy’s vision, but Christy kept her narrowed gaze locked on the tech who said, “I was just doing my job.”
    “Don’t you know this is somebody’s
life
in here?” Sudden fury burned Christy’s throat. Her gaze darted to take in all the items in the box. Izzie’s journal was there. Ernie the Elephant. Books, children’s magazines. Pictures she’d drawn. An array of those pretty elastic bands Izzie wore on her head, as well as a Phillies baseball cap. Pads of paper. A cup of colored pencils. A plastic container of markers.
    Tears blurred her vision and she had difficulty getting the words out. “These are precious memories for a little girl’s father. You can’t just pick up a box and throw it away just because you don’t know what’s in it.”
    “I’m sorry,” the woman said. “I didn’t know.”
    Bridget put her hand on Christy’s arm. “It’s okay.”
    Christy balanced the box on one arm and dashed away a tear. “Bridget, she threw away Izzie’s things.”
    “But you found the box.” Bridget gently steered Christy toward the door. “It’s safe.”
    Bridget was right. Christy took a slow, full inhalation, held it for a second, and then released the tension and alarm that had built up inside her.
    She’d been an emotional wreck since returning from Ocean City with Aaron and Izzie. She’d helped them create a near perfect Christmas filled with the simple things that really mattered—sharing time with loved ones and creating memories to treasure. But the idyllic holiday had ended in tragedy.
    What Christy had hoped was a simple nose bleed had turned out to be hemorrhaging that ended up weakening Izzie and her already jeopardized immune system. Her condition worsened when she’d contracted pneumonia, and no amount of medical attention could keep her failing organs from eventually shutting down completely. Izzie had slipped away from them before New Year’s Day.
    The two weeks that had passed since then felt like a day, but it also felt like a lifetime.    
    “Why don’t you take it home?” Bridget urged. “The box will be safe with you.”
    “Yeah.” She nodded. “Yeah, I think I will.”
    As Christy drove home, she kept glancing at the box she’d set on the passenger seat beside her. She could take the box to Aaron. His address had been on lots of the paperwork in Izzie’s file. It had been printed on the sympathy card that had been passed around for all the doctors and nurses to sign. She knew where Aaron lived; she could drive there right now. But after what he’d said to her at the funeral, she didn’t think she could face him.
    The services had been jam-packed. Aaron had been surrounded by family and friends and colleagues. Christy had waited in the long reception line with Bridget and several of the other nurses who worked on the floor. When she’d finally reached him, she’d offered her condolences. He’d hugged her tightly and thanked her, over and over, for coming.
    His words had been spoken by rote; it was clear he’d greeted so many people that his brain was on auto-pilot, and that was understandable. But his hug had been warm and heartfelt.
    He’d looked so tired, so sad.
    “If you need
anything
…” she’d begun.
    “Christy—” his eyes bored into hers “—I’m so sorry for… I shouldn’t…
we
shouldn’t have—”
    A funeral home staffer had approached Aaron from behind and the two men had conversed quietly, heads bent. Christy had been nudged forward by the people waiting behind her, and she’d allowed the momentum of the throng to carry her along.
    She’d actually been relieved that Aaron had been interrupted. Her face and neck had been set afire by the mortification. Bridget and the other nurses had, thankfully, mistaken her reaction for grief. She’d been