by Anne Chase
She reached out and pulled him in for a hug. "Hey, boy."
He gave her wrist a lick, his big friendly gaze filled with concern.
"Mama's gonna be fine. Promise."
With a deep sigh, she let him go, sat herself up, grabbed a tissue from the side table, and blew her nose. Three tissues later, still trembling but feeling somewhat more under control, she planted her feet on the floor and stood up, her canine companion closely watching her every move.
With the ring in her fist still digging into her palm, she made her way to her bedroom, to her sturdy oak dresser. The dresser had been hers since she was a little girl, ever since her grandmother had passed it on to her. Maybe someday, if she was blessed with the opportunity, she would pass the dresser to her own granddaughter.
She pulled open the top-left drawer, the sound of worn wood sliding in the groove a familiar and reassuring reminder of times past, and removed a black-velvet ring box. Biting her lip, she opened the box, which was empty inside.
Tears flowing freely, she carefully placed her wedding ring inside and pressed the lid down, gasping as the box snapped shut. She set the box in the drawer, pausing as the weight of the moment sank in.
Then she knew: She was ready. With a deep breath to give her strength, she pushed the drawer closed.
29
Becca groaned as a loud buzz filled her ears. Consciousness returned, along with a realization of where she was — in bed, snuggled under her thick comforter, rudely pulled from a deep sleep by her darned alarm clock. She stretched underneath the comforter, wishing she could stay buried beneath her toasty-warm blankets and keep the world at bay for just a little while longer.
Her hand shot out and found her alarm clock and hit the snooze button. She sighed with relief as the sound vanished.
Just a few more minutes of lovely sleep....
Far too abruptly, those minutes ended when the rude alarm clock interrupted her slumber yet again.
"Argh," she muttered. She popped her head from beneath her blankets to test whether her eyelids were capable of opening, and squinted warily at the bright morning sun flooding through the windows.
Then she remembered why she'd set her alarm: It was Christmas Day! And she had so much to do!
The jolt of memory was enough to get her moving. With a groan, she sat upright. Her comforter tumbled from her. Bowzer, alerted by the sound of her moving around on the bed, trotted into the bedroom and gave her a plaintive look.
"Merry Christmas, Bowzer," she said, her voice a thick after a night of slumber.
He approached the bed and rested his head on the bed next to her, inviting her to pet him. Which of course she did, because how could she resist such cuteness?
"Okay," she said as she rubbed sleep from her eyes. "The day begins. Give mama a few minutes, then we'll get you outside for a walk."
She rolled her shoulders to loosen up and realized that yesterday's exertions had made an impact — her muscles were so sore! Probably it was because of how tightly she'd held onto Nick on the snowmobile, especially at the beginning of the ride, when everything was so new and uncertain.
She was still bone-tired — the thought of a few more hours sleep was almost irresistible — but she also realized she was feeling a bit more energetic than she had any right to expect. After the day and night she'd just had, she should be exhausted, both physically and emotionally. Perhaps the energy was there because she'd slept well, deeply and without the tossing and turning that sometimes plagued her.
Minutes later, still clad in pajamas but warmly bundled up in her heavy winter coat and scarf and gloves and boots, she and Bowzer were outside, trudging through the thick blanket of snow that the blizzard had left behind.
To her surprise, she saw that her street was already plowed. She'd been sleeping so deeply, she hadn't even heard the snowplow pass. Clearly, Bert Winters had figured out how to fix it. Maybe with Nick's help?
Several of her neighbors had already cleared their sidewalks, but most of them, like her, had some shoveling to do. Yet another task to add to her to-do list.
Bowzer's eager nose was sniffing up a storm, pausing to check every tree and bush and fence they passed. No doubt he'd be thrilled to go on another adventure. But that wasn't in the cards today, not with all the tasks she had lined up. "Okay, Bowzer, time to head back home," she said. Her canine pal looked longingly at all the trees and bushes and fences he had yet to sniff, but he didn't object when she turned them around and led them back to the cottage.
Once inside, after getting her canine pal fed and watered, she turned her attention to today's big to-do: building and decorating the gingerbread house she'd bring to Hettie Mae's for Christmas dinner. She wasn't going to have as much time as she normally allowed for decorating, so she'd have to be strategic about her choices.
First up: the crucial step of getting the walls and roof glued together with icing. She'd done this dozens of times over the years, so she knew exactly what needed to be done. For this important step, there would be no muss, no fuss, no thinking, no worrying — just a whole lot of doing.
She selected the necessary cooking implements and ingredients and got to work on the icing, feeling a hum of satisfaction as she whipped the ingredients together to achieve the proper consistency. In the bright light of day, with last night's storm a part of the past, she was now able to look back on her eventful day with Nick in a more measured manner. She'd read too much into everything that had happened between them yesterday. She'd put way too much pressure on herself and also him. Amidst the drama of the snowstorm, she'd turned the simple act of making hot cocoa into an important and meaningful event. In the clear light of day, she saw now that making hot cocoa was about making hot cocoa.
And yet.... Hadn't she felt something special? And hadn't he felt the same? She stopped stirring and gave herself an internal scolding. No, Becca, she admonished herself. Stop being so susceptible to wishful thinking. She might be ready to move forward with her life — and her gut told her she was, finally and fully — but clearly Nick wasn't. He'd quit romance just like he'd quit Christmas. His days were about immersing himself in his work and helping his neighbors. He'd been so good with Daisy and Rebecca, and so helpful to her and Bowzer, and most likely he'd also helped Bert with the snowplow. He was far too busy helping people to have time for romance.
When she saw him next, she would treat him as a new friend. Yes, that sounded right. A very sensible approach — mature and reasonable and appropriate. Sure, she allowed, maybe that approach was a bit disappointing. But she was a big girl. She was going to be just fine.
Still....
No, she told herself, very firmly. Clear head, stout heart.
The icing was the perfect consistency to hold the weight of the walls and roof of the gingerbread house. When it dried, it would be like sugared cement. With a skill borne of frequent practice, she applied icing to the edges of two walls and began the building process.
For the next few moments, her attention focused fully on the task at hand, she forgot all about her newfound resolve to maintain friendly relations with handsome veterinarians.
Which meant that when her phone rang, her rebellious heart immediately hoped it was Nick. When she saw it was her mother, disappointment and pleasure sprang forth in equal measure. She pressed the phone and set it on speaker mode.
"Hi, Mom!" she said. "Merry Christmas! I'm building a gingerbread house right now."
"Merry Christmas, dear!" her mother said. "Is it for Christmas dinner?"
"Yep, for Hettie Mae. It's the least I can do," Becca said.
"You back home after the nor'easter?"
"Yep, safe and sound."
"Well, that's good. I was worried all night. How much snow fell? How bad was it?"
"We got a lot," Becca said with a chuckle. "I have so much shoveling to do."
"Did Nick drive you home himself? Did you call for a cab? How does it work up there in Heartsprings Valley?"
"Oh, h
e drove me himself," Becca said, choosing to omit the mode of transportation. If her mother found out she'd hitched a ride on the back of a snowmobile in the middle of a blizzard, she'd never hear the end of it! "But before he drove me home, we made a pit stop of sorts."
"A pit stop? What do you mean?"
"A farmer with a pregnant llama needed Nick's help delivering the baby."
"A pregnant what?"
"A pregnant llama."
"And you went with him?"
"Yep."
"To a llama farm?"
"Yep."
"Well, my goodness."
"The farmers — a very nice couple named Marianne and Angus — even let me pitch in."
"What do you mean, pitch in?"
"I helped get the baby into a bath of warm water, and I helped with her first feeding."
She heard her mother say to someone, "Becca helped deliver a baby llama on a farm last night!" Then: "Bathed her and fed her." Then: "Your younger brother wants to know if it was gross."
Becca laughed. "A little bit, yes. Especially the afterbirth."
"Okay, enough of that," her mom said firmly, presumably in response to something inappropriate her brother had just said. "Not on Christmas Day." Then, returning her attention to Becca, she said, "We'll be sitting down to dinner around four. We'll all be thinking of you and wishing you were here."
"I know, Mom. I wish I could be there, too."
"What time is dinner at Hettie Mae's?"
"Around four, I think."
"Will you have enough time to finish up the gingerbread house?"
"Just barely," Becca said with a glance at her construction project. "If I'm lucky."
"What about your new friend, Nick?" her mom said. "What's he doing?"
What about Nick, indeed? "I'm not sure."
"Does he have family there? Is he spending Christmas with them?"
Becca sighed. She knew what her mom was really asking: Was Nick single? She knew her mom wasn't going to stop asking questions until she got the answer she was really after — she was very determined that way — so Becca decided to cut to the chase.
"He lost his wife in a car crash two years ago, so yes, I suppose he's single. And no, his family's not from here. I'm not sure what he's doing today. He's not really the Christmas type."
"Not the Christmas type? Nonsense," her mom said. Then she added, "I'm sorry to hear about his wife."
"He told me he finds the Christmas season painful because it reminds him of his wife. So ... he's taking a break from it."
"Oh, I see," her mom said, then paused. "Well, everyone deals with loss in his or her own way, don't they. Like you, dear."
"Me?" Becca said, her heart suddenly thumping. What was her mom hinting at?
There was another pause as her mom gathered her thoughts. "I know why you had to be in Heartsprings Valley and not here for Christmas," she finally said, very gently. "I know how difficult the past two holiday seasons have been for you without Dave."
Becca found her way to a chair and sat down. Her mother had known all along? She felt herself begin to choke up. "I'm sorry, Mom. I just knew I needed...."
"Honey," her mom said. "I understand. In your own way, you needed a break as well."
The two of them allowed the silence to linger. Through the phone line, Becca heard the compassion and understanding in her mother's voice. The tears came then, as her guilt about lying to her mom, the uncertainty and anxiety about holding back the full truth from her, began to melt away. "I love you so much, Mom."
"I know, dear," her mom said. "I love you, too. All of us here do."
There was another pause, and then Becca heard the familiar voice of her smart-alecky younger brother Bobby filling the phone.
"Okay, you two," he said, "stop with the blubbering. Geesh!"
Becca laughed through her tears. "Oh, you."
"Merry Christmas, sis. What's this about you adopting a dog?"
Becca got up from her chair at the kitchen table and got herself a paper towel to dry her eyes and blow her nose. She didn't bother disguising the sounds of her nose-clearing, either, making sure the volume was loud enough to prompt Bobby to say —
"Gross, sis. That's just plain gross."
Becca laughed. "Merry Christmas, little bro. And yes, I adopted a dog. His name is Bowzer. You'll get to meet him when you visit."
"Good. We're all missing you. Of course, there is one benefit of you being up there: More of Mom's famous apple pie for me."
A pang of hunger tore through Becca's stomach. "Don't you dare rub that in, mister. I claim the right of revenge if you utter one more word about that pie!"
Bobby laughed. "Okay, in the spirit of the Christmas, I'll grant a one-day rubbing-in reprieve. Hope you have a great day up there, sis. Love you. Here's Mom."
"Love you, too. Merry Christmas!"
Her mom came back on. "Oh, you two. The ribbing will never cease, will it?"
"Never," Becca said with a smile. She glanced at the time and breathed in sharply. "Oh, gosh, I've got so much to do, and so little time."
"Then I'll let you get to it," her mom said. "Merry Christmas, dear. Love you!"
"Merry Christmas. Love you, too!"
30
It was amazing how much one was able to do when there was barely any time to get it done. In the space of a few frantic hours, Becca plowed through a hefty list of to-do items with a determination that surprised her. Gingerbread house-building and decorating were the main priority, of course — making sure the walls and roof were cemented into place, then whipping up even more icing, and of course taking out her trusty decorating toolkit — her stash of sugary, glittery sprinkles and specialty frostings — to apply the finishing touches.
In-between the decorating steps — a whirlwind of activity! For the first time in her entire life, with gloved hands and aching shoulders, she picked up a snow shovel and cleared a path from her doorway to the sidewalk. She found herself enjoying the exercise initially, getting into a rhythm with the shovel, digging deep into the fresh show and tossing big shovelfuls to the side. But soon enough, pleasure turned to heavy breathing and sweating. By the time she finished, her cheeks were flushed with effort and her already-sore muscles were begging her to stop.
Still, despite the pain, she'd done it — cleared her first-ever path through the snow — and she felt proud about that. Okay, proud and sore. Okay, mostly sore, but at least the darned chore was done!
Hettie Mae called after lunch and told her to be ready at four. "Frank will swing by to pick up you and Bowzer," she told her.
"You don't need to have him do that," Becca said.
"He likes it," Hettie Mae said. "Don't you worry."
"Are you sure?"
"I wouldn't say it if I wasn't."
"Then thank you. And did you say Bowzer?"
"Of course. We can't let him stay home alone at Christmas."
Becca smiled. "Bowzer and I will see you at four."
Besides the shoveling and gingerbread-house decorating, her other main task was decorating herself. She showered and shampooed, then got herself dressed in an outfit she'd already picked out: a holiday sweater (soft white wool, with a festive red-and-green candy-cane pattern across the front), dark slacks, and sensible low-heeled black pumps. The pumps were a question mark given the weather, but she figured that as long as she was careful walking outside across the icy ground, she'd be fine. For makeup, she opted for the same low-stress approach she'd used the day before: light foundation and the same soft red lip balm, with a hint of eyeliner.
She checked her lobes for her silver reindeer earrings — still there, and still looking sparkly — then turned her attention to her hands. Her fingernails were fine, but just barely. She was overdue for a manicure — she made a mental note to get a recommendation from Hettie Mae. She also realized that, with her wedding band stored away, her fingers looked rather bare. Stepping into her bedroom, she opened her jewelry case and selected a red ruby ring
set in a silver band. She'd worn the ring throughout her high school and college years. With a smile, she slipped it onto her right hand's third finger, enjoying not only its appearance, but how it reminded her of how she was back then, when the world felt big and new and wide-open.
The ruby ring made her feel ... refreshed, she realized. Satisfied, she closed the drawer and returned to the kitchen, where her gingerbread house was awaiting its final touches.
Bowzer ambled in and cocked his head, watching her as she bent down to apply a sprinkling of green glitter to the wreath she'd added to the house's front door.
"Just a few final touches," she said, glancing at the clock. "And just in time, too. Our ride will be here any minute."
She stood back and carefully examined her first Heartsprings Valley gingerbread house. Ideally, she would have preferred another couple hours to add the small but important details that mattered so much. Still, this house — simpler and more straightforward than her usual creations — pleased her. It looked a lot like her new home, with white frosting applied in horizontal bands, just like the white clapboard siding of her cottage. On the roof lay a thick layer of fresh white snow-icing, just like the nor'easter's bounty on her roof at that very moment. The front door was the same dark red, with a beautiful green wreath decorating it. For the windows, she'd chosen red window panes and light blue curtains. And for the all-important dashes of holiday green, she'd fashioned evergreen shrubbery along the front and sides of the house.
With the extra white icing, she'd built a snowman and set it in front of the house, creating eyes, a nose, and a smile with carefully selected sprinkles.
Her gingerbread house looked, in a word, delicious. Her stomach grumbled in agreement.
From outside, she heard a car approaching. She stepped into the living room and saw, through her front window, an SUV pull up. She watched Hettie Mae hop down from the passenger side and make her way down Becca's freshly shoveled path to the cottage's front steps.
