This Small Town Christmas: Abner, #4

By Justin Trout

Richard hasn't been able to move on after the passing of his wife.

 

Sam can't seem to let go after the death of her mother.

 

But the two of them blame one another for the distance between them.

 

After Sam's defiant behavior in school leads to her suspension, Richard has the idea to go back to his hometown for the holidays. Once arriving back in Lebanon, Richard's life turns upside down when he reconnects with an old flame, pushing Sam further and further away.

 

With Christmas right around the corner, Richard tries to make things right, but he needs a little help. Abner, a mysterious man who seems to be well-known within the community, offers to guide Richard and his family into good tidings of comfort and joy.

 

Can Richard reconnect with his daughter?

 

Can Sam move forward?

 

Who is Abner?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Justin Trout
• Release date: Mar 26, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393423195

Book preview

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License Notes

Copyright © Justin C. Trout 2020

Cover Art by Deranged Doctor Design

Formatting by Deranged Doctor Design

All rights reserved

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This book is protected under the copyright laws. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material or artwork herein is prohibited.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Disclaimer: The persons, places, things, and otherwise animate or inanimate objects mentioned in this novel are figments of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to anything or anyone is unintentional.

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Dedication

For

Lori Gates-Addison

You taught me that I couldn’t change the world, but I could change the world for one person!

Thanks for the impact you’ve made on me and the countless others.

let us consider how to stir up one another to love and good works, not neglecting to meet together, as is the habit of some, but encouraging one another, and all the more as you see the Day drawing near.

Hebrews 10: 24-25

Table of Contents

Prologue

Richard

Richard

Sam

Richard

Pops

Richard

Sam

Pops

Vicky

Richard

Richard

Sam

Pops

Richard

Sam

Vicky

Pops

Richard

Richard

Sam

Vicky

Sam

Richard

Vicky

Sam

Pops

Epilogue

About The Author

Prologue

I was at home with my laptop open.

The first sentence had to be the most important one. It had to be the hook that would engage my readers. The glow of the laptop doomed me. My head had met my hand for an embarrassingly long moment. What to type? What to write? Why now? Writer’s block! Every question kept me away from the frugal words that I’d craft. With that said, I was being ambushed to write a sequel. Perhaps that’s what kept me stuck.

The pressure?

I had just sold the rights to my book, Escaping the Fire, a romance novel about a firefighter. It sounds boring to you, but you’d probably like to know that some huge Hollywood actors were considered for the part of George Bard. Not my favorite character that I’ve written, but he made me a lot of money.

The news revealed that a production studio had begun to cast for it. My phone was plagued with people wanting interviews. My email inbox flooded with schools wanting me to come to talk to their students. My social media was bombarded by friends stating that they were proud of me.

So I’d say there was a significant amount of pressure.

Escaping the Fire was my eighth book out. It was the second book to have the rights sold and the first book of mine to have a huge Hollywood budget. The soundtrack was in talks to have songs by famous musicians, especially the country music outlaw, Johnny Wales. He was one of my favorites growing up. Dad blared his music through the house like he was the creator of all country lyrics.

Ring! Ring! Ring!

I approached the phone, eager to hear what bit of news I would receive. As I picked up the phone, I heard sirens in the background. I flinched for a moment, cautious about stating any pleasantries.

Hey, I hesitated for a brief moment.

Richard? the man asked, already holding back terrible news. I don’t remember if he stated my last name or not. I remember that my brain went numb like it was about to be injected with a nightmarish reality. The sirens in the background didn’t help any.

Yes?

There’s been an accident. I need you to come down here.

Is my daughter okay? I asked. Is Sam, alright? That was the first person that entered my mind. I honestly didn’t think about my wife for a split second before I remembered that Sam was with her. Is my wife okay?

We’re on 23rd Avenue, the officer said, hanging up.

I threw down the phone, grabbed my keys, and ran out of the house as quickly as I could. The rain beat down like a soft drum. Droplets echoed across the street. I jumped in the car, turned on the wipers, and left the driveway like I was a racecar driver.

Twenty-Third Avenue was seven minutes away. When I pulled down the street, there was a firetruck, four police cars, two ambulances, and several people gathered on the street. I came to a stop and got out of the car, greeted by the rain first. As I jogged toward the pile of lights, a police officer stopped me.

Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to stay back.

I recognized my wife’s car. A silver Subaru crunched up against an electric pole with another car piercing the side of it. That’s my wife, I screamed, pushing past the officer.

He grabbed me, pushed me back, and said, You don’t want to go.

I know it’s illegal to hurt officers, but I shoved him. He backed away as I moved around a police car. Oranges were spilled across the street, and milk made a nasty puddle. Walnuts were sprinkled around like lost coins.

And there, in the middle of the avenue, was a body with a sheet over it.

My eyes widened. My heart raced. Sweat poured down me like swampy water. I fell to my knees and looked at the body, unaware if that was my wife or not.

The driver of the other car? I asked a paramedic as he ran to the back of an ambulance.

A male, he said.

And that’s when I knew. A male driver didn’t have that slim of a body, or breasts for that matter. That wasn’t a male's body hidden under the sheet—no—it was a female. It was Caroline. My wife. I doubled over and held myself for a moment.

Daddy! a little girl screamed.

I looked up.

Daddy! she screamed again.

I wobbled to my feet and looked to the Subaru to see that my daughter Sam was looking at me. She was pinned in, blood oozing from her face. One hand was able to reach around the back of the driver seat. Her arched fingers reached for me. I couldn’t burn the image out of my head if I wanted to.

I hurried to the car and looked at her through the broken window. There was blood on the dashboard, and the driver seat was crunched up. The wheel was broken, and the airbag had imploded into a flat sheet. The car that pierced the Subaru, a blue Mazda, didn’t look as bad.

I’m here, I said, wiping away my tears. I reached through and grabbed Sam's fingers.

She cried for me again.

Sir, said a firefighter. I looked at him to see that he was carrying a large saw. You’re going to have to move.

I squeezed Sam’s fingers once more. It’s okay!

An officer spoke into a radio. Cut the power on 23rd Avenue.

After a few seconds, the lights on the neighborhood went out, and I was back at my car, anticipating the freedom of my daughter, listening to the grinding of the metal—the screaming from Sam as they cut her free from the prison of the wreckage. Two paramedics pulled out a gurney from the ambulance and brought it to the car.

In a matter of minutes, they rolled Sam back to the ambulance. They wouldn’t let me get close to her as the paramedics bandaged her up, so I watched. Two police officers were giving me the stink-eye, waiting for me to dash toward the ambulance so that they could tackle me, but I didn’t. It was a good ten minutes before I could run to her. By the time I did, she was already doctored up. Her arm was bandaged, her head was wrapped, and her body was covered in a blanket. I placed a hand on her leg. My little princess.

Mom’s dead? she asked, staring up at me.

My lips trembled.

Mom’s dead! she said.

I closed my eyes and sobbed, leaning over Sam and reaching for her hand.

Sir, said a paramedic. We’re going to take her to the Charlotte Hospital.

I backed away and entered my car. The time didn’t seem to slow down as I lit up the ignition like a madman escaping prison. I clutched onto the steering wheel for dear life. Every ounce of me was shaking and wanting to scream, but I did everything in my power to keep my composure. I waited fervently for the ambulance to pull out, and when it did, I followed it. When I got to the hospital, they had her checked into room nine. I wasn’t allowed back there yet. Before I called people to tell them about Caroline, I sat outside in the rain, watching the wet parking lot glisten from the reflection of street lights.

God? I asked, looking up to the sky. That’s all I could muster. That’s all I could say. No prayer. No question. No request. All I could do is just murmur, God! I bet I muttered it seventeen times.

Nights like this can make you question everything, said a man, sitting down next to me. I looked over at him. He was tall and black, wearing a worn-out jacket, faded pants, some house shoes, and a dirty old shirt beneath it. He had some grey stubble on his face. He wore a cap as well.

I sat silently for a moment, looking out in the distance. The dark sky seemed to twinkle.

You okay? he asked.

I turned to him now, my lips trembling. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do at all.

He nodded and winked at me. Yeah, you do. You’re going to make it okay.

I’ve never lost anybody before, I said.

The man nodded again and looked up at the sky. Pain is never easy. Nope. Never.

She was my everything.

The man raised his eyes and scooted next to me. He put a large hand on my back, and I suddenly felt comfortable, like the weight of the world was taken from me. I took a deep breath and looked over at the man. His dark eyes could have tranced me into believing what he was saying was right, that indeed everything would be okay.

Who are you? I asked.

Who do you think I am? he replied.

My eyes widened a bit. I sat back, unaware of what I should say. I gulped, thinking of every person I had ever encountered. Surely we knew each other.

You can call me Abner. It means Father of Light.

Abner? I replied, sure that I didn’t know any Abner.

He nodded.

Now, I never really believed in angels or anything like that. I did go to church with Caroline and my family. I did believe in God. I did believe in Jesus, but I didn’t practice it a lot. I read my Bible sometimes, but I didn’t study it. I prayed when it was convenient for me, but I wasn’t what you would call a prayer warrior. However, to this day, I didn’t know who Abner was, and in the back of my mind—I felt like I knew. I felt like I was looking at God.

Abner stood up and buttoned his jacket. "I’m a big fan of your work Richard. Your book, The Time in the Life in Ireland, was so poetic. Abner smacked his lips. Beautiful." He walked towards the hospital doors and then looked back at me. I stayed focused on him.

Will we be okay? I asked, placing the complete trust of my future in this tall man’s words.

Abner grinned. Have faith.

He walked through the doors and disappeared somewhere near the elevators. I turned and sat back on the wet bench, trying to figure things out in my head. For a brief second, I forgot about Caroline passing and wondered about Abner. Who was he? What was he?

When I collected my thoughts, I went up to see Sam. She was in her bed, and she was wide-eyed. She rolled her eyes toward me. They were puffy and swollen and red. I went to her bed and sat down, reaching for her hand.

How’s my girl? I asked.

She gulped. Daddy?

I ran my fingers through her hair, fighting back the tears, trying not to overthink at this moment about the death of Caroline. I’d have to save that for when I was alone.

I have seventeen stitches in my shoulder, she said.

I’m sorry, baby, I replied. I’m so sorry.

It’s fine, she said. That one guy came in to see me. Says he goes into all the rooms when somebody new arrives. Told me that I’d be okay.

That’s nice, I replied, believing that she was trying her best to be comforted.

Abner, she muttered. That’s what he said his name was. He held my hand and told me not to fear.

I sat back now, my finger and my thumb against my chin. Why would he come to her room? Why would he sit with her? Why? Why a random person?

A nurse came in now and fixed her IV. Sam looked up to her. How long has Abner been visiting this hospital?

The nurse, a tall blonde woman, bent down over the bed and stared into Sam’s eyes. Who? There’s no Abner that visits here. It could be the pain medication talking for you. The nurse left the room.

Before Sam could say anything, I leaned forward and put my hand on hers. I believe you.

Abner wasn’t a man. He was God. I just knew it.

When Sam fell asleep, I stepped outside and called Caroline’s parents and informed them of the news. I was on the phone with them for over an hour as they cried and discussed coming to stay with us for the funeral. I forgot all about that. I’d have to do that on my own. When I hung up, I called my mom and dad. Dad was up watching the news, but mom was asleep.

Dad, I said.

Son, you okay? he asked.

I took a deep breath, choking on my words. Caroline—died—she’s gone, dad. She—she—she—died. Car—accident.

I could hear my father gasp.

Sam was with her.

Oh no, not pop’s girl? he asked, starting to cry.

I gulped. No. She’s in the hospital. Stitches and a broken arm. Some bruises and cuts, but she is going to be fine.

I’m here for you, whatever you need, dad said.

Dad, I stammered, I just need—you to pray.

Yes, sir, he replied. I heard him snort. He tried to stay firm on the phone, but he finally let me go so he could cry. He told me that he would let my brothers know. I knew that my dad was a man of faith, and I knew that he would also pray for us.

I don’t know why, but I guess I just really needed it.

To God, to Jesus, to Abner or whoever—I just needed some prayer.

Richard

Principal Dingus had a way of beating around the bush.

Instead of looking at me straight in my eyes, he’d look at my earlobes, and rather than speaking in a confident tone; he would dance around sentence structure and seemed to be afraid of me. This might be because I’m a best-selling author, or he might be afraid he might offend me because my wife died two years ago. People tend to treat you differently after a tragedy happens, but I was still the same and didn’t plan to change anytime soon—at least in my public appearance.

I sat relaxed, one leg over the other, and I yawned as principal Dingus fumbled with his words. He called me this morning while I was on a conference call with my publisher and editor. He informed me that my wonderful daughter, who would never do anything wrong, had, in fact, done something wrong. She spray-painted the ‘s’ word on a bathroom stall before school started. This was big for two reasons. The first was she cursed, and the second was she brought spray paint on the school property, which is strictly prohibited.

I glanced over at her to let her know I was mad, but I wasn’t. I was getting tired of her attitude, her dress, and her music. I was not