Deck the Halls

by Donna Alward

  “I was just dropping something off for Laurel,” he said, acutely aware that he was still in his work clothes.

  “Oh. Of course.” Disappointment wreathed her face, and he suddenly wondered if she thought he’d come to see her.

  “You look beautiful, Amy.”

  “A girl should have one good little black dress,” she said, taking a step forward in her heels. The added height put her just a tiny bit shorter than him. His hands itched to touch her, he wanted to kiss her as he’d been doing all week, but they’d been in private each time—at her door or as she got into her car or at his apartment.

  But now it was all different. He looked around them. Everyone here was dressed to the nines, cocktails in their hands, and waiters were beginning to circulate with little appetizers. Her world, not his.

  He stepped back. “I should go. Enjoy your evening.”

  He slid away, feeling worse by the second. What should he have done or said? Why did she even have to come back and give him a taste of what he couldn’t have?

  “George, wait.”

  He went outside into the cold air, took a big lungful and felt it burn.

  “George!” Her heels clicked on the paved parking lot. “This is ridiculous! Why don’t you go change and come back? We’ll have dinner. It’s for a good cause.”

  “I can’t.” His voice sounded constricted and he clamped his lips shut. She hugged her arms around herself to keep warm, and frowned at him.

  “If it’s the ticket, I’ll get it. Don’t worry about it.”

  “You don’t have to buy me a goddamn ticket!”

  A few people looked their way, and George felt about two inches high. Amy, to her credit, simply looked at him as if trying to puzzle him out. “You got something you need to get off your chest?” she asked.

  “Forget it.” He started to walk away but she hurried after him.

  “Oh no you don’t. This is how you acted the very first day I came to Darling and I thought we were past all that.” She followed him to his truck despite how cold she had to be in her dress with no coat.

  He turned to face her. “If I wanted a ticket I’d buy a ticket. I’d buy some decent clothes to wear, too. But I don’t want a ticket and I don’t want some stupid suit. Because these aren’t my people and this isn’t my world. So go ahead. Go rub elbows or whatever. And next week you’ll go back to your job and city apartment and forget all about the charity case back in Darling.”

  “That’s incredibly unfair, not to mention entirely inaccurate.”

  “I’m allowed to feel the way I feel.”

  She nodded. “Yep. You sure are. Except you weren’t expressing your feelings, you were passing judgment. Know what, George? You’ve still got a chip on your shoulder.”

  “You bet I do. Ninety percent of the people in there used to walk right by me. I mean, they actually took care to make sure they never touched me or made eye contact. Now, I face them every day. In my job, and around town, but on my terms. Not here. Not like this. Not like I’m some . . . example of . . . of . . .”

  “You think I’ve spent the last week with you out of pity?”

  A fire sparked in her eyes as she said it, her breath forming an icy cloud. He went to take off his jacket since she looked frozen, but she held up a hand.

  “I don’t want your jacket. Not when you’re pissing me off like you are right now. Know what? Me paying for your ticket is simply a recognition that money’s tight for you right now as you get back on your feet. It doesn’t have to be a power struggle or a point of pride unless you make it one. But these people? They’re not perfect. But they’re good people, deep down. At least the ones I’ve met. The Gallaghers are your friends and Hannah has spent months putting this event together. I’m third wheeling with Ethan and Willow and I thought it might be nice to have a date. But you didn’t want to come and I didn’t push it. But for you to make this into a battle of the sexes isn’t just silly, it’s hurtful.” Her eyes filled with tears. “I’ve tried to show you every way I know how that I care about you, the person, and don’t give a damn about how much money you make or where you live. You think people have hang-ups about you, George? Take a look in the mirror. The person with the biggest hang-up is you. And until you can make peace with yourself, a relationship between us doesn’t stand a chance.” She let out a big breath. “I can’t do the work for you. And I have to look out for me. I have feelings too, you know. You don’t have the corner on baggage and insecurities.”

  His chest cramped as he looked at her, so angry, so passionate. “You’ll go back home and forget all about this week.”

  She scoffed. “Sure, you keep telling yourself that if it makes you feel better. Then you can pretend that nothing we shared was real.”

  He didn’t know what to say. His feelings were all over the map, and the familiar tensing in his muscles told him he had to get out of there. Why was he driving her away? She was the first really good thing to happen to him in so long. He could hear his heart beat in his ears as she faced him down, and then he realized her face had softened into one of concern.

  He held up his hand. “Don’t. I don’t want your pity.”

  “I don’t pity you. I care about you. I worry about you. And you won’t let me in, not really. Please, George.” Her eyes shimmered. “Just let me in.”

  He wanted to so badly it frightened him to death. In her eyes he saw Ian’s. He’d let down his best friend so completely, he was sure he’d let Amy down, too. How could he knowingly do that?

  How had he ever thought kissing her was a smart move, and that they could come through unscathed?

  “I can’t. It’s for the best,” he said roughly, and spun away, jogging to his truck. There were still cars coming into the lot, arriving during the pre-dinner cocktails, and he couldn’t spin out the way he wanted. But he didn’t look back. He drove out the lane and onto the main road back toward Darling center. Got home and threw the truck into park and slammed the door. Went upstairs to his apartment and went inside, stared at the Christmas tree, and fought with everything he had to not rip the popcorn strands off the branches.

  He had to get a grip. He couldn’t solve problems by losing his cool, by being impulsive. Adrenaline rushed through him, seeking an outlet. He dropped to his hands and pushed out twenty, thirty, forty pushups, kept counting until his shoulders ached and his arms felt like jelly.

  Then he lay on his back on the living room floor and stared at the ceiling, wondering if he’d ever have a normal life again, or if he was just fooling himself.

  Chapter Nine

  Amy went back inside the clubhouse, darted into the ladies’ room to fix her makeup, and then went to the banquet room to find Willow and Ethan. They were mingling near the auction tables, and Amy took a moment to watch them. Ethan put his hand lightly on the small of Willow’s back, looking down into her face as if there was no one else in the world. Willow looked up at him and Amy saw the younger woman rest her hand on her belly. Willow’s dress was of the flowy sort, so her pregnancy wasn’t immediately obvious. But when her hand rested against the fabric, it was easy to see that she had a little bubble at her waistline.

  Willow and Ethan had all that Amy had ever wanted. The love of another and a family to call her own. Was that so much to ask? She’d made such a mistake putting her faith in George. Not that he’d disappointed her, no, never. And she’d spoken the truth that she’d thought he needed to hear. But she regretted how she’d said it, and she was sad to realize that neither of them was to blame. George simply wasn’t ready. He might never be ready, and she’d allowed herself to hope.

  Willow looked over and saw Amy standing there, and with a look of concern excused herself from Ethan’s company and made her way over to Amy’s side. “Oh dear. What happened?”

  “It’s okay. We just . . . Oh, we were fooling ourselves. Said we’d have a nice week of spending time together and then part ways at Christmas. And it worked, until today.”

  Willow touched
her arm. “Any time someone says the words ‘no strings’ or ‘no feelings involved’, it’s a guarantee that it’s going to get messy. It’s like we already know we’re in over our heads and if we say the words it’s not true.”

  “I think I need a glass of wine.”

  “Ask and ye shall receive.” Willow snagged a glass from a passing waiter and handed it to her. “I didn’t ask if you liked red or white. Desperate times . . .”

  Amy managed a small laugh. Willow was one of the most likable women she’d ever met. If Amy lived in Darling, she bet they’d end up friends.

  For some reason, that also made her sad.

  “Come on,” Willow said. “I know a quieter place we can chat before dinner starts.”

  “I don’t want to ruin your night . . .”

  “You’re not.” Willow tugged at her hand and led her past the coat check to a second, quieter room. “Okay. Tell Auntie Willow everything.”

  Amy didn’t know where to start. She sat down on a hard plastic chair and cradled her wine glass instead.

  Willow pulled up a chair next to her. “Hey,” she said softly. “You care about each other. It’s not easy, particularly when there are so many mountains to climb. I know. I’ve been there.” She held out her arm and showed Amy the little tattoo at her wrist. “I went through a really shit time. It took a lot of therapy and time to sort myself out. Even then, it wasn’t until Ethan came along that I made it the rest of the way. And Ethan had lost his wife. Healing is hard business, Amy. It doesn’t happen overnight.”

  “I know. I was so hard on him just now.”

  “I’ve known George a while. For him to be where he is now . . . he’s shown so much courage and strength. You could have blown us all over when we saw you guys on the Green the other night. If you’d asked us two weeks ago if George would be drinking hot cocoa with a date at the Kissing Bridge, we would have laughed in your face. You did that. He has his job and his apartment and the necessities of life . . . but you reached in and found the real George lurking behind all the practicalities of merely existing.”

  Amy’s eyes began to sting.

  “He said that a lot of the people here used to make sure they didn’t touch him,” Amy said, her heart hurting as she heard the words echoing in her head. “I forget sometimes that there’s a different history that I don’t know. I have no context.”

  “It’s also true that a lot of people have stepped up and helped him,” Willow said. “But the other was an easier way to keep you at arm’s length. Caring for someone is what really scares him, you see? And it’s not just that you can hurt him, it’s that he could hurt you. Or that down deep, he worries he’s not enough. That he doesn’t deserve you. And that kind of thinking can be hard to change.”

  Amy wondered if some of George’s insecurities stemmed from his transient upbringing, too. He’d never known unconditional love, never known the security of a family. Even the army had cut him loose without the supports he needed. “I suggested counseling,” Amy admitted. “Real therapy, not the ‘Band-Aid, come in and talk about it’ kind.”

  “I’ve mentioned it, too,” Willow said. “But access is harder than it should be, and without good private insurance . . .”

  They sat quietly for a few moments.

  “Do you love him, Amy?”

  The question surprised her, but the answer surprised her more. “Yeah,” she answered softly. “I think I do. I know it’s been a short time, but . . .”

  “But sometimes it just happens, when we least expect it.” Willow laughed a little. “And with the last person we expect. Ethan and I totally did not get along at first.”

  “George and I always got along,” Amy answered. “Even fifteen years ago.”

  Willow patted her hand. “Then don’t give up. Show him he’s worth fighting for, if that’s what you want.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “Do you want to stay? Ethan can take you home if the evening’s ruined for you now.”

  Amy shook her head, feeling so much better now that she’d talked to Willow. “No, I’ll stay. You’ve all been so kind, and the meal smells amazing, and I want a chance to bid on some of those items. Besides, I need to do some thinking. If I go home I’ll wallow.”

  Willow grinned. “I like you. I’m kind of hoping you’re around a little more.”

  Would she be? Was that even possible? Or would she and George just be able to patch things up as friends?

  She enjoyed the evening, even dancing a few times with Aiden and Ethan and their younger brother Rory, who had come with his girlfriend, Oaklee, who turned out to be Cam Collier’s baby sister. Since Oaklee and Hannah were rushing around making sure everything was running smoothly, Rory took his turn on the dance floor with some young ladies who looked at him as if he hung the moon. Then she had a slower dance with John Gallagher, and one of Ethan’s buddies from the fire department, and someone named Brian who owned the pharmacy in town. By midnight she was tired and ready for bed, but when Willow turned into her yard—as the pregnant one in the party, she’d become the default designated driver—the sight of her evergreen in full lights stole her breath.

  “Oh, that’s gorgeous. When did you do that?”

  Amy’s throat clogged. “I didn’t. Oh, dammit.” She sniffed. “I yelled at him and he gave me a Christmas tree.”

  “George did this?”

  “It had to be him.” She knew in her heart it was. The tree stood at least twelve feet high, a perfect pyramid of pungent branches. Looped around it, from top to bottom, were large multi-colored lights, shining off the snow.

  She got out of the car and went over to the single Adirondack chair placed by the tree. He’d written on the backside of the cardboard from one of the packages of lights and placed it on the seat. I’m sorry, it read. And that was all.

  Ethan got out of the car and took her her purse. “That’s a pretty big gesture,” he said quietly. “A man has to feel pretty shitty to do something this nice.”

  “I know. And he already feels shitty enough. I wish he could see himself the way I do. The way other people do. Not everyone sees him as that homeless guy anymore, you know?”

  “Is that what he thinks? Everyone I know of thinks it’s amazing what he’s accomplished the last few months. Sure, they were wary before, but once you get to know George . . .”

  “I know,” she said softly. “I know.”

  “Call if you need anything,” he offered.

  “You go get Willow home. She and that baby need some rest.”

  “I will. And Amy?”

  “Hmm?” She kept staring at the tree. Couldn’t look away. He’d done this, for her. Not just because he was sorry but because he knew she didn’t have a tree of her own at the cottage. How could she see his thoughtfulness and generosity and he couldn’t?

  “Don’t give up,” he advised, then went back to the car.

  She didn’t want to, but she wasn’t sure how to proceed, either. She went inside and got ready for bed, and then turned facing the window, so she could see the rainbow glow of the lights in the front yard.

  If George couldn’t see how much people cared, maybe she would just have to show him.

  * * *

  When George didn’t hear from Amy after the literacy banquet, he figured it was pretty much over.

  He’d waited most of Sunday to hear from her. And again Monday. Then Tuesday . . . and nothing. No impromptu lunches at The Ladybug, no walks through the park or sharing fries at the Sugarbush. Now it was Christmas Eve, they’d be closing up shop by three, and the words she’d said to him kept running through his head like a constant loop. The one with the hang-ups was him. She wasn’t wrong. But she wasn’t 100% right, either. There was nothing wrong with wanting to be worthy of someone’s trust and affection. Why was it wrong for him to need to be self-sufficient? Why shouldn’t he want to have some pride?

  God, he was still such a mess. There were only two things he knew for sure. He was determined to m
ove forward with a better life. And he knew that it was possible to love again. Not just Amy, though he suspected that was true, too. But he loved other people, too, like Laurel. Like Jordan, their student employee, who came into work with her crazy college stories and homemade cookies that she baked all the time because she had a sweet tooth and her mom never kept sweets in the house. And right now he was half in love with a tabby cat that he’d found huddled under a stack of Douglas firs a few days ago. He hadn’t taken it home, but he’d put out a little food for it in the morning and before he left at night. The damned thing probably had fleas, but George felt sorry for it all the same. The cat watched him with wary eyes, but when George found a couple of burlap sacks left over from evergreen boughs, and tucked them into the sheltered corner of the fence, he was gratified to find the cat curled up fast asleep a few hours later.

  Letting go of some of the past had made room for the future. He’d apologized, but it was obviously too late. With a sinking heart, he figured Amy wasn’t even in Darling anymore. Tomorrow was Christmas. Today was the last day in her rental term.

  He was sweeping up the greenhouse floor when Hannah Gallagher came in and brought him a little wrapped present.

  “What’s this?” he asked, turning it over in his hand.

  “Just a little something to say thank you for helping with the benefit. The centerpieces were lovely, George. I appreciate you delivering them and helping put them around.”

  He frowned. “Oh. Do you want me to open it now?”

  She shook her head. “Not if you don’t want to. You can put it under your tree. Merry Christmas.”

  A while later there was a tap on his shoulder. It was one of his neighbors, an elderly man he thought was named Hugh. Hugh also held out a present, wrapped rather raggedly in green paper with a red bow. “Came in to get some Christmas Eve cider,” he said in his shaky voice. “But I wanted to thank you for cleaning off my car after last week’s storm. I have a hard time reaching these days and I appreciate it.”