The Worst Best Christmas Gift

Moira finished stretching and stood, avoiding looking at any of the mirrors placed strategically around Brookfield Feminine Fitness. She didn't want to be reminded of her red, puffy eyes. Adjusting her charcoal and cranberry leotard, she stepped onto the treadmill farthest from the holly-bedecked front window-wall. It took her a moment to blink away tears and focus on the treadmill's panoramic touchscreen. She logged in and connected her Bluetooth earbuds. They only partially blocked out the gym's cheesy, repetitive holiday playlist.

The panel displayed an array of landscapes and cityscapes with location labels, and the machine greeted her. "Welcome back, Moira. Where would you like to run today?"

Someplace new, someplace I can actually escape to. But her eyes kept returning to the row of Favorites, and she tapped Beach & Dunes 10-Miler.

"Loading …" The treadmill hummed to its flat starting position. "Select Music or Ambient when you are ready to begin."

Moira nodded and surveyed the long shoreline stretching out before her. The water to her right lay fairly still, but the storm on the horizon would stir it soon, about the time she made the turn to run among the dunes. By then, she would have gotten hot enough to appreciate the simulated breeze from the treadmill's blowers.

The morning's pillow-conversation with Flint replayed in her mind.

"Babe, babe, are you okay?" Flint gently brushed hair out of her face and wiped tears from her cheek. "You were crying in your sleep."

She looked at him wide-eyed, clawing her way toward wakefulness, then she rolled into his embrace and sobbed. He gently stroked the tension from her upper back and neck until she began to let up and gasp for air. She drew away enough to look into his hazel eyes. He wore that Want to tell me about it? expression that made her love him almost more than she could bear. He rarely spoke but always listened. She shook her head slightly in response to his unspoken question then reached for a tissue on the nightstand and glanced at the clock.

"You're going to be late for your meeting. Go. I'll be okay," Moira told him.

"Meeting, schmeeting," he sneered.

A wan smile teased at the corner of her mouth. "You know you can't just blow this one off. You're supposed to lead. Go take a shower. Someone snotted your chest."

"The villain! I'd better not find out who it was." Flint kissed her forehead before gently extricating himself and swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

Moira watched the most perfect, loving man in the world disappear into the bathroom, long-since blinded to his limp and the long, ugly scar that bisected his tattoo. She never would have imagined being married to a parolee, but she thanked God her pastor had introduced her to him. Flint had encountered Jesus in prison, where, as he studied, he became an integral, indispensable member of the pastor's outreach team. Shortly after Flint's release, the pastor had introduced them, and the ex-con and the choir girl had fallen in love. That was more than two lifetimes ago. Two IVF attempts. Two miscarriages. She took a deep breath and blew it out slowly, wiping away each fresh tear as it crept down her cheek.

By the time her man appeared at the side of the bed with a towel around his waist, she had blown her nose and sat up. He studied her face until he was satisfied she was no longer crying.

"Go," she mouthed at him. She watched him dress and stood before he came back to her.

"Say your line, woman," he said, wrapping his muscular arms around her.

"You are my rock, Flint," she whispered.

"You are my North Star, Moira."

She followed him to the bedroom door and leaned against the jamb as he walked down the hall, past the door neither had opened in months. That room held too much longing and heartache. She picked up her gym bag from beside the dresser and prepared to temporarily cauterize the pain in her heart with a searing burn in her legs and lungs.

Moira eyed the screen options and deliberated. Music or Ambient? Did she need the motivation of a pulsing beat or the soothing sounds of waves, gulls, and distant thunder? Which did she need more? The drive to complete the ten miles or the time to meditate and heal? Motion at the edge of her peripheral vision almost distracted her, but she resisted the urge to look.

A familiar voice intruded on her thoughts, but its sweetness had been replaced with throaty desperation. "Hey, wait for me. I'll join you—where are you running?"

Moira backed up in the menu to where she could select Run with a Friend before she turned to look at Kelly, her BFF at BFF. The petite, green-eyed blonde looked exhausted already. She had clearly been ugly-crying, probably for hours. Moira hurried off the treadmill and enfolded her stricken friend.

"Oh, sweetie, what's going on?"

"It's Clay's and my anniversary today." Kelly extracted herself from Moira's arms. "Don't hug me, I can't cry any more right now."

Moira nodded in sad agreement. "Which anniversary?" she asked quietly.

"Today's the day I told him I was pregnant and he showed me his MRI and told me the doctor said—the doctor said he had sixty to ninety days." Kelly gulped air and set her jaw. She grimaced to hold back tears. "So you know I'm going to be crying like this again in twenty-eight days, because we got cheated."

"I'm so sorry, sweetie."

"I hate to tell you this, but you look like you've been crying, too," Kelly said, dabbing at her eyes.

"Same old thing. The babies I can't have. And, you'd think there are always babies up for adoption, right? But all of a sudden, zero, zip, nada."

"I'd have another, if I could now, just for you. You're going to make a wonderful mother."

"We need to run," Moira said with conviction.

"Hard," Kelly agreed.

"Music or Ambient?"

"I can't think anymore right now. Rock it to block it."

* * *

When Flint got home, Moira showed him the selfie she had taken with Kelly after their run.

"Mmm, nice. I like sweaty women," he said with a grin.

Mouth agape, Moira smacked his chest.

He responded with the obligatory "Ow," then added, "Okay, I guess I was supposed to see something else in the picture. What did I miss? I like the tech—those are some boss running platforms!"

"No, that's all you were supposed to see. Two sweaty women." She huffed and rolled her eyes, then she jabbed a finger at the screen. "That's her. That's the Kelly I've been telling you about. The girl who's been my running partner for … months!"

"That's Kelly? The one you keep trying to get together with, but—"

"Yeah, our schedules are just so incredibly full—and different—that we seem to be stuck with a gym-only friendship."

"But it's good there, right?"

Moira gave three deep nods. "Really good. She's so sweet, and we've had some amazing talks. It's kind of incredible how close we've become in such a short time."

"What keeps her so busy, again?"

"She runs her own agency, and it seems like there's always someone quitting on her and someone new to train. And she's got to interact with Clay's partner, because somehow that's how the partnership papers got drawn up. On top of all that, she's got newborn twins and no husband to help raise them. Her mother tries to help, but she can only take so many days off from the salon."

"What's she do with all her spare time? Knit booties?"

Moira tucked her chin and glared at Flint as fiercely as she could. "Are you looking to get smacked again, mister?" she said with a laugh. "No, she doesn't knit, and what little spare time she can garner, if you can call it spare time, she meets up with me at the gym and runs her heart out."

"She sounds like a strong woman. A survivor. A good friend for you."

"She is," Moira said, nodding as she thumbed her phone. "She gave me a picture of her girls finally. Want to see it?"

"Of course. Oh, they're beautiful. But you haven't met them yet?"

"Not yet. She promised today that she would find a way to make time for us to have lunch one day every week. Or, preferably, some activity where we could include her twins."

* * *

Moira turned off her kitchen mixer and cocked her head. The doorbell rang a second time, somehow sounding more insistent. "Honey, are you expecting someone?" Several faint thumps and the rattle of a toolbox hitting a bench penetrated the kitchen-to-garage door. Moira opened it and repeated her question, adding, "The doorbell just rang."

"No, I'm not ex—I can get it, though." He gave her a sly smile as he padded past her. "You smell like allspice and cloves, and you have flour on your nose."

"It's probably some kid selling subscriptions or Christmas cookies." She spread a red and green linen square over her mixing bowl and washed her hands, listening in the direction of the front room.

The bells on the front door jingled as Flint opened it.

"Oh, hi!" he said, with surprise in his voice. "Sure, come on in—yeah, she's in the kitchen."

Moira dried her hands quickly and remembered to wipe the flour from her nose.

Flint called out to her, "Moira? It's—"

She emerged from the kitchen with a smile and then halted, bemused.

"—Gloria Owens, from Children and Families," Flint finished. "To what do we owe the pleasure? Is this a surprise inspection, or something?"

"No, not at all. Your home was approved for either foster or adoption months ago. I could say I was just in the neighborhood, but you'd know I was lying. Actually, I have something I need to talk over with you. Can we sit in your kitchen?"

"It's a mess right now. I'm baking."

"Anywhere is fine, then," said the social worker. She made her way past the Christmas tree to the loveseat Flint indicated, and the couple sat across from her at one end of the sofa.

"What's up?" asked Moira.

"Has anyone—" Gloria hesitated, "—contacted you … today?"

"You mean from the DCF?" Moira made eye contact with Flint, and he shook his head. "No, we haven't heard anything since the last time you were here."

The social worker shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She pulled a paper out of her portfolio, glanced at it with a sigh, and replaced it. She wet her lips with her tongue before beginning. "Well, you know how I told you we had no babies available for adoption … That was true when I said it. And it changed last night."

Moira's right hand flew to cover her heart, and Flint gripped her left. "You have a baby for us?"

Gloria nodded slowly. "Now, I know your nursery is set up for one baby, but this is twins. Can you handle twins? I don't want them to be separated and possibly get lost in the foster system."

"Yes!" Moira cried out, trembling. "So much yes! When can we meet them?" Her eyes welled.

Flint squeezed her hand, nodding. "But—just a minute. You said last night. What happened to their parents?"

"There was an accident last night. A semi broadsided a small sedan, and their mother received injuries that—she died on the scene. Remember I told you my brother is an EMT? He tried to save her life. But he couldn't."

Moira shuddered. "The babies were in an accident? Are they hurt?"

"No, they're fine. They were at home with a sitter."

"What about their father?" Flint asked in a low voice. "Wouldn't he get custody?"

"He passed away almost a year ago. Aggressive brain tumors."

Moira caught her breath. "No," she said, shaking. "No, no—don't tell me it was Kelly Enberg."

"I'm so sorry. I know you knew her."

"You know? Wait, how do you know?"

"One of the last things she said to my brother, while she could still speak, was, Give my babies to Moira Flanagan. He told me because he knew I'd probably be handling the case."

Flint slipped his arm around Moira's shoulder and drew her close. "She had a mother. Her mother might want the grand—"

"Her mother was in the car with her. She passed before EMTs made it to the wreck."

"Oh, God," Moira wailed. "She knew her mother died right there beside her, and, and—"

Gloria reached forward and placed her hand on Moira's knee. "And she said all that was necessary for her babies to be placed with a good mother she knew would raise them well."

"Doesn't she need to have a will?" Flint asked. "Or don't we have to be registered somewhere as godparents?"

"I'm the officer of the state in charge of this case, and I know my brother is a reliable witness. And this is what I spent my day doing today: I spoke at length with Judge Wheeler. She said, bottom line, as long as we have you in the system already we can place them with you right away, per the mother's wishes. And then we'll work out the details to make it a permanent placement."

"Wow." Flint raked his fingers through his short-cropped hair. "So, when will you bring them over? Or do we pick them up somewhere?"

"Right now. One of my colleagues is with them in the van in your driveway." Gloria took out her phone.

Flint kissed Moira on the cheek. "Congratulations, I guess. You're a mom."

"No!" Moira objected, pushing him away.

"You don't want the babies?" asked Gloria.

"No—yes, I mean yes, but I don't want Kelly's babies! And—oh, God, I don't want her to be dead!" Moira looked around, her mouth working as she tried to formulate words. "I know, I know, we can't snap our fingers and bring her back. But she's their mom. I'm not their mom."

The social worker smiled sadly. "I understand. It takes some getting used to. But you don't have to be their mom if you don't want. You can be their Aunt Moira, if you prefer. And they will love you all the same, because I'm sure you're going to take good care of them."

* * *

Moira rested her hands on the top bar of the crib. It had waited in the empty nursery for almost three years. Flint placed his hand on one of hers and gazed down at the two tiny towheaded occupants.

"Welcome, little ones," he whispered. He wagged his head toward Moira. "This lady here is your new mom. You can call her Aunt Moira if you want, but I'm sure she'll get used to Mommy if you prefer calling her that."

"Stop it," Moira hissed.

"But you knew we were adopting, and you can't adopt a baby that wasn't someone's. They don't just appear out of thin air."

"But I knew Kelly. She was a good friend. She cried with me over my miscarriages and our frustrations at how slow the DCF moved." Moira wiped a tear from her cheek. "I told her that I had hoped for so long to have a baby in my house by this Christmas—and now this. We have two. What a gift! The last thing she did before she died was to give us an incredible gift."

"No, she didn't."

"What do you mean?"

"Kelly gave her daughters a gift. She gave them a loving mother. You are the incredible gift."

Moira sighed and melted into his embrace. "She gave them us. You will be their rock."

"And you will be their North Star."

* End *

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