Fixing the Angel's Wings Read online

Fixing the Angel’s Wings

  By

  Kathy Bosman

  Copyright 2014 Kathy Bosman

  Fixing The Angel’s Wings

  By

  Kathy Bosman

  Contemporary Romance

  A Short Christmas Story

  “Mommy, where is the Christmas tree? It’s Christmas Eve.” Mary tugged on Tessa’s arm and lifted up doe eyes to her.

  Tessa took in a sharp breath and turned away. “I haven’t taken it out the garage yet,” she said, pulling away. She took out a pot from the kitchen cupboard to make some rice. “I’ve been so busy, Mary.” She knew her voice shouldn’t sound irritated. She didn’t want it to. It wasn’t Mary’s fault that she was half-dead on her feet most of the time, working and looking after three children all by herself. The worst was that she’d lent the Christmas decorations to a friend last year when they went down to Margate along the South African east coast for Christmas and the friend hadn’t spoken to her since. Something about posting something private about her online.

  Tessa had given up on Facebook and any form of socialising. She didn’t have time. Her kids were her life, but now she was growing tired of them. She couldn’t bear their endless questions and requests for her time, her love and assistance.

  “Mommy, everyone puts their tree up long before Christmas. Where are we going to put the presents?”

  She put the pot down and rested her head in her hands. The throb from her head radiated to her shoulders, and her muscled stiffened. “Mary, please go and play. I need to make supper.”

  “But Mommy.” She whimpered, and Tessa could hear tears in her voice. Tessa’s eyes filled with tears, but she swallowed the sob that rose into her throat. If she started, she wouldn’t be able to stop.

  “I’ll get the tree and decorations from the garage,” her oldest son, Eric, said, springing into the room.

  “Eric, no,” Tessa said. “I don’t have decorations. I lent them to Junie.”

  “Well, can’t we get them back from her?”

  “No, we can’t. She won’t talk to me. I don’t even know if she lives in the same place.”

  “Aw, Mom. Come on.” Eric persisted.

  “No.” Her voice went deep and gravelly. She picked up the pot in a huff, filled it with water and rice, and plunked it on the stove. Eric and Mary disappeared. She defrosted some left-over chicken stew in the microwave. It wasn’t a fancy meal for Christmas Eve, but it was a treat to have meat. While she washed some dishes, her middle child, Cally, came through with a book from the library. She balanced the thick book on the kitchen counter.

  “Don’t put library books on the kitchen counter.”

  Cally picked it up and pushed it in front of Tessa’s face. “We can make our own decorations. I know it would cost too much to buy new ones, but we can make some pretty ones for next to nothing. Look at all these craft ideas.”

  “It’s too late. It’s seven o’clock on Christmas Eve. We can’t start that now, Cally.”

  “We’ll stay up until midnight. It’s Christmas Eve. It’s the best time to do something together.” Cally’s beautiful brown eyes shone, and Tessa smiled, touching her cheek gently with her clean finger. Something about Cally’s simple optimism always seemed to pull out the last glimmer of hope in Tessa’s heart.

  “We will have to go shopping for some stationery. We can buy a pie for each of you to eat when we get home. I’ll put the casserole in the fridge for tomorrow.”

  “Or some French fries,” suggested Eric.

  Mary bounced up and down in front of her with pure expectation despite Tessa’s habit of disappointing her kids.

  “Oh, all right. What’s the harm? It is Christmas Eve.”