Something to Believe In (23 page)

EPILOGUE

P
OPS
DIED
ON
A
HAZY
September day,
mere days before the twins arrived squalling their heads off at the indignant
shock of entering the world with nothing but their skin.

The family’s sadness at losing Pops was tempered by the arrival
of the babies, which could only be described as a joyous event.

Lilah and Justin decided to grace the babies with names that
meant something so they named their daughter, Lana Marie—Lana after Lilah’s
Grams and Marie, which was Virginia’s middle name as well—and their son, Jack
Vernon, after Pops and Justin’s father.

Lilah held Lana, while Justin cradled their son, both staring
reverently at the fraternal twins as they enjoyed the first bit of quiet since
they’d arrived early that morning. Celly, Lora, Heath, Carys and Lindy had
returned to Lindy and Gabe’s New York apartment, exhausted after staying at the
hospital for eighteen hours awaiting the babies, which gave Justin and Lilah a
moment to themselves.

Lilah marveled at the incredible softness of their skin, the
intoxicating scent of their crowns as tufts of wild dark hair sprang in every
direction.

“Celly said the dark hair will go away,” Lilah said, gazing at
her daughter’s perfect little face. “She said they will be blond because their
eyebrows are light.”

“They’re perfect,” Justin said, overcome with emotion. “I’ve
never felt so... I can’t explain it. Instant love.”

She smiled with understanding. She felt the same. But then
tears filled her eyes as she thought of Pops. He had died peacefully in his
sleep. Celly had been the one to find him, said she’d just known that something
was wrong when he didn’t meet her for breakfast that day out on the patio as
they had been doing as part of their routine. The doctor had said a massive
heart attack had taken him. Likely, it’d been quick and he hadn’t suffered.
Still, it was hard not to cry.

Justin came over to her. “What’s wrong?” he asked, immediately
concerned.

“Nothing,” she said, wiping her eyes with her free hand. “I was
just thinking of Pops and wishing he’d been able to see the babies. He would’ve
been tickled by the fact that we’d named the babies after him and Grams.”

“It felt right,” he said solemnly. “Your Pops was a good man. I
wish I could’ve known your Grams, too.”

“She would’ve loved you,” Lilah stated with conviction. “She
loved a man with a bit of a mischievous spark.”

They continued to bond quietly with their newfound joys bundled
tightly in swaddling blankets and when Lilah found herself sliding into a sad
place, all she had to do was look at her life and take stock.

Larimar was no longer in danger. The combined efforts of
everyone had succeeded in putting the resort on more than firm footing. Once
again, the resort had a healthy savings account, enough money to pay for the
employees it needed, and Lora was in her element running the show with her
husband, Heath. Heath had taken Lilah’s advice to heart and had simply put Lora
on a boat to St. Thomas where he promptly married her and then they sailed
around the British Virgin Islands for a quick honeymoon. Lora had returned with
a giddy smile and a sparkler on her finger. Lindy was in the throes of planning
a giant wedding and loving every minute of being the star. Not to mention, her
theatrical work had landed her a top agent and several auditions for top
directors in movies that did not require her to be naked. And Celly had sold her
small house and moved into the main house at Larimar at Lora’s urging. She was
as much a family member as anyone related by blood.

Lilah closed her eyes and pictured Grams and Pops smiling down
at their little brood, happy as clams that everything had worked out in the
end—with only a few bumps in the road along the way.

As for her, Lilah felt she was living the most incredible dream
possible.

True to her word, Virginia had worked magic turning Vernon
around and creating a mystique about Lilah that shot interest in her work
through the roof.

For the first time in her life, Lilah was actually out-earning
her sisters. Her paintings went for ungodly sums of money that continued to blow
Lilah’s mind.

And by the looks of it, Justin was going to win the race
against his competitor by a landslide. His supporters believed in his vision for
New York, his passion for making a difference. Justin made her proud every day
and at night, they kept each other breathless.

Yes, anytime she felt a hint of sadness creeping up on her, she
simply did as she was doing now.

Being thankful for everything and everyone in her life.

To say she lived a blessed life...well, it was damn
accurate.

And she made no apologies.

She deserved it.

* *
* * *

Keep reading for an excerpt from
The Spirit of Christmas
by Liz Talley!

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CHAPTER ONE

M
ARY
P
AIGE
G
ENTRY
stepped into an icy
puddle of water as she exited the taxi with not only one high-heeled shoe, but
both of them.

“Darn, darn, darn!” she said, trying to turn back to the driver
without stepping into the cold water again. The cabbie raised bushy eyebrows and
she tossed him a glare. “I assume you didn’t see that puddle when you pulled
up?”

He shrugged.

“Yeah, right,” Mary Paige muttered, blowing out a breath that
ruffled her bangs. “Just wait for me, okay?”

She didn’t hang around for his response because, after the day
she’d had, something had to go in her favor. She slammed the door and leaped to
the curb, managing to clear the puddle she’d previously waded through. Having
the cab wait for her would cost a small fortune, but she was way late to her
uncle’s infamous Christmas kickoff bash, thanks to her boss, Ivan the
Terrible.

The frigid water seeped into the toes of her shoes as she
walked toward the iron-barred glass door of the convenience store anchoring a
corner in Fat City. Stupid, stupid! If she hadn’t let vanity rule, she’d be
plodding around in her cute fleur-de-lis rubber boots with warm tootsies. But
because the strappy high-heel, pseudo–Mary Janes had called her name that
morning, she would risk frostbite for the remainder of the evening.

Flashing neon signs hung garishly on the front of the store,
bright cousins to the various cigarette ads, and from somewhere to her left,
music bled onto the street. The door to the convenience store swooshed open, and
she moved aside to avoid a woman who burst out, clutching a paper bag containing
a fifth of something potent. Her elbow caught Mary Paige’s arm, but the woman
didn’t even acknowledge the offense. She merely growled something about skinny
blonde bitches and waddled down the block.

“Really?” Mary Paige called after her, even as part of her
relished the backhanded compliment since she’d spent the past two months doing
Zumba and eating foam chips in an effort to fit into a size eight again. As she
reached for the closing door handle, she heard a low moan to her right. Her hand
paused in midair, hovering above the cold metal.

Pulling her jacket closer to her chin and nuzzling into the
cashmere scarf her ex-boyfriend had given her last Christmas, Mary Paige peered
into the darkness beyond the blinking lights lining the eaves. At first, she saw
nothing in the shadows, but then spied movement.

She stepped toward the noise, her feet squishing in her wet
shoes, her teeth starting to chatter. The light plink of sleet on her shoulders
made her wonder if she was somewhere other than New Orleans. They rarely saw
anything frozen—except daiquiris—so it had been quite the sensation when they’d
gotten a blast of winter the day after Thanksgiving.

Newspapers stirred and she made out the form of an elderly man
wrapped in a thin blanket, moving among discarded boxes and newspapers quickly
becoming sodden with the sleet.

“Sir? You need some help?”

The man stopped his rustling and flipped her the finger.

“Guess that answers that question.”

She turned around, ignoring the tug at her heart. Why didn’t he
go to a shelter, anyway? Too cold out for someone to be sitting around with
nothing more than a thin blanket. She glanced to the corner and found the cab
still waiting. Good. A man who listened. An early Christmas miracle.

She entered the warmth of the store, blew on her hands and
scanned the cramped aisle. Nope, none of it would do. Bottled water, sanitary
products and condoms. The necessities of life, sure, but nothing that would help
her tonight.

The second aisle proved as fruitless. Nothing but potato chips,
cartons of cookies and packages of those powdery little doughnuts. Mary Paige’s
stomach betrayed her with a growl as she eyed the pink snowballs. She shook her
head and rounded the end cap, where she scanned the new offerings, methodically
sweeping her gaze along the aisle, mentally discarding everything until…
Bingo!

Hanging innocently at the end of the aisle was the most
repugnant pair of Christmas socks she’d ever seen. They were bright green with
sparkly silver-tinsel trees around the ankles, adorned with bright cherry-red
pom-poms. The tops had garish silver lace that matched the flashy trees and
small jingly bells. They were hideous and absolutely perfect for the
white-elephant gift required for Uncle Fred’s crazy pre-Christmas party. Mary
Paige snatched them as if they were the Holy Grail. Finally, something had gone
right.

She hurried toward the register, hating that she’d already
taken too much time in this little stop, hating that the homeless curmudgeon
outside the door weighed on her conscience. Yeah, he was a miserable old goat,
but it
was
the beginning of the Christmas season,
and it
was
colder than normal outside.

Perhaps she should get him a little something to warm him
up?

A coffee bar sat to her right, featuring a self-service,
instant cappuccino machine. Not the best, but certainly good enough. Mary Paige
glanced at the register. Only one person in line. Surely five more minutes
wouldn’t hurt. She spun toward the bar, snatched a medium-size cup, centered it
beneath the spout and pushed the button. It filled quickly. She plopped a lid on
and grabbed two sugar packs along with a stir stick.

Darn.
Two more people had joined
the queue behind the woman paying.

She got in line, shifting back and forth on her frozen feet
trying to restore the circulation and wondering why she even bothered with an
old bum outside a convenience store in the middle of Metairie. He’d probably
hurl the cup at her and ruin her only decent jacket. Par for the course
considering the day she’d had. A run in her stockings, a nervous stomach that
had sent her to the bathroom twice, a coffee stain on her pristine white blouse
and a tongue-lashing from Ivan the Terrible when the towering pile of receipts
on her desk didn’t add up for their biggest client. She really wanted to go home
and curl up in her ratty chenille robe with a glass of wine. Instead, fierce
love for Uncle Fred sent her scurrying across the city in a cab she couldn’t
afford, wearing shoes now frozen stiff.

Mary Paige finally reached the register, where the cashier
snatched the socks from her, scanned them and dropped them into a plastic
sack.

“Ten thirty-seven,” the cashier said, not even bothering to
make eye contact with her.

Mary Paige rooted in her purse for her wallet. Ugh. She’d left
it in her desk after doing some online Christmas shopping. But, luckily she
always kept some cash in the side pocket along with her ATM card. Her fingers
crisscrossed in a desperate search. No cash.

No way.

Thankfully a second swipe netted her the ATM card. She glanced
at the cashier, who glared knowingly in return.

“Uh, do y’all have an ATM?”

The cashier pointed to a machine sitting below a glowing sign
as a man behind her in line growled, “Jeez, get your cash before you get in
line, lady.”

Something inside Mary Paige snapped. “Listen, buddy. I have had
a hell of a day and my ex-boyfriend stole all my cash. Give me an effing break
here!”

The man stepped back, throwing up his hands before giving her a
smart-ass gesture toward the ATM.

“Thanks.”

She prayed as she entered her PIN that her account wasn’t
overdrawn. Things had been so hectic lately she couldn’t remember the last time
she balanced her bank statement.
Please, please let the
stupid machine spit out the money.

The machine whirred and coughed out the amount she’d
requested—thirty bucks.

Whew.
Hibernia Bank had just earned
itself a place on her Christmas-card list.

Mary Paige popped back in line as the rude construction worker
rolled his eyes and blew garlicky breath on her neck with theatrical
exaggeration. Mary Paige shrugged at the cashier. “Happens to the best of us,
right?”

The cashier held out a palm and gave no response, making Mary
Paige feel like even more of an idiot. She placed a ten-dollar bill in the
outstretched hand of the cashier along with three dimes and a nickel, the sum of
all the change she could scrape up from the bottom of her purse. The cashier
cleared her throat and looked pointedly at the money.

“Oh, sorry.” Mary Paige scooped two pennies from the
take-a-penny, leave-a-penny container on the counter. “There you go.”

She grabbed the coffee and the plastic bag, swerved around Big
and Beefy, desperately wanting to give him the finger—much as the old bum had
given her earlier—and stalked out the door.

“Ow.” Hot coffee splashed on her fingers through the open
drinking spout. “Double darn it.”

She shook the liquid from her fingers and caught sight of the
cab out of the corner of her eye. Thank God he’d waited, and thank God the ATM
had delivered the money she needed to pay for the cab. Shoving the bag with the
socks under her arm, she held up a finger indicating she would be a minute
longer, then headed around the corner to the old man.

As she approached the alley, she was swamped by a feeling of
déjà vu. How many other times had she done this kind of thing? Ten? Twenty?
More? As much as she would like to be a hard-ass career gal, she knew her heart
was of the Stay Puft variety. Not even rudeness would deter her from doing what
was right.

“Yoo-hoo? Mister? I have a little something here to warm you.”
She stood in front of a Dumpster bookended by two large cardboard boxes. Flaps
hung over, providing little shelter, and the man seemed to be curled into a pile
of wet newspapers. A broken cyclone fence stretched behind him, leading the way
to an abandoned bakery showcasing yawning windows.
Dismal
wasn’t the word for the small corner of the world this man
occupied in the frozen rain. “Sir?”

He said nothing.

“I’ve brought you some coffee.”

The papers moved. “What the hell ya want?”

“Just thought you might like something to warm you.”

“Coffee?” The papers shifted as the man unfurled like a gray
troll from beneath a bridge, his grizzled face parting sodden sales flyers,
pinning her with sleepy blue eyes. “Coffee, did you say?”

Mary Paige thrust the cup toward the man.

His eyes swept Mary Paige from head to foot, causing a flash of
alarm within her, but then he looked away before extending a thin arm toward the
steaming cup. As he leaned forward, the papers parted, revealing a body woefully
unprepared for the frigid weather. His pants were thin and patched, his flannel
shirt threadbare in a few spots, but most frightening of all were his bare
feet.

Aw, heck, no. Not bare feet. Anything but
bare feet.

The plastic bag holding the socks grew heavier.

Pretend like you didn’t see his bare feet,
Mary Paige. Just hand him the coffee and go.

But she knew she would not. Could not.

Triple darn.

No time to get another pair. Plus, the only other socks inside
were a pair of plain blue ones. There had been only one pair of perfectly
horrendous Christmas socks, and she knew they hadn’t been intended for anyone at
Uncle Fred’s house. Not Aunt Betty with her giant mole, or Cousin Trav with his
ugly comb-over, or Mr. Dan the eccentric butcher, who showed up to Uncle Fred’s
party every year uninvited. Nope, these Christmas socks were for the bum who had
flipped her the finger.

She sighed and bent down, meeting his gnarled fingers with the
cup. “You don’t have any socks. It’s awfully cold out here for bare feet.”

The man took slurping sips of the scalding liquid as if it were
nothing more than lukewarm tea. “Yes, socks t’would help, I imagine.”

“Yes, well, I happen to have a pair right here. How about we
put these on so you don’t freeze your toes off? And then, I can take you to a
shelter where you can get some hot food and a warm place to sleep.”

The man peered at her over the rim, his disarming blue eyes
measuring her. She ripped her gaze from his and dug the ugly socks from the
plastic bag, eyeing his dirty but, oddly enough, well-manicured toes. She tore
the tag from the socks and bent toward the man, uncertain as to whether she
should actually lift his foot. “Should I help you put these on?”

The old man clasped her hands, stilling them as she picked at
the sticker stubbornly gunking up a sparkly silver tree.

“You ever read
A Christmas
Carol?
”

“I beg your pardon, sir?”

“You know…old Ebenezer Scrooge?”

“Oh, yeah, of course.” She nodded and the blunt ends of her bob
swung into her eyes. She tucked the wayward strands behind her chilled ears.
“The socks. Let’s get them on you.”

“Yes,” he said staring at the gaudy socks in her hand. “What I
meant was the Spirit of Christmas.”

“What?” Mary Paige said biting her lip and scrunching each sock
so she could jab them onto his almost-blue feet. “You mean the ghosts, like the
ghosts of Christmas past?”

“They were all part of the Spirit of Christmas, right?” His
voice was low, intense and raspy…and also quite refined. Odd for a street
person. She slid the first sock on his right foot.

“Mmm-hmm.” She shifted her weight so she wouldn’t fall on her
butt onto the slick concrete. She wasn’t the most graceful of gals.

“Well, you’re the Spirit of Christmas,” he said, jabbing a
finger at her.

“Maybe so,” she said, hoping to pacify the old man, as she put
the other sock on his deathly cold foot. She prayed she had hand sanitizer in
her purse. No telling where the man’s feet had been even if he had trimmed his
toenails.

“There. Nice and toasty. Let’s get you out of this weather.”
She prepared to rise, but the man clasped her wrist. She pulled away but he held
firm.