The Christmas Box (The Box Books #2)

20. Christmas Eve

Christmas Eve

Lexi

T he shop is quiet. Most people have holiday gatherings, but I don’t, so I’ve opened and will stay that way until six, for anyone’s last minute needs.

Dara is with her family, driving her mom to her sister’s house in Louisville. Sometimes I envy Dara for getting all this time with her mother, the kind I didn’t get to have—I left for college assuming, as anyone would, that I’d have countless more years with her. But now I wonder if it’s harder to lose one’s parent suddenly, without warning, as I did, or if it’s more difficult to watch them slowly fade.

For Travis’s dad, it’s just a matter of waiting now. I’ve been feeding the dog and keeping her company—and feeling sad about what Travis is going through. When I texted him my support, he replied with something more…well, honest than I’m used to from him when talking about his dad: I should have been here long before I was. Years ago.

My heart breaks for him. I texted back: You have nothing to feel bad about. They had a fraught relationship and Travis felt driven away—that wasn’t his fault. And he didn’t know that Tom became a kinder, gentler man with age. That wasn’t his fault either.

As the day passes, I’m surprised with more shoppers than I expected, and everyone’s moods are so festive that it cheers me up.

A neighbor of Mikayla’s even mentions that the Watkins kids are having a much better holiday than expected “because some good Samaritan left a tree and presents on her porch! I haven’t seen her this happy since Danny flew the coop.”

“How wonderful!” I say, elated to hear our gesture was well-received.

Soon after that, Nick from Winterburger steps through the door, bundled up in coat, scarf, and gloves, toting a small bag from the Country Creamery next door. “Merry Christmas, Lexi!”

“Merry Christmas to you, too. Peppermint ice cream?” I ask, pointing to the sack. It’s Carl’s flavor of the month each December.

He nods, flashing a big smile. “Goes great with Linda’s chocolate cake. Speaking of which, she says you’re holding a serving bowl for her.”

“Ah, yes,” I say. “It’s wrapped up behind the counter, and she already paid over the phone.”

“You oughta see Carl today,” he tells me, seeming uncharacteristically chatty. “The man’s downright chipper. Until just now, I didn’t even know he could smile. Was bragging he bought Gina a diamond bracelet for their anniversary and looking proud as a peacock.”

It’s all I can do not to gasp. “You don’t say.” As I pass him the bag, I observe out loud, “Seems like you’re in the Christmas spirit, too, Nick.” He’s usually a pretty low-key guy.

“You better believe it,” he confirms. “Cash is finally going to ask Marissa to marry him—at our family gathering tonight! It’s gonna be a very good Christmas for us!”

This time, I do gasp with joy. “Nick, that’s such great news!”

“Tell Travis I said thanks, by the way.”

“For...?” I prod.

He gives his head a short, uncertain shake. “We had a weird conversation last week that led me to sit Cash down and have a heart-to-heart. Next thing I know, Cash tells me he’s ready to step up and be the man Marissa needs him to be. And between me and you, it’s about time. His mother and I are over the moon.”

So yet another wish successfully granted, all because Travis did his part in one I’d somehow forgotten about along the way.

And then, still more Christmas magic happens. Other people stop in to tell me their wishes came true!

“Lexi, I couldn’t believe it when my son walked through the door—he originally had to work through the holidays, but I put a wish in your box that he could come home, and he showed up on my doorstep this morning!”

“My mother got the word that her scans came back clear! That’s what I wished for, in the pretty box—for my mom to be cancer-free, and it happened!”

“Lexi, my husband surprised me with a new car. Well, a used car. But our old clunker was barely hanging on, and money’s tight these days, so I had no idea what we were gonna do. A fella Bob knows was selling this real nice SUV at a good price because he needed the money before Christmas. And it’s exactly what I asked for in the box.”

And finally comes Greg, a big smile plastered across his face. “Your little box made a dream come true, Lex. Tony agreed to look into adoption. He even brought it up himself! I can’t imagine a better Christmas gift.”

I remember Janet’s wish for a new car—one of the many Travis and I set aside in lieu of those we could more easily deliver. But as for Marla’s mother and Kim’s son, those are wishes I never saw—they must have come in later. And as for Greg, I totally dropped the ball on that one—I missed Tony’s UPS deliveries with so much going on.

But they all came true anyway!

And my wish for the shop came true, too, with Travis’s help.

Which can only mean…the wishing box really is kind of magic!

Even if Travis just speedily built it in his father’s workshop. Even if some of the wishes needed a little help from us.

As I stand there in the stillness of the shop after everyone’s gone, listening to Michael Buble dream of a white Christmas, my head is spinning. Both in joy for everyone whose wish came true…and in a bit of more self-centered speculation.

The one wish I know of that hasn’t come true is my own, the one that went missing. Will it happen now, as well? What Travis did for me the other day was incredible—but it doesn’t mean he’s staying. And it doesn’t mean he’s in love with me, either.

Maybe it’s too much to hope for. Maybe you should just be grateful for all the other wishes coming true. So many people are having merry Christmases. And your shop is safe— your family legacy remains alive and well in Winterberry. That should mean everything.

Unfortunately, though, somewhere along the way, he started mattering, too.

As a sinking feeling comes over me at the thought, my eyes fall on the sign above the mantel across the room. Believe . It’s the last thing I saw before shoppers filled the store on Saturday. So I focus on it again now.

That’s when I glance outside to see…snow. Thick, heavy snowflakes are falling fast. Okay, I love a white Christmas, but this has gotten ridiculous. Even Mr. Buble’s wish is being granted.

Checking my weather app, it looks like heavy snow is falling all across the Midwest. Good for Santa, bad for people’s holiday travel plans. But me, I’m safe and sound, just waiting for one more wish to come true.

Travis

It’s been a long couple of days at Dad’s side. I’ve slept in the reclining chair next to his bed and have been eating the cafeteria food, whatever’s on the menu.

Dad sleeps more than he’s awake. And when he’s awake, sometimes he’s lucid and other times he’s not. Yesterday around lunchtime, he opened his eyes and said, “You still here? You should go home and get some sleep, come back in the morning.”

I mustered a small smile to inform him, gently, “It is morning.”

Without looking very surprised, he murmured, “Hmm.”

When I told Helen I find it hard to watch him waste away from not eating, she simply replied, “It’s the way of things. The natural order of the body closing up shop.”

Helen says if nothing changes, I should keep my plans with Lexi tonight. And that I should go to Christmas dinner at her place tomorrow with their group of “misfit toys,” as Helen called them. She pointed out that I need some breaks, and she’s probably right.

When I got here two days ago, I was nervous about that wish of Lexi’s—and maybe I still am. Does it bother me, worry me, make me feel pressured? Again, maybe. But at the very same time, right now being with her sounds like the safest place in the world.

Looking back to the bed, I wonder if Dad knows he’s dying, that this is it, the end of everything for him. If he somehow thinks this is just a setback, I’m not going to disabuse him of the notion.

Next to me, he stirs a little. Then he opens his eyes, his gaze connecting with mine. “Is your mother here?”

This is where things get tricky. Should I lie? I hardly ever lie. I lied a lot as a teenager—a result of poor parenting and trying to stay out of trouble—and I decided it was a bad way to live as an adult. But he clearly never stopped loving her, and he wants to believe that she’s come to be with him in this moment, or that she’s been here all along. So I lie.

“She just stepped out of the room,” I say, making this up as I go. “But says to tell you she loves you.”

“Hmm. Funny. Always seemed so mad at me,” he muses, lying on his side, appearing frail and weak. “But I love her, too.” Then he closes his eyes again.

For the first time, I begin to wonder how often he thinks of her. Frequently, or just now because it’s the end? I haven’t heard from her since she disappeared one day while I was at school during my sophomore year. She packed some bags and took the car. That was it, not even a note to say goodbye. I have no idea if she’s alive or dead. Nor do I care.

But wait. I’ve learned a few things these past few weeks. PI didn’t think I cared about my dad, either, but turns out love and hate are just different sides of the same coin. I guess that kind of abandonment leaves a wound that never really heals.

And then something else hits me for the first time ever. Dad was an awful father there for a while, but…at least he stayed. He stayed. And maybe that’s why I’m here right now.

The hospice lady comes in around four that afternoon to check his vital signs. When he stirs and moans slightly, she administers morphine from a dropper onto his tongue. After that, she whispers with Helen in a corner, then gives me a somber nod before leaving the room.

Helen’s voice comes softly as she walks over to lay a hand on my shoulder. “There’s been a change, Travis. He’s starting to fade. His heart’s beating slower. Probably won’t be long now.”

A few minutes later, my phone buzzes in my pocket, and I pull it out to find a text from Lexi: Just wanted you to know that Cash is proposing to Marissa tonight, thanks to your conversation with Nick. And there are other wishes coming true from the box that we didn’t even have a hand in! S as far as I’m concerned, it really IS a wishing box.

Despite myself, it makes me smile. Do I really think that box is magic? Nope. But am I starting to believe in miracles? Maybe. I message her back. That’s crazy. But great.

How’s your dad doing? she asks.

No miracle for him, though, which makes the whole thing hard to understand—why do some people get miracles and others don’t? I don’t rain on her miracle parade, though. I just keep it simple. Might be a long night. Helen thinks he’ll go any time now. Sorry I have to cancel.

I understand, she texts back a minute later. And I’m here if you need me.

This is something I have to do by myself, but she makes me feel a little less alone.

A few hours later, darkness has long since fallen outside the window in Dad’s room, I’ve eaten a tray of ham, green beans, mashed potatoes, and cornbread for dinner in the recliner, and I’m using the remote to flip around on TV. I stop when I see Jimmy Stewart in black-and-white and know I’ve stumbled upon “It’s a Wonderful Life”. For some reason, it nearly makes my heart skip a beat. Maybe because I haven’t watched it since I was a kid. Part of hating Christmas after Mom left, I guess. Now it brings back memories I’d rather face than keep running from.

I’m not sure how long I’ve been watching in the dimly-lit room when dad asks, “Is that ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’?”

I flinch, then flick my gaze to him. I honestly thought I’d never hear his voice again. And this time he even got it right about the movie. “Um, yeah,” I answer, completely thrown.

On the screen, Mary’s singing about buffalo girls, and George is trying to deny his feelings for her.

“I like this part,” Dad says.

“Me, too.” The part where George begins to figure out that life can be great even if it’s not turning out the way he expected. But I’m still dumbfounded by Dad’s sudden alertness. Despite short exchanges with him over the last two days, clarity has been lacking.

“Can you sit me up?”

I barely know what to make of the request—it almost feels like I’m dreaming—but I reach for the controls, raising the back of the hospital bed until he’s upright enough to see.

We keep watching together, but my attention is split between the movie and my astonishment that Dad is suddenly awake, despite the morphine, and glued to the screen. How can this be?

Just as it goes to a commercial, Helen peeks in, and I dart my gaze over in time to see her eyes go wide. “Look who woke up!” she says by way of addressing Dad. She and I share glances of surprise.

“Watching my favorite holiday movie with my boy here,” Dad tells her as cheerfully as he would have a week ago.

“That’s wonderful,” she says. “Want me to make some popcorn?” She tosses a wink in my direction.

Dad just laughs. “Maybe later. Not hungry right now.” Again, he says this like a man who didn’t stop eating three days ago.

I get up from my chair, tell Dad I’ll be right back, and step out into the hallway to speak with Helen. “What’s happening here?” I ask.

But she simply holds her hands out, palms up. And though she’s surprised, she’s clearly not as surprised as me. “I’ve told you before, these things are hard to predict. I’ve seen crazier occurrences, believe it or not. Sometimes they’re just not quite ready to say goodbye, and they linger for longer than any medical professional can understand. Sometimes lingering even turns into rebounding for a while.”

I let out a long sigh, thoroughly confused. “So you have no idea what will happen now,” I say to clarify.

“Sorry,” she tells me, “but not really.”

In one way, I’m happy—he’s not gone yet. But I’m also worn out by riding an emotional rollercoaster. I run a hand back through my hair, wishing…I don’t even know what. That I was somewhere else? That the mother who deserted us fifteen years ago was here with me through this, like she should have been? That life wasn’t so damn complicated?

“Listen,” Helen says, “know what I think? You’ve been here around the clock for two days and you’re exhausted. Like I said, you need a break. Why don’t you keep your plans with Lexi, after all. After you finish the movie with your pop, that is.” She gives me another wink, I guess because she’s delighted by this sudden change in Dad—but I’m still not feeling quite as merry. My emotions are shredded at this point.

“Are you sure?”

She nods. “Take an hour or two. I can call you with any changes.”

As I ease my tired body back into the recliner, I send Lexi a text. Crazy thing. He’s suddenly rebounding. We’re actually watching “It’s a Wonderful Life.”

She answers quickly. Really? That’s amazing!

Helen said maybe he just wasn’t quite ready to go yet, that things can change, I text back. Be there after the movie.

I’m still not ready to think about Lexi’s wish. Could I stay here? Could I be with her in the way she wants? These remain questions too big for me to handle right now. But the idea of seeing her tonight—maybe snuggling up with her next to the Christmas tree—sounds…well, like the best end to this day I can imagine.

After the movie comes back on, Dad says, “It’s nice getting to watch this with you again. Like old times. Better times.” Then he surprises me even further by reaching out for my hand.

His touch is warm even if his grip is almost non-existent. It makes me sad all over again that this man who not so long ago swung a hammer with this same hand can now barely grasp mine. And I don’t ever remember a time when we held hands, father and son, other than out of practicality—him not wanting to lose his little kid in a crowd at the county fair or to keep me from running out in front of a car in a busy parking lot. But if he wants to hold my hand now , it’s okay with me.

Not long after George Bailey jumps off a bridge into icy water, only to be rescued by a second-class angel, the movie goes to commercial again, and though he’s been silent a while now, Dad says quietly, “I wasn’t there when you needed me, back when you were just a boy. Nothing was your fault if I ever made you feel that way. Wish I’d had the strength to do things different, better. I always loved you, though. Still do.”

I’m speechless for a second—I didn’t see this coming. I’d long since given up on it, in fact. And now, I almost wish he hadn’t brought it up, because a few sentences doesn’t fix years of mistakes that drove me away.

But the words that instantly spill out of me are, “It’s okay, Dad. It’s okay.” Partly because a lot of forgiveness has come these last few weeks. And partly because, my conscience tells me that when a man is dying, you absolve him so he can move on in peace. You just do. You let things go, no matter how big, no matter how much you never thought you would. “I love you, too.” We weren’t people who said ‘I love you’ a lot, but it’s good we’re saying it now.

He manages to squeeze my hand, just a little, and the look on his face is one of peace.

We watch the rest of the movie in silence and I’m drawn back in to the uplifting story I haven’t seen in so many years. Same as when I was a kid and would lie on the couch watching the story unfold, Mom and Dad in their easy chairs nearby, my heart swells at the end when George finds out how many people love him.

As the credits roll, I say to Dad, “Well, looks like Clarence got his wings again and George is still the richest guy in town.”

I glance over—only his eyes are shut now, and an odd sort of breath leaves him, and it’s his last. I can’t explain how I know this, but I do. He’s gone.

Emotion floods me as I sit there gaping at him. Because death suddenly doesn’t make sense to me. We all know about death. Logically, we get it. But when it happens right in front of your eyes, it’s harder to comprehend. He was right here, talking to me, just minutes ago. Where is he now?

But then I remember I’m supposed to go get one of the nurses. I rush from the room and find Helen at the nurse’s station. “He’s gone.”

She looks up, clearly as surprised as she was a couple of hours ago when he was suddenly awake, then grabs a stethoscope and starts toward his room. I follow but keep my distance as she feels for a pulse, then bends over him, pressing the stethoscope to his heart while she watches a clock on the wall.

It’s a long, strange minute as the clock’s second hand turns, and when finally she says, “Time of death, ten-oh-two,” I let out a heavy sigh and I feel like I can’t breathe. I need to get out of the room.

Leaving, I literally bump into Gabbi, who’s walking an elderly woman up the hall, holding her arm to steady her.

“Sorry,” I say.

She can see it in my face. “Oh—is he…?”

I just nod. I’m out of words.

“I’m so sorry, Travis,” she tells me, pulling me into a tight, warm hug.

I barely know her, but I let her, my thoughts swirling, my heart reeling.

Yet that’s when I feel something against my butt, and I begin to realize the old woman with Gabbi is taking my cell phone from my back pocket.

I pull free from the hug and snatch the phone back—not as nicely as I could, but damn, she caught me at a bad moment. And no matter how hard I’ve worked to be nice and understanding to the residents here, it’s still a hard place to be. And the person I was here for all this time is dead. I don’t have to be here anymore. And I don’t want to be here anymore. So what am I waiting for?

Just like that, I start for the door. Helen can do the rest. I know what happens now—she calls the funeral home and they come and get him, that simple. I’m done. Because suddenly this is all…Just. Too. Much. The world doesn’t make sense.

Has it ever, for me? Up, down, up, down. Love, hate, leaving, rebuilding. And then these past few weeks…love again.

Damn, that’s the last thing I expected. Love. And now he’s gone.

Why bother loving someone if they’re just gonna leave you? This time it wasn’t Dad’s fault—it was no one’s fault—but he’s still gone, and I’m left holding the bag of experiencing that strange, awful void.

As I emerge through the front doors and the cold air hits my face, it feels like escape. Like freedom.

Like I don’t have to care anymore, or worry anymore.

Of course, I do still care. Something inside me is breaking. Why did I have to let myself get attached to him again these last few weeks? What was I thinking? I mean, I already know what comes from trusting in relationships. You end up alone. Every. Single. Time. In one way or another, everyone always leaves.

Snow falls thick and heavy, but I barely register the wetness on my face as I trudge through several fresh inches to my truck. It’s covered in deep snow, too, but I get in, start it, use the wipers to clear the windshield. I crank up the heat, then pull my phone out and call Wally.

It goes to voicemail. Great. One more person who can’t be counted on when I need him. Guess he’s having a festive Christmas Eve with Edie and their kids—my cousins probably flew to Florida for the holiday. Well, merry freaking Christmas to your big, happy family.

I leave a message. “Dad’s dead. I did my duty, and now I’m gone, outta here, back to my real life.”

Lexi

Outside, a heavy blanket of white piles up on Main Street, but in my apartment, a fire crackles at the small hearth across the room. I sit on the couch in my coziest red sweater, Crinkle Bear perched next to me as we await our visitor.

I have mugs ready for hot chocolate, and a tray of cookies from the bakery rests on the coffee table next to a pine-scented candle. Beside the fireplace, my Christmas tree gives off a happy glow. And inside, I feel a happy glow.

I can’t believe Travis’s father actually rebounded! And I know the end will still come soon, but if he makes it through Christmas…well, that’s just one more reason for Travis not to hate it anymore.

And from a selfish standpoint, I’m excited he’s keeping our date. I understood when he had to cancel, but…well, the truth is that Christmas Eve can be a little lonely for me.

People would probably be surprised to know that. Clearly, it’s not the vibe I give off. But when you don’t have any close family, the days right around the holiday can be hard.

That’s why I started our Christmas dinner for people who don’t have anywhere else to go. It gave Christmas Day renewed purpose for me.

Which leaves Christmas Eve, a time when so many people gather with their loved ones as well. And I’ve never told my friends I find it a lonely night because I don’t want anyone feeling sorry for me or as if they need to invite me to their family gatherings.

But finally I have someone to spend Christmas Eve with, too, and I can’t wait to see him.

It’s almost ten-thirty when I hear the familiar rumble of his truck pull to the curb outside.

Turning toward the window, I draw back a curtain and peek out. Wow, it’s really coming down out there. Being a big night for holiday get-togethers, there are ample tire tracks through the snow, but it looks just as blizzard-like as when we delivered the tree to Bluegrass Manor.

I watch as Travis gets out and tromps through the snowfall into the Lucas Building. He probably wants to check on Marley before coming over, or maybe he wants to take a shower and change—he’s had a long stay at the nursing home.

Upstairs, a light comes on, and I think maybe he’ll plug in the tree—but he doesn’t.

Okay, drop the curtain. You’re not a smitten schoolgirl anymore—you don’t need to spy on his every move.

No, you’re a smitten woman, excited about a date that’s been a dozen years in the making.

So as I get up to make the hot chocolate, I forgive myself the staring-out-the-window indulgence. After I start some milk heating in a pan on the stove, I pad back to the couch in my snowman socks, allowing myself one more anticipatory peek outside.

That’s when Travis exits the building and…it’s dark, but what am I seeing? I squint, looking harder, to find that his arms are full. He’s carrying Marley and…a large duffel bag? Opening the passenger side door of his truck, he loads both inside.

Then he walks around the pickup in the heavily-falling snow, gets in, starts the engine, and races away from the curb, the truck fishtailing up Main Street before his taillights disappear.

I sit there staring at the empty street for a long moment. Did that really just happen? Did Travis Hutchins just pack up his dog and his belongings and leave town without a word? What about his Dad? Did he leave Tom behind after all of this? Or…maybe Tom’s rebound was short-lived and he passed away tonight, after all.

And even if so, what about…me? I don’t know what he and I have become, but it was…something. And I deserve better. Just like I did in high school.

Just where is it he thinks he’s going in this weather? I know the old Ford is good in the snow, but according to the news, roads are hazardous all over the Midwest. If he thinks he’s headed to Chicago tonight…I just shake my head. It’s over five hours away on a sunny, perfect-weather day—and these are no conditions for travel.

As I curl up in a ball on the couch, my mind is a blurred mix of confusion, worry, and heartbreak. I’m forced to remember the man I first met downstairs on the day after Thanksgiving—slightly churlish, slightly bitter, and he hated Christmas. I thought my wishes had really changed him, changed everything , but I guess wanting him to stay just went too far. Or maybe I’m na?ve and wishes don’t really come true at all.

As my stomach ties into knots of rejection, I pull Crinkle into my arms, hugging him tight as I murmur, “Well, he stood me up again. Looks like it’s just me and you again for another Christmas Eve. Why was I foolish enough to expect anything else?”

Travis

My truck sits alongside a desolate highway in a snowstorm somewhere in Indiana, out of gas.

I bang my hand on the steering wheel, and the dog flinches. “Sorry,” I tell her.

I’m sorry for a lot of things right about now.

I’m sorry I roared away from Winterberry in too much of a frenzy to even notice the gas gauge the whole time I was driving. I’m sorry the snow hasn’t let up since I left and the expressway is as empty as a frozen tundra. I’m sorry I can’t reassure the faithful pup at my side that everything’s going to be okay, because it’s getting cold in the truck and we’re miles between exits, with no lights in any direction. I’m sorry I pulled out my phone to dial 9-1-1 only to discover I let the battery go dead sometime between the moment Dad died and now. “I’ve made a colossal mess out of things,” I glance toward the dog to say.

I’m also sorry my father is dead. I’m sorry I stayed away for so many years and didn’t know this version of him longer. I realize I had good reason to leave—but we could have rebuilt our relationship long before now and that’s squandered time I can never get back.

I’m sorry I felt so overwhelmed by all of that in the few minutes after he died. It still feels like there’s been a hole ripped in my chest, but I can see more clearly now. “Where did I think I was rushing off to and why?” I ask Marley, as if I think she has the answers. “What is it I was trying so hard to get away from?”

The dog still doesn’t reply, of course, but I dig a little deeper inside myself.

The answer to the first question: Safety maybe? But I’m not sure that really exists in any lasting way. And the answer to the second: Regret. And fear. And feelings. So many feelings, flooding me this past month.

If I’m being honest with myself —and right before you and your poor dog freeze to death from your stupidity seems like to a good time to start being honest—I’ve spent all the years since leaving home working pretty hard, and succeeding, at feeling as little as possible. Get lost in your job, upgrade your truck, get yourself a nice place, date casually—always, always casually, nothing more. Trick yourself into believing you’re having a great life because it looks good on paper and makes you feel like you’ve outrun your past.

But that past was still there, wasn’t it? And you’ve felt it in so many different ways these past few weeks. And deep down, that got you afraid all over again, same as when you were a teenager. It got you afraid of giving a crap about anyone or anything that might pull the rug out from under you.

What I didn’t expect, though, was that Dad dying would have that same effect, even though this time it wasn’t his fault and he had no control over the rug.

That’s when it hits me that maybe I was wrong about something. Maybe there was a miracle for Dad in the end: those last couple of unexpected hours together. Or maybe it was for me. Maybe, like George Bailey, I didn’t get the life I was hoping for, but it’s full of good things just the same.

Or it was. Before I screwed everything up here.

It’s getting colder now and Marley’s starting to shiver. I reach under the seat, thankful I’ve always kept an old blanket there. It’s actually a blanket from my childhood—one Dad kept there before me. The reason? “You just never know when you might need it,” he told me when I asked him. I’m not sure I’ve actually ever needed it, in all these years. But I need it now. Thanks, Dad.

Pulling the dog over into my lap, I wrap us both in the blanket as best I can, hugging her to me underneath it. “Sorry, girl,” I tell her, stroking her fur, trying to comfort us both. “I made a stupid decision.”

Stroking her fur in an effort towards warmth, of more than one kind, I hear myself murmur, “I could be with Lexi right now.” The words, spoken out loud, seem to summon still more honesty from deep inside me. “I could be curled up with her, warm and safe, letting her help me believe this pain is survivable.

“I could be getting brave enough to think about a future with her. A future where I don’t run from things. A future where I finally let go of all my past crap in that town. A future where I’m not alone. And she isn’t, either.”

Because we both have been. For years. Yeah, she handled it better than me—she handles most things better than me—but she’s been left to deal with life on her own, too. How did I miss that up to now? I’ve spent so much time thinking how different she and I are in so many ways—but the one way we’re alike is…we both know what it is to be alone in the world, without family.

I blow out a heavy breath filled with the truth currently barreling through me. “I should be there with her now. And I should be sitting down to Christmas dinner with her and Helen and Dara tomorrow.”

I was an idiot to ever even think of leaving her behind. “I, more than most people, know exactly how it feels to be left behind by someone you love—and I still got in this truck and drove away?”

If I had any doubts about my feelings for her, sitting here in a truck half-buried in snow in the middle of nowhere while a blizzard rages on all sides, it’s become clear to me.

“I love her, too, Marley. And now she’s never gonna know it.”