“Welcome to Christmastime at Port Mariette, where friendship, faith, and second chance romance weave together to transform a small town.”
From the Publisher: “Marla yearns to strengthen her relationship with her adult daughter, so she teams up with a local contractor on a bold project that thrills her daughter but sets the town abuzz with controversy.
Rachel turns her recently deceased husband’s service station into a thriving business, but her swelling head threatens to ruin her friendships as well as a budding romance.
Suzanne grapples with her greatest fears—poverty and divorce—while navigating unexpected challenges presented by an old friend and a brand-new husband.
Join these inspiring women as they continue to grow in friendship, faith, and later-in-life love. Set against the backdrop of a small town and culminating in a heartwarming Christmas celebration, all three women experience the true gifts of the season.”
More info About the Author: “Chris Posti began her writing career at age eight, when she gave her mother a book of poems she’d written in pencil on a lined yellow tablet. Since then, Chris has authored three novels, along with three non-fiction books, a workbook, a Sunday newspaper column, and dozens of articles. Self-employed for 30 years as an executive coach, job search consultant, and public speaker, she turned in her high heels and leather briefcase to write novels for women over 50…”
Author Site
Chapter 1
Marla
As the sun dipped beneath the horizon, casting its final fiery glow across the snow-covered western Pennsylvania landscape, Marla Galani emerged from the sleek confines of a limousine. With practiced ease, she flicked her wrist and handed the driver a crisp fifty.
Her long mane of dark hair swirled in the brisk wind as she made her way along the shoveled path to Hope Hospital. The entrance doors glided apart and she stepped inside. Despite the whoosh of warm air, she couldn’t shake off the chill that seemed to linger. In front of her stood an inflated Santa and oversized nutcrackers, garish decorations that seemed out of place. If this was the hospital’s way of distracting people from their suffering, it hadn’t worked on Marla.
She followed a swath of plastic candy canes to the registration desk. “I’m here to see Grace Symanski—I mean Walton.”
The guard sized her up with a prolonged squint.
“She just got married. That’s her new last name. I’m her … her mother.” Walton. Mother. Would those words ever come to her lips naturally?
“You got ID?”
Marla dug her driver’s license from her soft leather bag and handed it to him.
“New York?” The guard looked her over. “Here in Port Mariette, we don’t get many visitors from out of state.” He handed her license back. “Room 311. Elevators are over there, on the right.” An unnecessary direction, at least for Marla. It had been more than forty years since her aunt secreted her in here, yet there are some things you never forget.
On the third floor, Marla made a beeline for the busy nurses’ station. “Can you tell me where Grace Walton is? I’m her mother.” This time, it came out more naturally. Practice, practice, practice.
One of the nurses looked up from her computer screen.
Marla gave her a smile, in the hope it would generate a helpful response. “How’s Grace doing?”
“She’s fine.” A phone rang, and the nurse dismissed Marla with a pointed finger. “Her room’s that way. I’ll stop by in a few minutes.”
Marla hurried down the hall, wondering what fine would look like on her daughter.
Peeking inside the room, she spotted Grace, eyes closed, lying in bed, and Jesse, her husband of only three months, holding her hand, his head bowed over her blanketed body.
Love so palpable, her heart ached to witness it.
“May I come in?” Marla whispered it loud enough for them to react, but she flew into the room before either of them answered.
“Marla.” Grace’s dark eyes flashed open then bounced back and forth between Marla and Jesse.
He looked at Grace and winced. “I … I called her when the doctor was asking about your family medical history. In all the rush, I forgot to mention it to you.”
“It’s okay, Jesse.” Grace squeezed his hand. “Why don’t you go get a bite to eat? You must be starving.”
He shot out of the room, the grimace still etched on his face.
Newlyweds. They were still figuring each other out.
Marla slipped off her silk-lined cashmere coat and took a seat in the chair Jesse had vacated. “You weren’t expecting me?” She may not have been invited, but she had a right to be here.
Grace pulled the blanket over her shoulder. “I didn’t want anybody to know. Other than Jesse, of course.”
“I won’t tell anyone. I promise.”
“Not Warren, not Suzanne. Not even Aunt Sissy,” Grace said, “and I really mean that.”
“You’re not going to tell your only aunt? Don’t you think Rachel ought to know?”
“A ruptured ectopic pregnancy at age forty-two? Not the kind of news I’d like to share. All those questions. All that syrupy sympathy. No thanks.”
“Got it. Mum’s the word.” Not telling Warren would be easy. But how would she keep such a secret from her girlfriends? Back in high school, Rachel—aka Aunt Sissy—and Suzanne had been Marla’s best friends, and after their fortieth reunion here last July, they’d bonded anew.
Marla rested a hand on her daughter’s arm. “I’m so sorry this happened, Grace,” she whispered. “So sorry.” She didn’t know what else to say. Words of comfort didn’t come easily.
“Thank you.” Grace blinked a few times then pursed her lips. “Let’s not talk about it right now, okay? Too painful.”
Marla leaned back on the cracked vinyl armrest, staying silent for only a moment. “I can’t believe they didn’t put you in an ambulance and get you to one of the hospitals up in Pittsburgh. Couldn’t they have driven you a half-hour north?”
“There wasn’t time. I was bleeding too much.”
Marla tapped her red nails on the armrests. “Well, under those circumstances, I guess bringing you here made sense, but they should have taken care of it laparoscopically instead of butchering you with a scalpel.”
“They couldn’t. The instruments they needed for a laparoscopy hadn’t been sterilized after the last case. They had no choice.”
Marla nearly said this wouldn’t have happened if you didn’t live in Podunk, but she clenched her jaw instead. Grace couldn’t help it if Port Mariette was where she was born and raised. Marla had only herself to blame.
A machine beeped beside the bed. Grace stared at it for a few moments. “I appreciate that you flew in here for me, but you really didn’t have to come all the way from Manhattan.”
“You know I’d do anything for you.” Marla said it softly, almost apologetically. With so much lost time to make up for, she wanted to help her daughter. Being here was not an imposition.
Grace sighed. “I guess Jesse called you when they were panicking about my B-negative blood.”
“Um-hmm.” Marla nodded.
“They did manage to get a match somewhere.” Grace paused, looking out the window. “A nurse kept asking about my family history. Obviously, I know only yours, not my birth father’s.” She turned from the window, her eyes now on Marla. “When this is all over, maybe you can tell me more about my birth father. If nothing else, I’d like to learn about his medical history.”
“Sure. First, though, we have to get you out of here.” Marla had her own opinion about medical care. An early career in nursing had ended abruptly when she gave a patient the wrong med, causing the poor man to leave the facility in a body bag. Marla lost her job and nearly her mind. Ever since then, she never trusted anyone in healthcare. Why should she? They were all just as human as she was.
Grace sighed. “The doctor said I need to stay here at least until tomorrow.”
“And after that?”
“I guess I’ll have to get some help when Jesse’s at work. I’m not supposed to lift more than ten pounds for a couple weeks. Not that I lift a lot of heavy stuff, but I do have to vacuum the spa and restock supplies. Lots of running up and down three flights of stairs.”
“How about I stay at the spa for a while? I could fill in for you.” Marla owned Victorian Spa and Grace managed it. When Marla was in town she stayed in a spare bedroom, and until marrying Jesse, Grace had lived on the third floor. “I imagine it’s really busy right now with people picking up gift cards for Christmas.”
“Thanks for the offer, but Hannah and Latoya are more than capable of filling in for me.”
Marla wasn’t so sure either of them were up to the task. Besides, staff ought to be busy giving facials and massages, not getting bogged down in administrative work.
“I have another idea,” Marla said, her voice bright. “How about if you move back to the spa while you’re recovering? Jesse would understand. He works such long hours—and didn’t you tell me he’s in the middle of a huge painting project?”
Grace nodded. “He’s putting in ten hours a day doing the parish hall.”
“It would take the pressure off him if I took care of you for a while. We could stay in the same rooms, just like before you two got married,” Marla said, her voice rising. Now that Grace had gotten married, there would be precious few opportunities to have her daughter all to herself again. Marla couldn’t pass up a chance like this. “It would be fun, and remember, I used to be a nurse.” She’d never told Grace why she’d left the profession, and certainly wouldn’t now.
“Aren’t you busy with your foundation?”
Marla shrugged. “Not all that much. Besides, I can work remotely.” Last year, she’d made a killing selling Gemstones Gyms, a chain of exclusive fitness centers. A few months afterwards, her father died, then her mother—all of which propelled Marla onto the list of America’s richest women. “My accountant handles a lot of the foundation’s details, and if anything legal comes up, Warren takes care of it.”
Grace shrugged. “Thanks for the offer, but I don’t think it’ll work. If I’m not living in the same house with Jesse, people will think our marriage is already on the rocks. They’ll wonder why you’re in town again so soon after our wedding too. I don’t want to give the Port Mariette rumor mill any material.”
Marla tapped her nails on the armrest, in time with the beeping of the machine.
“Appendicitis.” A smile sneaked across her face. “Yes, that would be perfect.”
Grace cocked her head. “What are you talking about?”
Marla shot up from her chair and aimed her finger at Grace. “You had a ruptured appendix—get it? That’s what we’ll tell everyone.”
Grace perked up. “But don’t they fix that with laparoscopic surgery?”
“Ah, don’t you remember?—the instruments weren’t sterilized.” Marla’s eyes twinkled. “After a surgery like that, the patient has a long recovery time. You’ll need someone to take care of you while Jesse’s at work—and that would be me!”
This excerpt is published here courtesy of the author and publisher and should not be reprinted without permission.
Before You Write Your Novel: Local Author Chris Posti’s New Book About Her Publishing Experience
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