1956. A girl in the crowd is proposed to by her boyfriend in front of Elvis. It would be a lovely moment if it weren't for the three other girls he also dated. All of them were present at the same time and place, just after Elvis' concert. As the dr...
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* chapter music * - I'll be home for Christmas - Elvis Presley
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I'm introducing chapter music with this one. A few chapters, five if I remember correctly, have a belonging soundtrack. These are important to set the scene and enhance the story. These are as much part of the story as the book itself. For this chapter, however, its more or less to introduce the concept—not the most important soundtrack. Next one is, though, but that's many chapters ahead of us. And, I know Christmas songs isn't something everyone listens to and its only October for us—but hey, if you want to, it's cozy :)
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Rosalie POV (Sal)
A week went by. It was the 2nd of December.
I had taken two sick days after Wendell's worble attack. I couldn't bring myself to walk out the door, feeling as though I needed safe walls. Having to go back to work, I could feel myself watching out for Wendell—looking once or twice past my shoulders to make sure no one was following me on the way to or back from work. The streets that once held the feeling of regularity now gave the impression of unknown dangerous territory. Alleys seemed darker, and anxiousness surfaced at corners. People walking in the distance had me thinking it was him.
Regina had promised me that if she saw him, she would make sure he would end up fitting into her gingerbread cookie cutter. It made me smile and actually feel better because I knew she very honestly meant that she would kick his ass if she ever saw the bastard.
The beginning of the Christmas season always brought me so much joy. Winter was by far my favorite season, and I loved walking the streets on afternoons when the sun was already far gone. Lights sparkled on hung-up chains all over town, and the snow made the pavement pretty, glistening in the cast light from streetlights, stars in windows, and rows upon rows of ceiling lights.
Walking with Rachel on my arm, a head shorter than me, her sweet presence calmed my previous worry about bumping into Wendell when outside—letting me see my surroundings for what it was fearlessly. Above our heads, chains across the street lit up her praline-colored light brown hair. Resting in straight locks, they draped her woolen teal-colored winter coat folded around her, matching her winter hat—that Patty once told me was a French Laulhère. One of the many more words she had in her vocabulary that most people didn't.
Rachel was the purest of us all. She was joining my family in baking Christmas treats tonight, which filled her with glee. Her parents weren't the most excited Christmas folks, even though they were highly Christian. They went to church on Christmas Day after having a meal on Christmas Eve, just the three of them. At the end of a long stretched dining table—three chairs were occupied as they ate in silence. If they dared to, though, they asked about the weather. If, against all odds, her father was in a cheeky mood, he'd conjure up an old psalm.
