Welcome to my ‘What Every Woman Wants Beneath Her Christmas Tree’ blog event. Every two days, either an author or vendor visits A Writer’s Mind to leave something beneath this blog’s Christmas Tree for YOU. In addition, every commenter on any post is entered for a chance to win a $100 gift certificate to Amazon. This event has been a pure joy to host. And it’s not over yet!
Today and tomorrow, I’ve the pleasure of welcoming over the lovely Sharon Donovan. Sharon is very graciously offering snowflake wine chimes, cork screw and cocktail napkins to one lucky commenter!
Let’s hear from Sharon…
A warm thank you to Sky for hosting this beautiful Christmas blog. My topic is…
Be Careful What You Wish For.
It happened to me back in the eighties. Does anyone remember the home jewelry parties? Well, I do and I’ll never forget my one and only experience. It happened one Christmas. Enjoy!
“And here’s our show stopper,” the jewelry representative held up a sleek snake necklace with emerald green eyes. “Can’t you just see yourself at all the Christmas parties in this breathtaking piece? And it can be yours in a heartbeat. All you need do is host the next jewelry party at your house, sell enough jewelry to meet the quota—and this hostess gift is yours! Now which of you lovely ladies is gonna be the Diva Queen of all his dreams?”
I couldn’t take my eyes off it. The emerald green snake eyes had me hypnotized. Before I could stop myself, I shot my hand high in the air. Practically panting, I screamed with gusto. “Me! I’ll host the next party. That necklace is mine!”
For the next two weeks before my party, I walked around with my head in the clouds, dreaming of the gorgeous necklace I’d showcase at all the upcoming Christmas parties. I walked around with stars in my eyes. I dreamed of it and counted the days until it was mine. In between decorating the house, trimming the tree and baking cookies, I went shopping for a dress regal enough to complement my show stopper.
“Come on in. I have a table ready for you in the living room. Go on and set things up. I’ll just check on the refreshments.”
And before long, the house was bustling with excitement as guests chose accessories to jazz up holiday wardrobes. And by the end of the party, I far exceeded the points I needed to claim my hostess gift. The minute all points were tallied, I screamed loud enough to wake the living dead.
But two weeks later, guests began calling me, curious as to the whereabouts of their orders. Puzzled, I called the representative, who assured me the shipment was just running a little late due to the Christmas rush. But when guests began calling me and leaving irate messages on my machine, I got suspicious.
“How dare you try and pull one over on us,” a co-worker screeched. “Of all the people in the world, you’d be the last person I’d suspect of stealing money.”
Something inside me went ice cold. What was she talking about? My left eye began to twitch the way it did when I was upset. Biting my lip, I made a few phone calls, feeling the life being sucked right out of me.
After countless calls to the jewelry company, numerous apologies to my guests and more heartache than I’d ever known, I reached rock bottom. But when guilt finally caught up with the jewelry representative, she called with a full confession.
“I’m so sorry,” she choked out in between sobs. “I couldn’t afford to pay the rent. I had all good intentions of turning your order money in next week. Honest. I’m really sorry. I’ve never done this. Can you forgive me?”
Her sobbing disgusted me. Because of her jack-be-nimble fingers, I lost the respect of the people I cared most about. I just shook my head, unable to say the words desperately wanting to roll off my tongue. I simply slammed down the phone, feeling a whole lot older and a whole lot wiser.
And a few days before Christmas, when my jewelry order was at long last delivered, I opened it with a heavy heart. And when I unveiled my hostess gift, something I was ready to sell my soul for, an icy chill washed over me. The sleek gold snake necklace glistened on a bed of blue velvet, its emerald green eyes winking up at me like the eyes of a serpent. Closing the lid, I packed it away. I wanted no part of it. Because of a piece of glamorous costume jewelry, I’d nearly lost sight of the true meaning of Christmas. Greed had taken hold of me, ensnaring me in its ugly web. I felt ashamed. Nothing was worth the price of that necklace.
Wishing you and yours a very Merry Christmas and Holiday Season!
Romantic Suspense with a Twist of Faith
Sharon's Website ~ Twitter ~ Facebook
Sky here. What a wonderful post, Sharon! Thank you so much for sharing. A very, very Happy Holiday to you and yours!
Sharon writes stories of inspiration and suspense. She has certificates in business and medical transcription. Echo of a Raven, a narrative non-fiction about her struggles with diabetic retinopathy, received a CTRR award for outstanding writing, and The Claddagh Ring is a 2009 CAPA nominee for best inspirational of the year. Mask of the Betrayer was voted book of the week at LASR and its video by Triad Productions was a second place winner at You Gotta Read. Other books by Sharon Donovan are Touched by an Angel, Lasting Love, Her Biggest Fan and Charade of Hearts. You can visit Sharon at
Visit Sharon Donovan's Website or write to her at: email@example.com
“You’re drunk,” Oliver said, dark eyes flashing in the oncoming traffic. “We’ll talk about this when you’re sober.”
“I’m not drunk, and we’ll talk about it now,” Eve said, turning up the radio a notch. “I’m sick to death of your self-righteous attitudes. Your constant moralizing drives me mad. I only had a few drinks. It was a Christmas party, after all.”
“A few drinks?” Oliver snorted, skidding on the off-ramp from Stevenson Expressway. “Don’t make me laugh. You were tilting back that Sangria like it was cherry soda. You’re pregnant and shouldn’t be drinking at all. You shoulda seen yourself out there on the dance floor in that skin-tight red dress, rubbing up to all the male jockeys, shimmying and kicking up your stiletto heels like you were a contestant in Dancing With the Stars. You looked ridiculous. Everyone was laughing and pointing. Honey, you made a royal ass of yourself.”
“Shut up,” her hands balled into tight fists, long fingernails coiled like talons. How she itched to wipe that smug look off his face, knock him off his pedestal. She rolled her eyes theatrically, heaving out an exasperated sigh. “Unlike some people I know, the jockeys at the clubhouse know how to cut loose and unwind, leave the work load behind at the end of the day. You’re no fun at all, a real deadbeat. Did you even try socializing, get to know some of the jockeys? No, you just sat there all night like a bump on a log, drinking coffee, eye on the clock, a scowl plastered on your face. We have nothing in common. Why I married you is a mystery to me. I want out, the sooner the better.”
“Over my dead body,” Oliver roared, tires squealing as his vehicle skated dangerously close to a light pole. “What about our baby?”
“Weren’t you listening? I’m terminating this pregnancy; I’m only a few weeks. I told you when we got married, no kids. Training horses is my profession, my passion, something I won’t give up for anyone, least of all a kid. Thoroughbred racing comes first, foremost and always. Get it through your head. The last thing in the world I want is to be straddled down with a snotty nosed brat. Not in this life. You can’t make me have it.”
“You think this is about power and control?” Oliver raged, brakes squealing, wheels spinning. “It’s not. It’s about love and commitment. Haven’t I always catered to your every whim, your every need? Since the day we met, I treated you like a queen. I spoiled you rotten and let you have your way. Not this time, Eve. I’m putting my foot down. I want this baby. An abortion is out of the question. Absolutely not, I forbid it.”
“You what?” she laughed, cranking up the rock music to an ear-splitting screech. “Do you think you can control me, make my decisions for me? Order me to go through with this unwanted pregnancy because you’re a judge? The Honorable Judge Oliver Wendell Williams presiding? Do you really think you can lock me up behind bars, hold me prisoner against my will? Make me have this kid? Because that’s what having a baby would feel like to me, a jail sentence.”
“Don’t be so selfish, Eve.”
“Oliver, the pole!”
With a screech of brakes, the wheels locked, sending the SUV skidding into the light pole with a thundering boom. The vehicle flipped on its side, rolling three times before crashing into a tree, the splintering of glass and broken metal piercing the night.
She ached all over. Not wanting to open her eyes, she preferred the comfort of the surreal place she was floating in, drifting in and out of. Her head throbbed and she felt something tight and uncomfortable squeeze her arm. Somewhere in the distance, she heard beeping.
Cool fingers snaked around her wrist. Paramedics feeling for a pulse? She had a vague recollection of the wreck. To her horror, she remembered the SUV skidding into a pole and rolling over and over before landing with a resounding crash. The shattering of broken glass rang in her ears, the shuddering shriek devastating. Was she dead? She felt cold, colder than she’d ever felt. She needed to tell them she was alive.
She was faintly aware of murmurs, muted and distant. Someone pried her eyelids open and flicked a bright light in them. She thought she heard her name, far away in the distance, but it was so muffled she couldn’t be sure. She fluttered her eyelids.
“We’re losing her,” a man said, panic rising in his voice. “She’s lost too much blood and is going into cardiac arrest. We need to resuscitate. Let’s move! Code Blue.”
Eve felt herself leaving her body, floating upward to a swirl of bright light. As she gently ebbed closer to the rapture, her senses became acutely aware. She drifted through a garden of roses, vivid blooms of crimson, burnt orange and liquid gold as bright as sorcerer’s flames. The sweet perfume permeating the air was heavenly. Enveloped in peace and tranquility, she passed through a veil of flowers. With a flutter of gossamer wings, a beautiful cherub materialized. The angel was breathtakingly beautiful. A spiral of jet-black curls framed a heart-shaped face, and when she smiled, lips the color of ripe cherries lit up her entire face.
“Who are you?” Eve asked.
“It’s me, Mummy,” the angel answered sweetly. “The baby you lost in the wreck, the child you didn’t want.”
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