Our First Christmas Read Online Free PDF Page A

in her mind, she knew she would decipher this code. It might take a day or two, but she would crack it.
    The shrill tone of her phone had her raising her head and glancing around for her cell, which was always a little lost or misplaced. She found the cell on the fourth ring and by the time she said hello she sounded breathless and a bit annoyed.
    â€œMarisa?”
    Her father’s voice sounded relaxed and happy. Not the clipped, perpetually angry man who’d shared the house with her mother. No, this man was a man right with the world thanks to her stepmother, who had given him the life, and the sons, he’d always craved.
    â€œDad.”
    â€œJust checking to make sure you’re still coming tomorrow. Susan’s been cooking for days. You know how she loves Christmas.”
    Susan, her stepmother, was eighteen years younger than her father. Blond and lovely, she never stepped outside without donning makeup and designer clothes. To her credit, she was not a bad woman. She’d not been behind her parents’ divorce and had, in fact, not come into her father’s life until four or five years after the final decree. She went out of her way to make Marisa feel welcome whenever she visited. Marisa, out of politeness, had done her best to play her part as the dutiful daughter. But no matter how many presents Susan bought or how many smiles and thank-yous they exchanged, she never felt comfortable in their home. She was the outsider and no time of year made her more attuned to her outlier status than Christmas.
    â€œI know she loves the day.” She pictured the three Christmas trees that Susan put up, the thousands of white lights that now adorned their front lawn, and the row of pictures featuring her brothers sitting with Santa Claus lined up along the mantle.
    â€œShe’s gone all-out for you this year. Put a lot of thought into your gift. You’re going to be pleased.”
    Marisa felt ungrateful and small when she thought about the bottle of perfume she’d hastily purchased online for Susan. Expensive and nice didn’t trump the lack of thought or love that had gone into the gift. She’d checked the Christmas Gift box, so to speak. “I can’t wait.”
    A silence crackled through the line. “How’s work going?”
    â€œGreat. I’m steeped in ancient cultures.”
    â€œWhat about the modern culture? All work and no play . . .”
    He let the words trail. “I love my work. Hard to say no to it.” Her work never disappointed, lied, or left. “The work is so thrilling.”
    In the background she heard the boys’ polite chatter. Her father had set up a special desk for the boys so they could work alongside their dad. The voices grew louder and a door opened. “Well, we look forward to seeing you.”
    â€œMe, too. Can’t wait.”
    She hung up, sadness fisting a knot in her chest. Pity she couldn’t bond with people as well as she connected with her dead languages.
    Â 
    Marisa had lost track of time when her phone chimed with a text. She rubbed her eyes and stretched her tight shoulders as she glanced at the clock on her phone. It was just after 2 A.M. The time had slipped away from her again. She picked up her coffee and sipped. Ice-cold. Grimacing, she moved to the sink and poured out the stale coffee before setting another cup to brew. As the machine gurgled and spit, she picked up her phone.
    Sacrifices will be made.
    What sacrifices?
    Rubbing her tired eyes, she studied the words and phone number. The caller was Unknown. Not Lucas. Who would send her such a text? She had a friend, Doris, who drank too much on occasion and would send Marisa texts. But those were all jokes about the men she met in bars.
    The reference to sacrifices made no sense and did not fit the profile of anyone she knew.
    Sacrifices will be made.
    Assuming the text had arrived in error, she moved to the coffee machine and picked up her