Lauraine Snelling - One Perfect Day

One Perfect
Day

A Novel

L AURAINE S NELLING

NEW YORK BOSTON NASHVILLE

Dedicated to all those who have been willing to donate the organs of their loved ones that others may live. The waiting lists are long. Mark the donor dot on your drivers license. Others will be glad you did .

T he idea for this book began one night when I was speaking at a reading group in New Hampshire, thanks to my almost-daughter, Julie. Kris Frank, who worked for the New England Organ Bank, and I got to talking about her job as donor coordinator, and the basis for this novel arose from one of her stories. You never know where a story will come from. Thanks, Julie and Kris.

My gratitude also goes to all those Ive come in contact with who tell me their stories of organ donation, both donors and receivers, some of them close friends and family whom Ive watched and prayed with through the process. What an amazing miracle this can be.

I always owe a debt of thanks to agent Deidre Knight, the entire staff at FaithWords, along with my personal team, who gives me tremendous support, critique, and encouragement. I am most blessed.

Always, to God be the glory and may He use this book to bless others far beyond our knowledge.

Blessings,

Lauraine

G ordon, where are you?

Betsy, a middle-aged yellow Lab, looked up as if she had heard Nora speaking. The twoowner and pethad been best friends for so long that the twins frequently teased their mother about mental telepathywith a dog. Betsy thumped her tail and gazed up from her self-assigned spot at Noras feet.

Leaving the bay-window seat, where shed been staring out at the moon lighting fire to the frost-encrusted winter lawn, which sloped down to the lakeshore, Nora crossed the kitchen to set the teakettle to boiling. Tea always helped in times of distress. She brought out the rose-sprinkled china teapot and filled it with hot water. Tonight was not a mug night but a stoke up the reserves night. If there had been snow on the ground, this was the kind of night, with the moon so bright every blade of grass glinted, when she would have hit the ski trails. An hour of cross-country skiing and shed have been relaxed enough to fall asleep whether Gordon called or not.

So, instead, she drank tea. As if copious cups would make her sleep deeply rather than toss and turn. Perhaps she would work on the business plan if she got enough caffeine into her system.

Betsys ears perked up and she went and stood in front of the door to the garage.

Noras heart leaped. Gordon must be home after all. But why hadnt he called to say he was at the airport? His business trip to Stuttgart, Germany, had already been prolonged and here they were trying to get readywith just four days until Christmas. The last one for which she could guarantee the twins would still be home. Her last chance for perfection. When hed told her a week ago he had to fly to Stuttgart again, the word again had echoed in her head.

Betsys tail increased the wag speed and she backed up as the door opened.

Mom, Im home. Charlie, the older twin by two minutes, and named after his father, Charles Gordon Peterson, came through the door in his usual rush. Oh, there you are. Grinning up at his mother, he paused to pet the waiting dog. Good girl, Bets, did you take good care of Mom? Betsy wagged her tail and caught the tip of his nose with her black-spotted tongue. Smells good in here. He glanced around the kitchen, zeroing in on the plate of powdered-sugardusted brownies. Heard from Dad?

No. Nora cupped her elbows with her hands and leaned against the counter. At five-seven, she found that the raised counter fit right into the small of her back. When theyd built the house, she and Gordon had chosen cabinets two inches higher than normal, since they were both tall. Made for easier work surfaces. Go ahead, quit drooling and eat. Theres a plate in the fridge for you to pop in the microwave.

Wheres Christi? Charlie asked around a mouthful of walnut-laced brownie.

Upstairs. I think shes finishing a Christmas present.

Are we going to decorate the tree tonight?

We were waiting on you. And your father, but somehow he always manages to not be here at tree-decorating time . While Gordon was not a bah, humbug kind of guy, his idea of a perfect Christmas was skiing in Colorado. Theyd done his last year, with his promise to help make hers perfect this year. Right. Big help from across the Atlantic . While Nora knew hed not deliberately chosen to be gone this week before Christmas, it still rankled, irritating under her skin like a fine cactus spine, hard to see and harder to dig out.

Charlie retrieved his plate from the fridge and slid it into the microwave, all the while filling his mother in on the antics of the children standing in line to visit Santa. Charlie excelled as one of Santas elves, a big elf at six feet, with dark curly hair and hazel eyes, which sparkled with delight. Charlie loved little kids; so when this perfect job came up, he took it and entertained them all in his green-and-red elf suit. He could turn the saddest tears into laughter. Santa told him not to grow up, hed need elves forever.

One little girl had the bluest round eyes you ever saw. Charlie took his warmed plate out and pulled a stool up to the counter so he could eat. She had this one great big tear trickling down her cheek, but I hid behind my handshe demonstrated peekaboo with his fingersand she sniffed, ducked into Santa, caught herself and peeked back at me. When he did his ho ho ho, she looked up at him with the cutest grin. He deepened his voice. And what do you want for Christmas, little girl?

Charlie shifted into shy little girl: II want a kitty. My mommys kitty died and she needs a new one. He paused. And make sure it has a good motor. My mommy likes to hold one that purrs. Charlie came back to himself. Can you believe that, Mom? Thats all she wanted. She reached up and kissed his cheek, slid off his lap and waved good-bye.

What a little sweetheart.

I checked with Annie, who was taking the pictures, and got their address. You think we could find a kitten that has a good motor at the Humane Society?

Ask Christi, shed know. Christi volunteered one afternoon a week at the Riverbend Humane Society and would bring home every condemned animal if they let her. Shed fostered more dogs and cats in the last year than most people did in a lifetime. Shed found homes for them too, except for Bushy, an older white fluffy cat, with one black ear and one black paw. His green eyes captivated her, or at least that was the excuse for his taking up permanent residence.

I will. Be nice if there was a half-grown one with a loud motor.

Loud motor for what? Christi, Bushy draped across her arm, wandered into the kitchen, a smear of Sap Green oil paint on her right cheek, matching the blob on the back of her right forefinger. Tall at five-nine, with an oval face and haunting grayish blue eyes, she looked every bit the traditional blond Norwegian. As much as Charlie entertained the world, she observed and translated what she saw onto canvases that burst with color and yet drew the eye into the shadows, where peace and serenity lurked. Christi would rather paint than eat or even breathe at times.

A little girl asked Santa for a kitty for her motherhe shifted into mimic Cause Mommys kitty died and she is sad.

Thats all she wanted?

Gee, thats what I thought too. Nora motioned toward the teapot and Christi nodded. While her mother poured the tea, Christi absently rubbed the paint spot on her cheek.