by Jillian Hart
“Go back in the house, Kristin.”
“No. I was feeling lonely tonight, so I thought I’d join you.”
“How can I say this nicely? I want to be alone.”
“Too bad. Are you going to drive or do you want me to?”
He looked her up and down, as if he wasn’t sure what he was going to do.
Kristin’s pulse skipped. Was he angry at her? Or was she right in thinking that he was the one who didn’t want to be alone? Seconds ticked into minutes as the defroster began to kick out warm air and the clouds overhead sailed in front of the moon, blotting out the light. Leaving only the soft luminescence from the dash controls to see by.
“Stay if you want to.” He sounded careless, but he wasn’t.
No. Kristin’s chest ached with a building pressure. Hurting for him, she opted for silence as he put the truck in gear and hit the headlights. Twin shafts of brightness lit their way as the truck shot forward.
Snow swirled on the ground, drifting, disguising the familiar curve of the driveway. But Ryan forged a path where the road used to be, handling the truck with expert patience whenever the tires lost traction. Without a word, he drove the half mile to his mom’s driveway, where the snow had drifted into the cut of the hillside to block the roadway.
He eased the pickup around and pointed her homeward. “I’ll hike it the rest of the way.”
“It’s too cold to walk. You’re not dressed for this weather.”
“I know what I’m doing. I’ll make it in just fine.” He set the emergency brake, leaving the truck in neutral. “I don’t feel right about letting you drive back.”
“I know what I’m doing.” She repeated his words. “Apparently we’re two people who don’t need any help from anyone. Or one another.”
That cracked the tension tight around his jaw. A hint of a grin hooked the corner of his mouth. “I’m glad we understand each other.”
“Right.” She flicked off her hood, since the cab was growing warmer. “Are you going to read your card?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“True. It’s strange, don’t you think, that your mom kept your dad’s coat—that coat—for so long?”
“I see where you’re going with this. And no, Mom’s practical. She said to me this morning, before we went out tree cutting, that she knew one day I’d need his coat. The one I brought up from Phoenix wasn’t warm enough. That’s why she kept it. Just in case. Mom’s like that.”
“Didn’t you notice the card earlier? You could have felt it in the pocket any other time.”
“It’s a thick goose-down parka. I couldn’t tell it was there.”
“So why did you find it when you did?”
“Because I was getting your gift out of the pocket. I know what you’re doing, and you’re wrong. God isn’t trying to tell me something. It’s a coincidence. It’s just a card.”
“It’s from your father.”
He appeared so strong and steady, as if made from granite. A shadow in the darkness, he lifted the card between two fingers and stared at the colorful front, hardly visible in the dash lights, but substantial nonetheless.
“I’m done with the past. There’s nothing there for me.” He stuffed it into his pocket, out of sight.
To be forgotten? Her heart breaking, she felt the wash of his grief. She’d known that devastating pain once, too. Did she tell him what had helped her? Or was he right, that it wasn’t her business?
It was as if an angel whispered in her ear and she spoke without knowing what she was saying—she reached across the void between them and brushed a kiss to his cheek. A buzz of sensation flitted through her entire being. The part of her heart that could feel his strengthened.
She leaned back, spinning with the feel of his five o’clock shadow and the clean scent of him. “We’re a product of our past. You never accepted your father’s death, did you?”
“What was there to accept? It happened. There’s nothing I can do to change it.”
“No. But you carry that loss with you. I know I do. I wrestled with it for a long time. I just wanted my sister back. My family had fallen apart. Mom had sunk into a depression so deep, we didn’t think she’d ever come out. Dad just drifted away. Deciding not to cope at all. He just…kept his distance.”
“Sometimes that’s the best way. Keep away from what’s hurting.”
“Yes. That’s why I moved to Seattle. Part of the reason.” She closed her eyes. Thought of the day that had just passed, different because Allison wasn’t there. “Nothing is the same. We’ve all dealt in our own way. I think my sisters are compensating for the past by marrying and having kids.”
“Compensating?”
“Trying to recreate what was lost. We were all so close back then. Our family had a real togetherness. Summer vacations and weekend trips up into the woods to camp. Going to watch both Michelle and Kendra compete—they barrel raced. Friday night gatherings and Saturday horse rides and picnics after church on Sunday. Making snowmen and hiding presents around Christmastime and spending Christmas Eve at the piano while Mom played carol after carol. We’d sing until midnight—”
Grief vised her chest, like an iron band twisting tighter with each breath. “Then there was the plane accident. Allison and Kirby were headed with the church group for a retreat.”
“I remember.” Ryan’s baritone rumbled deep with sorrow. With understanding. “You were lucky Kirby survived.”
“We were all so grateful. And at the same time, destroyed. Allison was gone, and our family shattered. As strong as our parents’ marriage was, it couldn’t stand that loss. And the rest of us just did the best we could. Sometimes the pain feels so fresh. Like on holidays, like tonight. I can’t look back because it hurts. I’m sad that nothing is the same. That the future will be forever changed.”
Ryan swiped his hand over his face. “Look, I can’t do this. I’ve got to go. Good night.”
“Ryan—”
It was beyond rude and he knew it. But he was breaking inside and he had to go. He’d rather face the frigid cold and the hopeless night than to let her in. Let her close. She was coming after him. He could see her in the brief shine of the dome light, which was illuminating the honest compassion on her sweet face. It was too much—too honest, too intimate and too close to breaking open the scars inside him.
He winced as he slammed the door shut, the pain so stark it was as if the grief inside him had broken his ribs. The brief shine from the dome light faded, leaving only the haunting shadow of Kristin, her jaw falling open with surprise at his behavior.
And he hated it. He didn’t know what was happening to him. How would someone as perfect as Kristin understand? He sank into snow up to his thigh. Stepped again, cold sliding through his clothes. He cut through the beams of the headlights and faced the dark. Headed to a place that hurt as much as it sheltered. But it was better than going back, although something inside him felt stretched, as if an unseen force was pulling him back. Holding on. Never letting go.
Was it Kristin? Why could he still feel her kiss on his cheek? Not even the icy wind was able to numb the tingle on his skin. The night could not diminish the glow in his spirit when he thought of her.
Look after her, Father. Please. Ryan couldn’t turn around, but he could feel her watching him. Praying for him. He had to keep going—it felt as if his survival depended on it. On putting as much distance as he could away from her. Away from her kindness. Her caring. Her softness.
How had she gotten so deep into his soul? He only knew he didn’t want her there. He didn’t want anyone that close. He tromped through the drifting snow, sinking and struggling. It was tough going, but he didn’t care. He just wanted as far away from her as he could get. His heart was bursting, his spirit fracturing and he was thankful when the shadows swallowed him from Kristin’s sight. He heard the truck’s idle change—she was shifting into gear. The increased hum of the engine reverberated through the silent night as she gave
it enough gas to pull out onto the lonely road and then the sound faded into nothing.
Only then did he turn and watch the faint beam of taillights grow smaller in the vast darkness until they disappeared. He was alone, and the bitter cold hadn’t eased the agony inside him. Hadn’t erased the grip Kristin had on his soul.
With his step crunching on the new snow, Ryan’s breathing came loud as the night seemed to draw more silent. As if it lay in quiet anticipation. He’d never heard such silence. Endless and echoing and hushed.
By the time he’d made it to the back steps, he was frozen clear through. His hands and feet were numb. His face chapped and burning. The card and gift in his pocket felt like lead weights, growing heavier with every step he took.
He’d been so wrong to run to her tonight. That’s what he’d done, wasn’t it? Hauling his tail through a storm to the warmth of her presence. Why had he done it? It had made sense at the time, but now—now everything was worse.
Grateful for the porch light guiding him in, he stumbled up the buried porch steps, kicking snow away as he went. It had drifted up against the back door, even though Mom had probably cleared it away before she went to bed. He grabbed the shovel leaning against the siding and gave a few swipes to clear a path.
Not that the inside of this house was a sanctuary. If anything, his chest hurt worse. His heart broke apart even more. He kicked out of his boots, his numbed feet feeling thick and unresponsive. His fingers were no better. He headed straight to the woodstove in the corner, which crackled and popped as it radiated wonderful heat.
Unzipping, he sank onto the hot floor bricks and let the warmth wash over him like bliss. He was so cold, he couldn’t feel it. His entire body started to shiver.
Okay, he’d been desperate to go out in the cold dressed like he was. Even his bones felt frozen. He thought of Kristin when he climbed to his feet. The clock said ten minutes to midnight. That meant she ought to be just about home now. The roads were pretty much impassable. He never should have agreed to let her come. If he’d been in more control of his emotions, he certainly wouldn’t have allowed such a thing.
And at this late hour, he couldn’t call and wake up the entire house to make sure she was safe.
Worry churned through him. He grabbed a cup from the cupboard and filled it with water, hating his clumsy movements. He heated water in the microwave and dug through the drawers until he found where Mom kept the tea. She had a whole drawer full of different boxes of the stuff.
He grabbed a fruity-flavored one, dunked the bag in the steaming water. Just cupping it in his hands made him feel warmer. He drank it right there in one long draw and refilled the cup and nuked it again.
He felt marginally better. Still shivering, the minute and a half it took for the machine to ding felt like an eternity. He watched the wall clock’s hands move closer to midnight.
The ringing phone surprised him. With adrenaline still knocking through him, he grabbed the receiver before it could ring again. “Kristin?”
“Just checking to make sure you made it indoors safely,” she answered.
Relief slid through him that she was also okay. He stopped quaking. Then again, it might have been from the hot tea. The microwave dinged in the background. He couldn’t think of what to say other than, Sorry I was a moron and ran off like that. Sorry I couldn’t handle finding a piece of paper in my pocket.
But she spoke, breaking the silence between them. “Well, I just wanted to ease my mind. I had visions of you frozen in a snowbank in midstride. When I got home, the thermometer read twenty-four below. I shouldn’t have let you walk off like that.”
“The driveway was full of drifts. The truck would have gotten stuck. Did you have any problems?”
“Nope.”
She sounded sad, and he hated that. Ryan took a second to gather up his courage. “I left kind of quick back there.”
“It’s okay. I overstepped. You’re right. I never should have—”
Ryan’s conscience winced. He didn’t want her to go blaming herself when it was all his fault. His failings. Hadn’t Francine done the same thing? Always trying to be there for him, when he couldn’t take the pain of letting anyone that close?
He was wrong. “No, you were great. You were a good friend tonight. I just— I just handle things on my own. It’s the way I am.”
“Okay.” She sounded relieved, less strained. “You take care of yourself. And have a good Christmas with your family.”
“You, too.” His windpipe collapsed and he could barely get out a goodbye before he hung up. The phone cord dangled long and coiled up, the way it always used to.
The years rolled back against his will and he could remember his dad standing right here, hand on the receiver as he hung up, the last time Ryan had seen him. How big and strong and manly his dad was, the quiet capable type. Dad’s deep gravelly voice seemed to rumble through the years and echo all around Ryan.
He saw the past and the present at the same time. The shadowed room where the fire sparkled in the tempered window of the woodstove. The little boy’s view looking up at his dad, who was saying they had the prescription ready in town, he’d be back with it and their favorite carton of ice cream. You be a good boy for your mom, and I’ll be right back. We’ll get some medicine in you, and you’ll be feeling better soon. I promise.
The darkness swallowed him and Ryan sank to his knees. The hard edges of the brick hearth bit into his kneecaps. Knowing it would break him forever, he pulled the card from his pocket. When he opened the envelope, the orange-and-black cast from the fire writhed upon the page. There was Dad’s writing from the past filling the present. I love you, son.
The weight of the past broke free. I love you, too, Dad. Hot waves of sorrow crashed through him. I just want you back. He fought to hold on, but he couldn’t. Tears burned in his eyes and brimmed. The first sob escaped, scraping painfully up his throat. A second. A third.
He buried his face in his hands, which were no longer numb. Hurting with a heart that was no longer shielded.
Christmas came with a whisper. The wall clock gently bonged once, as if in welcome. Ryan ignored it. He’d never felt more hopeless or alone.
He didn’t see the tiniest bits of snow begin to drift down from the black velvet sky. They were delicate flakes, crested by starlight and glowing like hope.
As if God were listening on this wintry, holy night.
Kristin waited until the final chime of the grandfather clock in the living room silenced. Christmas came on the wings of snow that fell in dazzling reassurance to the frozen ground. Starlight eased between the breaks in the clouds to make the fields surrounding the house shimmer like an opal. Wetness burned in her eyes, and she couldn’t say why.
Maybe she was tired. Maybe it was stress. Or the worry over what tomorrow would bring.
So many worries weighed down on her.
It was Ryan and the way he’d practically leaped out of the truck and run away as fast as he could plow through the snow. How could she blame him? She’d leaned across the seat and kissed him. She’d done it without thinking, on impulse. She’d never done such a thing before. She’d called him to apologize, and had lost the nerve to say, “Sorry I threw myself at you.”
She wrapped her arms around her middle. It was her family, and worrying about tomorrow, which was already here. Christmas, alive and solemn.
Snapshots from Christmases past clustered the end wall in the breezeway. She stopped to study them. Framed in gold, reflecting the wink of the tree lights, she looked at the past. At the scrawny little girl with her long hair and straight-edged bangs, thanks to Mom’s home cut. She sat in the middle, surrounded by all her sisters, crowding close with the Christmas tree in the background. They were all beaming from their exciting morning of ripping open Santa’s gifts.
Each year Mom had framed a similar snapshot of the six of them crowded together in front of the tree. Happy and laughing. Allison, the tallest, was always in the back of their g
roup. Slim and sleek and beautiful. She’d been kind and good every day of her life. There were so many pictures without her.
There was last year’s picture—just the five of them. Mom always wanted a snapshot of her girls. But in the corner of the frame, there was another. The grandchildren in their new Christmas clothes for church. They’d gathered here and snapped the Polaroid in front of the tree. Mom must have taken several, reserving one to tuck in this frame.
Life was going on, rolling like the earth in the universe. Tugged along on a path that could not be stopped. It hurt, what was left behind.
She went to wipe the dampness from her eyes and the shocking sound of the mugs clinking together startled her. She’d forgotten she was holding them in her left hand, lost in her thoughts when she should be shutting down the house for the night.
She unplugged Christmas lights in the kitchen. Rinsed the cups and tucked them into the top dishwasher rack. Watched the colorful lights hooked over the bay window valances blink out as she hit the switch. Something moved out of the corner of her eye, a rustle of movement. One of the cats?
She checked the cushions on the window seat. No feline was hiding there or beneath the table. Strange. For some reason the cushions looked inviting and she eased down on them. Ryan’s gift, as small as a jewelry box, sat on the center of the table, where he’d left it.
She’d forgotten about it until now. The silver-and-gold wrapping was crumpled in one corner, and the frilly bow was squished from being in his pocket.
Ryan. She wished she could rewind time like a tape and replay it. What had he said? That she’d been a good friend. A friend. That was nice. Maybe he didn’t hold her impulsive kiss against her.
So, what had he gotten her? She removed the bow and set it aside, tugging the ribbon until it unraveled. She lifted the lid and gasped. Elegant gold dangle earrings in the shape of snowflakes glinted in the faint starlight. Oh, this was too much, it was too expensive—
A small card was inside, too. She pulled it out. He’d written, To the storm that brought old acquaintances together and made us friends.
