Donegal's Wish

donegal’s wish JA Armstrong Bumbling Bard Creations Copyright © 2023 by Bumbling Bard Creations All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. contents Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Also by JA Armstrong chapter one There were few things Abigail Turner enjoyed more than a hot cup of coffee. She consumed the beverage year-round in the hottest weather, as well as on the coldest days. The only thing that earned Abby more teasing from friends and family than her obsession with coffee was her all-seasons fascination with Christmas. Abby would argue that enjoying holiday decorations had less to do with loving Christmas than Christmas gave her an excuse to hang twinkling lights. Her children liked to joke about her newfound country living. She lived, “out in the woods, with the wolves,” her daughter Zoey liked to say. It made Abby giggle. Moving from Manhattan to Weston, Connecticut apparently felt like a trek from civilization to Siberia to her daughter. Then again, anywhere outside the city seemed a world away to her kids. It was almost shocking to Abby when her son called to say he wanted to visit for the weekend. Something was afoot. “Are you seriously putting up the tree today?” Doug asked his mother. “It is the first weekend of November,” Abby replied. She smiled and patted his shoulder. “You used to love putting up the Christmas tree.” “I still love putting up the tree. I wonder why we couldn’t do that in a couple of weeks. It seems like it just came down!” Abby laughed. She took down the Christmas tree every year on the last day of January, and she made no apologies for her timetable. It made sense to her. Decorating the house took days. Why shouldn’t she enjoy the fruits of her labor and the crunch of her wallet? “You haven’t lost your flair for the dramatic.” “Ha-ha,” Doug said. “I’m not dramatic, Mom. I’m observant and honest.” “That’s Doug-speak for I’m opinionated and dramatic.” Doug rolled his eyes and pulled a large artificial tree from its box. “Don’t you miss having an actual tree?” “Sure. I don’t miss cleaning up all the needles.” That was true. Abby lost interest in selecting a Christmas tree after her children left for college. Their departure also prompted Abby’s decision to extend the holiday season. At least as it pertained to decorations. She found the sparkle of white lights, the glitter of gold and silver ornaments, and the smiling faces of the Santa Clauses that lined her mantle comforting. The scene it created made an empty house feel somehow less hollow. Admittedly, she missed the excited energy her children brought to the holidays when they were young. Abby liked to sit in front of the tree with a hot cup of coffee and remember the excitement on her children’s faces when Christmas morning arrived. There were moments when she swore she heard them plotting to catch Santa coming down the chimney. Christmas could either be lonely or comforting. Abby found ways to ensure the latter. It had been a few years since Doug ventured home to help her decorate the house. She suspected he had an ulterior motive. “We could go find an actual tree,” he said. “Take a ride out to McCaskill’s tree farm.” McCaskill’s Tree Farm? Abby hadn’t purchased a live tree in ten years. It was time to find out what had Doug keen on recapturing his childhood. “All right. Out with it,” Abby said. “Huh?” “Out with whatever makes you want to humor me today.” “What do you mean?” he asked. Abby folded her arms across her chest. “Maybe I just miss doing those things with you.” “Mm-hm.” “Mom—maybe I do.” “I miss our annual tree trip, too,” Abby said. “What other things are you referring to?” “I don’t know. Stuff. You know. Stuff. The stuff we always did together. Things you, me, and Zoey used to do together.” It didn’t surprise Abby that Doug missed spending time together as a family. He’d always been close to his sister. Zoey was two years older than Doug, already married, and busy with a toddler. She wondered if Zoey’s focus on her family prompted Doug to think about his future. In Abby’s experience, thinking about the future often conjured a bit of homesickness for the past. “Okay. Put the tree down. Let’s grab a beer and chat.” “Chat?” “Yes. Chat. You know, Doug—that’s one thing that I miss.” “We talk all the time,” Doug said. “You call and update me on your comings and goings. Yes.” Doug groaned. “I think Mary wants me to propose.” “And that surprises you?” Abby asked. Doug shrugged. Oh, boy. Hoping for, if not expecting, a commitment after spending six years in a relationship hardly seemed astonishing to Abby. “Do you find that strange?” she asked. “Not strange. I just—Why change it when it’s worked for so long?” Doug asked. Her son’s sentiment was a familiar refrain. Too familiar. “Can I ask you something?” “Yeah.” “Do you see yourself living without Mary in your life?” “No, but—” “But?” “We live together. I don’t want to be with anyone else. Why the need for a piece of paper?” It was time for beer. Or vodka. Or whiskey. Something stronger than coffee. Abby scratched her brow and directed Doug to follow her to the kitchen. “Let’s get that beer.” “Oh, that’s not good. You think we need liquor?” “Since when are you opposed to beer?” Doug shrugged. Abby couldn’t stop herself from laughing. She caught Doug sneaking beers from the fridge when he was fourteen. It was hardly the last time. She grabbed them each a