'Tis the Season for Love: A Charity Box Set

by Maggie Dallen

  I wake with a start when the bus lurches to a stop. I file out of the station on Euclid Avenue in Montauk.

  There’s a man holding a small dry erase board with my name scribbled on it in green marker. I look over my shoulder before approaching him.

  “Miss Hartley?” he asks.

  “Yes?”

  “I’m Andrew. I’ll be taking you to your accommodations.”

  “Uh . . .” I stall for time, feeling uneasy about getting into the black town car with the complete stranger.

  “There’s a letter waiting for you in the car.”

  I feel a prickle of excitement about the note, but it doesn’t thwart my years of survival instinct. “Would you mind if I read the letter before I get in the car?”

  “Not at all, ma’am.”

  Andrew opens the back door and hands me the note. It feels heavy. He stares at me for a moment before smiling and giving me some privacy.

  Once he’s inside the car, I quickly unfold the white paper.

  A key falls out and skitters on the frost-covered asphalt. I pick it up, examining it. ‘Surf Lodge Hotel: Turtle Suite’ is etched onto the surfboard shaped key chain. I glance back at the note and read the next verse.

  ‘On the 2nd day of Christmas my true love sent to me: 2 turtle doves.’

  That’s it. No other clues, song lyrics, phone numbers, nothing. Just a key to a hotel in Montauk.

  “Well, I came this far,” I pep-talk myself.

  I take a deep breath and open the car door. It’s warm and smells like expensive leather as I slip into the comfy backseat. “Surf Lodge Hotel, please,” I say to Andrew.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  As he eases the car into the sparse traffic the radio starts playing a familiar jingle and the hairs on my neck prickle. ‘On the first day of Christmas my true love sent to me . . .’

  “Would you mind turning the radio off?” I ask trying to shake the paranoia from my mind.

  “Right away, ma’am.”

  I breathe a sigh of relief when the car is washed in silence.

  After a short drive we arrive at the Surf Lodge Hotel. It’s pretty much in the middle of nowhere, which doesn’t put me at ease.

  The winter sun is setting, adding eerie shadows to the old white building. It looks like a run-down fish camp on the outside, but there’s no mistaking I’m in the right place. The sign on the roof reads ‘Surf Lodge Hotel.’

  “Can I help you with your bags, ma’am?”

  “Uh, nope. I got it,” I reply, slinging my backpack over my shoulder.

  “Good evening then, Miss Hartley.”

  I nod as Andrew gets back in his car.

  The lobby is an extreme contrast to the boring exterior. Bright colors flood my senses. A friendly receptionist directs me to my room.

  The Turtle Suite is apparently a Master Suite.

  I stand outside the door for a moment garnering my courage.

  Alex could be on the other side of this door!

  I guess my chances were just as likely that it was some psycho freak planning to murder me, but I have to know once and for all. I take a deep breath and turn the doorknob.

  As I enter the beautifully appointed room with whitewashed floors and water views I start to feel like this is a set up. The room is empty, but it’s definitely not a room Alex could afford—at least not the Alex I knew.

  I lie on the bed and call the duplex so I can talk to Tyra. It takes three attempts because Aileen keeps picking up the phone, giggling, and then hanging up. Finally, Tyra wrestles the phone from her and I fill her in on my day.

  “Well, at least there wasn’t a murdery psycho waiting for ya at the good ‘ol Bates Motel.”

  I laugh. “Yeah, there’s that.”

  “Get some sleep.”

  “I’ll try. Goodnight, Ty.”

  “Night, Rae.”

  Chapter 14

  A knock at the door startles me from my restless sleep. I fly out of bed.

  Crap!

  What if it’s Alex?

  Or a urder psycho?

  I take one glance in the mirror and shriek. With my hair disheveled and the free sample of the Dead Sea mud mask I found in the toiletry selection still caked on my face I would certainly frighten either away.

  “Room service,” a cheery voice calls through the door.

  Duh! My subconscious shouts. Get a grip.

  “Coming,” I holler.

  I’m extra jumpy today. But that’s what happens when you follow a slew of cryptic notes that may or may not be from your long-lost boyfriend.

  I wrap my hair in a towel so it looks like I’ve just gotten out of the shower and answer the door. A pretty blonde woman in khaki’s, a white polo and boat shoes greets me before wheeling in a bar cart.

  “Good morning, ma’am. Here’s your breakfast order. Is everything to your liking?”

  I survey the juice, coffee and water; peaking under the assortment of metal tins. My heart sinks a little when I realize it’s breakfast for one.

  I nod to the blonde.

  “Is there anything else I can get for you?”

  “Uh, no thanks.”

  “Merry Christmas Eve,” she calls out as she leaves the room.

  My stomach rumbles as I remove all the tin lids and examine the delicious breakfast—an omelet, bacon, croissants, fruit and yogurt. I’ve never had a breakfast like this. It’s delectable.

  I reach for the blue linen napkin halfway through my meal to wipe a blob of cheese from my chin and nearly choke on a piece of bacon when I see a note under it.

  Desirae Hartley

  #1

  Oh my God! It’s the last note.

  My sticky fingers quickly unwrap it.

  ‘On the 1st day of Christmas my true love sent to me: a partridge in a pear tree.’

  Under the final verse of the Christmas song is a handwritten note. I can hear my pulse beating quickly against my eardrums as I read through it.

  ‘My little Rae of sunshine. You have no idea the joy I felt when I heard you’d finally arrived. Thank you for your faith in me and for following my clues. I have so much to tell you. Meet me at the Montauk Point Lighthouse at 11am.’

  Under the note are lyrics to the Partridge Family song, I’ll Meet you Halfway.

  ‘Will there come a day, you and I can say

  We can finally see each other?

  Will there come a time, we can find the time

  To reach out for one another?

  We've been travelin' in circles such a long, long time

  Tryin' to say hello, ho

  And we can just let it ride

  But you're someone that I'd like to get to know

  I'll meet you halfway, that's better than no way

  There must be some way to get it together

  And if there's some way, I know that some day

  We just might work it out forever’

  I groan and fall back against the cloud-soft mattress. Why can’t whoever this is just sign the stupid note? It’s maddening!

  I pace back and forth for about five minutes before running to the bathroom to throw up the decadent breakfast I enjoyed.

  So much for the finer things.

  I take a hot shower and let my muddled brain percolate. Everything in me is screaming that the notes are from Alex. The very first one awoke the deep ache for him I’d been training my heart to ignore.

  The things this mystery writer knew about me—the intimate details and tokens he sent—no one but Alex knew those things.

  I try to mentally prepare myself that this could all be some elaborate joke. My pessimistic mind plays dramatic reels of me throwing myself from the lighthouse in the case that this is all a hoax. But underneath all the dramatic heartache, I’m surprised to find hope.

  Don’t be stupid, Rae. Always prepare for the worst.

  I climb out of the shower and prepare to face the day. But first I call Tyra. The Warden answers on the second ring.

  Crud!
>
  I quickly hang up. I guess Tyra will have to wait. I’ll call her after the lighthouse. At least then I’ll have something to share with her.

  I can hear the wind whistling over the water from my room, so I bundle up in my gray sweater and wool pea coat, pulling my red hat down low so it touches the matching red scarf I coiled around my neck. My hair is still damp, but I don’t have time to dry it. I take one last look at the swanky, boutique hotel room before pulling my backpack on and shutting the door behind me.

  I march out the front doors into a blizzard. I look at the vacant road. It doesn’t seem like there’s much traffic this way. The chances of hailing a cab are going to be slim.

  I turn to go back into the lobby to make arrangements when I hear my name. “Miss Hartley.” It’s Andrew. He lowers the window of the black town car and smiles at me. “Can I be of assistance?”

  “Have you been here all night?”

  “At your service, ma’am.”

  I fight the guilt I feel that this poor guy is waiting on my whims. He could be the creepy stalker for all I know, but still . . . he waited for me. That’s a good sign, right?

  “Can you take me to the lighthouse at Montauk Point?” I ask.

  “Sure thing, ma’am.”

  Once again, I find myself in the comfortable backseat of Andrew’s sleek town car. The radio is playing Christmas tunes again. I listen to the DJ exclaim ‘only one day left until Christmas!’ The next song that comes on is Blue Christmas.

  I cringe in the back seat unbuttoning my jacket. “Uh, Andrew . . .”

  “Would you like me to turn off the music, ma’am?”

  “Yes, please,” I say, smiling weakly.

  “Not a fan of holiday music?”

  “Not particularly,” I say. “How much further?”

  “About ten minutes, ma’am.”

  I shrug off my jacket and watch the swirling, snow squalls dance alongside the winding road.

  Andrew pulls up to the lighthouse gate. I can read the ‘Closed’ sign from inside the car. We’re the only car in the parking lot.

  “Are you sure this is the right lighthouse?” I ask.

  “Only one in Montauk, ma’am.”

  I glance out the window. The snow looks pristine—undisturbed.

  Is anyone else even here?

  “Will you wait here for me?” I ask Andrew.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  I climb out into the snow and jog up the hill to the lighthouse, ready to get the final answer to my Christmas letters.

  Chapter 15

  I’m in such a rush to get to the lighthouse that I forget my jacket in the car. I’m freezing and dusted with snow by the time I reach the two-story, cedar shake, light-keeper’s cottage.

  It’s locked up tight. A chain across the front doors tote a sign that reads, ‘Closed for the Season.’

  Great!

  I stand under the awning rubbing by arms, trying to figure out how to get up to the blasted lighthouse. I think I see faint indentations in the snow leading around the right side of the cottage, so I decide to follow them.

  At first, I think they’re footprints, but as I try to track them, it becomes increasingly clear I’m letting my mind run away with me. It’s impossible to make out anything in the drifting snow.

  The wind is blowing in a heavy fog from offshore. It’s starting to obstruct the towering lighthouse, and I can barely make out the white tower above the thick brown stripe in the middle of the tall brick structure.

  I reach another small white building that appears to be attached to the lighthouse. It looks like a service entrance. I close my eyes and say a silent prayer as I grab the doorknob. To my surprise the door creaks open.

  “Thank God,” I whisper.

  Another minute outside and I’d be a Popsicle.

  Inside the lights blaze and my breath catches in my throat when I see a trail of daisies leading to the tower staircase. My hopes soar no matter how I try to beat them down.

  It has to be Alex!

  He gave me a daisy the day he asked me to officially be his girlfriend. I follow the white petals all the way up the winding staircase. I feel dizzy and short of breath from the climb and my escalating excitement. My heart pounds his name with each step I take.

  Alex.

  Alex.

  Alex.

  Finally, I reach the top. It’s freezing. The glass is open to the catwalk. I glance hesitantly around. It’s impossible to see past the lens in the center. I follow the sparse trail of daisies onto the snowy deck and tentatively step out onto the frozen catwalk.

  Most of the daisies have been blown off by the storm. I grip the railing tightly with my red mittens and take a step onto the crunchy snow, then another, and another.

  I hear a faint voice behind me. “Rae?”

  I closed my eyes and count to ten.

  1,

  2,

  3,

  4,

  5,

  6,

  7,

  8,

  9,

  10.

  Please, please, please, be Alex!

  I slowly turn around and standing before me is my Christmas wish, in the flesh—Alex Ruiz.

  He’s wearing a thick gray sweater a few shades darker than mine. His hair is shorter and his facial hair longer, but I would recognize him if we’d been separated for a hundred years.

  Standing before me, is the only boy I’ve ever loved. For an instant we stand frozen, staring in disbelief.

  He finds his voice first. “Rae. My sweet, Rae. I can’t believe you’re really here.”

  In one swift step he closes the space between us and wraps me in his arms. I fit so comfortably it’s like time has never separated us at all.

  “Alex?” I choke out before burying my face in his chest. I breathe in his scent—soap and mint and . . . home.

  This is heaven. Am I dead? Or dreaming? Either way I don’t want to wake up.

  I close my eyes tighter trying to blink the tears away. I want to see him. I’ve dreamt of his face every night for nearly a year. I look up at him through snow spangled lashes and he kisses my forehead, nose, and cheeks all while murmuring sweet Spanish pet names.

  This is real. Alex is here!

  Finally, his lips find mine and I kiss him atop the Montauk lighthouse amid a Christmas Eve blizzard not caring one bit if I freeze to death.

  I have Alex in my arms and nothing else matters.

  Chapter 16

  I follow Alex silently down the winding stairs and back to the town car. He never lets go of my hand the entire time.

  The ride back to the Surf Lodge Hotel is excruciatingly long. The car barely comes to a stop before Alex springs the door open and pulls me with him. In less than a minute we’re in our room, clothes off, making up for lost time.

  The touch of his hands on my bare skin is electrifying. We make our way to the shower and re-explored every inch of each other that we’d been missing under the steamy water.

  Later that night, I lay in his arms in the plush comfy hotel bed, while he plays with my curls. “Alex?” I ask.

  “Rae?”

  “I don’t want this to end. I need to know you won’t disappear again.”

  He pulls me up so we’re eye to eye. “Never again. This is the beginning, Rae. Just like we planned it.”

  “What happened?” I ask, unable to keep my voice from warbling.

  “It’s a long story.”

  Alex fills me in on the horrors of the last year of his life. We laugh, we cry and mostly, I feel like the biggest fool in the world for almost giving up on him.

  He apparently got placed with some bogus family who just wanted free manual labor fixing up their row homes. They’d gotten the idea that if they fostered some able-bodied kids, the state would provide them with labor and an extra paycheck.

  After two days of forced labor, no food and refusing to let him call me, Alex came back to his poor excuse for a bedroom to find someone had went through his
stuff and stole his box of trinkets. It had all his most prized possessions in it—all the things he’d been mailing back to me.

  He flipped out and demanded it back from his new foster family. It turned into a scuffle and Alex broke the guy’s nose. He got his things and took off, but the guy pressed charges and Alex was picked up by NYPD’s finest, just two miles from our house.

  My heart broke knowing he’d been so close to home before he was snatched away again.

  Since he was about to turn eighteen, the judge pushed to try him as an adult. Alex was convicted of battery and sent upstate to serve out his time. I’d asked why he hadn’t called, and he said he’d been too embarrassed, thinking he’d let us down.

  He worked on keeping his head down, and good behavior got him early parole. His luck finally changed when he got assigned a parole officer named Phil. It turned out Phil grew up in foster care and was moved by Alex’s story. Feeling for him, Phil helped him organize this whole 12 Days of Christmas plan to win me back.

  “Alex, I don’t even know what to say.”

  “Say you still love me.”

  “I never stopped. I just wish you’d picked up the phone.”

  “You deserved so much more than a phone call. I want to give you the world, Rae.”

  “Alex, you are my world. I just need you to be in it, okay?”

  “Okay, sunshine,” he says kissing me again.

  “No more surprises?”

  “Well, just one more.”

  “What?”

  “Well, I’m sure you noticed that I forgot the 5th day of Christmas,” he says with that mischievous smile I love. “Five golden rings,” he sings, pulling open the drawer next to the bed.

  My heart thunders as I watch him pull a box from the nightstand. “What’s this?” I ask as he drops it into my hands.

  “Open it!”

  I’m sure my heart is going to explode.

  Can this day get any better?

  I finally get Alex back, he still loves me and has a good excuse as to why he was gone. And now . . . Is he really about to give me a ring?

  I pull open the black velvet box and stare at the gold key ring inside. “What is it?” I ask, pulling out the key ring with two keys attached.