He looks down at me, still standing behind the counter. “Holly, Dale loved Christmas. You remember how he decorated this place just after Halloween, that first year? Skipped Thanksgiving altogether, went straight for the blinking Christmas lights and gingerbread men everywhere.”
I say nothing, remembering. “I don’t want you to sell this place, Holly,” he confesses, lower lip trembling slightly, voice catching. “And I have… I have a feeling, Dale wouldn’t either.”
“I can’t keep it open like this,” I say.
“That’s what Rex must have been thinking,” Frosty says, that whiskey soaked voice of his passionate and husky for a change. “Why else would he go to all this trouble? That boy never wanted to hurt you, Holly. He just wanted to help us keep this place alive.”
I shake my head, not at what he said, just… at life. At the living and the surviving and the hurting no one ever tells you about. At least, not until it’s too late.
“Isn’t that what you want?” he asks.
“I don’t know what I want anymore, Frosty.”
“I know that, girl. I know you’ve worked hard these four years, trying to keep this place afloat. I know it hasn’t been easy. I know the only reason you hung on this long is, well… it’s the place where you and Dale spent the most time here in Noel.”
I look up, sharply, and he smiles. “I know, Holly. I know what it’s like. I lost my beloved Rosemary twenty years ago. Haven’t looked at another woman since, not a day goes by when I don’t grieve, but I’ve found the best way to honor old Rosie is to keep her in my heart, and keep going on until we meet again.”
“I’m trying to do that, Frosty,” I pant, breathless and crying now, letting it go. “I’ve tried so hard.”
“I know girl,” he says, reaching out and patting the top of my hand gingerly. “I’ve watched you, but trying’s not what Dale wants for you. Can’t be. Living’s what he wants you to do, Holly. What other choice is there?”
I nod and he drifts away, into the kitchen, where water hisses and he clatters pots and pans in advance of the day.
I stand, and call out to him. “Forget all that,” I say, inching behind the counter.
“What’s that?” he calls over the rush of hot water before he finally turns it off.
“We’re not opening for business today,” I decree, suddenly, decisively, almost… happily.
“We’re not?” he asks, with a crooked smile.
“How are we supposed to turn this place into a winter wonderland with all those pesky customers in the way?”
* * * * *
He shows up on Christmas Eve, late, just as the dinner crowd is shuffling out into the cold chill of December 24th in Noel, North Carolina.
His elf suit would look out of place if I wasn’t dressed in a flowing green skirt, silky red blouse and wearing a Santa hat myself.
“Rex!” I gush, rushing over to him and bending down to wrap him in my arms. We stand between the Christmas trees on either side of the hostess stand, just the way he’d drawn them. “What are you doing here?”
“I had a few vacation days coming,” he says with a wink, “so I had my boss drop my off while he was making a few deliveries.”
He steps deeper inside the Diner, me by his side, admiring the snowman curtains and the twinkling lights and the trees in each corner.
“It’s amazing,” he says, checking out a few tables where his designs have been followed to the letter. “I guess you found snowman salt and pepper shakes, after all.”
“The dollar store,” I confess. “Go figure.”
“But how?” he asks, scratching the blond curls under his jingling elf cap. “I thought… I mean… is it like this all year?”
I nod, tearing up a little. “I’m so glad you’re here,” I say. “It gives me a chance to apologize for the way we left it, this summer…”
“No need,” he says. “I… I should have stuck around until you cooled down. I’ve felt bad about that all year.”
I wave a hand. “You, felt bad? For changing my life?”
“I hope for the better,” he says.
I’m nodding, hands clasped under my chin, speechless, unable to tell him how many wonderful ways my life has changed since he left that fateful summer day. Frosty emerges from the kitchen, resplendent in his own Santa cap, even if his red and green apron is a little dirty from the dinner rush.
“I thought I heard a familiar voice out here!” he bellows, livelier than I’ve seen him in months. Years, maybe. “How are you, Rex?”
“I’m fine, Frosty,” Rex mutters, buried in the world’s tightest bear hug. “Just. Fine.”
“How do you like Holly Day’s Diner?” Frosty asks, finally releasing him from his vice grip.
Rex looks from me to Frosty and back to me again. “Holly what who now?”
“Come on,” Frosty says, tugging on Rex’s green elf vest. “I’ll show you.”
I follow them both outside where, amidst the gently falling snow, we stand on the wide sidewalk, looking back at the twinkling lights circling the large plate glass window facing Cinnamon Street.
There, centered just so, is the name of my newly christened, all-year Christmas themed restaurant: Holly Day’s Diner.
“I love it,” cries Rex, clapping his hands together. “It’s perfect, Holly.”
As we stand there, silently, in the snow, the sound of jingle bells tinkle merrily in the distance.
No, not quite in the distance; in the air. Faint, at first, then getting louder and louder as they draw near. Frosty looks at me, I look at him, and we both look to Rex. But he doesn’t look back.
He doesn’t look back because he’s looking up, into the sky, smiling.
Turning to us he says, “That boss of mine. He sure loves to make a grand exit!”
And we follow his gaze as up, in the darkness, camouflaged by intermittent clouds, white as fresh fallen snow, a sleigh dashes across the sky, led by eight not-so-tiny reindeer.
It moves incredibly fast, so fast that after it’s disappeared out of sight, I know I’ll never be quite sure of what, exactly, I saw. Or didn’t see. Or thought I saw. Or wanted to see. Or hoped I might see, someday.
“Come on,” Rex says, casually, as if Santa Claus hadn’t just flown over our tiny mountain town. “Let’s go see what’s good on the menu. Frosty, how’s the Santa Stew tonight?”
* * * * *
About the Author:
Rusty Fischer
Rusty Fischer is the author of A Town Called Snowflake and Greetings from Snowflake, both from Musa Publishing. Visit him at Rushing the Season, www.rushingtheseason.com, where you can read his FREE stories and collections, many about the fictional town of Snowflake, South Carolina – and ALL about the holidays.
Happy Holidays, whatever time of year it may be!!
A Summer Fling: Three Romantic 4th of July Stories Page 7
