by Carla Rossi
Nick cradles white cat in his arms and scratches the top of its head. “I don’t know anything about cats, Holly, but I do know... Never mind. Do you think Collette will like them?”
“She’ll love them. What were you going to say?”
“Nothing.”
“No, tell me, Nick, I want to know.”
“When I was fourteen I went to live in California with my mom after the divorce. It was before they had another big fight and I came back here to live.”
“How long were you gone?”
“All freshman year. I came back home to my dad for Christmas. He gave me my first real rifle. A 270 for deer hunting. I’d taken hunter education and gun safety classes, and I target practiced with my grandfather. Then Christmas was over and I went back to California. My dad shipped it to me, and my mom had a fit and took it away from me. Never saw it again. I think she sold it back to a gun shop. I should have left it here, but I wanted it with me.”
“That’s so mean. I’m sorry.”
Nick’s cat is licking his finger as he tries to scratch under its chin. “That’s divorce. And that’s what happened to these cats.”
“You think these are broken home cats?”
“My guess is one parent got these cats and dressed ’em up for Christmas and gave them a home with their kids. And I bet everyone was happy until the other parent didn’t want them at their house. And I think that parent dumped them back at the pound.”
“That’s horrible. What if the kids are young and don’t understand?”
“Some divorced people are selfish people. My mom sold that gun because she was mad at my dad. Not because she had some problem with guns or because she worried about me having it. She wanted to stick it to him.”
Black cat’s heart pounds fast and hard under my fingers. I hold him close and he purrs against my chest. “Sometimes I think I’m lucky I don’t have those kinds of issues. I guess an absent parent is better than a mean and selfish one.”
“Who knows? It depends on the parent.”
“All I know is men don’t stick around long in my family. My grandfather left and my father left. Whatever we’re doing chases them away.”
Nick’s faces changes for three seconds before he looks at me with such intensity I almost turn away.
“Don’t worry, Holly. All men don’t leave.”
His words land soft and warm in the bitter cold of our too-real and too-raw conversation.
I touch his hand. “They’re like us, Nick.”
“Who?”
“Black cat and white cat. Dumped on someone else’s doorstep for Christmas. We’re all the same.”
Nick nods to the cat curled in a ball and dozing inside his coat. “I don’t think this one’s feeling the harsh pain of abandonment right now,” he says and smiles.
“Thanks for helping me rescue them.”
“Any time.”
“And now,” I say and grab the box. “I do happen to know about cats and I know these two need food and water. So back in the box, and on to Granny’s.”
The cats are screaming again, but Nick is staring at me as push back my seat and slide the messy box onto the floor. “Sorry, cats, I’ll get you out of there soon.” I glance at Nick. “What?”
“Nothing,” he says, his eyes glittering. “Nothing.”
But it isn’t nothing. He leans in and touches my face and I stop breathing as his lips catch mine in a warm and urgent, but surprisingly easy, kiss.
“Is this OK?” he asks, breathless and close against my mouth.
“A little late to ask,” I say and kiss him back.
I lean into his embrace and know with certainly this is the best Christmas ever.
Nick Zernigan is kissing me and I am kissing him.
If not for the wailing cats, I would be happy to do this all night.
Day Five—Hillbilly Cops Are Afraid of Old Ladies.
I shake the bag of cat treats and dive under the covers on Granny’s bed. She dangles the feather cat teaser off the side and then joins me under the quilt. We are breathless with anticipation and try not to make a sound as we wait.
Within seconds, there are two thumps on top of us as the cats pounce. We laugh hysterically, reward the cats with a treat, and do it again.
We’ve been playing like this for two hours.
Granny’s sigh is long and happy as she fluffs a pillow behind her head. “Oh, I need a rest.”
I settle in beside her. “Have you decided what to name them?”
“Well, we’re dealing with a boy and a girl, but I don’t know. We could be obvious and call them Onyx and Diamond. Or Black Diamond and Pearl.”
“Or Cappuccino and Latte, or Espresso and Sugar, or Mocha and Whipped Cream,” I offer. “Or any combination of the above.”
Granny looks at me with concern. “You are obsessed with coffee, aren’t you? Do you need to see someone?”
“What about you and all the gemstone references?”
“I can’t help it. I love being a gemologist. Diamonds are a girl’s best friend. But so are rubies, emeralds, and sapphires. I like my friends.”
“Anyway,” I say and take a sip of water from my bottle on the nightstand. “I like Jingle and Bell. It’s catchy.”
White cat makes a circle then plops near us to take a nap. Granny scratches its head. “Do you know anything about them?”
“No. There wasn’t much information available. I’m not even sure how old they are.”
“Did you find them at the shelter?”
Ummmm...
“Yes.”
“I need to run them by my vet,” Granny says.
“Yeah. I was thinking I’d see if I could take mom to work one day next week and borrow her car. We can do that and get whatever else you need. Definitely some scratching posts.”
“Oui. I didn’t keep those. Pierre destroyed them. And I need to get the cats on the list for the spay and neuter clinic, too.”
I nod as the kitchen timer goes off.
“That’s our Christmas Eve brunch,” Granny says.
“I’ll help you.” I whip my messy hair into a ponytail with the band I’ve been wearing on my wrist and then wash my hands. “What time is the Christmas Eve candlelight service?”
“It’s early. I think around six and it won’t last long.” Granny sets plates on the table and hands me two champagne glasses filled with orange juice.
“Fancy,” I say because I don’t recall ever drinking orange or any other kind of juice from a champagne... “What are these things called again?”
“The champagne flutes?”
“Yes. Flutes. Weird.”
“A couple of people are coming up afterward. Perhaps Ivy and Nick will come for coffee and bûche de Noël.”
“No! Don’t let all your friends eat the cake, Granny. What about tomorrow?”
“Don’t worry. Two cakes.”
With that crisis averted, my mind drifts to where my real focus has been all morning: Nick Zernigan and the marathon kissing session. More please!
I smile to myself and tap out another text to Amanda in answer to her millionth question about last night’s events. We’ve been having this same conversation since 3:00 A.M and I’ve told her the truth. It’s been pure magic—but it’s a Christmas vacation fling and will likely be over when the first bell rings back at school.
“Cheers, cheri.”
“Huh?”
My granny is trying to toast champagne flutes with me, and all I can think about is Nick’s soft lips.
“Joyeux Noël,” I say and touch my glass to hers.
“Joyeux Noël, mon amour.”
****
Nick is waiting on one side of the door while Tanya stands at the other with a box of white candles dressed in cardboard circles.
“C’mon,” Nick says and grabs a handful for us. “Aunt Ivy is saving us a seat. Merry Christmas, Collette.”
“Merry Christmas, Nick. You and Ivy need to join us after service and hav
e something to eat.”
“Sure. Thanks.”
The room is dim except for the small stage where two people with acoustic guitars sing What Child Is This? in perfect sweet harmony. Two trees, leftover from the dance, stand at either end and create a warm sparkling glow.
“It looks nice in here,” I tell Nick as we reach our seats. “I tried to get away to come help, but Granny had me arranging cheese and pastries for her little soirée tonight.”
“It didn’t take me and Tanya long. We made a spot over there for Father Jonathan to do what he needs to do for his people, then the other guy is over there for his people. It’s like a religious fair or something. Step up to the table, get a free pencil and a rubber bracelet and take communion.”
I laugh and almost snort. “Stop,” I whisper. “It’s good they come for the people who can’t get out. It’s Christmas. This is important and they still have to get back to their churches for midnight services.”
“I know, Holly, I’m only kidding.”
I stretch to look out the large glass doors at the end of the rec room. “Did you see it’s snowing?”
“Yes, and I was wondering—”
“Let’s stand and open with a word of prayer,” Father Jonathan says.
Nick doesn’t say another word and my knees are about to abandon me. What are you wondering, Nick? WHAT ARE YOU WONDERING?
We sit again and each man speaks about Christmas. I’ve heard this a thousand times, but Nick seems riveted as Father Jonathan talks about Christmas being a year-round miracle and how it’s our duty to serve God and one another as Christ intended us to. Not only at Christmastime, but every day.
Pastor Allen adds his message and reflects on God’s great love for us to have sent His Son into the world to teach us by example—and then face the cross to die for our sins as the ultimate sacrifice and lesson in forgiveness.
Nick bows his head as they pray and I see by his serious expression he is, as my granny would say, takin’ care of some business.
He glances my way. The sincerity in his eyes tells me something has changed. I am totally stoked if Nick has decided to re-dedicate his life to Christ because of what he’s heard at this Christmas Eve candlelight service. But with peace comes certainty and with certainty comes peace. And Nick looks like one peaceful, certain—and determined—guy.
And I’m afraid he’s determined to join the Army.
My hands shake as we stand and listen to the familiar Christmas story from Luke. The guitars play Silent Night and Nick steadies my hand to pass the candle flame to me. I smile and pass it to Granny.
Nick takes my hand and laces my fingers with his.
In those days, Caesar Augustus issued a decree that a census should be taken of the entire Roman world. (This was the first census that took place while Quirinius was governor of Syria.) And everyone went to their own town to register. So Joseph also went up from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to Bethlehem the town of David, because he belonged to the house and line of David. He went there to register with Mary, who was pledged to be married to him and was expecting a child. While they were there, the time came for the baby to be born, and she gave birth to her firstborn, a son. She wrapped him in cloths and placed him in a manger, because there was no guest room available for them. And there were shepherds living out in the fields nearby, keeping watch over their flocks at night. An angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. But the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid. I bring you good news that will cause great joy for all the people. Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is the Messiah, the Lord. This will be a sign to you: You will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger.” Suddenly a great company of the heavenly host appeared with the angel, praising God and saying, “Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace to those on whom his favor rests.” When the angels had left them and gone into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, “Let’s go to Bethlehem and see this thing that has happened, which the Lord has told us about.” So they hurried off and found Mary and Joseph, and the baby, who was lying in the manger. When they had seen him, they spread the word concerning what had been told them about this child, and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds said to them. But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart. The shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all the things they had heard and seen, which were just as they had been told. Luke 2:1-20 NIV
We sing a verse of Silent Night and blow out our candles. Nick grabs mine and tosses it in the box as the service ends and he drags me away.
“I’ll bring her right up, Collette,” he calls over his shoulder.
Nick pulls me outside. My stomach flips and flops with excitement as he leads me away from the door and into the spooky flower garden, now dead and frozen for the winter. Bare branches serve as resting places for new snow, and light from the building filters onto untouched benches and casts eerie shadows.
“It’s still snowing,” I say and hold out my hand as if I’ll catch something. “And it’s cold out here.” I wrap my arms around myself.
“This won’t take long. I need to talk to you—”
“Nick Zernigan! I thought I saw you come out here.”
I’m startled by the creepy figure near the garden. He comes into view and a new chill darts down my spine. It’s a policeman, all decked out from head to toe in winter gear, complete with plastic on his hat to shield it from the snow.
Nick attempts a smile. “Officer Pinkney. What’s up?”
“Is your dad around?”
“No, sir. He’s out of the country. I’m staying here with my Aunt Ivy for Christmas.”
“Yeah, I heard about your uncle. Sorry about that. Is your aunt around?”
“Upstairs. Do you need to see her?”
“Yeah. For a minute.”
“I’ll show you.” Nick moves for the door and squeezes my hand. Don’t say anything, he mouths to me as we step inside.
My head is exploding. I run through my mind what Nick and I have been up to. Shopping for chickens, running from underage drinking parties, stealing cats. But that’s what we’ve done together. I have no idea what else he’s been doing.
Or maybe it’s nothing.
Officer Pinkney stomps the snow off his boots in the doorway of the complex. “And you’re seventeen, Nick?”
“Yes. About to be eighteen.”
“And you drive that white F150?”
“Yes.”
Oh. No. It’s not nothing.
Christmas is wrecked for good this time.
We take the elevator, and Nick walks straight to my granny’s door and opens it like nothing is weird at all. He steps aside for me to go first.
And my mom is there to greet me.
My mom? And Jake?
“Holly!” She rushes to hug me. “Merry Christmas, baby! Are you surprised?”
I am numb. “Yes. I thought you were coming home tomorrow.”
“Ha! We got you,” she says as others come toward the door. “We actually came home yesterday because we had some things to do.”
“Wait. You came home yesterday and you didn’t tell me?”
“It’s nothing bad. We’ll explain.”
She stops suddenly as Nick and Officer Pinkney come further into the room.
“What’s going on here?”
Granny and Ivy step closer and now I feel certain I will pee my pants.
Officer Pinkney clears his throat and pushes his hat back away from his forehead. “I was out here on another complaint and thought I’d ask Nick and Ivy about a call we got this morning.”
“It’s Christmas Eve, Gene,” Ivy says with a bit of snark. “And this is a family gathering so I suggest you get to it.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” he answers. I swear he’s afraid of her. “There’s a gentleman who lives out on county road nine way back in the woods and he says he observed
Nick in his truck going back and forth out there yesterday.”
“That’s not a crime, Gene,” Collette adds.
“He said one time was after midnight and he was speeding. Was Nick home with you last night, Ivy?”
“He came in late, but he was home.”
“There have been rumors of parties somewhere out there in the woods and this gentleman calls regularly to report suspicious behavior.”
Jake steps forward and puts his arm around my mom. “County road nine. That’s the road to the animal shelter. That’s the only thing out there. Why is Holly in the middle of this if this is about Nick and his truck?”
“She has nothing to do with this,” Nick says. “She was with me outside when Officer Pinkney found me.”
I consider admitting to everything. I did attend an underage drinking party—just not the one Officer Pinkney’s talking about. And I did steal cats. If I have to go to jail on Christmas Eve for that, I will. I won’t let Nick take the fall. I know I’ve been watching too much cop TV but I open my mouth—and Nick clamps down on my upper arm. I glance at him and he is shaking his head as hard as he can without letting on he’s shaking his head. His eyes are as big as snowballs.
Ivy squints until her eyes disappear. “Nick, were you out on country road nine yesterday?”
“Yes.”
“Were you at a party back in the woods?”
“No.”
Ivy turns her glare on Officer Pinkney. “Are you going around to every teenager’s house in the county on Christmas Eve and asking if they were on that road last night.”
“No, ma’am. Nick’s truck is the only one reported.”
“That doesn’t make much sense,” Granny says. “One truck for a whole party in the woods on the coldest night so far this winter? Why don’t you come in and have a cup of coffee, Gene? There’s no crime to investigate here.”
“I can’t, Ma’am, but thank you.” He turns his attention to Nick. “Stay off that road at night, Nick. And behave yourself while your dad’s out of town.”
“Yes, sir.”
I unclench my fists. Did that really just happen?
