“We need to talk about some decorations for the festival and what we would like to do indoors and stuff,” Donna began.
“I think we should look into ice sculptures,” Christine said.
“Ice sculptures?” Sarge frowned. “Because it isn’t cold enough?” Every year, Sarge complained about how cold it was going to be for the Snowball Festival. Then when they got together in June to plan the Orchard Falls Independence Day Festival, she complained about how hot it was going to be.
But Donna had to agree with Christine. “I think ice sculptures would be nice.” She scribbled on her list. “Do we know anyone who does them?”
Christine smiled. “I’m way ahead of you, Donna. I’ve made a list. I’ll make some calls in the morning.”
“That’s great. Let’s move on. I’m assembling a team of the town’s knitters and we’re going to yarn bomb Main Street,” Donna said.
“Yarn bomb?” Jim asked with confusion.
“Yeah, they’re knitting scarves for all the tree trunks lining Main Street,” Sarge said sourly.
“It’s a little more involved than that,” Donna said. All eyes were on her. “It’s a type of non-permanent graffiti. I’ve already spoken to the town’s top knitters and they’re enthused about it.”
“Wielding their needles and ready to go,” Jim joked.
Donna stared at him.
“Sorry,” he said and coughed.
“Anyway, our plan is to not only decorate the tree trunks lining Main Street but everything else as well, mostly in front of the community center and of course, Horace himself,” she said, referring to the statue of the town’s founder in the center of town. “The old milk dispenser is going to be done up as well.”
She hoped her enthusiasm would be contagious, but the group gave her a blank stare.
“Does anyone here knit?” she asked, looking around the group.
Christine laughed. “Donna, you know I’m not crafty. But if you need anything made from popsicle sticks, I’m your girl.” Christine had led numerous Boy Scout troops for years when her boys were young.
Sarge spoke up. “I tried crocheting once. Everyone said I would find it relaxing. My stitches were so tight, I couldn’t get past the sixth row on anything.”
Ralph nodded, adding, “We’ve got lots of unfinished blankets in the house.”
Donna moved the meeting on. She didn’t want them there all night. After all, she had to get up and go to work in the morning.
It was decided that Jim and Ralph would be responsible for the Christmas tree inside the community center, as well as hanging all the lighting. Donna wondered if Jim had taken on too much. After all, he’d been gone for so long, and it seemed a lot to manage.
As everyone pulled on their winter coats and gloves, Jim seemed to linger and did not reach for his coat right away. Donna wondered if he was going to hang on after the others left. There was no need to. Yet he didn’t seem to be leaving. Her heart began to thump.
Once the rest of them were out the side door, Donna began removing things from the dining room and carrying them back to the kitchen.
“Here, let me help you,” Jim said as they both reached for his cheese tray.
“I don’t need your help,” she said. They held onto the tray, neither letting go.
“I know you don’t,” he said, “but I’d like to.”
Sighing, she let go of the tray and picked up a plate of brownies, which Ralph had made a serious dent in. Jim was behind her and it made her nervous. Why did he insist on hanging around? Did he really think they could just pick up where they left off?
Without conversation, they brought everything to the kitchen and laid it on Donna’s kitchen table.
“Will you take some of this home?” she asked. “I’ll never eat it all.”
“Sure, if you don’t mind,” he said.
She shook her head. “I’d only end up throwing it all out.” She took out a Tupperware container and gave him most of the leftovers.
“Listen, Donna, I was wondering if you’d want to go to breakfast tomorrow morning,” he asked.
“I’m working,” she said. She set the empty dishes in the sink and started running the water.
“Dinner tomorrow night?” he asked.
“I’ve got plans,” she replied.
“What about breakfast Saturday morning?” he pressed.
“Saturday mornings I have my knitting club,” she said.
“Do you have any time free in your schedule?” he asked.
“Not really. I work full time and I do a lot of things in my down time,” she said.
“You don’t have a half an hour anywhere?” He laughed and his eyes twinkled, full of merriment and mischief. Just like they used to. Donna’s mouth went dry.
She squirted some dish soap under the running faucet and looked at him. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“Why?”
Was he that obtuse? He really didn’t seem to get it.
“Jim, that’s all in the past between us,” she explained. And that’s where she wanted to leave it: in the past. She had no desire to resurrect that relationship from all those years ago. No matter how he made her feel all these years later. Especially a relationship that had left her heartbroken.
“So? Can’t we be friends?” he asked with a nervous laugh.
“I don’t think it works like that.” Too much time had elapsed since she’d last seen him. When he made no moves to depart, she said, “Jim, it’s getting late.”
“Late?” he enquired. “It’s not even ten.”
“I’ve got to get ready for bed.”
“Look, I just thought it might be nice to get together and catch up. Compare notes, so to speak,” he said with a laugh.
Was everything always so easy for him?
She shook her head and said, “No, I don’t think so.”
He opened the door and a blast of frigid air blew in. He paused and held up the Tupperware container. “I’ll get this back to you.”
“There’s no hurry,” she said.
“Goodnight, Donna,” he said quietly and closed the door behind him.
Donna locked the door behind him as if it could keep out the past and all the heightened emotions from that time. As she leaned against the door, she let out a long sigh, as if she’d been holding her breath since he’d arrived.
Chapter 4
The snow that fell overnight left the sidewalks covered in slush. Jim gingerly climbed over a snowbank and stepped out into the street, waiting for a plow to pass. He looked both ways and dashed across the street to Mr. Brenneman’s Hardware Store, a place that had been in business for over one hundred years. He’d purposely bypassed the big, brand-name hardware store in favor of this one. This was the place where Jim had had his first part-time job.
At the front of the store, snow shovels lined the wall. When he stepped inside, it was like stepping back in time. Memories of working here after school, on weekends, and through the summers as a teenager slammed him. It still had a faint smell of sawdust and fertilizer. It was a small place with an accumulation of a century’s worth of stuff. There were high ceilings and the original wide-plank floors. He saw that someone had finally taken advantage of all that unused space near the ceiling; there was now a variety of toboggans, sleds, and coasters hanging at the top of the walls near the ceiling. He wondered if the kids still went to the hill just outside of town to sled like he and his friends used to do. He stood in the doorway for a moment, taking in the sights and smells of the place.
“Can I help you?” asked a shaky voice.
Jim turned in the direction of the voice and broke into a broad smile when he recognized Mr. Brenneman. The man appeared to have shrunk with age—Jim figured he had to be close to ninety. He still wore his signature bow-tie and cardigan. His hair had thinned to a few strands on top of his head but his eyes were lively and bright.
“Mr. Brenneman, how are you?” Jim said, extending his hand. “It’s me
, Jim O’Hara.”
He was careful with the man’s frail hand in his.
Mr. Brenneman smiled. “Jim! How are you? I heard you were back in town.”
Jim nodded, setting his hands on his hips. “Yep. Retired after thirty years of active service.”
“From one vet to another, thank you for your service,” Mr. Brenneman said.
“My pleasure,” Jim said proudly. It had been a career he’d loved. It had cost him his personal life but he had no regrets. He stood by his choices.
“What brings you in here?”
“I’m sourcing Christmas lights for the festival and I wanted to see how you were doing,” Jim said.
“Listen, I’ve got catalogues of Christmas lights and decorations and I can sell them to you at cost,” Mr. Brenneman said.
Always the businessman, Jim thought. “That’s great. Hey, I thought you had retired.”
Mr. Brenneman laughed. “I did. When I turned seventy-five, I retired, and Helen and I did a lot of traveling. It was a great retirement. But then after Helen died, I was bored, so I came back to work. Haven’t regretted it since.”
“Good. Good for you.” Jim couldn’t see himself returning to active military service, though he had yet to figure out where his place was in the world.
“Can I interest you in a bottle of cream soda?” Mr. Brenneman asked. “Come on back and we’ll look through the catalogues for some Christmas lights.”
“Geez, I haven’t had a cream soda in about three decades.” Jim laughed.
“Then you’re overdue,” Mr. Brenneman said with a smile.
Jim was thinking of the pleasant afternoon he’d just spent with his former boss. They’d sat in the back room around Mr. Brenneman’s desk, drinking cream soda from glass bottles. It was like the old days. When he left, Jim had felt content. But he couldn’t hang around in the back room of the hardware store drinking cream soda for the rest of his life.
When he pulled into his driveway, he saw Donna using a snowblower to clear hers. Since he’d left earlier, about three more inches of snow had fallen. He sat there for a moment, puzzled by her. Was she going to continue to pretend that they hadn’t meant anything to each other all those years ago? More than anything, he wanted to get to the bottom of why she hadn’t answered the last letter he’d sent before the start of the first Gulf War. That letter had changed his destiny, but not in the way he’d thought it would. And why all the anger that seemed to emanate off of her after all this time? If anyone had the right to be angry, it was him.
Once he parked his SUV, he trotted over to Donna’s driveway. Snow crunched beneath his feet and his breath came out in wisps. Her property was covered in Christmas lights. The house, the garage, the front porch, and the lamppost were twinkling in bright colors. He’d seen a young man on a ladder earlier hanging all the exterior lighting. Jim wondered if the man was her son. He looked about Leah’s age.
Donna stopped her snowblower when she saw him and leaned against it.
“Hi, Jim,” she said. Snow fell around them.
“Look, Donna, I’d like to take you to dinner,” Jim started. If she said no, he’d leave her be. He wasn’t one to beg, and even he could only take rejection so many times. He wasn’t impervious.
Donna sighed. Jim stiffened. Were her memories of their time together that different from his? They’d gone out for almost five years.
“Why does me asking you out for a meal offend you so much?” he asked, beginning to feel aggrieved himself.
“Because you want to go back and revisit the past, and I don’t,” she said.
He tried a grin. “Some of the past was pretty good, as I recall.” He lowered his voice, even though there was no one around. “Remember going up to the park with a blanket and a bottle of peach schnapps?”
Her eyes widened in surprise at the memory but then her features shut down. “Jim, I am really not interested. And I wish you’d stop asking me out—it makes me uncomfortable.”
Jim stood there for a moment. This was not the Donna he’d left behind. What had happened in her life that had changed her? Or maybe nothing had. She looked away.
“Okay, then, I won’t bother you anymore,” he said.
“Thank you,” she said firmly. She went to turn the snowblower back on but he put his hand over hers.
“Wait a minute, Donna,” he said.
“Now what?” she asked, her mouth set in a grim line.
“You’re angry with me. That’s what all this is about. You’re mad at me.”
“Huh, don’t flatter yourself,” Donna replied, her face reddening. She turned away from him, turned the snowblower back on, and pushed it hard.
“You’re angry!” Jim repeated, raising his voice to be heard above the noise of the snowblower.
“I am not,” she yelled, but there was flash of irritation in her eyes.
He reached over and shut the machine down.
She bristled and stood up straight. “I am not angry with you,” she said through gritted teeth.
“Who are you trying to convince?” he asked. “Me or you?”
Furious, Donna flipped the snowblower back on. Jim moved to shut it off.
“Talk to me, Donna,” Jim said.
“I’d rather not,” she said tightly.
“Come on. I really don’t understand. Seriously,” he said. “If anyone has the right to be angry, it’s me.”
“You? You have a right to be angry?” Her eyes grew large and her voice rose an octave. “The last time I saw you was when you dumped me! At Christmas! Don’t remember? Because I sure do.”
“I was getting ready to go off to war. Remember that little thing? I was kind of worried about that!” he shouted.
“Is that a prerequisite for going into battle? Dumping your girlfriend?” she asked, her voice shaking.
“As soon as I got back to base, I realized what a big mistake I’d made,” Jim said. “I told you that.”
Donna’s expression was severe. “When exactly did you tell me this?”
“When I asked you to marry me!” Jim yelled.
The air around them went dead and the silence was burdensome.
Donna spoke first. “I think I would remember if you’d asked me to marry you.”
Jim’s stance went rigid and he looked dazed. “What are you talking about? I asked you to marry me and what did I get? Nothing! You couldn’t even give me a reply!”
Donna’s mouth fell open as she caught a breath. “When did you propose to me? Was I there? Are you sure you’re not mixing me up with someone else?”
“Of course not!” he replied angrily. He put his hands on his hips and stared at the ground, at the clean path the snowblower had just made. His thoughts flew back to January 1991. His detachment was already on the ground in the Mideast for the war that was definitely coming.
He huffed impatiently and looked at her. “I sent you a letter. I wrote it on January 16th, 1991, the night before we went to war. In that letter, I asked you to marry me.”
Donna folded her arms across her chest. “You did not.”
“I know what the hell I wrote, Donna,” he said. “Look, I knew we were going to war, and the only thing I wanted was for you to know my intentions: that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you!”
Donna wobbled and leaned against the snowblower. In a voice he could barely hear, she said, “I never got that letter.”
Jim frowned. “What do you mean?”
She looked at him. “Just what I said. I never got any letter from you after we broke up, and definitely not one with a marriage proposal.”
“You’re not serious,” he said, the ramifications of that missing letter beginning to swirl around them and settle like snow.
“I am,” she said. “Come in, I’ll show you.”
Donna left the snowblower right there in the middle of her driveway and went in through the side door of her house. Jim followed her inside. In the small hallway, Donna stepped onto the first step, turn
ed around, and rubbed the heel of her boot against the edge of the step. Jim was transported back in time and it unnerved him. Donna used to do that with all her boots. He could almost hear Mrs. Van Dyke’s voice from the past, chiding her daughter about ruining a perfectly good pair of boots. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. Too many memories, he thought. The weight of them was more than he could bear.
Donna removed her coat and indicated he should do the same. She took the coats and hung them on hooks in the back hall.
“Sit down,” she said, nodding toward the kitchen table. “I’ll be right back.” Donna disappeared and he heard her going up the stairs.
Jim pulled out a chair and sat down. He looked around. There was an aroma of orange, cinnamon, and cloves.
Donna returned with a rectangular floral box in her hands. She set it down in the middle of the table. She opened a cabinet door and asked, “I have eggnog or mulled wine. Which would you prefer?”
“Mulled wine,” he said.
Donna set two wine glasses on the counter and poured mulled wine from a pot on the stove. As she joined Jim at the table, she handed him a glass.
Neither said anything. They both sipped their wine. Donna lifted the lid off the box and Jim saw a stack of letters, yellowed with age. He recognized the familiar scrawl as his own on the top, military-issued envelope. She’d saved every one of his letters. She’d gone on to marry someone else and yet she’d saved every one of his letters.
He coughed to cover the emotions that welled up within him.
She laid her hands over the top of the box. “I have every letter you sent me, from the time you went away to college to right before you came home that Christmas.” After she put on a pair of reading glasses, she removed the first letter from the stack. She took the pages out of the envelope. “This was the first letter I received from you, when you went away to college,” she said quietly.
He’d been two years ahead of her in school. It had been difficult leaving her behind. They wrote, and they spoke on the phone when they could, but only briefly because it had been so expensive back then. Not to mention it hadn’t been very private. He’d be on the pay phone in the hall of his dorm, and he could hardly say what was on his mind, not with all those guys around. And he tried to make it home once a month to see Donna. They carried on like that until he graduated from college and she’d just entered the local college. In May of 1990, he’d graduated with a degree in history and had enlisted in the army. But then in the summer of 1990, in a place far away from their own little world, Iraq invaded Kuwait, and the consequences would play out personally in their own lives.
One Kiss for Christmas (The Happy Holidays Series Book 4) Page 4
