Welcome to Sunday Blog Share! Today, we’re talking about holiday stories, the kind of tales often lost in the happiness of the season. Most people don’t like to think that sadness and loss abound during a time of celebration, but for those who have endured this, the feelings are so much stronger because of how everyone else is so happy.
Dawn is a normal teen, falling in love with the guy from up the street, wanting her parents to see the world is changing and she shouldn’t be held to old fashioned standards. Once her dad confides in her, she’s ripped from her normal life into one where she’s having to keep secrets to avoid destroying the winter holidays for her younger siblings forever…
One more Christmas is all Dawn wants. Is that too much to ask?
With a little more than a week before the holiday, fifteen-year old Dawn and her dad share a heart-wrenching secret about her mom. She’s dying of leukemia, but no one suspected a thing; they all just thought she was tired. All Dawn has to lean on is a prayer—that her mom won’t die before or on this special day, so her five younger siblings don’t have to remember that during the holidays in the future. Will she receive her wish?
Robby Ryan got off the bus ahead of me. Not that I was that far behind him. We had the whole walk home, about a quarter mile on paved sidewalks, and no reason to hurry. He stopped and glanced at me, a sly smile on his face.
“Come on, Dawn. Quit being a slowpoke.”
We’d had a sort-of-friends relationship all our lives. He lived across the street and a few houses up from me in our little hometown of Monrovia, California. Robby was an older man, all of seventeen. I was fifteen for a couple more months, and that was the worst age to be in 1974. My parents were so old fashioned, saying I couldn’t even think about having a real boyfriend until I was sixteen—in February.
“I’m not a slowpoke,” I said to him, grinning. “Why are you rushing anyway? It’s not like we have anything to do except boring old chores.”
The illicit feeling of getting away with our budding romance sent a thrill through me. Who was I to argue with hormones? We had an attraction, built on years of each of us trying to outdo the other, a love of similar activities, even if my mom got all bent out of shape when I played football or went hiking in the hills above town.
“Any plans for our vacation?” he asked once I reached him.
“Plenty, but you know how it is.” I shrugged my shoulders. “Mom will probably decide to scrub the walls or move the furniture and I’ll have to help.”
About the K.C. Sprayberry
Born and raised in Southern California’s Los Angeles basin, K.C. Sprayberry spent years traveling the United States and Europe while in the Air Force before settling in northwest Georgia. A new empty nester with her husband of more than twenty years, she spends her days figuring out new ways to torment her characters and coming up with innovative tales from the South and beyond.
She’s a multi-genre author who comes up with ideas from the strangest sources. Those who know her best will tell you that nothing is safe or sacred when she is observing real life. In fact, she considers any situation she witnesses as fair game when plotting a new story.
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