The Tidings - [Ghost Huntress 0.5 - A Christmas Novella] by Marley Gibson Page A

good,” I say with a smile.
    “You still are,” Patrick says, pointing out into the middle of the rink.
    “Huh?”
    “There you are.”
    I crook my head to get a good look at the woman in the middle of the ice, spinning around in a graceful manner. Her hair is pulled to the side in a long braid and she’s wearing a black knit hat and a Burberry scarf with matching gloves.
    “That’s… me ?”
    “Yep. Sure is,” Patrick affirms.
    I’m not exactly partial to Burberry, but we’ll go with it. Wow. I turned out all right. I’m not fat or skinny; I’m just right. Normal. I’m probably about thirty-five, thirty-six years old, although I’m not positive. And I look remarkably happy.
    “Mommy! Mommy! Show me how to do that!” a little girl of about eight yells.
    My heart halts and then restarts like a NASCAR engine. “Did she call me Mommy ?”
    “She sure did,” the ghost says.
    “Me too, me too!” another girl of the very same age and size echoes.
    I glance back at Patrick. “Are those my kids? I have twin girls?”
    He smiles. “Looks like it.”
    The older me skates to a stop in front of the first girl who is toothless in front, much like my sister, Kaitlin, was that faithful Christmas morning in Lincoln Park. The other girl appears the same, only their faces are slightly different. Fraternal twins, I’d guess. Oh, my God. They are absolutely a-dor-a-ble! I watch in awe as I take each girl by their mittened hands and help them skate around with the rest of the crowd.
    Samantha and Claire.
    Don’t ask me how I know their names. I just do. They’re perfect little miracles of preciousness. I’ve never felt this overwhelming heart palpitation before like I’m experiencing now. I am in love with them. They are part of me. I’m their mom! They’re so amazing. Where did they get that jet-black hair, though? And those cat-like green eyes?
    “Wave at Daddy,” Future Me tells them as we skate by where Patrick and I are standing.
    He looks at me and holds his hands up. “Don’t look at me. I’m just the guide.”
    “What do you mean?”
    He points, again—which he’s been doing a lot of as my ghostly guide. His aim lands on a tall man standing in the middle of the ice with his phone video recording the twins and me. He’s dressed in gray slacks and a black Navy pea coat. A scarf of red and green circles his neck.
    “Look at me, Daddy,” Claire exclaims.
    “That’s my girl,” the man says to her.
    Who the hell is he?
    Before I can verbalize the question, I watch Older Kendall and the girls skate straight toward the tall, dark, and handsome man. Not just attractive, but head turning, stunning, dazzling—Holy Mother of Christmas Past, Present, and Future… who is that gorgeous hunk of man?
    “Oh, Rafe! Look at them, sweetie,” I say as we come to a stop in front of him. Samantha and Claire wave at the camera and blow kisses.
    “I love you, Daddy! Merry Christmas.”
    “Merry Christmas, my angels,” this Rafe guy says back.
    “What the hell kind of name is Rafe?” I ask, trying to figure all of this out. “It sounds like a pirate or a romance novel hero. Or someone from a soap opera.”
    And then I watch in horror—or delight—as this beautiful man reaches out, cups Older Kendall’s face in his hand, and pulls her… me … to him in a fiery kiss while the snow continues to float down.
    Patrick lets out a long, high, wolf-like whistle.
    I spin away and look at the ghostly guide. “ What on God’s green earth is going on over there?”
    He hitches his smile to the corner. “Looks like you hooked up with someone and had a couple of babies.”
    I fling my arms about. “I know what it looks like! Why isn’t it you out there? Why aren’t those your babies?”
    Betrayal coats me like the falling snow as I spy myself macking on this strange man with the black hair and clear green eyes.
    Patrick lifts his arms in surrender. “How the flagnon should I know, Kendall?”
    “Well, excuse me,