A Wedding for Christmas_Sweet Holiday Romance

by Rachelle Ayala

  “I’m sure I’ll like her, but she’s not staying on our couch until we have time to discuss this. You can’t push her into my life. Bree was asking about suicide. What if Zulu does something crazy while the kids are around? How much have you thought this through?”

  “I can’t talk about this right now. I’ll see you in a bit.” He hangs up.

  “Urrrgh!” I feel like throwing the phone, but of course I don’t. What would that accomplish? I need to let the entire scene play out.

  Tyler has to see that being a civilian is different from being in the military. Here, our primary responsibility is to provide a safe home to nurture and care for our children.

  Out there, they don’t leave a buddy behind, and the entire group sticks together in a cohesive unit, ready to sacrifice their own lives to save their fellow soldiers.

  I feel bad for Zulu, and I truly want to help, but there are organizations set up already to help her, if she would only take advantage of them.

  Footsteps come up the stoop, and I open the door for my family. Mother is carrying Arman, and Ella has a crockpot, while Sawyer is piled high with a stack of boxes.

  “Nana got me a new ornament,” Bree says, waving a crocheted flower. “She says it’s a special flower girl ornament.”

  “That’s wonderful. Did you say ‘thank you?’”

  “Thank you, Nana.” Bree gives my mother a big hug.

  “You’re very welcome.” My mother’s face beams with love as Arman is squeezed between them.

  “Where shall I set all of these?” Sawyer lumbers in. “I swear your mother must have emptied her entire storage unit of ornaments and decorations.”

  I turn to my mom. “You didn’t have to bring all your ornaments.”

  “Why not? My tree will be tiny this year,” Mother says. “You and Tyler are forming a new household, and it’s only fair for me to pass your ornaments officially to you. I’ve been collecting them for you since before you were born.”

  “Thanks, Mom.” I hug her. “It means so much to me that we’ll have all of our commemorative ornaments.”

  Our family commemorates everything with an ornament, and every year, when we trim the tree, we go over the memorable events in our lives. I even have an ornament for breaking my leg in fifth grade—a miniature leg in a cast trimmed with a red ribbon.

  I direct Sawyer to set the boxes, assembly line style on the dining table. First go the strings of lights that need to wind their way around the tree. Then we have the garlands, followed by tinsel.

  Sawyer is a big help since he’s so tall, and Ella stands back and lets him know whether he’s spreading everything evenly enough.

  Meanwhile, Brownie mills around sniffing everything, and Arman crawls to the tree, pulling off a fuzzy silver garland.

  I find some plastic, baby-proof ornaments and place them on the lower branches, letting him play and chew on them to his heart’s content.

  “Where are we putting Papa’s train?” Bree skips around the table. “We can’t put it under the tree because Arman might wreck it.”

  “Good point. Maybe this year, we need to build it somewhere higher.” I put the box of train parts aside. “Let’s do the ornaments and wait for Papa to get here before putting the train together.”

  “Where’s Tyler?” Mother asks. “I thought you all went together to get the tree.”

  “We did, but he had to pick up a friend from the hospital.” I exchange glances with Ella and Sawyer.

  “Is it that female soldier you and Tyler were talking about?” Mother asks.

  “Yes. They should be here any minute.” I glance at the clock on the mantel, my nerves all jittery. I’ve never met someone who tried to kill herself before.

  A few minutes later, the front door pushes open, and I hold my breath. Tyler holds the door for a thin, dark-haired woman. Her gaze is focused on the ground in front of her, and she doesn’t look at any of us.

  Her clothes hang off her frame, and she’s not wearing makeup.

  “Kelly, everyone,” Tyler says. “This is Zuleika, a friend.”

  I walk over to her and grasp her bony hand. “I’m Kelly. Welcome to my home. Would you like something to drink? Tea? Juice? Water?”

  She shrinks from my touch and shakes her head quickly, still looking at my feet.

  This is so awkward, and I look at Tyler for guidance. What am I supposed to do? I feel bad for her being so traumatized, and I cannot imagine what she must have gone through.

  “Zulu,” Tyler says, tapping her arm. “You remember Sawyer, don’t you?”

  Sawyer’s eyes widen, but he closes his gaping jaw and steps forward. “Hey, Zulu. How’s it going?”

  She doesn’t answer him, nor does she look at him.

  Ella comes over and says, “I’m Ella, Kelly’s sister, and this is my mother, Peggy. We want you to feel at home here.”

  Zulu nods, slightly, and says in a low voice, “You guys go ahead with whatever you’re doing.”

  “We’re trimming the Christmas tree.” Bree holds out an ornament. “Do you want to help us?”

  “I don’t celebrate Christmas.” She ducks away from Bree and turns toward Tyler. “This isn’t a good idea, me coming here.”

  “It’s okay. You don’t have to participate. Just sit on the couch, or if you’re sleepy, go to sleep in the bedroom,” Tyler says, guiding her toward the stairs.

  “I’m fine. Don’t bother about me. I should be going. You enjoy your family.” She heads toward the door.

  “You can’t leave yet,” my mother says, blocking her path. “I brought a delicious pot of Irish stew. I’d like you to try some and let me know what you think.”

  The mention of food perks Zulu up. She gives my mother a faint smile and nods.

  My mother takes it as an invitation to put her arm around her, and she steers Zulu to the kitchen. Count on Mom to be the miracle worker.

  I let out the breath I’ve been holding and join Bree under the Christmas tree.

  As soon as the kitchen door closes behind them, Sawyer glares at Tyler. “Why didn’t you tell me she’s around?”

  “You hadn’t seen her in years,” Tyler says. “And I knew it’d be awkward.”

  “Awkward? Or you didn’t think I could handle what happened to her?” Sawyer’s voice was rough and growly.

  Ella and I glance at each other. It seems there’s more history between Sawyer and Zulu than Tyler had let on.

  “She needs help,” Ella says. “Kelly looked up resources for veterans like her. Did she talk to anyone at the VA to see if they could find her a place to stay?”

  “Zulu doesn’t want any help. She’d rather sleep in the streets than go to a shelter,” Tyler says.

  “I understand that, but she needs counseling and therapy.” I don’t want to mention suicide in front of Bree, who is silently hanging up ornaments.

  “Why’d you bring her here today?” Sawyer asks. “You kept this entire thing from me, but now you brought her over to trim the tree?”

  “I wanted her to meet everyone,” Tyler says. “I’m hoping we can help her.”

  “She can stay at my place,” Ella says. “I have a sofa-bed.”

  “So do I,” Sawyer cuts in. “I can watch over her better than all of you, because I don’t work during the day.”

  He has gigs in the evening and works as a bartender when he’s not playing with his band at a club.

  “We’re going about this all wrong.” I raise both my hands. “We need to find out what Zulu wants, not impose or dictate what we think she should do.”

  “What she wants is to, you know …” Tyler darts a look at Bree. “We’re not going to solve it right now, so let’s trim that monster tree we got. Right, little Bree?”

  He scoops her into his arms and helps her hang an ornament up high. “Is that your baby’s first Christmas one?”

  “Yes, it is,” Bree says. “It’s a little bear riding a swan. I love swans because they are so pretty and have long necks.” />
  “Oh, look,” Ella says, taking Tyler’s cue. “A little lovebird. Do you remember the lovebirds you took a picture with last year at the tree farm?”

  “Yes, they were so cute jumping on each other.” Bree gives us a gap-toothed smile. Yes, the tooth fairy had come recently and we have a tooth fairy ornament for her to hang.

  And just like that, a flip switches and we’re back in a jolly, festive mood, although I’m too aware of the dark cloud sitting in the kitchen.

  “Here’s the first one I ever got for you.” Tyler picks up the “Loved by an Army Ranger” photo ornament that has a picture of him kissing me.

  I tilt my head toward him and kiss him, reenacting the scene. He brushes his lips over mine, then takes my hand and together we put the ornament on the tree, near the top.

  “Papa, put up the one I made for Brownie at the top, too,” Bree says, shaking a pom-pom dog she made out of yarn.

  One by one, we go through the boxes and talk about our memories. Someone, maybe my mother, turns on the Christmas playlist, and Tyler plugs in the twinkling lights.

  We talk and reminisce and sing along to our favorite carols. Before long, the tree is full of wonderful memories, each special and treasured.

  The scene is comfortable and cozy, and makes my heart ache. Ella and Bree hang tinsel, while Sawyer entertains Arman by spinning a wooden top and letting him knock it down. It’s moments like this I want to hang onto and treasure.

  And yet, there’s a stranger in our midst, and even though I’d like nothing better than to bask in our family tree-trimming time, I want to get to know Zulu and figure out how to help her.

  She’s obviously important to both Tyler and Sawyer, and they are both protective of her. They would never leave one of theirs behind, and neither should I shirk my duty to help one of our veterans.

  12

  ~ Kelly ~

  Zulu is taking a nap in the kitchen. She raises her head from her arms and pushes away from the table, looking like she’s ready to bolt.

  “Stay, please.” I pull a chair catty corner from her. “How do you like my mother’s Irish stew?”

  “It’s really good, thank you.” Her voice is so small I can barely hear her. “I don’t want to trouble you and your family.”

  “You’re a friend of Tyler’s, so you’re a friend of mine.” I try to catch her eyes, but she keeps them averted. “Thank you for your service.”

  “Service? What did I do?” She darts a furtive look my direction.

  “You served in the war against terrorism, and I’m grateful for that.”

  Her eyes widen, and I notice how beautiful they are—grayish-green. Her features are sharp, with a strong nose and angular face, and her lips are full.

  “It was a useless war.” She grits her teeth. “It didn’t solve a thing. We were lied to, and nothing was solved. Nothing. It’s worse there than it was before we went in.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” I fight the urge to put a consoling hand on her shoulder. “I’m glad you’re back.”

  “I had nowhere to go. The government discharged me—deemed me unfit to serve, so here I am.”

  “Whether the war went well or not, we still owe you our gratitude.” I walk to the refrigerator and pour her another glass of orange juice. “What are your plans?”

  “Thanks.” She accepts the juice and shrugs. “No plans. I know Tyler wants me to stay here, and your sister and mother both offered me a place to stay, but I don’t want to intrude. I’ve got friends and places to go.”

  “What do you do for a living?”

  She downs the juice. “I get by.”

  “Oh, really?” Now I’m in cross examination mode. “Then why did you try to kill yourself?”

  “Do I have to take this?” She glares at me.

  “Yes.” I stare back at her, taking a hard line. “Are you aware you can get help from the Department of Veterans Affairs? Temporary housing. Job training. Substance abuse rehab. Mental illness treatment.”

  “I’m well aware. I might be homeless, but I’m not stupid.”

  “Good. I never said you were.” I gesture to her empty bowl. “Another serving?”

  “Sure, but I can get it myself.” She takes the bowl and ladles herself another serving of stew. “You don’t have to worry about me disturbing your home or trying to steal your fiancé. Like I told Tyler, I can take care of myself.”

  I’m shocked by her rudeness, especially the way she brushed off Bree earlier by the Christmas tree. I’d like to think it’s defensiveness and trying to act tougher than she really is. If that’s the case, she doesn’t deter me. After all, Tyler was just as closed-off and defensive when I first met him.

  “I know you can, but sometimes, we all need a hand from a friend. Tyler is that type of friend. So am I.” I know I’m not going to break through her barriers in a single conversation, but when she sits back down and blows on the stew, her eyes are watery.

  “You’re very kind, but I don’t need any friends,” she mumbles under her breath.

  I can’t think of anything to say. Platitudes like ‘everyone could use a friend,’ or ‘it’s better to lean on a friend than to fall all alone,’ are meaningless to a woman who’s been through literal hell and back. Tyler said she was a sex slave, and I’m sure part of the reason she’s holding back is because she assumes we know what she’s gone through and see her as a victim.

  Nodding to myself, I say, “Of course you don’t need us, but maybe Tyler needs you. Maybe Sawyer needs you. They spoke so fondly of you going through training with them. Maybe they need you to show them that no matter what happened, something good came out of Afghanistan.”

  She snorts and wipes her face with a napkin. “I went into Afghanistan a naïve college graduate. I thought I could serve my country, both countries—the USA and my parents’ homeland. I thought we’d bring peace, that we’d bring freedom, democracy, women’s rights, and modern living conditions. We never fully kicked the Taliban out, and now we have the Islamic State to deal with. Women are still treated like slaves.”

  My heart goes out to her. She once believed she could make a difference for an entire nation. She once thought she was on the side of freedom and justice. She not only believed in her ideals, but she acted on it and she suffered for it.

  “We can still do something about that.” I reach out and pat her shoulder. “It might not be military, but we can definitely do humanitarian work.”

  “How? Tyler told me his compound was blown up last year, and aid workers are gunned down regularly. It would be suicide to go back there.” Her eyes are hollow and haunted.

  “I’m not asking you to go back, but maybe there’s something we can do here.” I rub her back, calming her jitters. “Close your eyes and imagine you could help anyone in the world. Then tell me who she is, and how you can make a difference.”

  She puts her hands over her face and leans on her elbow. She sniffles and a sob catches her breath. Dashing the tears from her eyes with the back of her wrist, she turns away from me. “There are too many who need help. Millions of people.”

  “Start with one. You can help one person, can’t you?”

  Her shoulders heave and she shakes her head. “I don’t think we can even find her.”

  “Who?”

  “Hawa. My sister,” she wails. “I was captured when I tried to help her run away from her wedding. My own family turned me in to be punished.”

  I cannot fathom what she went through and wait for her to continue.

  “They were going to kill both of us. Honor killings because they suspected we were not virgins, but one of my uncles said why not sell us to the militants to be sex slaves? At least they would get some money from us, rather than two dead and worthless women.”

  I suck in a breath at the horror of the situation. I wonder what I would do if I ever lost Ella. She’s always looked up to me from the day I met her, staring at me from the bassinet with her big, blue eyes. I took her tiny hand in mine a
nd she’s always been someone I both protected and leaned on.

  “Where do you think she is?” I hate asking, but it’s the only logical thing if I want Zulu to have a greater purpose than her own misery.

  “Probably dead. I begged Tyler to find my sister. I told him I wouldn’t leave without her. I pleaded with him, and he said she might have already been saved. Like an idiot, I believed him. Our attack helicopters leveled the entire compound after Tyler radioed in that he’d found me. It was like no other woman’s life mattered once they had me—an American soldier. Others were rescued first before they found me, and my sister wasn’t among them. Once I was extracted. Boom! Everyone else died. All I wanted was for Tyler to kill me. He didn’t rescue my sister. He left her behind, so the least he could do is put a bullet through my head.”

  She jerks away from me and pushes the chair back, standing up. “Now you see why your help is misplaced? No one needs to help me, because I am but the walking dead.”

  ~ Kelly ~

  That night, I toss and turn, disturbing Tyler, but unable to rest. Zulu had walked out of the kitchen and stormed from the house, despite all our entreaties for her to stay.

  The mood for the evening was dampened, and even though we sang Christmas carols, ate dinner, videoed Bree putting the star on top of the tree, and let Arman wrap himself with a tinsel garland, I felt like we were going through the motions.

  “Kel, why won’t you tell me what happened with Zulu?” Tyler sighs and reaches toward the bedside lamp, turning it on. “You’re obviously bothered by what happened.”

  “I’m still processing it, and I don’t know how much Zulu told you.” I rub my eyes. “I want to help her, but she’s in such a dark place I’m afraid none of us can reach her.”

  “Your mom seemed to have made friends with her,” he observed.

  I wonder if he blames me for Zulu’s hasty exit. After all, I wasn’t the most welcoming when he proposed she stay with us.

  “I tried. It wasn’t like I wanted her to leave. I tried to get her to step outside of herself and have a purpose in life. I asked her to think of someone who needed her help and to picture herself helping that person. I figured if she had a mission in life, she wouldn’t be thinking about dying all the time.”