Read The Great Christmas Bowl for Free Online

alone in a hospital if something happened to Mike made me press a hand to my empty stomach.
    Certainly I wouldn’t be alone. Certainly my children would come to my aid, stand beside me in my darkest hour. Just like I had with them.
    Well, at least four of them would.
    Headlights in the drive skimmed the naked poplar trees, flashed in our front windows. Kevin had finally inherited the children’s car, a little red Honda that probably had about six million miles on it. What it saved on gas mileage it made up for in incidental repairs, but it had taught my children the basics of keeping a vehicle tuned.
    I braced myself for Kevin’s entrance, pretty sure we’d pick up where we left off. As the youngest, he had learned how to slink away, regroup, and wage a counterattack. However, he came in, dropped his gear, and instead of predictably stomping off to his room as a preamble to his tirade, he detoured toward me, dropping a hand on my shoulder.
    â€œMaybe we don’t need a mascot or a lucky charm,” he said softly. “Thanks for going to all my games.” He leaned over and sweetly kissed my cheek. “Happy birthday, Mom.”
    Oh, boy. “Thanks, Kev. Good game tonight. Amazing catch.”
    â€œYeah. It’s been fun.” He gave my shoulder a squeeze. “I’ll be downstairs.”
    Down in his lair.
    Down, never to be seen again.
    I wasn’t ready for the team to give up or for this season to end. Not yet. I needed more victories.
    I needed more of the Kevin I’d seen bursting from his shell.
    Besides, like I said, I fancied the thought of being his lucky charm. Of course they needed a mascot!
    â€œKevin,” I said softly, my gaze flicking to him. He stopped, turned. In his eyes I saw the boy who had given me a homemade planter in fourth grade for Christmas, working every day after school for a month in the garage. The boy who had once brought home long-stemmed daisies, muddy from where they’d been yanked from the ground. The boy who’d asked me to tuck him into bed until eighth grade.
    The young man who’d scored the winning touchdown and taken the Big Lake Trouts to a division championship.
    â€œOne game.” I held up a finger, just to make sure we were communicating in many different forms. “One game. And then you’ll have to find someone else to be the Trout.”
    A smile broke over his face, one that warmed me clear through to my chilly bones. The kettle on the stove began to whistle. I ignored it.
    â€œYou’re the greatest, Mom,” he said and held out his hand in a fist. I met it with my own, something I’d learned from watching his pals.
    I was a pal.
    â€œI’m calling Coach. He took the suit home from the hospital.”
    Swell. I got up and turned off the heat on the stove, forgoing the hot cocoa. No need—I was already starting to sweat.

Chapter 4
    â€œWhat do you have against hospitality?”
    I was in the kitchen, rinsing off the stew pot, when Mike leaned against the island and posed the question, holding a cup of decaf I’d freshly brewed after supper. I had to admit, after having made not only my mother’s award-winning beef stew from scratch but accompanying yeast rolls for dinner, I didn’t know what to make of his question.
    I placed the pot in the drying rack and wiped my hands on a towel. “I don’t have anything against hospitality. I’m a fan of it, to be honest. More hospitality, I say.”
    â€œNo, I mean the hospitality committee at church. What do you have against leading the committee? I’m pretty sure there is something in the Bible about it being a good thing, entertaining angels and all.”
    I pulled up a stool. Kevin was downstairs, finishing up some homework. He’d come home today still buoyant at my Trout concession, and I’d even received a thank-you from Coach Grant. I hadn’t told Mike yet. In fact, I hadn’t told anyone.