Page 38 of Single Mom's Christmas Wish

“I mean it. Put this out of your mind, at least for now. It is awful, but we’ll figure something out. I’ll talk to one of the counselors at the community center, a guy who specializes in these kinds of housing issues.”

“There’s nothing to figure out. I need money and lots of it. Keith still hasn’t paid the last eight months of child support.”

“Screw that prick,” Chelsea replies.

I love this woman, even more so in a crisis. I’ve never seen anyone react so quickly and become so laser-focused on finding a solution instead of dwelling on the problem. “Forget about him. You couldn’t rely on him before; do not expect him to save your ass now. He’s the reason you’re in this mess, remember?”

“How could I forget?”

“We’ll figure something out; I promise. But in the meantime, let’s get some coffee in you. Maybe something sweet to keep your blood sugar up? Do you have any leftover cookies from yesterday morning?”

I nod slowly. “In the cupboard.”

“Come on, bear with me here, Dakota. You’re going to be okay.”

“One way or another, yes. Just having you by my side makes everything a whole lot easier, Chelsea. I can’t thank you enough.”

She gives me a hard look. “If you think I’m going to charge you a single penny for the next six months of Maisie’s daycare, you’re crazy.”

“Oh, come on.”

“I will slap you silly if you insist.”

I’m so close to crying, but I manage to hold it in because I don’t want my daughter to see me like this. Chelsea rushes to hug me. I welcome the embrace and the smell of jasmine and citrus flowers in her short, black hair. I find comfort in her soft blue eyes and sisterly care.

“You’re right. We’re going to figure something out,” I conclude, trying to convince myself that we will, in fact, find a solution to this problem. I could see it coming from miles away. It wasn’t a shock. It wasn’t supposed to be a shock. But I am still devastated. “We will.”

“You bet your sweet caboose,” Chelsea shoots back.

The doorbell rings, and we stare at each other in slight confusion.

“Are you expecting anyone?” she asks.

“No.”

“If it’s Keith, I will take a meat tenderizer to his face.”

I chuckle softly, thinking that she’s joking. But then Chelsea opens one of the drawers and takes out the actual meat tenderizer before stalking out of the kitchen and heading straight for the door. I need a couple of seconds before I realize what’s about to happen.

“Chelsea, wait, don’t!” I call out.

Maisie can handle herself over the breakfast bowl, so I leave her at the table for a few minutes as I rush after Chelsea. I find my best friend standing at the front door, which is wide open. There’s a man in a dark grey suit standing just outside with a grim look on his face.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” he says, giving her an envelope. “We’ll see you at the funeral.”

I am thoroughly confused. “What’s this?” I ask.

The man is already back on the sidewalk, about to get into his vehicle, a dark, late-model Town Car.

“Grandma died,” Chelsea mutters.

“Both of your grandmas died a few years back, if I remember correctly,” I reply.

She holds up the envelope for me to see. “Yourgrandma. I answered the door, and I guess he assumed I was you.”

“Huh.”

Indeed, my name is printed on the envelope.

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