by J. L. Jarvis
Two weeks after the shop visit, a postcard arrived. On it was a common Forever flag stamp, and it was postmarked Washington, DC, but nothing was written on it except her address. On the other side of the card was a Mark Rothko painting. There was no meaningful clue in the painting that she could discern, but the artist himself was a clue. Rothko was an abstract expressionist. She turned the card over again and looked at the small print. “National Gallery of Art, Washington, DC.” The CIA headquarters was in the DC area. Maybe Luke was there but unable to reach her. Or maybe he was somewhere else, on a covert op, and someone—perhaps the man in the shop—was mailing the postcard to her. Part of her found that idea too cloak-and-dagger to believe, yet it was the only potential connection she had to Luke, so she clung to her theory.
As the dreary weeks of winter wore on, more blank Rothko postcards came postmarked from various locations in the DC area. Every two weeks another would appear in her mailbox, renewing her hope. Luke was out there somewhere, letting her know he was thinking of her and that he was okay.
Nineteen
April arrived, and signs of new growth on the plants and trees lifted Chloe’s spirits. Her online business was flourishing, keeping her busy—almost busy enough to distract her from Luke. One morning, she pulled into the post office parking lot for what had become an almost daily routine of shipping artwork and related merchandise to customers. As she arrived at the entrance, the door swung open, and she collided with the man coming out, sending her packages to the ground.
He touched her shoulders to steady them both. “Chloe?”
She looked up, surprised. “Easton! Hello!”
He stooped down to retrieve the fallen boxes. “Here, let me help you.” When they’d gathered them up, Easton carried the boxes inside. He waited while Chloe finished, then said, “Would you like a coffee?”
Coffee sounded like an excellent idea on its own, and coffee with Easton would be even better. “Yes. Coffee sounds good.”
The post office was two blocks away from the deli with the best coffee in town, so they walked there. As Chloe walked in, she glanced at the table where she’d once sat with Luke. It seemed like a lifetime ago.
“After you.” Easton was waiting.
Only then did Chloe realize she had stopped. “Sorry.” She continued to the counter, where they got two coffees then made their way to a table.
Easton smiled, flashing bright eyes and those perfect white teeth of his. “It is so good to see you.”
“You too.” Not only did she mean that sincerely, but she felt more alive than she’d felt in some time—well, since she’d last seen Luke. A pang of guilt brought her back to reality. She was lonely. That’s what this was about. And Easton was here looking very attentive.
They chatted mostly about Chloe. Easton was far too skilled at asking questions and even better at listening to the answers. Chloe talked about her painting and how her business was growing.
“I’m not surprised. I knew you would do well.”
With a light laugh, Chloe said, “That makes one of us.”
When they’d caught up and arrived at a lull in the conversation, Easton gazed at her. “I’m so glad I ran into you—literally.”
“Me too.” She meant it more than she cared to admit. As much as she cared for Luke, she didn’t know where he was, when she’d see him again—if ever—or whether he would still feel the same about her. What she had with Luke was more mirage than relationship, but her heart would not let go.
Easton glanced at his watch and looked at her with reluctance. “I’ve got to go to a meeting.”
Chloe smiled, feeling glad she had seen him but relieved to be parting.
His eyebrows drew together. “Would you like to go out sometime?”
She was tempted. “I’m seeing someone.”
Easton looked genuinely pleased for her. “Lucky him.”
“I don’t know about that.” She peered into his eyes. “It was so good to see you.”
They got up, went outside, and hugged outside the door before parting. As she walked to her car, Chloe thought about Easton. As nice as his company was, it could only come close to what she had with Luke. As lonely as she might feel at times, her heart was with Luke.
Months passed, and the postcards piled up in a wooden box on Chloe’s counter. She kept them there, where she could look at them often. But as the seasons changed and she spent day after day alone, she began to feel as though she had fallen in love with a ghost. Regardless of that, she had fallen in love.
Sometimes she would look at Luke’s house and imagine him there like he used to be. A crew came by every week and maintained the lawn. When the first snow came in November, the driveway was plowed. Lights came on and off with a timer, making it almost appear as if someone were living there. Thanksgiving came and went, and Chloe didn’t have the heart to put up her usual Christmas decorations. Every time she thought about stringing up lights, her thoughts went to Luke, and she couldn’t do it. She’d lost her Christmas spirit.
Her mother took her out for some Christmas shopping and lunch. “Chloe, maybe it’s time to let go.”
Chloe didn’t say anything. If she were her mother, she would say the same thing. It had been nearly a year since she’d met Luke, and most of that year, she had spent all alone. While the Santa photo may have outed him to a certain extent, no one had ever connected him to the CIA. If they had, the media would have been all over it. Time had passed. No one seemed to remember or care about the small-town Santa story. Luke was gone. Life went on.
Chloe went home from lunch and checked her mailbox. Her Rothko postcard was several days late. Maybe her mother was right. Maybe Luke had decided it was time for them both to let go. Chloe put on her comfy pants, started her “Sad Christmas” playlist, and sat by the fireplace, nursing a hot chocolate laced with her teardrops.
Two days before Christmas, the mail truck pulled away, and she went to the mailbox again. Still no Rothko postcard. If it hadn’t come by that point, it wasn’t coming at all. She was sifting through junk mail, quickly tossing items into the trash, when she came across a mailer from a church in New York. It was a photo of their men and boys’ choir with the Fifth Avenue church’s beautiful sanctuary as a backdrop. She would have been all over that sort of thing in years past, but this Christmas was different. Besides, it was too far away. In fact, for that reason, it seemed odd that they would have bothered to send her a mailer. She’d never visited the church or signed up for their mailing list.
She examined it further. It hadn’t been sent via bulk mail. It bore the same flag stamp as the Rothko postcards. But that didn’t mean anything. That stamp had to be the most common stamp in use. Then she noticed the postmark—Washington, DC. Why would a church in New York City send her a postcard from Washington, DC?
Because they haven’t. At least she didn’t think so. She couldn’t be sure, but she thought Luke might have sent it. Every other card he’d sent had been from that same Rothko set of postcards. They’d held no clue of a time or place, but this one was different. It still had no message—only her address, the flag stamp, and the DC postmark—but it advertised an event, the Christmas Eve midnight service. It couldn’t be a coincidence.
She reached for her phone. “Mom? I’m going to New York for Christmas Eve. I’ll be back Christmas Day.”
“New York? Why?”
“I’m not sure. I’ll explain later.”
“But Chloe—”
“I’ll be fine. I’m not driving. I’m taking a train from Harrisburg.”
“But that’ll take hours.”
“Four. Yes, I know.”
The next afternoon, she was on the train, staring out the window at the passing scenery and wondering if she’d lost her mind. She arrived in New York and checked into a hotel. With a few hours to spare before the midnight Christmas Eve service, Chloe was tired but too nervous to nap, so she went for a walk. After taking in the store window displays, she turned down a side str
eet. Drawn in by its twinkling holiday lights, she ducked into an Irish pub for some dinner. After returning to her hotel, Chloe freshened up then found herself with thirty minutes to spare. She went down to the hotel bar, which was practically empty. There, she sat in a quiet corner and calmed her nerves with a brandy eggnog. Her mind swam with conflicting thoughts. Maybe the mailer was just Luke saying Merry Christmas—a simple thought that she’d taken and run way too far with. But what if it was more than that? She had to know.
Twenty
She arrived at the church early, but a line was already forming. She kept looking for Luke, but he wasn’t there. She told herself it was early. The doors opened, and Chloe found a seat about halfway back on the aisle. She watched as people filed in. The church filled up quickly, but she kept her coat beside her and vigilantly guarded the extra space on the pew.
The service began, and Chloe’s heart sank. She’d known he might not be there, but she had let herself hope. The choir sang “In the Bleak Midwinter,” and the beauty of their singing made Chloe feel just as bleak. Everyone seemed to be there with someone, but she was alone on Christmas Eve. She blocked out her disappointment until she felt almost numb. A boy’s pure solo soprano began, “Once in Royal David’s City.” The exquisite clarity of his voice and the deep meaning of Christmas mingled with her profound disappointment. A tear trailed down her cheek.
A latecomer arrived and stood in the aisle beside her. There was no point in saving the seat anymore, so she moved her coat onto her lap to make room on the pew. She glanced up out of reflexive politeness to offer a nod, but she couldn’t manage a smile.
Luke looked into her eyes. Everyone stood to sing “O Come All Ye Faithful,” and she numbly stood along with them. Luke leaned over and said, “It’s over. I’ve come back to you—if you still want me.” He slipped his arm about Chloe’s waist, and she sank against him.
She sang one line of a verse then whispered, “I’ve missed you.” She stopped talking as tears unexpectedly filled her eyes.
He didn’t answer, but his aching gaze said it all.
The initial wonder and joy of being together subsided, and they couldn’t seem to stop smiling. By the last verse, Chloe whispered, “I thought you couldn’t sing.”
“I never said that. I’ll have you know I was the section leader in my high school choir.”
“But you hate Christmas carols.”
“Not the good ones. I just hate what you hear in the mall.”
“I’ve got to know. Who was the man in Laura’s shop?”
“One of my coworkers.” He shrugged as though it were nothing, but that question had nagged her for months.
“He sent the cards?”
Luke nodded. “I left him a box of them before I left.”
She opened her mouth to say something more, but he held up his finger to shush her and glanced toward the altar to remind her that they were in church. Then his eyes twinkled.
Luke slipped his hand in hers and held it until the music was over. Then he leaned over and whispered, “I love you.”
“I love you too. I’ve been wanting to say that for so long.”
As glorious voices filled the church, Chloe sat beside Luke, overwhelmed by the joy of both Christmas and Luke’s return. She didn’t know where he had been, and she might never know. The fact that he was even there with her was a gift on its own. The world wasn’t perfect, but there were unsung heroes like Luke who were making it safer. Meanwhile, inside where it was safe and warm, she had someone beside her to share Christmas and love, and that was a gift she would treasure forever.
Twenty-One
Four Months Later
Chloe sat at the computer in her studio and reread the ad copy. Luke came inside, all sweaty from yard work, and opened his arms. Chloe laughed and pulled away. “That’s okay.”
His eyes twinkled. “Honeymoon’s over already?”
She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. “Check back after you’ve showered, and I might reconsider.”
“Oh, I will, and you’d better.”
They shared a lingering look, then his eyes strayed to the computer screen.
“What do you think of this ad for your house vacation rental?”
Luke read it and smiled. “It’s perfect.”
Chloe pressed Enter and posted the ad.
* * *
The Holiday Hideaway: Escape to an enchanting mountaintop forest retreat. Rustic character meets modern, upscale amenities in this two-bedroom, two-bath cabin just waiting for you.
Acknowledgments
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About the Author
J.L. Jarvis is a left-handed opera singer/teacher/lawyer who writes books. She received her undergraduate training from the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign and a doctorate from the University of Houston. She now lives and writes in New York.
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