BLURB:
Inspired by Charles Dickens A Christmas Carol.
Benita Holden has more money than she’ll ever spend. As a personal injury attorney, her bank account grows in large sums. What does she spend her money on? Nothing. What does she do for fun? Work. Her life is one of routine, from the moment she wakes until she goes to bed at night.
That all changes one night when she gets a visit from her father, a man who’s been dead seven years now…
EXTRACT:
Chapter 1
Benita Holden stood alone in the graveyard holding a bouquet of pink carnations. Father hated flowers and the color pink. The thought made her grin.
A clap of thunder sounded overhead. The gray sky didn’t seem to be relenting from its mixture of clouds and misty rain. Even with an umbrella you couldn’t keep dry. Her makeup must look just wonderful.
Why did she feel obligated to visit every year, especially in this type of weather? She placed the bouquet in the hard plastic cone beside the stone while maneuvering the umbrella to keep from getting wet. Her breath smoked in front of her. Too cold for even the dead. She grunted a laugh. Little doubt Father wasn’t freezing where he was.
“Devil keeping you nice and warm?”
The grave marker read JOSEPH BENJAMIN HOLDEN, loving husband and father. That was a joke.
The old man was too busy crawling into a bottle to give any time or attention to his children, much less his dying wife. The words on the stone blurred in Benita's vision. Her father’s name faded. She wipe the misty rain from her eyes. When the name reappeared, the stone read Benita Nicole Holden.
Her heart bounced.
“What the…?” She took a step back and rubbed her eyes again. When she glanced back, everything on the stone was as it should be.
Stupid weather. She adjusted the umbrella and pulled her coat tighter against the cold wind. Mid-December usually hit the upper sixties in Jacksonville. The past week the temperature had dropped into the forties. According to the weatherman, things weren’t going to change anytime soon.
“Mew.”
A gray cat with white paws ambled up to her. It reminded Benita of the cat she had growing up. Sadness washed over her as she recalled Mini’s death in a fire. She missed that cat still. She bent down and petted the stray between its ears. It purred louder than a Cessna in the silent cemetery.
“Hard to believe we live in Florida. We shouldn’t have to deal with this cold weather, huh?”
A clap of thunder sounded overhead. The cat dashed to a tree several feet away. Benita checked her watch. She’d spent enough time showing respect and getting wet. Probably catch that flu going around now. Not like the old man deserved any of her time, but it was expected in a Southern family.
At once, the aroma of stale cigarettes hit her bringing up bad memories. Her skin prickled. Gnarled fingers, like a claw in one of those children’s games, touched her arm.
“Pl-Please.”
Startled, she spun to find herself face to face with a homeless man. She jerked her arm away before the bum could soil her D. Fanni coat. A nerve twitched in her jaw.
The guy held his curled palm out toward her. The aroma of alcohol and stale cigarettes coated the guy. The jacket he wore hung off his shoulders, and his shoes had holes in the toes. “Please. For f-food.”
Benita shoved past the guy without saying a word. Who was he trying to fool? It was pretty clear he’d use any cash he received for a bottle. She clicked the key fob as she neared the older model Mercedes C-Class sedan. Once inside the car, she jacked the heat up to high and made sure her doors were locked.
The bum stood in the center of the cemetery looking down at Father’s grave. Rain from the trees above dripped down on him.
Benita put the car in gear and sped off. It took almost twenty minutes to get downtown with the heavy traffic. Of course, none of the lights were synced with her driving. Usual for Jacksonville.
While waiting at a red light on the corner of Forsyth and Clay, she glanced toward the Duval County Courthouse a block over. Most citizens complained when it was first built. Some called it the Taj Mahal of Jacksonville. You’d think judges and attorneys didn’t deserve a nice place to work.
The city had put white holiday lights in the palm trees they’d planted years ago, but they couldn’t be seen well during the day. Wreaths or red and green banners hung from poles. A few businesses decorated their windows, but nothing was over the top.
A lanky figure of a man with a petite girl all bundled up rushed by on the sidewalk in front of the courthouse. Both fought to keep their umbrellas over their heads. Benita glanced at the clock on the dash. Eight-ten. Jeremy and his daughter had plenty of time to get to the office without being late.
She flicked through several radio stations bypassing any with music or commercials until she came upon one with the news.
A car horn honked. Benita looked up at the now green light. She proceeded to the parking garage on Duval Street, up two tiers to her personal spot marked Benita N. Holden, Holden Law Firm, P.A.
She’d come a long way from that timid kid the old man used to berate.
Once parked, she pulled out her cell phone and glanced through the calendar for the day’s appointments. Nothing for her. Most clients were there to see the paralegals who did the initial intake sheets or had forms for the clients to sign.
She got out of the car and strolled to Fifer’s Cafe on the corner. Years ago, the café was awarded the dubious distinction of having the best muffins in the city, at least according to a reporter with the Florida Times-Union. That was until Jenny Fifer passed away and her children took it over last year. The food was still good as far as Benita was concerned, but most complained that it wasn’t near the caliber of Jenny’s cooking
Pastry plates sat in the front window holding cupcakes, a few Danishes, and her favorite, chocolate chip cookies. A man held the door open for her to enter. He smiled and gave a nod of his head in greeting. She smiled back, not that she was interested. In forty-nine years of living, she’d learned one important thing that most women didn't seem to get—men and relationships only meant trouble.
She stepped inside Fifers to a wave of heat and aroma of bacon. With a press of the button on its handle, the umbrella folded closed. The few people at the counter turned and looked only to spin back and whisper to each other. They were probably surprised someone from television commercials ate at such a lowly diner. She raised her chin and pasted on a slight grin. Nothing like impressing the little people.
“Hey there, fine lady.” Wendell Fifer, a co-owner with his two sisters, always greeted her with a smile. Today was no different. His jet black hair hung an inch below his collar. A few shorter strands danced around his blue eyes. “Katie’s out sick, so you'll have to put up with me as your server today. Your table's empty.” He nodded to the back before he dashed through the swinging doors and into the kitchen.
Benita strutted passed murmurs until she reached the last table on the right and slid into the booth. Her stomach growled. She'd love to have a large plate of bacon with eggs or even one of their famous muffins, but she prided herself on her nice figure. Most women nearing fifty carried extra pounds, but she still had her flat stomach.
She’d been coming to this diner since she moved her office downtown seven years ago. It’d become her place for breakfast most mornings. She’d get downtown early to avoid all the traffic coming in from the three bridges. Today she’d been later thanks to Father.
He’d never allowed them to call him Dad like most children she knew. To him, that was disrespectful. At least her monthly visit was over until January.
She sighed and glanced around.
Pictures decorated the walls. Each painted by students from the nearby Lavilla School of the Arts. The diner rotated them out regularly so the scenery never stales. She supposed it was good for business, and it kept parents coming in to look at their kids’ artwork.
The picture to her right caught her eye. Great colors highlighted the chestnut colored horse with a lone man standing beside him. Underneath the penciled drawing was the title, “Better Friend of Man,” along with the artist information—Roger Ely, 6th Grade. The child had talent. Too bad he’d never make enough to support himself. He’d better get used to living with his mom the rest of his life unless he got a worthwhile degree.
“Here you go.” Wendell slid a glass of water in front of her. “The usual or something different?”
“The usual.” It was easier to track calories that way.
“You sure you don’t want something warmer. We’ve got a batch of pancake batter in the kitchen. Only take a minute to cook you one up.” His eyes sparkled when he smiled.
“No.”
He pulled a pad and pencil from the front pocket of his yellow shirt and jotted something down. “One day you’ll shock me by ordering something new.” He turned and marched to the front of the café and slid her order behind two others on the ticket wheel.
He grabbed a large tub and scooted to a nearby table where he cleared off the dishes. His biceps tightened when he lifted the plastic bin and carried the dirty dishes to the kitchen. She kept her eyes on his broad shoulders as he disappeared from view.
Heat filled Benita’s chest.
She picked up a napkin and fanned herself. What was that about? That had never happened before. Goodness knows she couldn’t be attracted to someone like Wendell. She already supported one poor man, she sure didn’t need another. Maybe all these feelings were coming from this flu everyone seemed to be coming down with. Not that she ever got sick, but there was always a first time.
A couple of women entered the diner, closing the door quickly behind them. Both wore torn jeans and faded t-shirts under their open jackets. They stopped and glanced around. One elbowed the other and scooted into the booth in front of Benita's. Wendell walked over and took their drink orders then vanished back through the swinging doors. He held his head up and moved like a man with a mission. Too bad it was dishing slop.
One of the women let loose a loud laugh drawing Benita’s attention. The woman had silver teeth and brightly colored red hair. She’d give a clown a run for his money.
“So what you getting Phil for Christmas,” she asked her friend. “I hear he wants a new cell phone.”
“I just got him one for his birthday, so he can forget that.” The friend shook the black curls on her head. “I’m thinking a TV. He could use it in his bedroom.”
“Supposed to have a couple on sale at Walmart.”
Benita grunted. The red-haired lady glanced at her. The woman’s lips tightened. It wasn’t Benita's fault they talked so loud everyone could overhear.
Benita was unsure which made them appear more foolish, the talk of expensive gifts or celebrating a holiday that only benefited the retail market? She gave a quick smile and mouthed the words “good morning” to the red-haired woman. No point in alienating what could one day become a potential client.
The woman’s eyes widened. She leaned over to her friend and whispered. The friend gave a quick glance over her shoulder.
“It is her,” she said.
“Here you go,” Wendell placed a bowl of flakes in front of Benita. “If you need anything else, just let me know.”
Within ten minutes her breakfast was finished.
Wendell glanced her way. She nodded his way, and he returned to her table.
“Anything else.” He asked.
“No.”
“You sure. Got fresh pastries in the back. You can take one with you for later.”
“No.”
“Keep talking to me like that and people will think we got something going on.” He shot her a playful grin. Crinkles made parenthesis around his eyes. After a couple of steps, he paused and glanced over his shoulder. “See you tomorrow.”
Benita rose and dropped a five dollar bill on the table for the four dollars and fifty cent tab.
Outside, she paused on the sidewalk and took one last look inside the diner. Wendell was laughing at something the woman with red hair had said. An older woman dressed all in white, carried a large tray filled with turnovers to the window display case.
A quick memory flashed of Mom baking strawberry scones. Benita could almost taste the sweet warmth as they came fresh out of the oven. The woman in the window held one up and gave a smile with two missing front teeth.
Benita’s shoulders shuddered. She turned away and marched toward the office.
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