by J. M. Paul
Water splashes over the rim of my cup when Connor stops to refill it.
“I’m not complaining, but I’m surprised to see you here tonight.” Connor sets the pitcher on the bar and wipes up his spill. “Cami’s not playing.”
No, she’s on a date with the new guy from last night.
“Strange as this might sound, but I’ve discovered I write better when I’m in the midst of chaos. I’m easily distracted at the condo.” I shrug.
“Or maybe you like being in my presence, and you find it hard to stay away,” Connor roughly whispers.
His words have a straight shot to my gut because of the truth they hold.
“Glad to see your ego’s not suffering.” I roll my eyes.
Connor chuckles.
My phone vibrates and pings on the bar between us. When I see the name flash, I pick it up and swipe my finger over the home screen.
Evelyn: Really, Noel? You’re going to hang our dirty laundry outside for everyone to judge? We need to talk. Now. Call me.
I stare at the phone gripped in my sweaty palm. My heart’s pounding so fast, it almost makes it impossible to breathe.
Connor flicks my notebook. “Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask you, how’d your article from last weekend turn out?”
I snap my eyes to him and study his expression. How does he know that’s what my text is about? Is he snooping?
“It was picked up, and according to the text my sister just sent me, it seems like it was already published.”
“You have a sister?” Connor stands straight.
“Sometimes.” I feel the familiar tightening start to swirl in my chest and claw its way up my throat.
“Hmm,” he hums.
“So, I get to pay the electric bill this month. That’s exciting.” I use fake enthusiasm to deflect the subject from my article and long-lost sister. Connor either doesn’t realize what I’m doing or he lets me get away with it.
“That’s your excitement? Paying the electric bill?” Connor shakes his head.
“Don’t overestimate the power of having heat.” I trace my finger over the granite as everything fades into white noise.
“Never. I like heat.” He slants toward me, and his voice goes hoarse. “Especially when it’s between two people who—”
“I need to go.” I blindly shove my supplies into my bag. When I dart to my feet, the stool topples backward. It crashes to the floor under the weight of my bag and almost trips a waitress walking by with a full tray of food. “Shit. I’m so sorry!” I quickly pick up the chair, and it teeters on its stilts.
“Noel? Are you okay?” Connor’s face is pinched, his attention completely focused on me.
“Sure.” My bag won’t come off the back of the stool, and I repeatedly grab at it. When it comes loose, it almost tumbles the seat again.
Damn it.
I snatch my phone and coat and toss my bag over my shoulder.
“Did I say something wrong?” Connor’s brows furrow, and he’s leaning so far over the bar, I wonder if he’s thinking about hopping over it.
“No.” I can’t recall anything he said because my mind is mush over the text from my sister. “I just … something’s come up.” I give a tight wave before I stride out of Harry’s with my phone clutched in my hand.
Superheroes
I haven’t heard from my older sister, Evelyn, in almost two years—and for good reason. The last time I saw her, I made a choice that turned her against me. It’s damaging, being forced to do the dirty work for the ones you love, but in the end, it was the last unselfish gift I could give them. If Evelyn doesn’t understand my reasoning, it’s not my fault. That’s why she wasn’t the one left with the responsibility.
Regardless of everything, I still miss my sister. I hero-worshiped her for most of my life, and to be truthful, a large majority of me still does—probably always will.
I need someone to lean on to help with the guilt, sorrow, loss, and loneliness that bubble inside me. The emptiness sits in my heart and on my soul like a charred black boulder—cold, hard, heavy, and unbending.
Shuffling through the slush in Harry’s parking lot on the way to my orange Jeep, I shiver against the gust of wind whipping snow into my face.
I hit the unlock button on my key fob and try to pull the door open, but it’s frozen shut. I yank harder and curse my decision to venture out into the wild today. When the door finally gives, I climb in. The engine growls at me when I crank the key over, but it starts.
I release a long sigh and watch the ghost of my breath float in the Jeep’s cabin until it dies into nothing. It simulates my energy and will, which I desperately need to deal with Evelyn.
When my shivering is controlled, I psych myself up to call my sister.
It rings three times before “Noel,” is barked through the earpiece.
“Hi, Eve.” My voice is shaky despite my effort to make it sound firm.
“What the hell were you thinking?” Evelyn growls.
“It’s nice to hear from you, too,” I say snidely, my spine going straight.
“I’m in no mood for your sarcasm, Noel.”
I exhale loudly. “I assume you’re talking about my article. I was thinking I’d like to pay my electric bill.” I give her the same lame excuse I gave Connor a few minutes ago.
Evelyn grumbles. She knows I’m spouting hot air. Mom and Dad left us enough money to be comfortable for several years if we’re smart about our spending.
“How could you, Noel? What you wrote … that was—is personal.” Evelyn’s voice loses some of its edge.
“I thought it could possibly help someone in a similar situation or a person suffering through the holidays or questioning the meaning of life and what their existence here was supposed to be. The holidays are intolerable for some, and if they know they aren’t alone, that there’s help, well …” I wipe my runny nose. “I thought it would make Mom and Dad proud and hopefully help heal whatever’s broken inside me.”
The line crackles between us. I pull the phone away from my ear to see if we’ve lost connection or if Evelyn hung up. The time is still ticking.
“I wrote it under a pen name, Eve.” My tone is weak, tired.
“That doesn’t make it better!” Evelyn yells. “N.E. North is not a clever alias. Everyone knows it’s you!” She’s breathing hard. “Mom and Dad wouldn’t be proud, Noel. They would be ashamed of you and the fact that you sold out your family and your soul for a minute in the spotlight and a measly wage.”
I gasp at her hurtful words and then choke on the deluge of tears coursing down my face and splashing onto my jacket.
I’m pleased with my article—or I used to be—and the hope it could possibly bring someone dealing with depression and loss around the holidays. Sometimes, knowing you’re not the only one in a sinking ship makes it possible to survive another day.
“All you wanted was to become a distinguished writer.” Evelyn pauses. “Well, you’ve caught the attention you wanted with this article. It’s buzzing online right now. It’s circulating around Facebook and Twitter.”
A large portion of me glows with happiness at the notice I’m finally receiving, but with Evelyn spewing hate in my ear, it’s quickly squelched.
“No wonder everyone’s cut themselves off from you. You’re a train wreck, Noel. No one wants to deal with the carnage you sprinkle around like salt,” Evelyn hisses.
I clench at my chest, my heart pounding so hard and fast, I think it’s either going to explode out of my ribs or stop beating altogether. The dreaded organ’s going to kill me in this moment, and I’ll be alone, the way I’m meant to be.
“I disowned you for a reason,” Evelyn says quieter. “But, if you ever pen another piece about our family or our experiences, I’ll find a way to make your life a living hell. Do you understand me?”
“Eve, I—”
The phone line goes silent.
“No.” I punch the steering wheel, causing the horn to honk.
My phone buzzes in my hand, and I look down to see a text from Connor.
Connor: Hey. You seemed upset when you rushed out. Is everything okay? Anything I can do for you?
Connor’s concern and kindness socks me in the stomach. For some reason, he’s taken an interest in me and cares. I don’t deserve his compassion, but my seared insides want to take every ounce he’s willing to give and use it as my salve.
But not today. Today, I deserve to suffer.
I wipe my runny nose with the back of my hand and put the Jeep in drive. With moisture blurring my vision, I head home.
My tires spin out, and I fishtail when I come down a hill about two miles away from my neighborhood. The sudden change pulls me out of the fog in my head. I blink against the white wall of snow surrounding me, and it’s almost as if I’m noticing my surroundings for the first time since I left Harry’s.
I can only see a few feet in front of me, and with that knowledge, my entire body goes rigid. Prying one of my hands away from the steering wheel, I turn on my lights and shove the Jeep into four-wheel drive. My knuckles have gone white, and my fingers are aching from my death grip. I let up on the gas and coast down the hill, trying to control the Jeep, as it seems to float over the road.
It’s too early in the season for this type of weather.
Just when I think I have the situation under control, I see a set of headlights coming straight at me. An orange crossover coming from the opposite direction is trying to pass a slower-moving vehicle, and they are in my lane and moving too fast for the conditions. I can’t pull off the road because there’s a large ditch full of trees to my right and no shoulder. I pump my brakes, causing the Jeep to turn slightly.
“What the hell?” I yell into the cab of the Jeep.
What is this person thinking?
The lights grow closer and closer until the last thought in my head is that I’m going to die in a head-on collision involving two orange vehicles.
How ironic.
The car is within feet of me, traveling so fast that the operator’s starting to lose control. I close my eyes, bracing for the impact. Instead of feeling at a loss, I feel free and ready to meet my parents at the golden gates.
I open my eyes in time to see the orange car swerve back into its lane, just narrowly missing me and the car they were passing.
I blare my horn at the idiot and scream, “You stupid jerk!” even though they’re already past me.
My heart is racing, and my stomach feels like it’s in my throat. Tears blur my eyes, and my hands are shaking so violently, it’s almost impossible to steer. Blindly, I pull to the side of the road when I’m pretty certain there’s a shoulder again.
Leaning forward, I press my forehead against the steering wheel and try to catch my breath. My breathing’s gone shallow, and I feel like I can’t pull air into my lungs. My body convulses and shivers, and without realizing it, I’m sobbing uncontrollably.
Flashes of my near miss of an accident converge with my past as horrible memories suddenly overtake me and yank me into the dark.
Christmas carols were playing on 100.3 WNIC—which was a Detroit tradition—and Mom, Dad, Evelyn, and I were singing our hearts out in the car, as if we were giving Santa a personal concert. Even though there was a void in my heart over Nicholas, I could still feel the jubilation and anticipation in the air because Christmas was fast approaching.
It was Thanksgiving Day, and everything was almost perfect—until it wasn’t.
The roads were slick due to a storm earlier that morning. Dad asked us what we’re looking forward to that holiday season, and before any of us could answer, a vehicle in the opposite lane spun out of control and sideswiped us.
I turned my head toward the window and saw a large black SUV advancing at full speed. It was there, and then it wasn’t. Then, it was there and gone again.
My gaze flitted back and forth between Dad, Mom, and Evelyn. This was it. Seconds ago, we didn’t have a care in the world, and then, our world would no longer exist. I would never see Nicholas again, I wouldn’t be able to give my family their presents I was excited about, and I would never graduate college or become a published author.
Dad cranked at the wheel, Mom yelled as her hair floated as if there were no gravity, and Evelyn shrieked. My notebook sailed into the air, almost dancing, and I watched it with eyes as large as saucers.
My dad gained control of our vehicle just in time … to slam head-on into the black SUV. I flew forward, the seat belt cutting into my chest, neck, and abdomen. There was screaming, breaking glass, crunching metal, and then screaming again as our car went airborne. It smashed into something and then flipped and flipped and flipped until there was another crash that halted our movement.
Everything was silent. There was so much noise, and then, there was nothing.
I tried to take a deep breath to speak but instead winced. Everything hurt. I coughed against the smell of burning rubber, gasoline, and blood.
My chest ached, and breathing became almost impossible. My fingers were numb, and I couldn’t move. Shivering against the cold bite of air, I tried to turn my head to see if my family was okay, but my vision had doubled, and my stomach churned.
And then everything went black.
“Mom! Dad! Evelyn!” I scream and gasp for air.
My eyes fly open, searching frantically until I realize I’m in my Jeep, and it was only a horrible flashback.
Convulsions rack my body, and I’m weeping without tears. I’ve shed so much moisture in the last hour, my body isn’t capable of releasing more.
Without thinking, I grab my phone and dial the last person I had contact with.
The phone rings twice before a deep, soothing voice says, “Journal Girl?”
“Connor.” His name comes out on a broken whisper, my mouth and throat too dry to expel anything stronger.
Loud music pulses in the background, a woman laughs, and glasses clink.
“Hold on a minute, Noel. Let me get someplace I can hear you.”
There’s shuffling, Connor’s mumbled voice, and then more shuffling. A door clicks closed, and a chair squeaks.
“Sorry,” Connor says. “What’s wrong?”
“I—” Hiccup. “Y-you were the last person … I pressed Call, and it was you.” I puff out a breath, sniffle, and start to blubber again.
“It’s okay, Noel. You can always call me.” A chair creaks again. “Is everything all right?”
“Sure,” I say sarcastically. “I just called, scared and balling my eyes out, to see what you were up to.”
He chuckles. “There’s that smart mouth I know and love.” There’s rustling, and then I hear a zipper. “Where are you?”
“On the side of the road.” I hang my head. “I-I almost got in a head-on collision, and I-I”—memories overtake me again, and my body quivers so bad, my voice shakes—“I can’t drive.” I sniffle again and wipe the tears that have suddenly reappeared. “All I can think about is that day …”
There’s a long pause before Connor says, “What road are you on? I’m coming to get you.”
An hour later, I’m sitting on my couch in comfy clothes with an electric throw blanket covering my lap, and I’m holding a warm cup of tea. I wanted coffee, but Connor insisted that tea would settle the mind.
The jury’s still out on that opinion.
Against my protesting, Connor turned on Elf for us to watch, and the main character is whining about the best way to spread Christmas cheer.
I snort and give the television a middle-finger salute.
“Cheer this,” I grumble.
Connor smacks my arm down and shakes his head. “Don’t disrespect my religion, Journal Girl.”
“Hate to brea
k it to ya, Butterball, but the fat man in the red suit?” I lean closer and whisper, “He’s not real.”
Connor points at me, his eyes wide. “Liar!”
I shove his hand away and sip the nasty tea. Black coffee is life, but I see why people put cream and honey in this garbage. It needs to be masked.
He shifts on the couch to face me. “Why do you hate Christmas so much?”
“Why do you love it so much?” I retort.
“Easy. I come from a big family. There are five of us kids, so holidays are always a hectic, loud, and exciting deal. Big meals, everyone talking over each other, nieces and nephews running around like kittens on catnip, and lots of laughter.” He scratches his chin.
“Sounds like insanity to me.” That’s a complete lie, but that’s who I am now when it comes to Christmas. I’m a liar who spouts untruths to make myself believe I’m a hater, but in reality, I miss it. I grieve every single aspect of the holidays with my family.
“Embrace the chaos.” Connor shrugs. “But what I love most is how magical my parents always make everything. It’s never about presents but about the spirit of the holiday overtaking even the grouchiest of people”—he pointedly eyes me—“and the togetherness.”
My eyebrows draw down, and I swirl the tea in my cup, trying to expel the warmth and tightness he causes to take flight in my chest.
“Your turn.” Connor expectantly looks at me.
“So, we’re doing this? The sharing thing?” I go with a snarky response to hopefully deflect the conversation away from me and the explanation he’s wanted to know since the day we met—why I now hate Christmas.
“I came to your rescue during your time of need. Out with it, woman.”
“Heroes never ask for repayment of their generous deeds. They’re supposed to do it out of the goodness of their hearts,” I shoot back.
“I’m not a hero, and my heart’s as black as coal.” His lip twitches.
