One More for Christmas

Estranged? No, that wasn’t right. True, they hadn’t seen each other for a while. Maybe a few years. All right, perhaps it was nearly five years... Gayle couldn’t remember. But she did remember their last encounter. When she thought about it—which she tried not to—she felt affronted and hurt.

None of it had been her fault. She’d been doing her best for them—which was all she’d ever done. She’d worked hard at being the best mother possible. She’d made sure she’d equipped her children to deal with the real world and experienced a mother’s frustration when her girls had made bad choices. She’d discovered the anguish of having all of the anxiety but none of the control. She’d done her best. It wasn’t her fault that they preferred the fairy tale to the reality. It wasn’t her fault that they were unable to appreciate how well she’d prepared them for adulthood.

Yes, relations between them were tense, but they weren’t estranged. That was a truly horrible word. A word with razor-sharp edges.

Cole appeared to be suffering from shock.

“She has kids? But that means that she—I mean she must have had—”

The fact that he was struggling to picture her having sex wasn’t flattering. He clearly thought his boss was a robot.

“All right. If you’re sure, then we should call the daughters.” His voice was strangled. “Is there a phone number, Ms. Mitchell?”

Would Samantha have changed her number?

She hadn’t called, so Gayle had no way of knowing. She’d been waiting for both of them to call her and apologize. Days had melted into weeks and then months. Shame flooded through her. What did it say about a mother when her own children didn’t want to make contact?

If she admitted the truth, would her judgmental staff and the medical team decide she wasn’t worth saving?

Instead of answering, she moaned.

That caused more consternation among the people gathered around her.

“She’s struggling to speak—can we find out her daughter’s number?”

“I’m searching...” Rochelle tapped away on her phone. “One of her daughters is called Samantha.”

Gayle gasped as the EMT and his assistant transferred her to a gurney.

Cole was searching, too. “There’s a Samantha Mitchell in New Jersey. Comedian. No way.”

Was he implying that she didn’t have a sense of humor? That laughter didn’t figure in her DNA?

“There’s a Samantha Mitchell in Chicago...a Samantha Mitchell, dog walker, in Ohio. Samantha Mitchell, CEO of a bespoke travel company in Boston...” He looked up as Gayle made a sound. “That’s her? She runs a travel company?”

Boston? Samantha had moved cities? It wasn’t enough not to speak to her mother—she clearly didn’t want to risk running into her on the street.

Gayle tried to ignore the pain. She was willing to be the bigger person. Kids disappointed you. It was a fact of life. She would forgive and move on. She wanted to do that. She wanted them in her life. Their relationship never should have reached this point.

And CEO!

Through the ashes of her misery, Gayle discovered a glowing ember of pride. You go, girl.

Whether Samantha admitted it or not, there was plenty of her mother in her.

/> As they wheeled her through the office to the elevator, she caught a glimpse of the shocked faces of her staff, who had never once seen GM vulnerable in all the time they’d worked at Mitchell and Associates.

But she felt vulnerable now. Not because of the head injury, and not even because of the photos that the wretched photographer had taken of her unfortunate accident, nor the prospect of headlines as painful as the injury itself.

No, she felt vulnerable because someone was about to contact Samantha.

And there was every possibility that her daughter wouldn’t even take the call.

Samantha

“I suggest a European tour, focusing on the Christmas

markets. Not only will you be steeped in holiday spirit, which is what you want, but you can buy all your gifts at the same time. It will be perfect.”