A Christmas Peril (The Teacup Novellas - Book Five) by Diane Moody

folks arrive. If I can, I’ll
stop by and update them.”
    By now he’d made his way to
the door. “You get some rest, okay? Doctor’s orders.”
    “I’ll try.”
    With a wink, he slipped out
the door.
    I was so tired, so weary of
all this. I stood up and stretched this way then that, arching my clasped hands
way over my head. I rolled my neck, hearing it snap, crackle and pop. Then I blew
out a long cleansing breath and stood beside Mark’s bed. I stared at him for a
few minutes, then took his lifeless hand in mine and sat on the edge of his
bed.
    “Y’know, I think Dr. Bradley’s
a good guy, and I don’t doubt for a minute that he and the staff here are
providing the best possible care for you, Mark. But the thing is ‌—‌they don’t know you the
way I do. They don’t know how you always go the extra mile for others. They
don’t know how you always find the good in people‌—‌even the
crankiest, nastiest people on the planet. They don’t know how your lopsided smile
lights up a room. How it still makes me melt like butter.”
    I leaned closer toward him,
holding his palm against my cheek. “And they don’t know how much you mean to
me. How you’ve changed my life, Mark.” I closed my eyes, willing his to open.
    They didn’t, of course.
    I felt my cell phone vibrate
in my pocket. I kissed Mark’s hand then carefully placed it back on the bed. I
dug out my phone and saw my editor’s number on the screen. I couldn’t dodge her
again, so I took the call as I headed back toward my recliner.
    “Hello, Samantha.”
    “Lucy? Is that you, Lucy?”
    “Yes, Sam, it’s me.”
    “I’m so used to talking to
your voicemail, I guess it caught me off guard to hear your actual voice. How
are you, Lucy? How’s your UPS guy?” Samantha was never good with names, but I
didn’t hold it against her.
    “I’m okay. Mark? Not so
much.”
    “Wow. That’s gotta be tough.
What’s it been now? A couple of weeks?”
    “No, just a week. Listen, I’m
sorry I haven’t returned your calls, Sam. I’ve just been ‍—‍”
    “No need to apologize. You’ve
got your hands full. And I wouldn’t be calling again, but I’ve got to make a
decision about your next novella. We’re already under the wire to get it out well
in advance of the holidays next year, so I think we might need to put it on the
back burner ‌—‌until
this thing with Mark blows over.”
    I stared out the window,
wondering exactly what she was envisioning as “this thing with Mark” blowing
over. I dropped my head back and tried to let that go for the moment. I’ve
always been baffled by the publishing process. How it takes a year or more to
get a book in print. Sam’s explained it to me, but with the whole
print-on-demand technology today I still don’t get it. But none of that
mattered to me right now. And I wasn’t particularly interested in fretting
about contrived deadlines a year down the road. Not now.
    I could hear Sam’s long, loud
exhale and imagined the cloud of smoke encircling her head as she continued.
“It’s just that I don’t see how you could possibly get this one written in
time. You know, under the circumstances.”
    Now it was my turn to exhale.
“I’ve never missed a deadline, Sam, and I won’t start now.”
    “Sure, sure. I know. But I’m
getting pressure from upstairs wanting some conceptual ideas for the cover, a
blurb for advertising ‌—‌the
usual. I don’t want to harass you with all that while you’re‌—‌y’know,
keeping vigil and all. So I was just thinking we could move it back a few
months. Pull it out of the queue and shoot for a later release.”
    “No. I’m not okay with
that. Besides, I’m working through my aunt’s diary. It’s a gold mine of
information, giving me so much to work with. All kinds of possibilities.”
    “Really?”
    “Remember how I’ve always
told you what a great story teller she was? Well, her diary reads like a
storybook. It won’t take that much