The Christmas Company

by Alys Murray

  Clark didn’t speak right away. He went into a cabinet and found an apron of his own. As he pulled it over his head and rolled up the sleeves of his blue collared shirt, Kate stopped herself from breathing too loud. She’d thought he was handsome since she met him, but this was something else. The clash of the domestic apron with his strong, exposed forearms, his willingness to open up and be sensitive around her… Her cheeks flushed, and it had nothing to do with the blazing oven. When Clark returned, he spoke again.

  “I haven’t had a real Christmas since I was nine years old. If I ever did make cookies, it was so long ago it’s impossible to remember if I did.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah.” He clearly thought that would be the end of it. Holding up the star ornament, he stared at Kate through its negative space like a rich man assessing a stranger through a monocle. “Now, what do I do with this?”

  On the marble countertops before them, Kate set up their station. A frozen pad of cookie dough waited on the floured countertop and a greased cookie sheet waited for the cut-out cookies. She demonstrated the method, every so often glancing at Clark to gauge his reaction.

  “You just sprinkle some flour on it and press it in. Like so.”

  “I don’t know.” He hesitated over the preparations, suddenly skittish. “I don’t want to ruin it.”

  “You can’t ruin it. Just press in…” She demonstrated again, “And pull it out.”

  Clark breathed in deep, as though he were diffusing a bomb instead of cutting out cookies. It was a cute image, in a way. He’d been out of practice in having fun for so long, he couldn’t even take something as simple as cutting out cookies any less seriously than negotiating a huge business deal. He laid the makeshift cookie-cutter into the dough, pulled it out, and fumbled to pick the newly made star up. There weren’t many ways to mess up using a cookie-cutter, so Clark’s clumsy attempt came out fairly neat. Two of the star’s points were lopsided and inconsistent with the rest. Clark deflated.

  “I messed up the ends. What do I do now?”

  “Just put it on the tray and try again with another one,” Kate said, obviously.

  “But—”

  “Not everything’s a disaster, Clark. You can always try again.”

  “I can’t—”

  He stopped himself short, hesitating to finish his thought. Like a starving man given a bite of food only to have it taken away, Kate longed to hear it completed. What couldn’t he do? And why couldn’t he do it? She reminded herself to be grateful. For most of the day, he’d been as emotionally distant as he possibly could be. This was one of the first glimpses she got of his full emotional range. Even if his disappointment seemed silly to her, at least he was showing her some feeling. He could have kept himself closed off and private, deflecting her every attempt to get close to him. But he didn’t. He was letting her see him for the first time. Kate stepped behind him, reaching her arms under his to better help him.

  She didn’t want to think about how good he smelled. Like an oaken whiskey barrel or a fresh forest. Nor did she want to think about how good his warmth felt mixing with hers. She didn’t want to think about her desire to wrap her arms around his chest and hold him to her until he turned around and returned the gesture.

  She didn’t want to. But she did anyway.

  “Let me help,” she whispered, unable to catch her own stampeding breath.

  Slowly, she guided his hands through the process, paying special attention to the tips of the stars.

  “See?” She withdrew from him as he laid the star down on the cookie sheet, wanting to wipe the girlish swoon from her eyes before he could catch it. “Perfect.”

  “Thanks.”

  Was it her hope talking, or did he sound as breathless as she felt? Kate cleared her throat and returned to their task. Maybe talking about him would remove all of the magic tingles crossing her skin.

  “Don’t think you’re getting out of it.” She nudged him playfully with her shoulder. “Why haven’t you had Christmas for twenty years?”

  “I went to boarding school.”

  A diplomatic answer. Kate didn’t accept it.

  “And what? You never came back?”

  “My parents died on New Year’s. We’d just had our big family Christmas. I was only nine.” Her lungs stopped working as he delivered his story with matter-of-fact sincerity. Her hands stilled over the cookies, but Clark went on cutting. “They were up in Eagle Point. I was here with my uncle. They went to a party and never came home. They told me a drunk driver lost control on a patch of black ice.”

  “Oh, Clark. I didn’t mean… I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

  Such a small way to apologize for something so massive, but Kate couldn’t think of anything else to say. The gears of comprehension ground together in her head as information flew at her. She pieced it together. It all led to one heartbreaking picture.

  “That’s why I was so afraid of the forest. When they told me, I just ran out there. I didn’t bring a flashlight or anything. I just ran through the rain until I couldn’t see the house anymore. My uncle came out and found me eventually, but I was…” He rubbed a rough hand over his face. “He took custody of me, but I begged to go to boarding school. I didn’t want to be here and remember. I didn’t want The Christmas Company reminding me of what happened. That’s part of the reason I hate it so much. I didn’t want to think of Christmas ever again. So, I stayed at school almost all year round.”

  He shook his head. “On the one hand, it made me the man I am today. I pinch pennies because I’m afraid if I spend a cent out of line I’ll lose the company. The only thing of them I still have. I wear my father’s old suit jackets because I don’t want to lose them. I stayed in school and worked all the time to make them proud, to become the great man they would have wanted me to be. On the other hand…staying at school made it easier to avoid thinking about it. No matter how much my uncle begged me to come home even for a weekend, I just couldn’t face being here. I wanted to hold onto them, but I didn’t want to remember them, either. It was too painful. Now, it’s like I pushed it all away for so long, I can barely remember even when I want to.”

  “Why?”

  “What do you mean, why?”

  “I mean…why are you telling me all this? You could have just lied.”

  All at once, she became aware of tears blurring her vision as she gazed up at him. Tears for a man who’d lost everything. He’d been defeated by the world again and again, all while she’d been basking in the attention he’d been denied. The cookie-cutter remained useless in her limp hand. Clark sighed and put his own down to turn and meet her.

  “Because this is the first Christmas no one let me be alone. The first time I pushed everyone away but…” They shared a meaningful look, one filled with the warmth of a freshly lit fireplace. “Someone stayed anyway.”

  She wanted to hold him. Or kiss him. Anything to show him he didn’t deserve to be alone. Keeping her hands and lips to herself, she swiftly changed the subject, breaking the emotionally devastating mood with one joking question.

  “How am I doing so far on that front? Have I made an elf of you?”

  “You know, it’s not so bad. I don’t see what the fuss is all about yet, but I’m warming up to it. Keep feeding me these cookies and maybe I’ll like it even more.”

  In a few swift movements, he placed the full baking sheet into the oven and plucked a few cookies off of the cooling rack.

  “The good news is that we’ll have enough cookies to last us three lifetimes.”

  “You don’t know how many cookies I can eat.”

  He handed her a stack of five cookies, and Kate’s stomach both curdled and leapt for joy. The idea of so many cookies was appealing, but the reality frightened her stomach. She almost refused the gift. Then, the smell hit her. She was powerless to the combination of s
ugar and butter cooked to warm perfection.

  “If I eat more than twenty, drop a piano on my head,” she encouraged, accepting the stack. “It’s the only way to stop me once I get into a feeding frenzy.”

  “Deal.” He laughed, a sound sweeter than any cookies.

  They snacked in silence. Though this huge revelation hung between them, things seemed less fraught between them. Still, Kate couldn’t help but sink in the sadness she’d heard in his voice. Cookies weren’t enough to erase that memory.

  “Hey, Clark?” she asked.

  “Yeah?”

  “What do you remember about Christmas? You said you don’t remember much. Do you remember anything?”

  Clark hesitated, then shook his head. “I haven’t thought about it in so long.”

  “Do you want to remember? You don’t have to. I know it’s hard,” she assured him.

  Kate thought of her parents every day. She couldn’t imagine the pain of wanting to forget them, of hiding away at boarding school so no one could make you think of them.

  “I remember…” Clark bit his bottom lip. His hands flexed. He leaned against the counter for support. A tiny, tiny smile glowed on his softened face. “My mother’s perfume. Tuberose, I think. I remember them dragging me to go caroling. Every year, my mom would make a tub of hot cocoa and my dad would help her make cookies and we’d walk through the neighborhood caroling. None of us could sing, really. Dad was the worst of us, but it didn’t matter. It was fun.” He lost himself in the thoughts of his past. “When my mom would tuck me in on Christmas Eve, I remember she’d light a candle and put it on my windowsill. She told me it was so Santa knew where to find me.”

  “Those are beautiful memories.”

  “I miss them. I haven’t let myself think about them like this in so long, but…I miss them.” He trailed off, staring out into the distance. But no sooner had he withdrawn than he brought himself back, clearing his throat as if to clear the air of his very self. “Sorry. You don’t want to hear this.”

  “I don’t mind at all. In fact, it’s pretty nice.”

  “Cookies and sad stories. What next? Champagne and a dentist appointment?” He chuckled, but the light didn’t quite meet his eyes. Kate wanted nothing more than to sit here and talk to him about this forever. She wanted to know everything about him. What was his favorite shade of blue? What had his life been like after boarding school? What did he dream about?

  For now, the questions would have to wait. As much as she wanted to keep talking, he needed something else. He needed a distraction. He still needed to fall in love with Christmas.

  “Well.” She smiled, her fingers brushing the top of his hand reassuringly. “The tree still isn’t decorated.”

  New memories would never replace a lifetime of horrible ones, but Kate could at least give him one special night.

  Chapter Twelve

  I can’t believe I told her. I can’t believe I told her.

  For the entire thirteen-step journey from the kitchen into the Christmas tree-dominated living room, Clark could only repeat those words. Then the thought mutated. I can’t believe I’m happy I told her. I can’t believe I’m relieved I told her. I can’t believe I trusted her. And still trust her.

  Clark couldn’t remember the last time he’d thought about his parents for any stretch of time, much less talked about them. He treated his memory of them like a precious, finite resource. The more he shared them, the less he had for himself. If he talked about them too much, he feared, he’d lose them forever. He wanted to protect the pieces of them he could.

  But talking about them with Kate liberated him. Secrets he’d been jealously hiding all his life came to the surface, excavating the pieces of his heart he’d buried long ago.

  Before his parents died, they spent most of their winter holidays here, visiting for a few days between Christmas and New Year’s, reveling in the time they got to spend with their family. The living room hadn’t changed. At least, it hadn’t physically changed since Clark saw it last. No one came in and threw extra tinsel on the mantel or hung more fake icicles from the ceiling. But as night cloaked the Woodward House, the quality of light changed inside the opulent family room. Instead of another room in a house on a cold winter’s day, it grew into a safe harbor of golden light, a refuge from the black night settling in outside of the walls. Kate turned the key in the fireplace, igniting the flames within and adding to the invisible layer of coziness wrapping itself around Clark’s shoulders. It reminded him of the time before, of the winter evenings spent here with his aunt and uncle, his mother and father.

  “I’m guessing you haven’t decorated a tree in a while either?”

  “I did a couple of times at school. That sort of celebration was mandatory.”

  As a kid, Clark did everything to get out of the festivities required of boarding school boys to make them feel more at home during the season. Thinking about Christmas brought up those memories he fought so hard to hide and hold onto; participating in the jolly holiday with his schoolmates only made things worse. He feigned illnesses. He tried to get in-school suspension. He claimed religious exemption, even going as far as to wear a yarmulke for three months. All to no avail. The administration allowed him to remain on campus for the holidays, but refused to excuse him from celebrating that same holiday during term time.

  “I guess you made handprint wreaths and stuff,” Kate ventured as she dragged a stack of boxes out into the middle of the room. Clark raced to help her, taking the top three boxes away to lighten her load. He followed her lead, opening the tops and exposing the blinding treasure trove of glitter, red paint, and homey paper stars tucked inside.

  “We mostly made pinecone reindeer. Our teachers were not the most imaginative bunch.”

  “That’s a shame. The teachers here in Miller’s Point are amazing.” Kate picked out a chain of paperclip stars. Their lopsided shapes assured him they were the handiwork of school children. He wondered if any of them hated Christmas as much as he had when he was a boy. Did anyone in Miller’s Point hate the season, or was he the only Grinch in sight? “Help me untangle these?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  With delicate fingers, they picked apart the tangled knots of nickel. Clark paid special attention not to bend them out of shape. Frivolous as he thought the exercise was for a classroom—when he was a boy, he threatened to file suit because Christmas activities robbed him of the teaching time his family paid for—someone still spent their time and effort on this chain of stars. He didn’t want to ruin them. As they worked, Kate talked, stupefying him more and more with every word out of her mouth.

  “Miss Monzalno, the second-grade teacher, she teaches her kids how to make advent calendars. And Miss White takes her kids to Dallas every year to serve at a soup kitchen right before they get out for Christmas. I don’t know if she still does it, but when I was there, Miss Elias took all of us to plant our own trees.”

  “You know so much about this town,” he said, causing her to balk. A swift tug of her wrist sent the paperclip strand flying out of his hands.

  She deflected. “It’s mine. It’s special to me.”

  “Not even Michael knew so much as you do.”

  “Miller’s Point is my family.”

  “I don’t know that much about my family.”

  He didn’t mean it as an accusation. But she took it as one.

  “You’re not the only one with a tragic backstory, Clark.”

  “You…?” She faced the world with the blinding optimism of someone who’d never been hurt before. He’d assumed she had a brimming family with many siblings. Every time he so much as imagined her home life, he pictured a Norman Rockwell painting, a white picket fenced house with a table of smiling cousins and grandparents.

  She made herself busy with the ornaments, taking them out one at a time and arranging them on the tree’s branc
hes. They sparkled ironically as a shadow took hold of Kate.

  “My mom wasn’t ever really in the picture and my dad was…not a good father.” Those words hung in the air for a moment before she amended herself. What came next was a confession, one he wondered if she’d ever shared with another person so explicitly. “He was an alcoholic. I started volunteering with The Christmas Company when my teacher—Miss Sanders—wanted to help get me out of the house. I liked it so much, I never wanted to go back

  home. The town became more of my family than my family ever was. Not exactly tragic. It’s really a happy ending, if you think about it.”

  Each word was worse than a kick in the teeth. It took Clark a long, solemn moment before he recovered enough to speak again.

  “Only you could see it that way.”

  “See it what way?”

  “Horrible people treated you horribly and you think it’s a blessing?” he asked, furrowing his brow. Kate only shrugged, picking up a small, golden star and hanging it up on a branch. The rustle of needles filled Clark’s nose with the scent of pine, a scent he’d forever associate with this moment and this confounding, exceptional woman.

  Her shoulders were so slender for someone who carried the weight of the world on them without so much as bowing beneath the pressure.

  “If I was a normal person with a normal life, I never would have found anything spectacular. You know, bad things aren’t the end of the story. Well, I guess they can be, but only if you let them.”

  A million incredulous, confused responses bubbled to Clark’s lips. He didn’t speak any of them. She offered him simplicity. What was the point in complicating something that clearly guided her and gave her happiness? Changing the subject before he could contemplate whether he could have lived his life like she lived hers, Clark reached for the nearest box of ornaments. He cleared his throat.