by Ellie Hall
After they parted, he wrapped his arm around her and they stood in front of the fire for a few minutes. The wind howled outside and a plow truck rumbled by.
Rachel peeked out the window. “It was like as soon as it turned December, mother nature decided to turn on the snow machine.”
Ryan chuckled. “The old-timers at Honey Bea and Thistle said that it was going to be a doozy of a winter. Their words, not mine.”
“Thanks again for the tires.”
“I just want you to be safe.” He flipped the key fob to his truck in his hand. It was getting late; he probably should’ve been leaving.
“You too. Drive carefully. And thanks. Thanks for everything.”
He dipped his head and kissed her softly on the cheek. “I’d do anything for you, Rachel.”
At that, he trudged through the snow, already over six inches deep. He blinked the flakes from his eyes. It was coming down so hard it was difficult to see. He’d driven to the ranch countless times in poor weather but wasn’t looking forward to it, not only because of the conditions but also because it meant leaving Rachel.
Reluctantly, he got into the truck and let it warm up. Ryan was known for being fast on the field with quick reflexes, but he hesitated, lingered.
When the lights blinked off in Rachel’s house, leaving only a faint glow from the living room windows cast by the tree and fire, he backed slowly out of their driveway. When he started to turn the wheel to get onto the road, his tires spun. He already was using four-wheel drive, but the truck wouldn’t budge. He hopped out to inspect the situation. The end of the driveway was plowed in with several feet of snow.
Mulberry Street was a town road that the Department of Public Works maintained, but if homeowners didn’t act fast, they were often plowed in.
During high school, Ryan usually drove Rachel to and from school. He recalled after numerous winter storms he’d had to shovel out her mother’s SUV for that very reason. He usually kept a shovel in the back of the truck but hadn’t grabbed one from the garage at the ranch when he’d arrived. He felt like kicking himself for being so forgetful, but life in the mountains was different than in Boston.
He pulled back into the driveway and knocked on Rachel’s door. When she answered, he started in with apologies. “I didn’t think ahead about getting snowed in.”
“But that means that you can’t run away.” She’d changed out of her dress from the fundraiser and wore pajamas with penguins on them that looked comfy and made her extra huggable. She was adorable and beautiful and never once in the last five years had he allowed himself to dream or hope that he’d be in the same room with her again. It was too risky, filled him with too much longing, regret, and pain over what he’d done.
Her ponytail bobbed as she walked ahead of him to the kitchen and he was grateful she was giving him a chance.
She picked up a bowl of popcorn and asked if he wanted anything to drink. They settled in the living room. “I was going to watch a movie and string some popcorn for the tree.”
“You were always a night owl.”
“And you were the early bird.”
“The early bird gets the worm.” He leaned in to tickle her.
But she wiggled away and wrinkled her nose at the old expression.
They reminisced about meeting up for runs on the trails—when they’d found their shared interest in the sport, he’d extended one of the trails from his property to the hills behind her house. He was inclined to go early in the morning, while she preferred evening runs. They’d meet up by the pond—a halfway point—intending to run more, but often sat under the oak tree or on the swing, chatting. It felt like old times then, just the two of them. She was the only girl he’d ever been able to talk to.
While they chatted, she started to string the popcorn. “I forgot the cranberries.”
“I’ll grab them.” Ryan scooted to the kitchen.
The refrigerator only contained a few condiments, a carton of milk, a lonely box of leftovers, and a few cookie making supplies.
Rachel put on one of her favorite movies about a man who thought he was a Christmas elf. They strung the popcorn and cranberries in front of the fire. The kittens played with the string.
Her eyes crinkled when she laughed at scenes from the movie. Ryan had a feeling she hadn’t done so in a long while. He poked himself with the threading needle and when he looked up, her eyes were glassy.
“What’s the matter?” he asked gently.
She quickly wiped her eyes and shook her head.
“Is it about your mom?” He knew how difficult the holidays could be when important people were gone or ill.
She shrugged. “I just don’t feel like I should be here enjoying myself like this. I feel bad, guilty.”
Ryan drew her into a hug and didn’t let her go until she melted against him as though assured that he wasn’t going to ditch her again. He wanted to tell her it was going to be okay. But he didn’t know that for sure. Instead, he took his hands in hers, held them tight and said, “How about we pray together?”
She blinked away tears. Even though her expression was strained, her eyes already shone with relief.
Ryan’s family always practiced their religious observances, but it wasn’t until he’d found himself alone after turning his back on his family, on Rachel, and grieving his mother, did he feel called to pray in earnest, morning, night, and during services as well as moments in between and even sometimes when out on a run or when playing on the field. It was like a soundtrack that brought him more firmly into a place where he knew he was supported, forgiven, and connected to God.
He’d prayed for a way to make things right with his family and Rachel.
It seemed as if in some ways his prayers had been answered, but right then he asked for comfort for Mrs. Moore and her daughter who he cared about deeply.
Afterward, as the movie played in the background, they talked some more about her mother and his. He’d hardly spoken about what losing his mom had been like, how his heart had ached, and how the holidays were always the hardest.
“You know that you could’ve talked to me after everything that happened with your mom,” Rachel said. The words were an invitation, a soft caress.
He nodded. “But I didn’t know how, or I wasn’t ready.”
“I’m glad you can talk to me now.”
Ryan was quiet a beat. “I miss her every day.”
“She’s with you still, watching over you.” Rachel squeezed his hand.
It was as though she needed assurance too. Ryan bit his lip, unsure whether to say the next thing that came to his mind, but he felt moved. He’d want the reminder if the situation were reversed. “And your mother is still with you in this earthly form.” It was like Rachel had already given up. Like as she packed up, she was saying goodbye, but as far as he knew, Mrs. Moore still lived and breathed. There was hope.
She gazed into the fire.
“Rachel, you were always the happiest person in the room. You had the brightest smile and would light up everyone you met. You’d make the most of situations. You inspired hope and cheer. Christmas was your favorite and—”
“And so were you.”
The words crashed into him. Did he cause her to change from the joyous girl he knew and admired to someone with an air of sadness?
“Rachel, I’m sorry. Please, forgive me for what I did.”
She dropped a piece of popcorn as alarm streaked across her features. She closed her eyes for a moment as though praying. Serenity appeared, softening the space around her eyes. “I do forgive you, Ryan and I’m really glad you’re here.”
“I have so many regrets and I’m done with them. I’m done running. I want you to know that I’ll never leave you again unless you want me to.” His voiced sealed the words like a promise.
Her smile was radiant and he couldn’t resist kissing her again. As they melted together in front of the fire with the Christmas lights twinkling in the background and the credits
to the movie rolling, he didn’t think of the moment as an ending, but a beginning.
They snuggled on the couch, talking late into the night about Christmas’s past while carefully avoiding the future. The three kittens nestled in with them until they, along with Rachel, dozed off. He smiled with her in his arms and in her adorable penguin pajamas.
Although Ryan wouldn’t leave her again, he wasn’t sure how she’d react if something did happen to her mother. After all, it wasn’t that he’d wanted to run away, but couldn’t deal with everything so he took off. His eyes were heavy and he drifted to sleep only to be woken by the plow trucks the next morning.
He was up early—ever the early bird—and shoveled the front path. He excavated his truck and went into town to get some food for breakfast. It turned out that not only was the fridge empty at Rachel’s house, but the cupboards were nearly bare too.
When he returned with warm scones and tea from the Honey Bea and Thistle, Rachel was still fast asleep. He left a note.
Dear Rachel,
I don’t want you to go hungry or try to live off popcorn and cranberries.
Love, Santa.
Chapter 10
Rachel
Rachel woke to the warmth of the fire, the scent of blueberry scones, and a fuzzy feeling that had nothing to do with the fuzzy socks on her feet. Well, maybe a little. They had red, white, and green stripes with gold trim.
It was as though the long night spent with Ryan had awakened something inside her, only growing brighter and warmer as she’d slept.
On the coffee table, she found a note from him and breakfast. Across the room, the tree was still lit. In the reflection of a mirror hanging over a small table, she wore a smile on her face that felt like Christmas morning, like joy.
Was it the magic of the mistletoe? The kiss?
She’d never forget the first time she’d kissed Ryan. They’d taken to meeting halfway between his house and hers. On hot days they’d jump into the pond, still in their running gear.
It had been a warm fall day and they had only dipped their feet in the water. The trees had already begun to change. On his run to meet her, he’d collected a bunch of maple leaves that matched her hair. She wove them into a crown. Sitting under the oak tree, he’d been skipping stones and they’d kept track of how many times they’d jumped, keeping a tally on the tree. The sun set and the crickets chirped to life. He turned his head and she did the same. Then their lips met. It was soft and sweet and perfect. The kiss the night before, so many years later, was just as dazzling and perfect as the first one.
Afterward, by the pond, he’d said, “Will you be my girl? Please, say yes.”
The note in the box she’d unwrapped at the ranch was a call back to that. To her sixteen-year-old mind, there’d been no question. She’d loved him even when they were still friends. She’d loved him when he’d kissed her. She didn’t know how love could grow to be so strong, so powerful, but she’d felt it in the center of her being. She also didn’t know how it could be so enduring, so forgiving because it was still there. The embers had blazed to life.
Maybe it was prayer. Perhaps trying to do everything herself had been her mistake. Christmas was a time to bring people together, not to be alone. She wanted to be strong for her mom like her mother had been for all those years that she’d dedicated herself to raising Rachel.
A flare of hope rose inside her at the idea that maybe leaning on people who cared would ease her burden. She ventured back in time and realized her mother hadn’t done anything alone. Mrs. Bishop, the next-door neighbor, had looked after Rachel when her mom had to work late or go on odd jobs. She always had cookies and a giant puzzle on her dining room table so Rachel didn’t mind a bit. Frank Wright shoveled their sidewalk, Marlo Wilkins was generous in the summer with the vegetables from her garden, and there were numerous other people in the community who’d helped out over the years. Then there was Bea and Thistle at the restaurant who were like surrogate grandparents. Also, the nurses and doctors at the hospital cared for Sheila around the clock.
Rachel glimpsed her mother’s favorite Psalm written in calligraphy and framed on the wall. She didn’t have to go it alone because she also had God’s everlasting presence, and He’d planted so many wonderful people in her life.
Somewhat astounded by the revelation, Rachel wanted to shower everyone with gratitude. With a spring in her step, she got to her feet. She may not have been an early bird, but for the first time in a long time, she felt energized and excited for the day ahead.
After she showered and dressed, she tended to the kittens. Then she let them run loose around the living room. The one that was particularly roly-poly got tangled up in the knitting project that had taken over part of the coffee table.
Since returning home and facing her mother’s decline, all she could do was pack up. She didn’t want to see reminders of the way things had been. It was easier to stow everything in boxes or get rid of them than to try to pretend it would ever be normal again. But she didn’t feel like packing right then.
After rescuing some of the yarn from the kittens, she returned to the project just as the doorbell rang.
She opened the door to find Ryan standing on the stoop.
He bit his lip. “I, uh...” He was suddenly boyish and slightly shy like he’d been when they were a brand new, young couple. The fact that he was severely in need of a shave and everything about his strong, athletic build, masculine features, and confident posture was all man. It told her that shy or not, times had changed.
She glanced over his shoulder and her jaw dropped. “You shoveled and decorated the outside tree too?” Rachel’s face broke into a grin. “This must have taken you all morning.”
He shrugged as if it was nothing. “I’m the early bird.”
She laughed and felt emotion at the back of her throat. “Thank you.”
“Well, it was that and—”
“You couldn’t stay away, could you?”
His smile matched hers. “Making up for lost time.”
He gripped her upper arms and pressed his lips to her temple.
Her eyes drifted closed. The tension in her neck melted and Rachel let him in the house. For a brief moment, she wondered what it would’ve been like had they remained a couple after the accident. Would they have drifted apart as football took him around the country and her degree took her out to sea? She wasn’t sure. There was no knowing, but she was sure things were turning out exactly as they were meant to.
He untangled one of the kittens from the yarn. “We haven’t named these guys yet.”
“Well, there’s Dasher and Dancer and Prancer.” Rachel petted one of the kitties.
Ryan named the other reindeer and then said, “That would only feel right if there were kittens reindeer. Plus there’s Rudolph.”
“One of them does have a pink nose.” Rachel picked up the yarn and started knitting again. She didn’t want to think about what would happen to the kittens...after. She’d have to find them homes.
“How about Santa Paws?” Ryan rubbed one of the kitten’s bellies. “Or Santa Claws?” He spelled the word out then withdrew his hands “Ouch. This one has sharp claws.” He continued to play with them and then stroked two of the soft, fluffy kitties at once. “And this one has a little round belly...that jiggles and wiggles like a bowl full of jelly,” he said, paraphrasing the words to the classic poem T’was the Night Before Christmas. When the kittens were tired out, Ryan slid onto the couch. “It doesn’t feel right for them not to have names. Hmm. Cookie, Mittens, and Mistletoe...”
Both their heads tipped back to rest against the couch. Ryan turned his head first. Feeling his eyes on her, Rachel tilted her head to the right. Their lips met once more, lighting up the already sunny day. As their mouths crashed together, the warmth between them could’ve melted the snow outside. As though they both knew the time to spend together was running out, the intensity between them was immediate.
Ryan wrapped one ar
m around Rachel’s shoulder, drawing her near. It slid to the nape of her neck and his fingers gripped her head.
The kiss was demanding, hungry and not because it was nearly lunch. Ryan’s mighty hand shifted to grip her jaw, slid down the back of her neck, and then he pulled her closer still. She curled into him, savoring his minty taste, his strength as her hands grazed his biceps then around to his back, pressing her palms flat.
Theirs was the kind of connection that withstood time, heartache, and loss. The kiss was a reminder, highlighting that fact, and tying it up with a ribbon. Once more, the peculiar thought entered Rachel’s mind about what their lives would’ve been like had he not left, had they not gone their separate ways, and had he given her the box he’d intended years previous containing the slip of paper. What if she’d said yes?
When they parted, she tried to return her focus to the knitting project, but it was as though she was trying to do it with her eyes closed or with her toes instead of fingers.
“What are you making anyway?” Ryan asked.
She explained that she wanted to knit socks for each of the patients on her mother’s floor at the hospital. “I’m on a deadline, you know, getting them finished by Christmas.”
His expression darkened for a moment before he smiled. “Can I try?”
Rachel showed him how to do the stitches. However, he somehow managed to knit his fingers together.
“I think I’ll let you figure out how to get out of that one.” She laughed.
“I’ll accept that challenge.”
He struggled with the loops and was as tangled up as the kittens. Never mind that he’d botched that sock, but it was already a bit lumpy anyway.
“It’s rather fitting that I did this because I’ve gotten so much twisted up in the past sometimes just jumping in and figuring it out is the only way to make things right.” He wiggled his fingers. “Ta-da. If only the past was as easy to unravel,” he muttered.
