A Holiday Temptation - Tiffany Patterson

Chapter 1

He’s dead.

Finally.

Thankfully.

Blinking, I peel one eye open before doing the same with the second and sigh in relief. Short-lived relief, as the second remembrance of my father’s death bursts through my sleep-induced haze.

I’m still not free of him.

Each morning for the past sixty days, I’ve awakened with those three sentences firmly planted in my mind. My father is dead. And I’m grateful for it. Most people likely wouldn’t celebrate their father’s death. Most people aren’t me. And lucky for them, they didn’t have my father.

Yet, even in his death, he’s still found a way to control my life.

With a sigh, I rub the remaining sleep from my eyes and stretch long, undoing the kinks in my muscles from slumbering in a bed that hasn’t been updated since I was kicked out at sixteen years old.

Glancing down at the crumpled, pewter, embroidered sheets, I frown against the urge to straighten them. In an act of defiance, I stand from the bed, refusing to remake it before heading over to my bedroom window and pulling the curtain open. The magenta and orange rays peeking through the fluffy clouds demonstrate the rising sun.

Looking down, I spot the street in front of our house, lined with the other McMansions that make up our community. The same red brick exterior on our house exists on the rest of the cookie-cutter homes in this perfect subdivision just within the limits of Williamsport. The people residing in this town did their absolute best to remain inside of the city limits while still distancing themselves from any of the crime and lackluster parts of the city.

Thankfully, the temperature outside is in the low fifties, making it perfect for getting out for a walk or light jog. I need to get some fresh air instead of the stale, unchanged air within the walls of this house. It feels like a prison in here.

Sighing, I step away from the window, spinning on my heels to open up the massive wooden bureau, and remove a pair of black joggers, workout top, and sports bra. After dressing and placing a black headwrap around my hair, I head downstairs to start a pot of coffee.

“Mama,” I greet, surprised to see her up so early. Since I moved back in a month ago, she rarely gets up in time to see me off for work. “Good morning.”

Her smile is slow and stilted.

My heart constricts in my chest at the heavy sadness in those dark brown eyes of hers.

“Morning, Jackie.” It sounds like it took all of her energy to get those two words free. She tightens the light grey robe around her body and continues sitting on the wooden stool in front of the kitchen island. Her eyes take on a far-off look as she peers out of the window. She doesn’t try to fill the stillness of the morning with her humming or busy herself to prepare coffee or breakfast as she used to.

Unlike myself, my father’s death created a huge hole in my mother’s world. Now, as I stand here, looking at her, I don’t know if she’ll ever come back to herself. Quite likely, there is no self for her to come back to. My father was my mother’s entire life.

Hot anger ripples through my belly, and I turn to the counter to pour the coffee grinds into the filter for them to heat up as a means to distract myself.

Turning around a few minutes later, I still see my mother staring off into the distance.

“Want to come with me for a walk around the neighborhood?” I infect as much cheer as one can muster at six-thirty in the morning into my voice.

“I thought you were getting ready for work.”

Shaking my head, I inform her, “I will, once I get back. I always try to get in a little walk before getting ready.” And also to spend as little time as possible actually inside of the house I grew up in, but I leave off that part.

“It’s dark outside.” Her gaze shifts warily to the window again, noting that full sunlight hasn’t hit the sky yet.

“We’ll be fine. The community is safe and gated, remember? Also, I always carry pepper spray. Plus, there’s safety in numbers.” I hope that last bit will convince her.

Instead of answering, however, my mother lets out a weary sigh. Her shoulders slump even farther down.

“Your father always looked out for us. That’s why he bought us this big house in this community.”

I tighten my hands into