Dear Santa by Debbie Macomber
CHAPTER ONE
“Home.” The moment Lindy Carmichael turned down Apple Orchard Lane in Wenatchee, Washington, she released a deep sigh. An immediate sense of familiar warmth and welcome filled her. She had two full weeks off to celebrate Christmas and New Year’s with her family. If ever she needed a break, it was this year. And what a truly terrible, awful year it had been.
Three years ago, after working for several small companies, Lindy had been hired for her dream job with a marketing and website design company. Her degree in computer science, with a specialty in graphics and visualization, plus her work history, was tailor-made for Media Blast. Confident that her creative talent would be a company asset, she’d been sure she’d fit right in. While she loved her job and the opportunity it afforded her, she couldn’t help feeling underappreciated. Just before Lindy left for vacation, she’d submitted a campaign for the Ferguson Group, one of their largest accounts. This opportunity to prove her worth was exactly what she’d been waiting for. If her proposal was chosen, then she would get the recognition she deserved. Lindy had never been a quitter. Her dad had once told her that if she did more than she was paid to do, her hard work would eventually be noticed. With time, she’d be rewarded for what she did. Lindy held on to that philosophy and had given this job her all.
Pushing thoughts of work problems from her mind, she pulled in to the driveway of the home where she’d spent the majority of her life. Twinkling lights lining the edge of the roofline greeted her, along with twin reindeer who stood guard over the snow-covered lawn. A large evergreen wreath with silver and blue bulbs hung on the front door. Home for Christmas. This was exactly what she needed to escape the doldrums that had plagued her over the last six months.
Lindy hadn’t completely exited her car before the front door flew open and her mother and Beau, the family dog, hurried toward her on the freshly shoveled driveway. Her mother’s arms reached for Lindy, while Beau braced his front legs against her thighs, tail wagging, craving her attention. With barely enough time to inhale the shockingly cold air, Lindy was pulled inside the warm house by her mother, who then enveloped her in a full-body hug. Beau barked his welcome, running circles around her, yipping his excitement.
“I didn’t think you’d ever get here,” Ellen Carmichael said, helping Lindy off with her coat. “How was the pass? I checked the weather conditions, and it was snowing over Snoqualmie. Did you have any trouble? I worry that you don’t have snow tires…I realize you don’t need them living in Seattle, but it’s a must this side of the mountains.”
“Mom, my goodness, give me a minute to catch my breath,” Lindy said, giggling. Home. To be surrounded by love was what she needed most. The kitchen was warm, and her mother had a batch of freshly baked cookies lined up in rows on the countertop. Baking was an expression of love in Lindy’s family. Her mother started early for the annual Christmas Eve gathering with longtime friends. Each family would leave with an overflowing plate of homemade cookies.
“Did you eat breakfast?” her mother asked her, as she reached for the coffeepot.
“No. I wanted to get on the road as soon as it was daylight.” Traffic over Snoqualmie Pass could be a problem in winter, and it was often closed due to avalanche concerns. Lindy felt the earlier she got out of Seattle and to the other side of the mountain, the better.
“Then sit down and I’ll fry you up—”
Lindy cut her mother off, eyeing the cookies on the countertop. “Coffee and a couple of those thumbprints will carry me until lunchtime.”
Her mother opened the cupboard for a mug, while Lindy helped herself to her favorite Christmas cookies.
Sitting across from her, Lindy smiled at her mother. This was what she’d held in her mind for the last several months while she weathered the storms life had tossed at her. Home and Christmas. This was the perfect combination to help her out of this deep emotional slump.
Her position with Media Blast was only the tip of the proverbial iceberg. Not wanting her mother to fret, Lindy had kept the majority of her various troubles since summer to herself. Nor was she looking to share them the minute she arrived home. Maybe in a few days, after she’d soaked in the serenity of being at home, she would feel inclined to explain.
After sampling the first cookie, Lindy closed her eyes. “I swear I could eat a dozen of these.”
“But you won’t. I have lunch planned.”
Only then did Lindy notice the simmering pot on the stove. “Did you make pasta e fagioli?” The soup, made with cannellini and kidney beans and small pasta simmering in a rich tomato broth, was a family tradition.
“With sourdough buns,” her mother added. The starter had been handed down from her father’s grandfather, who’d once lived in Alaska. He claimed it came from an old Klondike miner and had been kept alive since the 1890s. Lindy knew her parents had shared it with various family and friends. For as long as she could remember, Lindy’s father had made sourdough pancakes every Sunday morning for breakfast. On special occasions, her mother baked the buns, using a recipe that had been passed down from her grandmother.
“Mom,” Lindy said and groaned, “you’re going to spoil me.”
“That’s exactly what I intend to do. It’s been far too long since you’ve been home.”