It Must Have Been the Mistletoe(25)

“Yes. If I go to North Texas, they want me to make a CD.”

“That’s wonderful!”

“It’s just a small, academic label. Nothing big. I’m not going to hit the Billboard Top 100 with the music I sing. But I was thinking that Layla might want to play on it. And you and dad could sing harmonies.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Your father and I don’t sound as good as we used to.” Her mother wiped her hands on a towel. “Honey, go see if you can get Rita out of her room. I need her to iron the costumes for the nativity scene.”

Her two sisters had arrived home before Alison. Layla had rushed off to do last-minute shopping and Rita was locked in her room, upset about something that she refused to talk about. Alison’s father was outside in the cold, trying to prop up the ramshackle stable on their front lawn for just one more year.

The nativity was a Christmas tradition with the Coles and everyone from the neighborhood came. The family dressed up as characters from the Christmas story and gave a concert, which they ended with a beautiful traditional bluegrass arrangement her father had done of “Silent Night.” Alison and her parents sang and Layla usually played, although she didn’t like it. And Rita, when she bothered to come home for Christmas, stood in the shadows.

“How many Christmases has it been?” Alison asked, reaching for a frosted sugar cookie.

“Ten,” her mother said. “This is our tenth nativity scene. It seems like just yesterday I was sewing the costumes.”

“When was the last time we were all together,” Alison asked. “I can’t remember.”

“Christmas Eve? It’s been a while. Rita wasn’t here last Christmas or the one before.” Her mother smiled wistfully. “It’s nice to have all my girls together again. Honey, I want you to sing those two songs from your recital. The ones by Ettie Lee Harper.”

“I will.” Alison’s thoughts drifted back to the funeral, to the last time she’d spoken with Drew. After the service, they’d stood next to her car, silently holding each other’s hands, both of them knowing that this might be the last time they’d touch each other.

She hadn’t wanted to leave, but in the end had kissed him and promised to stay in touch. It was an empty promise, but it made saying goodbye a bit easier. Although, it hadn’t done much to put thoughts of him out of her head.

She wondered what he was doing, where he was for the holidays. He’d mentioned that he had a sister in Nashville, but for all she knew, he was in Knoxville with his parents. Or maybe even on the mountain, tending to some emergency.

Alison reached for her bag, which was hanging from the back of her stool. She could at least call him and wish him a Merry Christmas. Rummaging through the messenger bag, she came across the small package that Drew had given her at the funeral, still wrapped in red paper and tied with twine. She set it on the counter in front of her.

“A present for me?” her mother asked.

“No,” Alison said. “It’s a present for me. From a friend.”

“Are you going to open it or just sit there and look at it?”

“I—I guess I’ll open it.” She slipped the twine off the gift and tore away the paper to reveal a digital recorder, much like her own. Alison pressed play and the sound of Ettie’s voice filled the room.

“Hello, Alison. This is Ettie Lee Harper. Drew has given me this little recorder and he’s told me I must record more of my songs for you. So that’s what I’ve set out to do. Oh, and tell some of my stories, too. But before I begin, I want you to know how glad I am that you and Drew have found each other. He’s a fine boy and you could do a lot worse.”

Alison switched off the recorder and looked up at her mother. “Who is Drew?” Amanda asked.

“Just a guy I know. Knew,” she corrected. “I met him when I met Ettie. He’s her great-great-nephew. And a doctor.”

“A doctor?”

“Yes, Mom, a doctor. But he doesn’t work in a big hospital and he doesn’t have a fancy house and car. He works out of a clinic in the mountains a couple hours from Johnson City.”

“Sounds like a nice fellow,” she said. “Are you…dating?”

Alison shook her head. “No! We’re just friends.”

The front door slammed and Layla’s voice echoed through the house. “Aly! Aly, where are you?”

Alison’s mother frowned. “What is she shouting about?”

“Nothing,” Alison said. “I’m in the kitchen,” she called out.

A few seconds later, Layla appeared in the kitchen door, her hat askew and her color high. “You have a visitor.”