didn't have to for Nic to look right into her heart. Petie needed support. She needed comfort. She needed someone on her side. No matter how ridiculous the story she spun to ask for those things, Nic should have responded. They were sisters. If you couldn't count on your sisters to understand you, who on earth could you turn to?
How she wished Willa had that kind of support system. If she did, maybe the whole residential program would not be the only option. If there were a team of family members to help, maybe they could keep her home and help build the kind of future Nic longed to secure for her child.
“Come on, you two, no sulking.” Collier leaped up from the rocker. “It's Christmas, after all! Don't forget that's why we're down here.”
“It is not!” Nic clenched her jaw, her mind freshly fixed on what she must do for Willa. “We are down here to get this house ready to sell so I can take care of my daughter.”
“Maybe if you weren't so tense, you'd figure out there could be another way to take care of your daughter without selling our family home.” Petie's tone never even hinted at harshness.
“She's only tense because of Sam.” Collier grinned.
“Won't even let the poor man come with us to pick out a Christmas tree.” Petie gleefully joined the teasing.
“I never said he couldn't come with us.”
“There's a word for that kind of reaction, isn't there, Collier?” Petie put one finger to her cheek.
“Denial.” Collier pronounced it with slow emphasis.
“Okay, maybe I did, but it's because we can't let ourselves get sidetracked. We are not here for Christmas; we are here for business.”
“Right. And the whole family is supposed to just ignore the wonder and joy of the season because it doesn't fit into your plans this year?” Petie folded her arms.
“No.” That hardly sounded convincing, even to her. Nic wet her lips. “No, of course not. Let's just not go overboard.”
“ This family?” Collier put her hand to her chest. “The last bastion of good taste and subtlety in the greater Bode County area and all parts north to Chicago and east to New York City? Go overboard?”
“ Nevah !” Petie cried in an accent straight off a movie set.
This was a battle she could not win. Nic knew it. Why waste her time and energy squabbling over trees and decorations and things when she had so many demands on her already? She sighed. “Okay. All right. One last big, sparkly, over-the-top, too-many-gifts and way, way-too-much-food blowout of a Christmas in this house.”
“The voice of reason at last.” Collier laughed.
“But on December 26th?” Nic put her hands on her hips. “This house goes on the market.”
Saturdays were the worst for Sam. That hadn't always been so. He used to like them. Used to relish them. Used to consider them the calm before the storm, the quiet before the hectic, fulfilling demands of the large, energetic church he'd left behind.
Of course, in his wayward youth he'd slept away most Saturdays, only crawling out of bed or off the couch in time to launch himself headlong into another round of self-indulgent misbehavior.
Now the realities of his small church and doing the right thing preyed on his mind almost constantly. Saturdays most of all. For the first time in his life in the ministry, he had begun to worry over things he'd taken for granted before. Attendance. The offering. Plumbing.
He spent far too much time, time when he should have been contemplating the needs of his flock, wondering instead if the groaning pipes would last the hour or if they would burst and recreate the great flood in the Noah's ark-themed nursery. If anyone had ever told him in seminary that he would expend so much energy tending to things like worn-out washers and clogged fixtures, he would have...
He wouldn't have changed a thing. Handling hardware had proved a far easier and more rewarding task than winning over the hard hearts of the church’s congregation. The
How she wished Willa had that kind of support system. If she did, maybe the whole residential program would not be the only option. If there were a team of family members to help, maybe they could keep her home and help build the kind of future Nic longed to secure for her child.
“Come on, you two, no sulking.” Collier leaped up from the rocker. “It's Christmas, after all! Don't forget that's why we're down here.”
“It is not!” Nic clenched her jaw, her mind freshly fixed on what she must do for Willa. “We are down here to get this house ready to sell so I can take care of my daughter.”
“Maybe if you weren't so tense, you'd figure out there could be another way to take care of your daughter without selling our family home.” Petie's tone never even hinted at harshness.
“She's only tense because of Sam.” Collier grinned.
“Won't even let the poor man come with us to pick out a Christmas tree.” Petie gleefully joined the teasing.
“I never said he couldn't come with us.”
“There's a word for that kind of reaction, isn't there, Collier?” Petie put one finger to her cheek.
“Denial.” Collier pronounced it with slow emphasis.
“Okay, maybe I did, but it's because we can't let ourselves get sidetracked. We are not here for Christmas; we are here for business.”
“Right. And the whole family is supposed to just ignore the wonder and joy of the season because it doesn't fit into your plans this year?” Petie folded her arms.
“No.” That hardly sounded convincing, even to her. Nic wet her lips. “No, of course not. Let's just not go overboard.”
“ This family?” Collier put her hand to her chest. “The last bastion of good taste and subtlety in the greater Bode County area and all parts north to Chicago and east to New York City? Go overboard?”
“ Nevah !” Petie cried in an accent straight off a movie set.
This was a battle she could not win. Nic knew it. Why waste her time and energy squabbling over trees and decorations and things when she had so many demands on her already? She sighed. “Okay. All right. One last big, sparkly, over-the-top, too-many-gifts and way, way-too-much-food blowout of a Christmas in this house.”
“The voice of reason at last.” Collier laughed.
“But on December 26th?” Nic put her hands on her hips. “This house goes on the market.”
Saturdays were the worst for Sam. That hadn't always been so. He used to like them. Used to relish them. Used to consider them the calm before the storm, the quiet before the hectic, fulfilling demands of the large, energetic church he'd left behind.
Of course, in his wayward youth he'd slept away most Saturdays, only crawling out of bed or off the couch in time to launch himself headlong into another round of self-indulgent misbehavior.
Now the realities of his small church and doing the right thing preyed on his mind almost constantly. Saturdays most of all. For the first time in his life in the ministry, he had begun to worry over things he'd taken for granted before. Attendance. The offering. Plumbing.
He spent far too much time, time when he should have been contemplating the needs of his flock, wondering instead if the groaning pipes would last the hour or if they would burst and recreate the great flood in the Noah's ark-themed nursery. If anyone had ever told him in seminary that he would expend so much energy tending to things like worn-out washers and clogged fixtures, he would have...
He wouldn't have changed a thing. Handling hardware had proved a far easier and more rewarding task than winning over the hard hearts of the church’s congregation. The
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