The Mayweather Christmas Quest
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The Mayweather
Christmas Quest
Dana Pratola
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
The Mayweather Christmas Quest
COPYRIGHT 2014 by Dana Pratola
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or Pelican Ventures, LLC except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
eBook editions are licensed for your personal enjoyment only. eBooks may not be re-sold, copied or given to other people. If you would like to share an eBook edition, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with.
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Cover Art by Nicola Martinez
White Rose Publishing, a division of Pelican Ventures, LLC
www.pelicanbookgroup.com PO Box 1738 *Aztec, NM * 87410
White Rose Publishing Circle and Rosebud logo is a trademark of Pelican Ventures, LLC
Publishing History
First White Rose Edition, 2014
Electronic Edition ISBN 978-1-61116-446-6
Published in the United States of America
Other Books by Dana Pratola
The Covering
1
“Come on, you little brat…come on…” Olympia shifted her knees in the snow and shoved her coat sleeve as far up as it would go, which was only a few inches. Not enough to accomplish her goal. With a grunt, she pulled her arm out of the narrow opening between two paint starved pieces of wood, slipped off her coat and flung it away.
“I’m telling you, you better stop playing games and come out here this instant!”
She gave the warped door of the tool shed another tug. Still stuck. Heaving a frustrated breath, she jammed her arm back through the gap, scraping her skin from wrist to elbow. Extending her fingers as far as she could, she finally made contact with a soft ball of fur.
Just a little more…. Her shoulder ached as she pressed into the wood, but she managed to move the kitten toward her with her fingertips until she was finally able to snatch it by the back of the neck.
“You have some nerve, mister,” she said in her sternest tone, as she raised the kitten into the daylight. “Are you trying to freeze to death?”
He looked away, unrepentant.
“That’s fine,” Olympia said, swiping clumps of snow with her free hand from the knees of her jeans. “You can have that attitude, but you’re going back in the house. Little hairball. Think you’d be grateful to have a warm home and plenty of food.”
She couldn’t help nestling him under her chin as she grabbed up her coat and trudged toward the house.
“Mrs. Mayweather?”
Olympia spun to face a stranger standing in her driveway just steps from her backyard. The sudden movement caused the kitten to claw her chest in protest
“Sharon Mayweather?” the man asked.
She hadn’t heard anyone drive up, yet here he was, standing midway between her and a late model SUV. He was tall and broad shouldered, though it could mostly be the long wool coat that draped almost to the tops of his black-and-gray boots. His face was framed by a fur-lined hat with ear flaps. And what a face. Handsome and kind.
Blue eyes fixed on her, moving across her face. His lips were full and bent in a smile, and then parted slightly as he moved to speak. “Sorry if I scared you. Are you Mrs. Mayweather?”
“Who wants to know?”
The man came forward, hand outstretched, then seeing she didn’t have a free hand, dropped his. “I’m David Della Santina.”
The name sounded familiar. “But, who are you?” she asked, covering the kitten with her parka.
“I’m a reporter, with the Tribune.”
There were like ten Tribunes in this area alone. She didn’t ask which, because she didn’t care. Why was a reporter looking for her mother? Olympia started for the house.
Despite not having been issued an invitation, David’s boots followed behind hers, crunching the rock salt sprinkled over the path and back steps. Olympia quickened her pace, putting enough distance between them to get onto the back porch and close the storm door between them.
“As far as I know, my mother isn’t expecting any reporters,” she said through the window.
“What’s that?” her mother called from the kitchen.
“Nothing, ma.”
“Mrs. Mayweather?” David yelled, pressing his face to the door.
“Who is that?”
Olympia groaned. “It’s a reporter.”
Sharon Mayweather walked out onto the back porch, pushing her short caramel-colored hair from her forehead and pulling her pink sweater close at the neck. “A reporter?”
Her mother stared at him through the thin glass pane, tapping her pointer finger to her chin as she tilted her head one way, then the other. “I see,” she said, finally.
Olympia looked at her mother. “Well, I don’t. What’s he want?”
“Did you ask him what he wants?”
“No, she didn’t,” David answered. “But, if you’d let me in, I can tell you.”
“Oh, no.” Olympia leaned through the back door to the kitchen, gently tossed the kitten in, and then pulled the door closed. “We’re not letting you into our home.”
David backed away from the steps and held up his hands. “I understand completely, you’re not going to take my word for it.” He reached into his back pocket and took out his wallet. “Here’s my driver’s license and my press ID,” he said, pulling cards from their designated slots and holding them up to the window.
They looked legitimate to Olympia, but even if they hadn’t, it wouldn’t matter since her mother was already pushing open the metal door and moving aside to let him in.
“How can I help you?” Sharon asked.
Olympia opened the kitchen door, moving the kitten back with her foot before going in. She absolutely refused to go after that little hairball one more time—so she said every time he got out.
When everyone was inside, Olympia hung her coat over the back of a chair and turned on the flame under the tea kettle.
“Can I take your coat?” Her mother asked David with a glance at Olympia.
Olympia gave her mother a small smile. She didn’t mean to be rude; she was just distracted by the unusual circumstance.
“Would you like some tea? Hot chocolate?” Olympia offered.
David shrugged out of the coat. The wool, clearly not the source of the broad shoulders, she noted with some sort of internal discomfort. Well, not discomfort…more like unwelcome pleasure.
“Hot chocolate sounds fantastic,” he said, draping the coat over the chair and taking a seat beside her mother. “Thanks for inviting me in.” He aimed a smile at Mom, drawing one in response.
Olympia joined them at the table. She couldn’t help noticing all those straight, white teeth, framed behind lips, smooth and appealing in their curved state.
“So, what’s this all about?” she asked.
David looked back and forth between her and her mother. “Our office received a call about an unusual family tradition you all participate in annually, at Christmas. I�
�d like to learn more about it. If you’re willing,” he added hastily.
Olympia groaned. “Seriously?” It was bad enough they had the locals mocking their tradition every year, but to have strangers privy to it was humiliating. Especially since she was the only sister not to be married off yet.
Her mother’s brows rose, but she seemed more curious than surprised. “Do you know where the call came from?”
Olympia thought that was a terrific question. No one in the town had gone to the media before. Why now?
“I don’t know for sure,” David said. “Only that it was a woman.”
Olympia narrowed her eyes. It was probably Kate Trudeau. She’d been poking fun at the Mayweather Quest as she called it, for years. Just last week, she’d stopped Olympia in the hardware store to wish her luck. She puffed out a breath, waiting for her mother to politely decline.
The woman smiled gently, tapping her fingers on the plaid tablecloth as she considered. Finally, she opened her mouth. “What would you like to know?”
The words took Olympia by surprise. “Mom, really? You’re going to tell him—”
“Mercy, Olympia, why not? We’re not hiding anything. It’s all in good fun.”
David turned to Olympia. “That’s a nice name.”
“All my girls’ names end in A,” her mother told him. “Aliza, Brinna, Helena and Olympia. They were all so beautiful when they were born that I ended all their names in ah.”
David chuckled and glanced at Olympia. “They’re still beautiful.”
Olympia sneered. It was hard to tell if this guy was sincere. He seemed to be, but reporters would do what was necessary to get a story, right?
David twisted, reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small note pad and pen. “If you don’t mind…” he said, raising the items for their inspection. “How long has this tradition been a part of your family?”
“Oh, who knows,” Mom said. “It’s been going around at least as long as my great, great grandparents. Who knows before then? I suppose you could research it.”
“That’s what he’s doing now, Mom.”
David smiled at her, then back at her mother. “And what specifically does this tradition entail? Are there certain guidelines, superstitions…?”
“Are you asking if we go through a blood ritual?” Olympia asked.
“Olympia, be nice,” her mother scolded. “It’s pretty straightforward,” she told David. “A Mayweather girl has to be somewhere where it’s snowing on Christmas Day, and if she meets a man under a Christmas snow, God blesses that union so that they’ll be together forever.”
Olympia rolled her eyes. Not missed by David.
“I take it you don’t believe it,” he said.
“Olympia is my last single girl,” Sharon said. “So, we’re taking any edge we can.”
Olympia laughed. She did believe it—mostly—but didn’t want him to ridicule her. “I’m in no hurry to be married.”
“I know, dear, I know,” her mother said, patting Olympia’s hand. “It’s just wise to keep your options open.”
“Your other daughters were married this way?” David asked.
“God blessed two that way, yes; Aliza and Brinna.”
“What about the other”—he glanced at his notes—“Helena.”
“We’re waiting to see how it turns out.” Her mother waited a beat before laughing.
“So, where is your pursuit taking you this year?” David asked.
“Snow’s predicted in Duluth, Minnesota, so that’s where we’ll be.”
As they talked about where they would be staying, how long, etc., Olympia got up and made the hot chocolate. She was trying to take it in stride, after all, this was something special the family did every year, but now it didn’t feel right. She’d agreed to go to make her mom happy, but it wouldn’t be the same with none of her sisters participating. If she didn’t find a husband this year, there would be no one to deflect the attention. And now, having this stranger turn her family’s harmless fun into a blatant joke was irritating.
She set a steaming mug in front of him and then took her seat.
“Thanks,” David said. “So, you fly out a few days before Christmas. Do you scope out the prospects, or just wing it and let destiny have its way?”
Unsure if he was trying to insult them, Olympia offered what she hoped would pass for a genuine chuckle. “It wouldn’t be much of a custom if it was based on searching out a husband ourselves, would it? What would be the point of going when we could do that at church, or the mall?”
David flipped a page in his pad and turned to Olympia directly.
“Speaking of faith, would you say God is behind your mission to find a husband?”
His words forced her back in her seat. “I’m not on a mission. This isn’t a belief; it’s a legend, a game.”
He smiled. “But, you all take it seriously enough to travel to Minnesota, or wherever the snow is forecast.”
She didn’t like the turn this was taking and she had a feeling her expression said so. David’s smile disappeared.
“It’s a four hour drive, not a big deal,” she snapped.
“Three, the way you drive,” her mother said, shaking her head. “Mercy.”
Olympia ignored her. She felt herself getting upset but couldn’t stop it. “Some families spend Christmas in Tahiti, or South America, would you call that a religious quest?”
David tapped his pencil on the top of the pad. “Sorry, I’m just trying to—”
“I know what you’re trying! To make my family look like a bunch of fools. Why don’t you come back on New Year’s when Ma dances naked around the mailbox so the fairies will bring her grandchildren!” She pushed back her chair and stormed from the kitchen.
Her mother called after her, but Olympia kept going, straight up to her room, where she resisted the urge to slam the door from its hinges.
A half hour later, when Olympia’s black mood passed, she found her mother sitting alone in the living room, crocheting. Olympia sat on the couch, turned on the TV with the remote and flipped channels, not even noticing what was on.
“Are we still going to Duluth?” her mother asked, after ten minutes.
Olympia sighed and nodded. It was the only mention of the scene in the kitchen.
2
David didn’t bother to unpack. He closed the room door, stuck the key in his pocket and strode down the short hall to the lobby and outside. It might have been nice to have a room on an upper floor facing Lake Superior, but the first floor was closest to the street, and the street was closest to the next street, and the next, which ultimately brought him to the street Olympia’s hotel was on. And she was all he was interested in viewing while he was here.
He’d thought of almost nothing but her since their first meeting a week and a half ago. The story itself compelled him, but the object of the story was nothing short of fascinating. Though she had the look of a fairy queen, with sun-ripened, honey-toned hair, simmering brown eyes and pale marble skin, he couldn’t imagine her relying on fables and superstition to find true love. She seemed too rational for that.
He wondered what she’d say if he told her that she might as well consult a magic eight ball. The thought made him smile.
A young woman walking up the block in the opposite direction smiled back. She looked vaguely familiar, but with her face barely visible, caught between a purple knit hat and a multi-colored scarf, he couldn’t make her out. He intended to keep walking, but felt something poke him in the left shoulder.
“Are you really going to keep going, like you don’t see me?”
The voice. Even if her face had been completely covered in wool trappings, he couldn’t miss that voice. Like raven song on karaoke night. How he’d found it pleasing all those years ago…. Then again, they hadn’t spent much time talking back then.
“Amy.”
Amy Rodriguez—a short-term girlfriend when they’d worked their first newspaper job on the Bos
ton Bugler. If memory served, she hadn’t been a lousy person, just a lousy girlfriend.
She threw her arms around him, patting him on the back with mittened hands. “What are you doing here?” she asked, stepping back, but keeping a hand on his arm.
“Working.”
“Working? Oh! What do you do now?”
He didn’t know why the question bugged him so. Why would she assume he was no longer reporting?
“I’m working on a PI.”
She bounced once on the balls of her feet. “Really? You’re a private investigator? How exciting!”
“No.” He shook his head. “Not as a PI. On. Personal Interest. Story, for the paper.”
It seemed his memory was faulty, but watching her smile fade to polite interest jumpstarted it. Maybe she was a lousy person. She’d always had a way of making him feel bad about himself. Sleeping with his best friend’s father—the editor of the paper—hadn’t helped their relationship any.
“Are you still doing personal interest?”
He nodded. Still. Like he should be infiltrating South American guerilla camps by now. He loved his job. He loved the people he met and the glimpses into the lives of people the rest of the world might never know.
“So, it was nice—”
“Aren’t you going to ask what I do?” she asked, moving in front of him to prevent his escape.
He already knew. Anything. But, he wouldn’t say it. “Sure.”
“I’m working on a story, too.” She paused, waiting for him to question her. “I’m doing a feature,” she said, finally. “For TV. It’s called Is Love a Christmas Miracle? I heard about this family who comes here every year to find husbands.”
David’s heart fell to his stomach; his blood drained to his feet. “Uh…wow. That sounds like something.” He forced his feet to move forward. Just one slow step.
“Yeah, it’s weird, huh? Some kind of funky ritual or something. I know where they’re staying, but I thought I’d get a little shopping in first.”