Page 7 of Threads of Kindness
“Lyla Kershaw?” John asked. “Do you think this has anything to do with her son Josh?”
“And perhaps Sunday Sloan, too?” Maggie replied. “I may know something, but my lips are sealed—or they’re supposed to be.” She smiled at him and stood on tiptoes to whisper in his ear.
His grin spread like butter on toast. “What a wonderful Christmas Day announcement that’ll make!” he exclaimed.
Alex and Marc jostled through the crowd to return to Maggie and John as Lyla climbed to the fourth step on the staircase. The petite woman in her late fifties smoothed an errant hair into place in her neat bob. She raised a glass above her head and tapped it with a knife.
Conversation stopped as everyone turned toward her. Maggie noticed that Josh and Sunday stood at the base of the stairway.
“Merry Christmas, everyone,” Lyla said, lowering her glass. “I’m only going to take a moment of your time—I know better than to get between hungry people and that buffet in there.” She waved her glass toward the dining room. “While we’re all here,I wanted to share with you my wonderful news. My Christmas wish, a gift I’ve always dreamed of but never expected, is coming true this year.”
Her face flushed, and she blinked repeatedly.
“I think many of you know Josh Newlon”—she pointed to her son—“and that I’m his birth mother. We reunited last year after his adoptive parents both died. I now have a lovely relationship with the son I missed every day since giving him up for adoption.
“I experienced more miracles when the rare book theft at Highpointe College reunited me with Josh’s birth father. I thought Robert had died before Josh was born, but he was very much alive, and we recently married.
“And now, my embarrassment of riches continues. I’m going to have a daughter-in-law, and she’s someone I knew and called a dear friend long before Josh came back into my life. Sunday Sloan has accepted Josh’s proposal of marriage, and my family of one will soon blossom into a family of four.
“Christmas is a time for miracles. The changes in my life are truly that. I want to share this joyful news with all of you. Please raise a glass and let’s toast the happy life in store for Josh and Sunday.”
The crowd cheered and whistled as people raised their glasses and joined in the salute.
“I wish I’d gotten you all champagne,” Marc said. “I’m sorry I didn’t think about that.” He peered at Maggie. “Are you okay?”
Maggie swiped away the moisture under her eyes and nodded. “I’m perfectly fine,” she said. “Just a little emotional after hearing Lyla’s toast. It’s a testament to the fact that you never know when good things are going to happen.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Marc said, raising his glass and clinking it with Alex’s.
The crowd surged forward to congratulate the engaged couple.
“I think we’re going to head into the dining room and get something to eat while everyone’s waiting in line to speak to Josh and Sunday,” Alex said. “Care to join us?”
“I’m starved,” John said. “I think that’s a great idea.”
“Lead the way,” Maggie said. “We’ll see Sunday and Josh before we leave.”
“Of course I don’t mind,”Maggie smiled at John. “I’m sure Jeff and the other fans are watching sports on that ginormous television in the library. I’ll get a second cup of coffee and find Sunday and Lyla. I’d love to hear about the wedding plans.”
“You’re the best wife in the world,” John said, leaning down and kissing her on the cheek.
Maggie entered the kitchen and refilled her cup at the coffee station in the butler’s pantry. She took it into the dining room and made her way to the dessert selections set up on the carved mahogany sideboard.
Sam Torres, her longest-standing friend in Westbury, stood off to one side, alone, near a tall potted palm. “Tisk,” he uttered, using his tongue and teeth to capture her attention.
She sidled over to him. “Merry Christmas, Sam. What in the world are you doing in here, lurking behind this tree?”
Sam chuckled. “I’m lying in wait until I’m certain Joan won’t catch me. I want to grab a second slice of that Bûche de Noël, a lemon bar, and one of Gloria Vaughn’s famous sour cream sugar cookies.”
“I’m sure Joan wouldn’t care.”
“Oh, but she would. My cholesterol is high, and I’ve gained a few pounds—actually, twenty pounds. We’re both on diets, and she’s sticking to hers better than I am to mine.”
“It’s Christmas, Sam. I don’t think she’ll object.”
“Even so, I’d rather my second trip to the dessert buffet go unnoticed.”
“Okay—how can I help?”
