Merry's Christmas: A Love Story by Susan Rohrer Read Free Book Online Page A

 
    Reaching the hall bathroom, Merry noticed
Tara inside, working on her hair. It had already been well coifed, but Tara
still busied herself, styling it to look even better. Merry stopped in the
doorway. “You have a date?”
    Tara twisted a strand and secured it into
an interesting clip. “After dinner. To study.”
    Merry ventured closer. “That’s cute. Wish
I could get my hair to do stuff like that.”
    “I got Mom’s hair,” Tara responded. “Good
thing. Dad’s is kind of gnarly.”
    Merry thought about her own gene pool. It was like diving into one of
those murky green swimming holes where you had no idea what was beneath the
surface, let alone who had taken a dip in it, or what they might have left in
the water. It wasn’t anything Merry talked about much, but something inside
told her that she should. “I don’t know whose hair I got. Never saw either one
of my parents.”
    Tara stopped what she was doing and
turned to Merry. “No way.”
    Merry confirmed it with a nod. “Way.
Never even knew their names.”
    “That must be kind of weird,” Tara said.
“So, who named you?”
    “Social Services,” Merry answered.
“Somebody found me, brand spanking newborn on the church steps Christmas
morning. That’s why they called me Merry. My last name, Hopper—they said that
was because I was left there in this coal hopper thing and...I guess it fit.”
    Something in Tara seemed to soften, at
least momentarily. “Yeah, it fits. It does.”
    Noticing the blank list Tara had taken
from Hayden on the counter, Merry picked it up. “You were just torturing Hayden
with this, right? You don’t really want to give her a big old nothing for
Christmas, do you?”
    Tara’s face fell a bit. “Not like she
wants anything from me.”
    “Oh, I don’t know,” Merry encouraged.
“She might.”  
    Tara looked skeptical. “Like what? Did
she say something?”
    Merry shook her head. “No, no. And I
can’t really put my finger on it yet, but...maybe you will. Maybe you’ll
surprise her.”
    It took a moment or two, but Merry could
tell that Tara’s wheels had begun to turn. “Maybe,” she echoed. Tara took the
blank paper, left the bathroom and headed down the stairs toward the kitchen.
    It was just a baby step, but Merry knew
it was progress, good progress for a first day. Merry leaned against the
doorjamb, savoring the small victory. She mouthed a happy thanks and
breathed a satisfied sigh.
    ♥    ♥    ♥
     
    Downstairs,
Joan unloaded groceries as Tara passed through. “Honey, could you set the
table?”
    “Sure,” Tara agreed. “Gramma, what do you
think of Merry?”
    Joan piled fresh-washed cherries in a
bowl on the counter. It wasn’t often that her grandchildren asked her opinion,
so she enjoyed the fact that Tara had as she mulled over her first impressions.
“I like her. Just something about her.”
    Tara opened the cupboard door. “Yeah. Too
bad Dad’s so into that Catherine person,” she sighed, finding only empty
shelves in front of her. “So, where are all the plates?”
    “Try the dishwasher, dear,” Joan
answered.
    Suddenly, Ollie’s triumphant voice rang
out from the backyard. “Smithereens!”
    Joan recognized the distinct crash of
breaking china that followed. In a flash, Joan was out the back door, just in
time to see Ollie raise an ornate china platter high above his head, as if to
acknowledge the cheers of an imaginary throng. He whirled it around like a
discus thrower. “Ho, ho—”
    Recognizing the platter, Joan shouted in
horror. “No! Ollie, don’t!”
    “—ho!” Ollie cried as he released the
platter and sent it soaring into the brick fireplace, dashing it to pieces.
    Tara emerged, agape at the sight. “You
are so getting coal for Christmas.”
    Joan hurried down the stairs. “Ollie,
what are you doing?! That’s the good family china!”
    Ollie turned, grinning to beat the band.
“It’s okay, Gramma. Merry said so,” he exuded. “I’m making