A Christmas Wish Read Online Free Page A

was the right time to tell us how she had met Rex. She then related the story of a society function for a local hospital that was “dull, dull, dull, really, I could have died, except for the fact that I met good ol’ Rexy.”
    â€œYeah, that’s what she calls me. Rexy. Getting me a leash for Christmas,” said Rex. “Woof.”
    I thought my mother might keel over.
    Janey giggled aloud. “Finally, someone else whose name sounds good when you add a ‘y’ at the end. That’s how Brian and I met—at the base of our windmill, where I called him Brian-y and then said yuck. Brian-y. That doesn’t sound good, does it?”
    â€œNot in the least,” said my mother quickly.
    â€œWhat’s all this about a windmill?” Katrina asked. “Sounds lovely.”
    â€œIt was my mom’s,” Janey said. “It’s really big, and it’s beautiful, and Brian likes it, too, don’t you, Brian? It has giant sails that turn in the wind and sometimes I imagine it spins stories, and I go there to hear them, because it’s really my mom telling them to me. She always told me wonderful stories.”
    Janey’s flurry of words suddenly quieted the table, adults looking around the table as though silenced by the profound. It was my father who broke the silence when he looked over at Janey and said, “Well, young lady, you must have inherited your mother’s trait for telling stories, because I liked that one very much. Thank you, Janey, for gracing my Thanksgiving table with your very sweet presence.”
    â€œYou’re welcome,” she said. “Thank you for inviting me.”
    â€œAnytime, Jane,” my mother said. “You are just delightful. Sunshine in a storm.”
    Both of my parents caught my eye, and I mouthed a quick “thank you,” even forgiving my mother her petty quirk of calling Janey “Jane.”
    â€œOh, Brian, I forgot I have a hello to send to you,” Rebecca said, taking command of the table again as though nothing of meaning had occurred. “I meant to tell you the moment I saw you, but I ran into Lucy Watkins at that same charity event where I met Rexy. She wanted to make sure I said hello.”
    â€œWho’s Lucy?” Janey asked.
    â€œNo one,” I said, and then with sarcasm added, “Thanks, Becs.”
    She shrugged, and for a moment it seemed the conversation had shifted.
    Not so lucky.
    â€œLucy Watkins was Brian’s first love—they dated all through high school and college, and it seemed like one day they would get married and I’d have a passel of grandchildren,” my mother said. “I hear she has two children of her own now and that her husband is a doctor. She’s done quite well for herself, Lucy has. I think her name now is Lucy Abrams.”
    Janey tossed me an odd expression that I couldn’t decipher, and then whatever she was thinking, she dropped. And I let it go, too, and at last the conversation went down another path. The remainder of dinner passed uneventfully. All of us had our fill of food and drink, all of us were thankful for what we had, this feast and the company that enveloped us and the prosperity that surrounded us.
    As the empty plates were cleared and dessert dishes were set at each place, my mother announced that this was the time for us all to announce what we were most thankful for. My heart sank. I had been hoping to spare Janey this annual ritual, thinking it might be a struggle for this girl who had lost so much this year to find anything to be thankful for.
    â€œI thought we were beyond doing this kind of thing,” I said.
    â€œBrian, dear, it’s a tradition, you know that, albeit slightly altered over the years.” And she proceeded to tell the gathered crowd how this particular event had once upon a time preceded the meal, “until Kevin’s repeated complaints about the turkey getting cold made us