A Christmas Peril (The Teacup Novellas - Book Five) (14 page)

“Oh,
wait
‍—‍
” I
turned as
Gary
wrestled with the blanket. “I think
there’s something else under here.”

Craig
waved Patricia out of the way. “Honey, you’re blocking the shot.”

“Oh,
here it is.” Gary handed me another box, wrapped exactly like the other one.

“I
think a heart of diamonds is more than enough, Lieutenant.”

“On
that, we must disagree. Go ahead. Open it.”

“I
feel terrible,
Gary
. I didn’t get you anything.”

“I
know. You didn’t know I would still be hanging around for Christmas. No
apologies needed.”

Still
shaking my head, I tore the paper off the box to find another, smaller black
velvet box. I slowly opened the lid. “What have you
‍—‍
”

“I’d
get down on my knee if I could.”

My
mouth fell open as I stared at the large solitaire diamond ring. I slowly
looked up at
Gary
.

He
slipped the ring from its slot and held it, taking my left hand in his. “I’ve
already proposed, but let’s make it official. That is, if you don’t mind
marrying slightly damaged goods. Lucille Alexander, will you marry me?”

Against
a backdrop of furious camera clicks, I kissed my lieutenant again and again. “Oh
yes! I will, I will!”

I set the open diary on my
lap, toying with its satin bookmark as a smile warmed my face. I leaned my head
back on the recliner and looked over at Mark.

“What a perfect love story.
Don’t you think? Can’t you just see the twinkling in Aunt Lucille’s eyes when
she realized what was going on? First he surprises her with the heart-shaped
necklace. Then, as if that wasn’t enough, he pops out an engagement ring? I’m
telling you, this is the
perfect
romance. With this diary, the novella
will all but write itself. I’ll have it done way
ahead of schedule.
Samantha won’t know how to handle herself.”

I heard a soft knock on the
door and looked just as Uncle Ted poked his head around it. “Are you awake,
Lucy?”

“Of course I’m awake,” I
said, climbing out of my chair. “Come in! What are you doing here? It’s almost
midnight
.”
I gave him a big hug, the icy cold fabric on his coat giving me a sudden chill.

“I couldn’t sleep. Too much
coffee or too much sugar. I’m not sure which.”

“How did you even get here?
When the night shift came in, they all said the roads are covered with ice.
They said there were accidents all over town.”

“Oh, you know me. The more
hazardous the driving conditions, the better. I even stopped over at the high
school and did some donuts in the parking lot. It was a blast! The faster the
spin, the bigger the adrenaline rush!”

I motioned him to pull over
the extra chair. “No hard feelings, but I’m so glad I wasn’t with you.”

He pulled off his coat and
wool scarf and took a seat. “Ah, but you would’ve loved it.”

“So the caffeine and sugar
kept you up, huh?”

“Oh, that reminds me.” He
reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out a bag of Poppycock. “We
always have a round of Dirty Santa at my in-law’s on Christmas. I won this, and
I thought you might like to have it.”

I couldn’t help the laughter
that sprung out of me.

“What? You don’t like
Poppycock?”

I waved him off. “No, it’s
not that.”

“Look, this is even the good
stuff. Praline Pecan!” He tore open the bag and held it out to me. “Try some.”

I laughed even harder before
explaining my meltdown at Publix.

“Hey, all that stress has to
eventually come out. It was probably the best thing that could have happened to
you.”

I took a handful of clusters
and munched a few. “I think you’re right. As embarrassed as I was, I have to
admit it felt like a tremendous release after all this tension. I’m just glad
there weren’t too many folks around.”

“I’m sure they’ve seen
worse.” Uncle Ted tossed a handful of Poppycock in the air and caught it in his
mouth.

“The employees were great.
See that gigantic poinsettia over there? They sent that along with a note
saying they were praying for us. Cool, huh?”

We chatted a while longer. I
was so glad he’d come. Uncle Ted always seems to know when someone needs a
little extra TLC. I suppose it’s part of his ministry DNA.

Before he left, he said there
was one more thing.

“What’s that?”

He leaned over, his elbows on
his knees. “Lucy, I was praying for Mark this morning while I shaved. It
doesn’t happen often, but a verse came to me out of nowhere, and I knew it had
to be from the Lord.”

“What verse?”

“I thought you might ask.” He
pulled his iPhone from his pocket and opened his Bible app. “It’s Psalm 62:8.
But after I finished shaving, I looked it up and read it in context, starting
with verse five.”

“My soul, wait in silence
for God only,

For my
hope is from Him.

He alone is my rock and my
salvation,

My stronghold; I shall not
be shaken.

On God my salvation and my
glory rest;

The rock of my strength,
my refuge is in God.

Trust in Him at all times,
O people;

Pour out your heart before
Him;

God is a refuge for us.”

He tucked the phone back in
his pocket. “Primarily, it’s a reminder that God is always, always there. He’s
our rock, our strength, our refuge. And when we can’t find even a miniscule
trace of His handprint in what we’re going through, He’s reminding us that He’s
still there. And He always will be. No matter what.”

I let the verses roll around
in my head, and told my uncle about my heart-to-heart with God the night before.

“Kind of feels like God sent
you here to affirm all that.”

He rubbed his hands together
and smiled at me. “It sure does. Maybe it wasn’t so much the caffeine and sugar
keeping me up after all.”

“Thanks, Uncle Ted. I’m
really glad you came.”

He stood up and nodded toward
Mark as he pulled his coat back on. “Any change?”

“No, not today. But I’m
learning to take it one day at a time.”

He hooked his arm around my
neck and walked me back toward Mark’s bed. “Come pray with me.”

A few minutes later he was
gone. I prayed he’d skip the ice donuts on his way home.

I gradually made my way back
to my chair and pulled the blanket around me. I reached for the diary and caressed
the smooth leather cover. I felt confident there was more to Lucille and
Gary
’s story, but I was tired and needing sleep, so I reached over
and turned out the light.

As I drifted closer to that
fine line between awake and asleep, I kept thinking about the last entry I’d
read. I leaned my head back and closed my eyes, fingering my necklace.

“The thing is, Mark, I still
don’t know how you knew about Aunt Lucille’s necklace. I never talked about it.
And yet the one you gave me is
exactly
like hers, so it can’t just be
some random coincidence.”

I took a deep breath and
slowly exhaled, then closed my eyes, ready to call it a night.

“The photo album.”

I snuggled deeper beneath the
blanket, wishing the voices in my head would knock it off.

“Under the coffee table.”

I couldn’t believe how fast
I’d fallen asleep. Still, I welcomed the sweet sound of Mark’s voice in my
dream.

“It’s not rocket science,
Lucy. I saw the picture in a photo album.”

I glanced over at dream-Mark
and found him staring at me. I marveled at how much I’d missed the sound of his
voice.

“Hi, beautiful.”

“Hi, Mark.”

Wait
‌—‌
did I just say that out
loud?

“Did
Gary
have to go back overseas to the war?”

I blinked. Twice.

“Lucy?”

“Mark?!” I rubbed my eyes, fighting
to wake myself up.

“So did he?”

My eyes flashed open. I
shoved the recliner upright and vaulted myself to his bedside. “MARK! You’re
awake?!” I flipped on the overhead light.

He blinked against the brightness,
and I grabbed his face in my hands. “Can you hear me? Mark, say something!”

“Hey, Lucy.” That goofy
lopsided grin tried to find its place.

“MARK! You came back! You
came back to me!” I blubbered through the gush of happy tears streaming down my
face. “You came back!”

He closed his eyes for a
moment, then started looking around. “Back from where? Where am I? What
happened?”

I smothered him with kisses.
“I thought you’d never ask.”

Epilogue

Dear Diary,

Before he left the
hospital, Mark went online and ordered this beautiful leather-bound journal for
me. It’s one of the things I love most about him
‌—‌
how he always knows the
perfect gift to give. He wanted me to have it so I could write
our
love
story.

It’s still so hard for me
to comprehend that he was listening all those weeks while I read from Lucille’s
diary. They’d told me coma patients could often hear the sound of voices around
them, but the skeptic that I am, I didn’t really believe them. Which is why I
was gobsmacked when Mark started asking me questions about Lucille and
Gary
’s story; things he could not have known
otherwise.

In answer to Mark’s
persistent question, Uncle Gary was sent back to complete his tour of duty in
England
. Thankfully, the war ended soon after,
and he returned home in early June. He married Lucille in a lavish ceremony at
Drexel
Park
Presbyterian Church.

As much as I loved the
journal Mark gave me, I couldn’t bring myself to start writing in it right
away. I didn’t want its opening pages to be filled with the haunting, surreal
story of what had happened to Mark.

Which is why I’ve waited
until now. A full six months later.

Two days ago, I walked
down the aisle of
First
Church
on my father’s arm, carrying a bouquet of pale green hydrangeas as a stringed
quartet played Pachelbel’s “Canon in D.” Ahead of me stood my handsome groom,
his face beaming as he waited alongside Uncle Ted who married us moments later.
Chad
and Shelly served in our bridal party.
I’m fairly confident there will be another Alexander and Christopher wedding in
the not so distant future.

Ours was a perfect
wedding, as was the reception following.

We stayed in town that first
night, then flew here to
Paris
. Yes, PARIS! Maybe it’s the jet lag, but
I’m sitting here on our hotel room balcony staring at the
Eiffel
Tower
,
and not quite believing I’m actually here. We’ve given ourselves an extra day
to rest before heading out to see the sights.

We are newlyweds, after
all. And that’s all I’m going to say about that.

I’m so ridiculously happy,
I can hardly bear it. Happy to be Mrs. Mark Christopher. Happy to be here in
the most romantic city in the world. And most of all, happy that my new husband
is alive and well.

I’ve had so many random thoughts
about what happened to us, bringing us here to this moment in time. Looking
back, it’s easy to see God’s hand through all of it. Even for a sometime-skeptic
like me.

I’ve always believed
things happen for a reason. Like the fact that Mark has always been physically
fit. Granted, in his job at UPS, he hustled all day long, delivering packages.
And if that wasn’t enough, he worked out at the gym faithfully, four times a
week. Which is where he met my brother
Chad
.
Who, it turns out, gave Mark that final nudge to ask me out.

For someone who writes
love stories for a living, I never saw it coming. Who knew my happy-go-lucky
UPS guy had a crush on me?

The fact that Mark was in
such great shape physically facilitated his speedy recovery, surprising all of
us, most of all his doctors. That his weeks-long coma left no lasting effects on
his mental faculties was truly miraculous. All things considered, he was a
lucky, lucky man. No, I take that back. “Luck” had little to do with it; God,
on the other hand, had everything to do with it.

I can also see God’s
handprints on the timetable of Aunt Lucille’s diary arriving when it did. It
still baffles me how eerily similar Uncle Gary’s and Mark’s attacks were. Stranger
still, that I read Lucille’s account of
Gary
’s
prolonged hospital stay even as I kept vigil beside my Mark. What was it
Chad
told me? “Coincidence is God’s way of
remaining anonymous.” Indeed.

Then, shortly after Mark
left the hospital, the insurance carrier for UPS offered him an astronomical “pain
and suffering” payment. Mark’s dad is a financial wizard, and he helped Mark
invest the money wisely. To be honest, I was surprised when Mark decided to
take the money and walk away from his job. Then, one night while he was still at
home recuperating, we had a long talk.

“Promise you won’t laugh?”
he said.

“Me? Laugh at you? Never.”

“Like I believe that?”

“Go on, big guy. Give it
your best shot.”

He glanced down as though
unable to face me. “The thing is, I’ve always had this crazy dream of becoming a
professional bowler.”

I stared at him,
swallowing hard as visions of a life spent in tacky bowling alleys flashed
through my mind. “Oh?” I croaked. “Really?”

He nodded, still looking
down. “Really.”

“Well, I’m,
uh . . .”

“Lucy?”

Did his voice just crack
or did I imagine it? “Yes?”

He finally leveled his
gaze at me. “I’m kidding.”

I swatted his arm as he
rocked with laughter. “Don’t do that! I believed you!”

He tried to wrap his arms
around me. “Sorry. I couldn’t help it. You’re such an easy target.”

I pulled back. “Go ahead.
Have your fun. I’m used to it, you know.”

He raised his hands in
surrender. “I’m sorry! I was only kidding.” He tugged at my hand and laced my
fingers with his as his laughter subsided. “I’ve actually given a lot of
thought about this windfall. How it came out of the blue
‍—‍
”

“You mean, out of the brown?”

He laughed again. “Duly
noted. Good one.”

“Go on.”

“The thing is, I want to
do more with my life than deliver packages. Not that there’s anything wrong
with it. UPS has been great. But after everything that happened, I can’t help
but think it’s the right time to start a new chapter in my life. Do something
different.”

“Such as?”

“I’m not sure yet. But
it’s exciting to think about the possibilities. Believe it or not, I’ve always
wanted to learn how to paint. Oils and watercolor.”

“Seriously? You?”

“I know. Crazy, isn’t it? I’d
like to try and see if I’m any good at it. And I want to learn to cook. To bake
bread and pastries and make all kinds of delectable desserts.”

“How come you never told
me any of this before?”

“I don’t know. Maybe because
I never gave myself permission to dream those kinds of dreams before. Weird,
huh?”

“Not really. I think it’s
wonderful, Mark.” I curled my fingers over his. “So what will you do? Start
taking lessons? Cooking and painting? Both at the same time? One at a time?
What’s your plan?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t
gotten that far.”

“Then what will you do in
the meantime? Until you decide?”

“That much I do know. Two
things.”

“Two?”

“First, I want to travel.
I’ve always wondered what it would be like to go places I’ve only dreamed
about.
New Zealand
.
England
.
Austria
.
Paris
.
Rome
. I actually had a dream the other night
that I lived in an old villa on a hillside in
Tuscany
with rows of vineyards stretching in
every direction.”

“Yeah?”

“Then I woke up because I
heard Dean Martin singing ‘That’s Amore.’”

“Why would that wake you?”

“Because he was standing there
in my courtyard with a drink in one hand, serenading us. In person. As in,
alive.
” Mark shivered. “Dino’s been
dead since 1995.”

“Well, yeah, I can see your
point.”

“But at the same time, I
realized how at home I felt there. Weird, huh?”

I gazed over at Mark’s
fireplace and watched the flames dance as I tried to imagine him living in
Italy
‌—‌
with
or without Dean Martin. But something else bothered me. Something he’d said but
I’d already forgotten. It was there, but not.

Mark placed his finger
under my chin and turned my face back to his. “Of course, that could never
happen unless . . .”

“Unless?”

“Unless you come with me.”

I searched his eyes, unsure
I’d heard him right. “But
‍—‍
”

“Marry me, Lucy.”

“What?”

“Marry me. We’ll travel
the world, then we’ll decide where to live. Together. You can write your books,
I can paint or cook or make wine
‌—‌
as
long as you’re there with me, it doesn’t matter.”

I felt my chin begin to
tremble as the familiar pin-prick in my eyes triggered the first tears I’d
cried in weeks.

Mark smiled as he thumbed
away my tears and held my face in his strong hands. “Marry me, Lucy. Let’s write
our
own
love
story.”

I placed my hands over his
and kissed him over and over.

He leaned back. “Can I
take that as a yes?”

I nodded. “Oh, it’s a
definite yes!”

And that’s how it
happened.

That’s how we ended up
here in
Paris
, our first stop at the beginning of an
extended honeymoon.

That’s why I’m sitting
here on the balcony of our hotel, watching the golden rays of the sunrise reflecting
off the Eiffel Tower, and writing in my new diary with the quiet snores of my
new husband serenading me in the background.

As for living in a villa
on a hill in Tuscany
‌—‌
who
knows. Someday, we might have a home on this side of the
Atlantic
. But for now, we’re content just to be
here.

Together.

At the beginning of our very
own happily ever after.

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