The Christmas Angel Project Read online

  Louisa patted Cassidy’s shoulder. Suddenly, since she’d suggested this impromptu meeting, she felt responsible for everyone’s gloominess. “I know that we’re all very sad,” she said slowly, “but I’d hoped that we could encourage each other today.” She frowned. “It’s just that I don’t even know how to do that right now.”

  “I wonder how Clayton is doing.” Grace looked at Belinda. “How did he sound?”

  “Like he’s barely holding on.”

  “I talked to him a little bit ago,” Louisa told them. “I asked if we could drop off some food or something. But he said it was just him at the house and that he had no appetite. Besides that, he said someone from his church had already brought a casserole.” She shook her head. “He’ll probably be buried in food before long. That’s what happened to me when Adam passed away.”

  “Guess that’s why they call it comfort food,” Belinda said wryly.

  “Clayton asked me to inform you that the memorial is scheduled for Tuesday at ten thirty,” Louisa said. “He said that Pastor Gregg will invite people to share memories of Abby, and he’s hoping we’ll all speak up.”

  For a while they discussed what they might say during the memorial service and ways they could help Clayton during this difficult time. It seemed to distract them from their own personal sadness for a bit, but Louisa could tell that they were all still suffering. Finally, unsure how much more she could take, Louisa began to get fidgety.

  “I should probably get going,” she said abruptly, trying to think of some sort of believable excuse for leaving so soon. In reality she was on the verge of more tears, and she just didn’t want to chance falling apart all over again. Really, what good would that do?

  “Me too.” Cassidy stood. “Lulu and Bess are probably missing me by now.”

  “Tell the kitties hello,” Louisa said meekly as she fumbled to gather her purse and gloves.

  Belinda and Grace stood at the same time, both saying they needed to go check on their businesses—although Louisa knew that neither of them usually worked on Saturdays, and she doubted they would be working today. But despite her suspicions that they were all going home to have another good cry, she didn’t say a word. Quite honestly, she didn’t know how to prevent it. Besides, she knew from what she’d gone through since losing Adam, grief must run its course. Sometimes that course could be long and lonely.

  Outside of the Coffee Cup, they all shared another group hug, promised to keep in touch, and then parted ways. As Louisa got into her old BMW, she wondered just how well they would stay in touch now that Abby was gone. She didn’t think she had the energy. Just driving home felt exhausting to her.

  Louisa was so tired that she felt like she could sleep for about a year as she turned into her gated neighborhood. She remembered how happy she’d been when she and Adam had bought a house in the Grove. According to Grace’s husband, their optimistic Realtor, the Grove was the swankiest neighborhood in town. “You can’t go wrong investing here,” he’d assured them. But they’d barely unpacked when the economy took a dive that ultimately dissolved their substantial down payment. As a result, Adam had told her they would probably have to spend the rest of their days there. As it turned out, he did. She probably would as well.

  As she drove into the garage, she thought once again how this house was too big for her. When they were in their fifties, it had seemed just right. Her only child, Matthew, and his wife were just starting their family, and Louisa had dreamed of hosting delightful Christmases and other holidays surrounded by her loved ones. But several years ago, Matthew’s job had relocated them to Dubai, of all places. Although he’d made it home for his father’s funeral, he didn’t expect to bring the family back again for at least another year . . . maybe two.

  Matthew had been encouraging Louisa to come visit them, but the idea of traveling halfway around the globe on her own was overwhelming at best. So much so that Abby had offered to be her traveling companion. Remembering this, and realizing it would never happen now, Louisa’s heart grew even heavier as she went into the house. And when she saw the box of Christmas decorations—still in the laundry room where she’d set them only yesterday—her eyes filled with tears. She’d gotten them out, thanks to Abby’s encouragement—determined to make her home festive. “Fake it until you make it,” Abby had cheerfully told Louisa on Thanksgiving. “Decorate your house for Christmas and you’ll start to feel the Christmas spirit.”

  Louisa carried the box out to the garage and shoved it back into the cabinet where it belonged. Slamming the cabinet door shut, she burst into tears.

  3

  Although Grace had already told her assistant, Camille, that she didn’t plan to return to work after Abby’s memorial service, she found herself sneaking in the back door and tiptoeing through the design showroom just the same. She slipped up the back stairway that led to her studio loft on the second floor and there, despite her cheerful bravado at the memorial service, Grace couldn’t hold back the tears.

  The truth was, her outburst was only partly related to Abby. The rest of the unbridled emotion came from frustration over a lot of things. Her marriage, her kids, even her career—none of it seemed to be on track. Not the way she had expected, anyway. Only this morning, she and her husband, Joel, had gotten into an argument over the twins. Lauren and Hunter were both in their second year of college, and neither was doing well. According to Lauren, Hunter was drinking and partying at school—even more so than last year. As a result, his grades were probably in the toilet. According to Hunter, Lauren was doing the exact same thing.

  Grace and Joel had attempted to express their concerns to them during the past weekend when the twins came home for Thanksgiving, but thanks to Joel’s lack of volume control, the discussion had quickly degenerated into a shouting match. Now that the twins were back at school, Grace felt even more worried about them. Underage drinking and the dangers associated with it were enough to distress a parent, and Joel wasn’t helping.

  This morning, on their way to the memorial service, Joel had gotten on his high horse over the wasted tuition money. Although Grace didn’t appreciate his ill-timed temper tantrum, she couldn’t really blame him. Tuition for the twins was a considerable amount of cash, everything they had worked to scrimp and save during the past twenty years.

  Grace blamed Joel for the fact that Lauren and Hunter had seemed to join forces against their parents this past weekend. It was as if the two nineteen-year-olds had simultaneously decided to stop listening to them. As if they had forgotten that they were completely dependent on parental financial support, certain that they should be able to call the shots in their own lives. The two had been downright belligerent.

  Naturally, she and Joel had been aggravated—and just as naturally, they could not agree on any sort of solution. Frustrated by Joel’s outbursts, Grace had planned to meet with Abby on Saturday for some helpful advice and encouragement. Abby, though childless, had always been one of the best counselors when it came to child rearing. Grace wasn’t sure what she would’ve done without Abby these past fifteen years.

  But now Abby was gone. And Grace, like a rudderless ship in swirling seas, felt desperate. Joel seemed to be adopting a “let them sink or swim” attitude. As if it made no difference if the twins never finished their education. Was the man nuts? Or was he simply making her nuts?

  “Grace?” Camille froze in the doorway with a surprised expression. “I’m so sorry—I didn’t realize you were up here. I needed the Spangler file. Val Spangler is downstairs looking at upholstery fabrics and—”

  “It’s right here.” Grace started fumbling through the stacks on her oversized desk, wiping her tear-streaked cheeks with her other hand.

  “Are you okay?” Camille came closer, curiously peering down at her.

  “Yes, I’m fine.” Grace snatched up the thick file.

  “I thought you weren’t coming in after the service.”

  “I had some drawings to work on.”

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bsp; “Want me to take that to Val?” Camille reached for it.

  “No.” Grace stood with the file held close to her chest. “I’ll talk to Val. Thank you.”

  Camille backed off as if offended.

  Grace forced a stiff smile, knowing she’d spoken harshly. “Sorry, Camille. But I think I’d feel better being busy. You know?”

  “Sure.” Camille nodded but looked doubtful, as if she wanted some kind of explanation, which Grace was determined not to give. Camille was a fairly hard worker, but she could be slightly intrusive at times. Sometimes it felt like she wanted to step into Grace’s shoes—for instance, with Val Spangler right now. Didn’t she know how difficult Val could be? Did Camille honestly think she could handle that? But a challenging client was exactly what Grace needed right now—something to block out the other complicated areas of her life . . . so many things that she couldn’t control. At least she ought to be able to control Val.

  Belinda felt confused and depressed as she walked through town after the memorial service. At first she thought she was going home, but the idea of being alone right now was not appealing. She didn’t need to go ranting through her house again. Or crying uncontrollably.

  So she turned back toward town, deciding it was a good time to get started on creating a new window display at her thrift store. She never actually called Glad Rags a thrift store, per se. Long ago, she’d learned to use more appealing terms like resale or recycled, or the recent catchphrase up-cycled. And since most of the carefully selected and “gently” used items were refurbished and refashioned, they were, in a sense, even better than new. In fact, most of them wound up being unique, one-of-a-kind items—something her clientele, mostly twenty-somethings, appreciated. Providing quality merchandise was what had supported her and Emma for years. Ever since Byron Michaels had left them, back when baby Emma was still in diapers. Belinda had felt hurt and rejected by the abandonment for years, but she knew that Byron had broken a string of hearts after hers. According to Emma, who stayed loosely in touch with her father, Byron planned to wed his seventh wife before the New Year.

  Fortunately, Belinda had moved on long ago. With her mother’s help, she’d leased a nice shop and started a resale business with children’s clothing and merchandise. Running her own shop had been compatible with raising a young child since Belinda could bring Emma to work with her. As Emma matured, so did the business—until it finally morphed into the chic resale boutique that it was today. A place where Emma and her stylish friends still loved to shop.

  But this wasn’t what occupied her thoughts as she started to arrange various items of clothing and accessories in the store’s front window. Her troubled mind was on Abby and the service she’d just attended. All in all, it had been a truly lovely service. There were no doubts that Abby had been well loved by everyone fortunate enough to cross her path. Belinda knew she was very lucky to have been considered Abby’s best friend all these years. No, not lucky. As her mom would say, Belinda was blessed.

  The general consensus at the service today was that Abby would be warmly welcomed in heaven. No doubts about that. Abby had never “hidden her light under a bushel.” In fact, as Pastor Gregg had said, Abby’s entire life had been like a bright beacon of pure golden light. Abby had never been one to verbally preach about God, but she didn’t need to. Abby had lived out God’s love and goodness, spreading it among friends, co-workers, students, gas station attendants, grocery store clerks, lost puppy dogs. The memorial service had been packed with people who’d been touched by Abby. It had been a true celebration of life—and justly so, because Abby was worth celebrating.

  Belinda tried a glitzy belt around the black dress she was toying with, then tossed it aside. Her problem today was not really about Abby. It was with God. Why did God think Abby would be more useful in heaven than down here? Didn’t heaven have enough wonderful people in it? Why take Abby? It made no sense. And the more Belinda thought about it, the more frustrated she became.

  Her attempt to distract herself was not working! At times like this, Belinda really wanted to talk to someone. Someone like Abby. When Abby was unavailable, Belinda’s mother would be her choice . . . but she had passed away several years ago. And her grandmother might’ve been helpful, except that she now suffered from dementia. There was no way she wanted to burden Emma with this. Emma had already been distraught over Abby’s death, not to mention bummed over not being able to attend the service because of finals.

  Belinda gave up on the display, heaping the items she’d collected on the counter and instructing Savannah, her sales clerk, to put them away when she wasn’t busy.

  “It was a mistake for me to try to work today,” she told Savannah as she retrieved her bag from beneath the counter. “I’m going home.”

  “Sorry you’re still feeling bad,” Savannah said, “but you probably need to give yourself time.”

  “Time?” Belinda looked blankly at her young employee.

  “You know, to grieve. It’s what the books say to do.”

  Belinda rolled her eyes. “Yeah, you’re probably right. See you tomorrow.” As she headed back out to the street, she felt another wave of sadness washing over her—almost as if she’d just lost her best friend. Oh, yeah, that was right—she had.

  Cassidy went straight home after the memorial service. She told herself it was to take care of her cats, but she knew Lulu and Bess could get along for days without her. Well, as long as she left out plenty of food and water and had the automatic kitty litterbox plugged in and ready to roll. The truth was she probably needed the cats more than they needed her. It was embarrassing to be nearly thirty-five and single and the owner of two spoiled felines. That wasn’t how she’d planned her life to go.

  Cassidy called out to the cats as she entered her condo unit. To her relief they both came running. Maybe they sensed her sadness, her need to connect with something living and breathing. She paused to pet the cats, rewarding them both with a kitty treat before she collapsed on the couch and reached for the remote. She knew this was no way to live—and that it did not help with her weight loss goal. But she couldn’t help herself.

  Abby had always been encouraging Cassidy to get out more. To meet new people and try new things. But Cassidy was good at justifying her choices—she was tired after a rough day at the vet clinic, or she needed to clean house, or she was right in the middle of a really good book. She was full of excuses, but the truth was she had become a real stick-in-the-mud. As Abby had sometimes pointed out, Cassidy had forgotten how to play.

  Cassidy’s strong work ethic had started early in life. Since she was a teenager, she’d always had summer jobs. It was her way of helping her single mom. But then her mom died shortly after Cassidy started college. With Abby’s and Louisa’s help and encouragement, Cassidy had managed to put herself through veterinary school. Sure, it had taken nearly ten years with working part-time, but, hey, she’d finished. And shortly after graduation, she’d gotten a job at the best clinic in town. Only half-time, but it would look good on her résumé—if she ever went looking for another job. Dr. Auberon had promised her more hours and she’d been there almost five years, but she was “low vet on the totem pole.” Still, her needs were modest and she lived frugally.

  Cassidy clicked on the TV, flipping over to the home and garden network—her favorite form of veg-out television. No one would ever guess, judging by her contemporary condo, that she sometimes dreamed of having a real house with a white picket fence and a grassy backyard for pets to run and play. Of course, this dream would be much better with a man by her side. But after having had her heart broken in her early twenties, Cassidy had been very cautious ever since.

  She rarely dated, and when she did, she kept her guard up. Abby was the only one Cassidy had confided this to—and that was several years after Conrad had dumped her for a mutual friend, a girl that he’d married within the same year. That had not been easy to swallow back then, and although Cassidy admitted it to no one—not ev
en Abby—it still hurt to think of Conrad sometimes. Not often, but at times when she was feeling tired or weak or sad . . . like now. And as her weight had gone up, her self-esteem had gone down—something else she never spoke of . . . except to Abby.

  What was she going to do without Abby? Who would poke and prod her to get a life now? Who would threaten to set up a blind date if Cassidy didn’t do something on her own? On Thanksgiving, Abby had good-naturedly dared Cassidy to go out with someone before the end of the year. Cassidy had accepted the dare. But with the end of the year just over a month away and no Abby around to enforce it . . . well, Cassidy felt pretty certain she knew how it would go down. And really, she didn’t care.

  Louisa hadn’t felt up to attending the graveside service following the memorial. She wasn’t ready to visit the same cemetery where Adam’s remains had been laid to rest less than a year ago. Besides, she told herself as she went into her house, if she really believed what Pastor Gregg had been saying, both Adam and Abby were in heaven now. Not in Pine Grove Cemetery. Leave the dead to bury their own dead.

  Louisa put on the teakettle, then went to stand in front of the big French doors that led to her perfectly landscaped backyard. Normally she would be filling her bird feeders by now, especially with the chill of winter solidly in the air, but this year she simply hadn’t bothered. Hopefully the birds would understand and find someone else’s backyard to forage in.

  She turned away from the window as the kettle started to whistle. Reaching for a box of chai tea, she paused to smell the spices, but felt no pleasure associated with the familiar aroma. She knew that the loss of everyday pleasures was a symptom of depression. She’d heard it enough times in the grief group that she’d attended for the first month after Adam’s death. But she’d also thought she had moved on some. She’d made herself believe that she was coping with it. Then Abby had to go and die.