A Family For Christmas

by Jordan Silver

  I knew it wasn’t the loss of my family. That was a different kind of pain. That pain was stored in a whole other compartment of my living hell. But where the pain of that loss has started to ease with time, not by much, but it’s got to where I can think about the wife and son I’d lost without wanting to die myself. This other seems only to intensify with time.

  Four years of teasing glimpses of memories that I had no recollection of. Memories that seemed too real to be anything but. They left me feeling bereft, empty. As if I’d left a piece of myself somewhere, which made no sense.

  Four years ago, my wife had hit a patch of ice on the way home from holiday shopping right after Thanksgiving. Our three-week old son was in the car with her, and I was at work, running late as usual. There was always a deadline to meet, always, another day another time to do the things that I should’ve been putting first all along.

  Then it was too late and they were gone. After that the things that I had once thought I needed were the first things I left behind. It was as if I blamed my life for what had happened. I’d fooled myself into thinking that I had been doing it for them. Going the extra mile so that I could be the best, get the best jobs, a reward or two here and there in my field.

  Now the ones I wanted to be proud of me were gone, and I realized too late that they would’ve much rather have had me there than all the other things I gave them.

  I remember burying them. I know I stayed sober long enough to do that. Then there is a period of about three weeks when everything is a blur. But the worse was Christmas. I know I wanted to avoid that day and anything that had to do with the festivities. Abby had liked the holidays. That’s why she’d gone out to catch a sale at the mall with her sister, even after I’d asked her not to, that I’d go the next day and pick up whatever it was she was after.

  She’d assured me she was fine, and me being preoccupied with work had stupidly let it slide. Four hours later I was standing on the side of the road looking down at what was left of them in the wreckage. To this day I can’t stand to see car lights reflected on snow.

  The town had been decorated since the day after Thanksgiving so there was holiday shit everywhere, and the music. I can still hear the song that was playing in the car when I got the news. I pushed those memories away as I climbed out of bed. It wasn’t those that bothered me now anyway, and I did feel guilt over that.

  Almost from that first year, this other memory had somehow taken the place of the ones of my family. Not that I didn’t mourn them, I did for a long time. But these other memories somehow kept teasing at the edges of my mind, taking my focus off of everything else.

  All year, I may get a little zing here and there, but nothing like around this time. I’d be going about my day and suddenly a scent would hit me, or I’d hear a song, some little thing that would trigger a memory that went nowhere. All I know was whatever was playing at the edges of my mind had to be very important for it to have been with me this long.

  The last thing I remember about my last night in the town where I’d grown up is showing up at a bar. I’d been on my way out of town, feeling sorry for myself. The bar was a mere hour or so outside of town, but that was as far as I’d gotten before the snow had started coming down too heavy to see out the window.

  Lucky for me it was a hotel bar, if you can call the shabby two story building that, but it was either that or take my chances on the road under the same kind of conditions that had pretty much taken the lives of my wife and kid.

  I remember taking a seat at the bar. I remember ordering a couple and then…that’s where things get hazy until I woke up the next morning. I woke up reaching for my wife. In those first few seconds, reality hadn’t hit home yet, and things were back to the way they used to be.

  There was a warm spot next to me in the bed and my body felt like I’d gone all night. It had been a while since we’d done that. Not since…but wait, she wasn’t healed yet. What had I done?

  My eyes flew open and that’s when reality came flooding back. Abby and Sam were gone. So why did I feel like I’d been with a woman? And what was that hint of sweet vanilla in the air? On the sheets…on me? I’d laid in bed feeling like the biggest bastard in the world when the truth finally hit.

  It was obvious from the dried pussy juice on my rod that I’d been with someone. I could still smell her, feel her, but I couldn’t even remember her face. Had I picked up a hooker for the night? That wasn’t my style, not even before I got married, and wasn’t something I ever thought I’d be interested in, but what else could it be?

  If the guilt didn’t kill me the hangover from hell almost did. No wonder I couldn’t remember anything, the inside of my mouth tasted like horse shit and my head felt like the little drummer boy was going to town. I guess I’d had a little more than too much the night before.

  I’d left the hotel and left the area as I’d planned, moving a few hundred miles away, and hadn’t been back since. I couldn’t stand to see anyone. There were too many memories attached to them, and the town. I knew it didn’t seem fair to some, but I really didn’t care back then.

  I spent the first year and a half mad at the world and not caring much about anything. I buried myself even deeper in work after I realized it was the only thing keeping me sane.

  I excelled in my new hometown where I was able to avoid the looks of pity and constant questions and reminiscence that I couldn’t avoid back home in the small town where everyone pretty much knew everyone else.

  It was easy to get lost in the hustle and bustle of New York City where everyone was too busy going about their own hectic lives to pay much attention to the plight of others. Here no one knew the story, not unless I told them and I had no plans on ever doing that.

  I kept the memory of my wife and son alive in my heart, but I couldn’t bear to talk about them with anyone else. My boy hadn’t been alive long enough for me to have more than a handful of memories, but what I did have was enough to make his loss heartbreaking.

  I’ve been doing more than alright for myself here in my new life. If you can call a man who hasn’t done anything more than work and more work in four years living. But it’s what I had and what I was comfortable with. When it was all said and done, after I’d out-ran survivor’s guilt, I’d got my life back on even keel.

  Except for this time of year, when everything slid out of control and my life took this surreal turn that even after all this time I had no real answers for. No matter what I did, how I tried to waylay it, come this season, those memories fought for dominance in my head.

  I poured my first cup of coffee and moved my neck around to get rid of the kinks as I walked bare-assed to the bathroom down the hall.

  I’d gone with an apartment instead of a home once moving to the big city. New York was certainly very different from New Hampshire. I’d never had much interest in moving here, though I’d had offers straight out of M.I.T. I was at heart a small town boy.

  When I was younger and for the first two years of my marriage, this time of year was the best. There’s nothing like small town New Hampshire in the winter and for the holidays everyone went all out. Streets were lined with stately homes each one more elegantly decorated than the last as if in some silent competition.

  There were parties and sleigh rides, kids building snowmen on front lawns, all the things that make the holiday great. And those were the very reasons I’d stayed away so long. This time of year there’s nothing but holiday cheer, and merriment all around. Neighbors have no real boundaries, and this time of year the walls really do come down.

  They still hold to a lot of the old traditions, which mostly revolve around children, and I’m sorry I’ve just not been in the mood to see everyone else enjoying their wives and kids while I played odd man out. I didn’t think it was fair of me to spoil their holidays by trying to pretend something I hadn’t been ready for. But maybe ma was right, maybe four years was long enough.

  3

  Bella

  I’d fielde
d the usual dozen or so phone calls from mom throughout the day, evaded my boss’s roving hands and read the want Ads on my lunch break the way I have been for the last few months. I knew it was wishful thinking. The only way I would find a job that paid as well as this one was if I moved away and that just wasn’t possible.

  My support network was here. Well now it only included mom and dad, everyone else had their own lives after all. But those two had been more than enough. I was working and putting away every penny to try to get my kids out of the hellhole we were currently in. My parents had offered to make room for us more than once, but I needed to stand on my own two feet.

  We’d stayed there right out of hospital because I needed all the help I could get. But after the first two months things between my younger sister and I had soured even more than they already were, and it became unbearable to be there any longer. Especially when she started turning her discord on my children.

  Melissa had always had some kind of weird competition going on with me in her head since we were kids. She was two years younger, but way worldlier than I was. When I’d shown up pregnant after only a year and a half in school, I was terrified. My sister was very pleased. She was only too happy to rub my failure in my face every chance she got.

  And I guess the fact that mom and dad had stood by me and done everything they could to make life easier for me, had not sat too well with her because she’d just become even more obsessed with the time they spent with me or any help they extended.

  Everyone tiptoed around her because for a while during her fourteenth year she’d gotten mixed up with the wrong crowd and had dabbled with drugs and begun her sexual experimentation.

  When it had all come out in the open my sister had become suicidal. The shame had sent her into some kind of psychotic break and it hadn’t helped that the whole town started their comparison game then.

  Before all that, I knew people had whispered behind their hands about the differences between the Clifton girls. But after that whole mess they were no longer whispering and their words only served to fuel whatever resentment she already bore against me.

  So she was rather pleased when Saint Bella as she was fond of calling me, messed up and got herself with child. For a man that she couldn’t even name no less.

  I’d been honest with my parents about that even though I knew they might share it with her, we were family after all. I was hoping she could put our differences aside and just be there for me during what had to be the scariest time of my life. But no such luck.

  Of course I’d always been there for her, no question, but she didn’t see the need to be there for the sister who she believed had always overshadowed her since she was born. She was beyond angry when our parents stepped in and helped in every way they could even with their limited resources. She thought I should’ve been kicked out of the house and all their love and attention given to her.

  But my parents had done all they could for me, and the twins. It wasn’t that we were dirt poor, but we weren’t rich and certainly hadn’t made plans for two new babies on the horizon so soon.

  I’d used most of the college fund dad had put aside to help with things for the twins and used the rest to take the paralegal course.

  Melissa been even angrier once I continued my studies, going for the paralegal certificate instead of the law degree I’d been after before I was waylaid by the unexpected pregnancy. I guess in her mind I was finished now that I had kids.

  She’d made life at mom and dad’s unbearable for me, and the kids, so I’d had no choice but to move out on my own. Though mom and dad had argued against it, I could see that it was lifting a strain off their shoulders.

  Melissa was their baby after all, and all she need do is bring up the fact that they did more for me than they did her to get them backpedaling fast, even though there was no truth to her assumptions.

  It’s been four years and she too now has a little boy who’s barely a year younger than my twins. And still she can’t give up this sick competition. Still trying to make my life difficult.

  I shook those thoughts off as I made my way outside. Mom should be pulling up any minute with the kids. I guess my mind was moving in those circles because of the holidays.

  Outside the air was clean and brisk, with a few flurries already swirling in the air. You could actually feel the Christmas spirit. There were bells going off in the distance, the church bells that the town will be ringing every hour on the hour until after the New Year.

  There was red and green on every pole stretching as far as the eye could see going down Main Street. Not to mention the silver and gold streamer and tinsel decorations that hung across the street with messages of Christmas cheer.

  As I sat there watching people going about their evening, as the sun was about to make its descent in the sky, I felt that strangeness again. Every year about this time, it happens. I get the strongest urge to go back there, to see if maybe…

  Maybe what? Maybe he’d come looking for you? Maybe you two could have some kind of fairytale happily ever after? I’d stopped reading romance novels because I no longer believed in such things. But every year for the last three I’ve secretly held out hope for my own little miracle.

  I wonder if he ever thought of that night. How was it possible for two lives to be so drastically changed and one not even know it? I’d never resented him for leaving me with my little Christmas surprise, after all had I not been attracted to him I never would’ve gone up to his hotel room, never would’ve let him undress me…

  I always grew very uncomfortable at this point in my trip down memory lane. For whatever reason, this time I forced myself to remember. It wasn’t like the memories were fading anyway; they only seem to get stronger with time. I sat in the car staring straight ahead as my mind went back in time almost four years to the day.

  I’d been pushing it to get home in time for Christmas morning. I’d stayed late at school to finish up a term paper. By the time I got on the road for the three-hour drive home it was already dark out and there were flurries of snow in the air. Had I taken the time to listen to the weather report, I would’ve known there was a freak storm headed in the path I was about to embark on.

  Mom had been too busy getting ready for the festivities to be her usual stay on top of every minute detail self. Usually on my weekend trips back home I would’ve gotten a complete rundown of every road construction, downed tree and any other impediment one could run into on the road.

  I’d made it to just outside of town, maybe twenty-thirty minutes, when my car had almost skid off the road on a patch of ice. It was the weirdest thing because I didn’t think it had iced or snowed that hard yet. But just like that the floodgates opened up and the flurries that had been following me for the past couple hours became a blinding blanket of white.

  The only sensible thing to do was find the nearest place for warmth and shelter and lucky for me there was an old hotel right up ahead. I’d never stayed there before, never had reason to since it was just outside of town. It was a quaint little place, one of those boutique New England hotels with loads of charm and history. I guess some might find it outdated, but for an old romantic like myself, it was the perfect setting for a romantic holiday.

  The lobby was practically empty with everyone tucked away safely in the warmth of their rooms, probably with their noses pressed to the windows enjoying the real experience of a New Hampshire Christmas.

  It really was rather picturesque once you got over the bitter cold against your cheeks. Snow covered pine trees with just the softest glow from the old fashioned street lamps was like a throwback to a Dickens tale come to life.

  4

  Bella

  I took a seat at the bar, staying close to the very end. I wasn’t old enough to drink and didn’t want to bring attention to myself, but the elderly bartender had been all that was kind and taken pity on me. He’d even got me a cup of hot chocolate and sent me to the little sitting area where there was a fireplace and a t
able with cookies and other little holiday treats for their guests.

  That’s where I’d seen him for the first time. Just sitting in a darkened corner of the room, so still I wouldn’t have known he was even there had I not been admiring the Christmas decorations and following them around the room with my eyes.

  “Oh, sorry, I didn’t realize anyone was here.” I took a seat since my legs were about to give out. It wasn’t because like in one of my many romance novels his eyes had mesmerized me, or any such thing. I couldn’t really see his eyes.

  It was more the sudden fright that had made me lose my breath. That and the way he just seemed to watch me. I’d been in there a good three minutes before noticing his presence, had he been watching me that whole time?

  Though I couldn’t see his eyes to gauge color or expression, I could see the glare of the fire reflected in them and with his rugged build and his face in shadow, it seemed rather ominous. When he raised his hand I almost fell off my chair until I realized he was lifting a glass to his lips.

  That’s when I noticed the tray on the table next to him with the bottle of something amber inside.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude…” I stood to leave, sure that he was obviously a guest looking for solitude while I was a mere intruder who had no right.

  “Sit.” The one word wasn’t slurred, neither was his voice heavy with drink. But that’s not the reason I dropped back into the chair. It was because I felt as though I couldn’t disobey. My heart picked up speed and I curled my fingers into my palm to control the sudden trembling in my hands.

  There was something in his voice; in the way he seemed to just watch me from the dark. I didn’t get the serial killer vibe from him, but I sensed danger all the same. My heart I remember, had beat unusually fast and my pulse had gone into overdrive. I imagined that he could hear the harsh breath as it sawed in and out of my lungs, like I’d ran a marathon.