Package Deal(31)

“You don’t need any luck, dear. You’re already a great soccer player.”

“Oh, not for that. I rub it so maybe I’ll see Marcus when I have a game.”

“Who’s Marcus?”

“He’s my friend. Sam thought he was my dad. Sam’s big sister, Brittany, says he’s hot. That means he’s handsome. He cheers when our team plays soccer. And, guess what? His eyes are the same color as mine. What do you think about that?”

Her grandmother pursed her lips and her forehead wrinkled.“That’s very nice, Cecelia.” Her grandmother turned to look at her mother, who was arranging presents under the tree. “Handsome, is he?”

Her mother’s cheeks turned pink.

“Is Marcus married, Cecelia?”

“No, Grandma. But he likes the same books I do. We talk about them all the time—my Marguerite Henry books. He knows about every single one of them.”

“Why in the world would a grown man be interested in children’s books?”

“Mother, he’s taught classes about literature for different age groups and how to write for them.”

“What else does he teach?” Her grandmother glanced at her mother again.

“Newspaper writing, and other journalism courses. He’s working on … he’s writing a book about Ernie Pyle, the World War II correspondent.”

“I know who Ernie Pyle is.” Her grandmother sidled back over to her. “Well, Cecelia. We’ll have to talk more about all your friends where you are living now. Why don’t you help me set the table for dinner?”



Amanda gazed at her daughter as they flew home. In the middle seat, Cecelia was happily drawing in a picture book her grandmother had given her. Amanda looked out at the clouds that filled the sky below them. Amazingly enough, the holiday with her mother hadn’t been so bad. Except for a few times, her questions had focused more on what Cecelia was doing than on her.

Her thoughts turned again to Marcus. Had he enjoyed his time in Omaha with his brother and his family? Since Thanksgiving, their dates had consumed nearly every weekend. She relished their time together. She was certain she was falling in love with him, but a part of her held back—unwilling to fully acknowledge it, fearful that if she did, something would happen to him and she would be lost in grief again. Only this time, it would be so much worse—because Cecelia would lose a friend, too. Early on, Marcus had made clear that he wanted a physical relationship with her, though he hadn’t pushed it since that dinner at the marina. She wanted it, too. After all, it was the natural progression of things these days, wasn’t it?But did she dare? Could he tell how attracted she was to him, how difficult it was becoming for her not to follow his lead, what she yearned for too? But the same ‘what if’ messages assaulted her, like warning signals at a railroad crossing, whenever she contemplated going to bed with him.

Then there was Cecelia. Would she be able to tell if Marcus and she—if their relationship moved to that next level? Would her daughter be happy about it? Or confused? And how could she keep her mother from asking questions, too many questions, if Cecelia hinted at what they were doing?

She had promised to go to the New Years’ Eve party with Marcus, and had bought a special dress, one she knew he would like. She sighed and closed her eyes as the plane began to bounce a bit. When she woke again, Cecelia had snuggled next to her, asleep with one hand clutching Eeyore, the other still holding the new coloring book.



On the night of the New Years’ Eve party, Marcus whistled under his breath as Amanda came downstairs in a burgundy gown, a side slit cut from hem to just above her knee, her feet in black strappy heels. The bodice of her dress was cut low, her curves accentuated by her gown, and her silver necklace shone. Dangly earrings completed her ensemble. Before they left the house, she pinned a rosebud boutonniere to his suit. He showed off his new silver cufflinks.

“From my nephews. They said I need to start acting like I’m going to be a famous writer someday, because of the Ernie Pyle manuscript.”

“Your nephews must be very proud of you.”

“That’s ’cause I’m the only uncle they have. And they figure if they don’t butter me up, I won’t come through with Christmas or birthday presents.” He laughed. “They liked what I got them this year.”

“What was that?”

“Books, of course.”

“About?” She reached up and brushed a lock of hair off his forehead.

“David got one on Frank Lloyd Wright. He wants to be an architect.He’s only seven and the narrative’s much too old for him, but he’s like Cecelia—reads way above grade level and his mom will read it to him until he can tackle it himself. Mostly, I got it because of the pictures and the line drawings. Dean wants to follow in his Dad’s footsteps, to be a cop. So I got him a collection of books about cops, some by cops.”