The chill of the winter morning and the pale light streaming into the living room woke him before the soft footsteps. He was suddenly aware of the cramping in his neck and his left shoulder, but he only shifted slightly in the rocking chair, quickly doing his best to make himself appear to be still sleeping.
He had barely opened his eyes, but he knew what she would look like, tiptoeing across the room towards the fireplace, her hair stuck up in funny angles and wearing a too-big sweater over her Tweetie bird pyjamas. He could just see the furtive look on her face as she checked over her shoulder to make sure he was asleep. Trying to keep himself from smiling as he imagined what she might be shoving into his stocking this year, he carefully let out a snore.
The year before, it had been a hat. A bright orange hat with a green zigzag and a ridiculous pompom on top. He had jammed it onto his head immediately and turned from side to side so she could admire it. When he had run into Gail on the street later that week, sporting the conspicuous hat, she had barely been able to hide a smile as she recounted to him the long process it had been as Bonnie stood over the knit table at the craft sale, turning her saved money over in her hands. Gail had confided that she was glad to see him wearing it in public. He had feigned disbelief that anyone wouldn't be pleased to sport such a hat through town, and he could see the approving relief on Gail's face. She had impressed upon him once again the excitement his sister had exuded at the time of the purchase, but he didn't need to hear this additional information to know. When he had exclaimed with surprise at the extra gift Santa had brought him, she had seemed to be nearly bursting as she beamed at him.
He was, truthfully, anticipating whatever she'd snuck into his stocking this year. When he'd first realized what she was doing last year, he'd been a little sad. Though it had always made him a little sad, those Christmases without their parents, he'd always loved playing Santa for his little sister. He'd always end up staying up to an ungodly hour waiting for her to finally fall asleep. He was usually so tired by the time he finished setting up the Christmas morning surprises that he would fall asleep in the chair in the living room. It had been a bit of a shock, to realize she was doing the same thing now, trying to sneak a surprise into his morning while she thought he was asleep.
He wasn't sure if she knew he was awake, but she didn't say anything about it, just as she said nothing about what he was doing so late at night either. Playing Santa Claus was still a fun part of his Christmas, he just had to get used to the fact that both of them were sharing the job now.
Part of the job was waiting for her to leave the room and come back, pretending to have just woken. Sure enough, her footsteps retreated, there was silence for a few seconds, and then he could hear her approaching. He waited until she shook his arm before he let his eyes fly open. She was grinning, her eyes sparkling, as she quickly signed, “Merry Christmas!”
“Merry Christmas!” he signed back. He allowed her to pull him out of the chair and made a show of stretching out his cramped limbs, making loud complaints about having dozed off long ago and not having heard a sound all night, hoping Santa really hadn't forgotten them that year.
Bonnie quickly exclaimed over the roller blades sitting under the tree, as if she hadn't had time to scope them out while Stanley had been sleeping in the chair. Then she was dragging him to the stockings, offering graciously for him to open his first this year.
For years to come, Stanley would chuckle to himself about the box of cheap cologne sticking out of the top of his stocking, and his little sister's nonchalant suggestion that maybe Santa thought he might like to go on a date this year. At the time he did just as he had with his hat the year before, he opened the box and squirted a generous amount onto his neck. The two of them laughed as the room quickly filled with an overpowering fragrance, and he quickly pronounced it “awesome.”
His eyes started to water, so he quickly tried to interest her in the wrapped presents under the tree. She pulled out the package that had arrived in the mail with their mother's cousin's return address. Grinning, they both traded hopeful guesses of what it might be, in the off chance that cousin Beth had sent something besides fruitcake this year. She asked him to tell the story about the time their mother had forgotten to thank her cousin for the gift and a second fruitcake had arrived two weeks later. He shifted in his chair as he prepared to tell the story, wondering at how he could have gotten so stiff all over again.
He opened his eyes. He was in the chair again. Pale light filtered into the living room, and if it hadn't been empty of the stuffed reindeer and wall-papered differently, he would think it was still that morning and he was waiting for Bonnie to wake him up. Instead, the room was quiet, and there were no stockings hanging.
Slowly, he stretched his aching arms, blinking as he looked across the room. It was then that he saw her, leaning in the doorway, wearing his work boots and one of his plaid shirts over her faded pyjamas, her dark hair crammed under an orange hat.
When she had woken this morning, Mimi had been just a little dismayed to find herself alone in bed. She had crept downstairs and discovered him asleep in the chair, the stockings nearby. She had considered waking him, but something about the way he dozed, curled strangely into a chair that seemed almost too small to hold his arms and legs as they hung over the edges of it, had caught her breath. She had decided instead to put on his boots and traipse outside. When she had come back from the barn to find him still sleeping in the same position, she hadn't been able to keep herself from standing there, watching him.
“Hey, you,” she said softly as he peered at her sleepily.
He was still taking in her appearance, looking her up and down, as he slowly began to talk. “What are you doing up before me? And in the boots?”
“I did the chores,” she said.
He was waking a little faster now, sitting up in the chair as she kicked off the boots and crossed the room. “You did the chores? All of them?”
She nodded as she reached the chair, brushing one hand along his arm. “Merry Christmas.”
She leaned down and kissed him. “Merry Christmas,” he said, leaving his hands on her arms as she leaned back. He grinned up at her for a moment before suddenly looking around. “How late is it? Why didn't you wake me up?”
She leaned one knee on the edge of his chair, flexing her other leg to stay balanced. “You looked happy. In your sleep.”
He looked agitated now. “But I meant to – how is it morning already?”
She just chuckled and laid a hand on his cheek. “I thought you like mornings.”
He sighed in frustration, folding his arms. She sensed his mood and pulled her hand back. She watched him silently for a few moments. He finally cleared his throat. “I just, I came down here after you were asleep and I was going to put up the stockings.”
They both glanced over at the cardboard box in the middle of the floor. The stockings were draped over the side. “Looks like you got partway there,” she said. He said nothing else, looking glumly at the floor, so she went over to look at them. She patted Stanley's, with its frayed green trim and carefully stitched name. “I'd forgotten about this,” she said with a laugh, holding up the long, misshapen sock that Stanley had stuffed with things he'd found in the kitchen drawers last year.
“Should have made you another this time,” he grumbled.
She shook her head. “My first Richmond Christmas stocking. I can have another next year, but I'm using this one for now.”
She paused as her hand brushed against the third stocking. The top corner of the 'B' was coming loose, despite Mrs. Richmond's careful stitches, but otherwise, it looked as good as the day it had been made eighteen years earlier. Mimi's first instinct was to let go and let it fall back into the box. A second instinct that was much stronger compelled her to pick it up and run her hand over the front. She looked over at him; he was watching her.
“I didn't get to do your stocking. I'm sorry,” he said.
She held the stocking a moment longer, then laid it on top of the others. “That doesn't matter. I'm sure you'll make it up to me.”
“I just wanted you to have a good Christmas morning this year -” he continued.
“I will,” she said, solemnly but offering him a shaky smile. “Oh, and I almost forgot!”
She rushed over to the small tree in the corner. From under the chair that had been pushed out of the way for the tree, she pulled a small package. She came back over to him and put it in his hands.
“You're giving me one of your shirts?” he asked.
“Unwrap it,” she said briskly as he chuckled at her expression. He unrolled the shirt to reveal a bottle of tequila. “Couldn't find any Tang, but I thought it might be good this winter anyway,” she said.
He grinned. “I'm amazed you even got your hands on tequila.”
She grinned too. “Helps when you're friends with the bartender.”
He held up the bottle, shaking it and watching the golden liquid sloshing around. “It will be good. Thank you.”
“You're welcome,” she said, and she was back to being solemn.
“I'm sorry I don't have yours ready,” he reiterated as he held the glass in his hands. “Really, it was so dumb of me to fall asleep down here -”
“Stanley,” she said, putting one finger to his lips. Tentatively, she climbed onto the chair with him, shrugging out of his work shirt and pressing up against his warm body. “There will be lots of time for that.”
“But you got something for me, and you got up early, and you fed the chickens...”
“And milked the cows,” she added, breathing against his ear as she spoke. He caught the note of pride in her voice and couldn't help but chuckle.
“And I just wanted to give you something good, because you're, well, you're my...”
“You're mine too,” she said. “And I've got you. And we've got time.”
“But it's late,” he said.
“It's not so late,” she said. “We don't have to be anywhere.”
“We have to be at that party they're throwing at Bailey's. You saw how much work they're putting into it,” he protested.
“Not until later. We have all morning. And we'll have other Christmases. And other mornings.” She leaned her head against his shoulder.
He turned his head. Her eyes were inches from his and he could see every freckle on her nose. He reached for the hat on her head. “Nice hat, huh?”
He pulled it off. She took it from him. “Suits you anyway,” she said. He kissed her then, pulling her towards him even though they were already occupying the same chair. She returned the kiss, wrapping her arms around as much of him as she could manage.
“You know, Mimi,” he said as they broke apart. She raised her eyebrows. “You're right, we will have other mornings.”
She nodded.
“But they might not be as quiet as this one. I don't think I'll get away with forgetting Santa.”
She smiled. She shifted, swinging a leg over his lap and putting her hands around his neck as she leaned her face towards his. “Better enjoy this one while we can, then.”
Some of the people walking to the church for the morning Christmas service stopped to look at the lawn. Some remarked about it, asking their friends if it had been like that the night before. Most paused only a moment, on the sidewalk or near the front steps.
As Mr. Daniels made his way across the snowy walkway, slowly and carefully so as to avoid slipping, he grinned at the sight in front of the church.
It was the same sight Hailey would crane her neck to see out the window of her father's truck when they drove into town for the party at Bailey's Tavern. She would ask her father to walk up to it on foot before they went into the party, and Russell, surprised and grateful to see his daughter so interested in anything, agreed.
No one knew where the snowmen had come from. Everyone supposed someone had made them, but it must have been in the dead of night, as they hadn't been there the day before and no witnesses came forward. The one snowman had buttons for eyes and, strangely, a metal bowl for a hat. The other snowman, or snow-woman, as Julie Hayworth asserted to her older brother, as she did indeed seem to have long wavy hair sculpted from snow, wore a lanyard as a necklace. On the ground around the snow-people were snow angels.
Hailey walked quickly in her purple Princess Jasmine boots. Russell, for once, found himself having to rush to keep up with her. They both stopped at the edge of the snow angels and snow people. She wouldn't go up on the lawn herself; no one else had all day. She tiptoed across the edge, grinning, and flung a little handful of snow up in the air above her head before coming back to her father's side. She reached for his hand and they walked back down the street towards the party.
Before the Christmas party started, the inside of Bailey's tavern was a flurry of activity.
After a quiet morning at the house, the entire Green family had made their way over to the bar to set up for the celebration. They brought decorations from Gail's own collection to add to those that Mary had unearthed earlier in the week. This was how Jake found himself in the middle of the floor, untangling a big ball that had once been what he assumed to be several sets of tinsel garland. He usually didn't complain about his mother's tendencies to save everything, especially since she'd provided so many useful things from the closets, basement, and spare bedroom since the bombs, but he found himself feeling tempted to ask why they needed so many decorations. He would have been content with the tiny fake tree on the table in the corner and the string of lights across the bar.
Mary was sweeping the floor, singing under her breath. Earlier, Jake and Eric had helped her push the chairs and tables against the walls, making more of a space in the middle of the raised portion of the room. It seemed that they'd uncovered some areas of floor that hadn't been swept in a long time.
Jake thought he recognized the tune he could hear as Mary swept by him. Something about ships. Or holly. He didn't know the words. It was pleasant, though, untangling a knot of tinsel to the sounds of sweeping and not quite singing. A break from his usual days. He continued to puzzle over his knot. Their steady rhythm of sweeping and puzzling was interrupted by Eric opening the front door.
“Mrs. Roberts' eggnog!” he said, proudly holding up a container and sloshing its contents. “And, Mr. Daniels' records. He couldn't come, but he said he wanted us to have 'decent' music.”
He began to stomp his boots near the doorway, knocking off the snow, as Mary came to exclaim over the things he had procured. “Mr. Daniels can't come?” she asked, taking the eggnog and examining the records as he pulled off his scarf.
“He said he was tired. But thanks,” added Eric.
“I hope he's alright,” she said quickly, pressing Eric's hands between her own. “Your hands are so cold!”
“Hazard of transporting eggnog nowadays, I guess,” he said with a playful swagger.
“Your mom's got the stove on in the kitchen,” she said. Without another word, Eric squeezed her hand and walked over to the kitchen.
Jake glanced up from his work. “So what are we having?”
“Some kind of pork. I think. The Herberts wanted to help out, they killed one of their pigs. Some kind of...pig.” She shrugged.
Jake smirked. “It is a special occasion.” A second later, he held up a freed garland. “Look at this.”
“Perfect,” Mary smiled, ignoring the clump of all the other garlands he'd let drop to the floor. “Let's hang it up over there.”
Climbing on a chair against the wall, Jake could see out the window as he helped to hang the garland. He could see people walking by outside, the same as every day, and yet not the same. The past few months, he'd noticed the way people moved quickly through town. Without the ASA there anymore, without J&R's presence looming over everything, they still moved as though they didn't want to present the same target for too long. Today, like always, they were walking fast. He noticed one figure approaching, and jumped down from his chair.
“Heather's coming,” he said. Mary climbed down from the booth on which she'd been balancing too.
Jake stepped back to let Mary and Heather exchange Christmas greetings when Heather first came through the door. Heather held up a plastic bucket.
“I was right, they had them in the church! Thank God for over-stocked Sunday schools!” she said excitedly. “A lot of them are stubs, and there are a lot of yellow ones for some reason, but they'll still be good for colouring.”
“Ah, thank you!” said Mary, accepting the crayons. “I was hoping the kids wouldn't have to be disappointed when Santa gave them half a present.”
“Um, speaking of Santa...” began Heather, a somewhat worried look having fallen over her face. “I ran into Hawkins on my way here. His family was at the Taylors' for Christmas Eve. He said Jimmy wrenched his back last night.”
“What?” asked Mary, the smile frozen on her face. “I'm out a Santa?”
“Sorry,” said Heather, with a grimace.
Mary, who had for a split second resembled a deer in the headlights, quickly regained her composure. “It's okay. I'll just find someone else to do it.”
Both pairs of eyes immediately flicked over at Jake. He smirked. “Sorry. You know I'd do anything to help, but...” He laughed as he trailed off. He knew dozens of people who would also be laughing at the suggestion, and found it just a little strange that neither of the women in front of him did. They were looking at him solemnly. He found himself wondering what some people would consider in desperate times.
“Jake, don't you think you could just -” began Heather hesitantly, but Mary waved a hand at her.
“It's okay. I'll find someone,” she said. She turned, walking towards the kitchen calling “Eric!”
Jake chortled as soon as she was out of earshot. “Eric as Santa. And I thought this party wasn't going to be entertaining.”
Heather didn't say anything, and the look she gave him was difficult to read. She seemed to be smiling, but he got the feeling she was sizing him up.
“Hey, Merry Christmas!” he said quickly, stepping over to her and holding out his arms.
“Merry Christmas,” she said, returning his hug. “Good day so far?”
“Yeah, can't complain,” he said. “You?”
She nodded, and took a long time before she spoke. “Definitely feels more like Christmas than last year. And not like Christmas at all.”
He grinned. “It will, if Mom and Mary get their way.”
“And how – how is your mom?” she asked a little hesitantly.
He paused. Last time he had discussed his mom with her, he'd told her about how his mother worried him and how guilty he felt leaving her behind. It had been weird, how easily they had talked, out in the middle of nowhere and with Hawkins in the back seat. It had been this way every time they had gone out with Hawkins on a job. During their time away from town, they were friends and would find themselves talking about the strangest things, from candy they missed to places that might not exist anymore. Back in town, it always seemed like things went back to the way they had been before they left. They were still friends, but there were other things there, between them. It made talking hard, and Jake was always keenly aware of other people watching his every move. “She's been cooking, so I guess that's a good sign,” he finally said.
She nodded. There was something about the way she was looking at him now, her penetrating gaze, the soft wrinkling of her forehead, that made him want to change the mood quickly. “So, you saw Hawkins?”
“Yeah,” she answered, her slightly suspicious tone indicating she did not know where he was going.
“What's he look like on Christmas morning?”
“Same as any day, I guess,” she said.
“I just thought maybe the holiday might bring out a hidden side to Hawkins,” he said. “You know, hugging random people on the street and spreading joy and goodwill to everyone.”
It was a lame joke but she smiled anyway. “Our Hawkins? Never.”
He chuckled at her claiming joint ownership over the man who still mystified both of them. It had been a long time that he had spent serving as the intermediary between Hawkins and Heather, and it had always been strange, to be in the same space as the two of them, like two alien worlds colliding in an eclipse. Things had changed, slowly, so much so that he hadn't really noticed. Heather and Hawkins didn't ever have heart-to-heart chats, and they didn't communicate quite so wordlessly as he might with either of them, but there were times they threw him off, sharing a joke at his expense or agreeing on something he expected them to fight over. Now, apparently, he and Heather were sharing jokes about Hawkins too.
He was glad. After the last time they'd gotten back from a trip, things had been especially awkward. Now, it seemed like she had forgotten, or was doing an especially good job pretending. He decided to play along himself.
“So, what's your favourite part of Christmas?” he asked.
She raised her eyebrows. “You know, what do you always think of, when you think back to the good old days?” he asked.
She was eyeing him quizzically as she thought, and he wondered for a second if she thought he was off his rocker. Last Christmas there had been a lot of these nostalgic discussions and this Christmas, people were more resigned. But she hadn't been here last Christmas, and they hadn't had this chance to talk Christmas past as they set up a party at the town watering hole.
“I don't know. I liked everything,” she said finally. “I think I liked the whole time ahead of Christmas best, I guess. Green decorations everywhere, people in good moods, music. It was like the one time of year everyone was allowed to be hopeful.”
He nodded, and neither of them said anything for a moment. “So what's your favourite?” she asked.
Before he could answer, Eric had dashed into the room, saying, “Make way, I come bearing cornbread.”
He was in fact carrying a tray of food, covered in a cloth, from the kitchen. Placing it on one of the tables against the wall, he looked over at Jake and Heather. “Aren't you supposed to be untangling that?”
“Uh, yeah,” said Jake, looking down once again at the ball of garland. He looked up at Eric again. “And are you going to be filling in as Santa?”
Eric let out a weary sigh. “I'm trying to convince her that it's a bad idea. Don't you think the kids'll be a little unconvinced? My beard's the wrong colour.”
“So you're just leaving us in a lurch?” asked Heather.
“Hey, I said I'd do it if no one else volunteers,” he said sheepishly. “I'm hoping she finds someone.”
“Who would have known Santa was so important. Is it just me, or is Mary trying to steal Mom's job as the Christmas-spirit-enforcer in the family?” asked Jake with a sly grin.
“Oh, don't let either of them hear you say that!” said Eric in a mock panic, as Heather giggled. Eric slumped against a chair. “I don't remember her being so into Christmas last year, but it seems important to her, and she's got Mom interested in decorations and eggnog again.”
Jake nodded at this. It was true, this Christmas morning hadn't been quite as bad as he'd anticipated earlier in the week. There had been emotional moments from everyone, but they'd laughed as they'd exchanged knitted socks and chocolate bars and sipped tea in the living room. He couldn't help but feel grateful, that his mother was making it through today. He yanked on the garland in frustration. It was as tangled as ever.
“Hey, wanna trade jobs?” asked Heather. “I have experience with many a little kid's shoelaces.”
“What job are you doing?” he asked, though she had already reached for the garland knot.
“Jake, you can help me shovel the front so the guests don't fall on their way in,” said Eric.
“Okay,” said Jake hesitantly, going to get his coat.
The brothers trooped outside a few seconds later, but Jake found himself wishing he could stay inside, where it was warm and he could joke with Heather instead of trying to avoid emotional conversations, or worse, silence, with Eric.
“So Eric didn't want to be Santa either. He said he would, if no one else agreed, but I feel bad asking him. He seemed like he really didn't want to,” Mary was saying as she arranged stale crackers on a plate at the counter.
Gail was at the stove, putting the finishing touches on a meat pie she'd thrown together with the ground pork they'd been given, surprised at the ease she found in this unfamiliar kitchen. Her first thought was to remind Mary that it was a hard year for Eric, but she knew she didn't need to. All four members of the family had been cautious with each other all morning. She continued to work in silence.
“I don't – I don't want to make this any harder for him,” continued Mary. “You don't think I did, do you?”
Gail turned around. “No. He wants this to be a good year for everyone too.”
Mary nodded silently. She went back to her work.
Gail turned too. “You know, when Eric was little, he loved the Christmas party Johnston used to throw at town hall every year.” She told the story as she worked, and though she could hear Mary's hands still moving boxes on the counter, she could tell she was watching. “Always a few weeks before Christmas, Johnston would host a reception. Eric would wear a tie, even when he was ten years old. Jake hated going, especially when he was a teenager, but Eric always looked forward to it. He'd talk about it for days before hand, reminding his dad not to forget to get Mrs. Davis to make those cheese puffs again, or to hire a photographer, or not to set up a tree too many weeks early, so it wouldn't dry out.”
Gail quickly caught Mary's eye, and they both smiled. “Johnston knew all that, of course, but Eric would always try so hard to help.” Mary's face was solemn now. “He still wants to help, you know. He knows you're working hard, and he wants to make it a good one too.”
“I know,” sighed Mary. “And I don't want him to feel like he has to. Maybe I shouldn't have pushed this so much.”
“No, he'll be fine,” said Gail, just slightly surprised at the certainty with which she said it. “Really. This year, we knew it would be tough. I think we've all had our moments. But I see Eric, opening presents, wearing those silly mittens, and I think, he's okay.”
She nodded resolutely, and turned back to her task. She was caught off guard when Mary asked, “Are you okay?”
She stopped, and stared at the pie crust in front of her. She was so used to hearing this question, from her boys, from Mary, from friends and neighbours, and she usually fired back the response she'd perfected. It was not very often that she let herself actually think about her answer. She was tempted to say something about the first holiday without a loved one always being difficult, but she couldn't bring herself to give such a generic answer. She took a breath and let it out. “It's hard. The hardest. I miss him. I always miss him, but it's hardest today because it's a day where you're supposed to be happy.”
“Like it points it out to you, that you're not,” offered Mary. Gail glanced at her, her eyebrows raised.
“I used to love Christmas,” said Mary. “My mom went all out, and she got me excited about it. From December first on, it's all we did, get ready for Christmas. Without her, Dad just didn't know what to do.”
She pushed aside the finished crackers and sat on a stool. “He'd try, but all the things we used to do felt different when it was just the two of us. I'd forget, too, every year. I'd get excited to put up a tree or put out cookies for Santa, because I remembered how much fun it was, but I'd forget that it had changed. And Dad never talked about it.”
She glanced up quickly. Gail was watching the younger woman with a troubled expression on her face. She didn't say anything, and Mary continued talking.
“This one year, it was a few nights before Christmas, and dark already when he came home from work. He said 'Get your coat, I want to show you something.' We drove down to the south end of town, to this street with houses that were bigger than ours. There was this one house, just covered in lights. So many lights, and figures on the lawn. You had to get out to see it, because there were so many cars parked up and down the street. Dad walked up to the house with me, and he just had this huge smile on his face, and we just looked up at the lights. Their whole roof was covered, and there were these gingerbread men on the windows, carolers cut out on the lawn. It was just freezing, my teeth were chattering before we left, but it just felt okay. Not like I had to be happy because it's Christmas or sad that nothing was ever the same. Just me and my dad, and lights everywhere.”
She smiled slightly and let out a breath. “So I know how it is, trying to do Christmas again when things change. I've just found it sometimes works to do something different than what you did before.”
Gail looked at her daughter-in-law and nodded silently.
Mary turned to wipe the counter with a cloth. “I know it's a little crazy, throwing a party during a war, using up food and giving away the best drinks Dale's got, worrying about whether the kids'll get Santa. I just wanted to do something. For Eric, and you and Jake. For Stanley and Mimi, since Stanley wouldn't be throwing a party himself this year.”
Gail stepped over a put a hand on Mary's arm. “I'm glad you did.” She reached into her pocket and placed something on the counter beside Mary. “Here. Maybe you can bribe a Santa.”
“But,” Mary said in dismay, picking up the chocolate bar she'd bartered from Dale two weeks earlier. “That's yours.”
“Put it to good use. If I know married men, there'll be at least one at the party who forgot to get his wife a gift and found himself out of luck yesterday afternoon.” She chuckled.
“But I wanted you to have a gift,” protested Mary.
“I already do,” said Gail, brusquely sweeping out of the room with the plate of crackers.
Mary stared after her for a moment. She glanced down at the counter for another moment before pocketing the chocolate bar and grabbing another plate of food.
An hour later, the first of the party guests began to arrive.
Twenty minutes after that, the tavern was beginning to get crowded.
When the Hawkins family arrived, with Woody and Sally Taylor in tow, the main room at Bailey's was a comfortable jumble of people.
“Hawkins!” Jake came over to shake hands with his sometimes colleague. Their friendship was always rather cordial in public, but Hawkins smiled heartily and offered him holiday wishes, which Darcy echoed.
“You kids can put your coats over there,” said Jake, motioning to the booth where the coats had been piled haphazardly, “and if you go over to the corner there, you can join in the games.”
Allison smirked at his words, but Sam asked, “What kind of games?”
“Don't know, something about reindeer, check it out,” shrugged Jake. Truth be told, he'd been by that corner several times, and had overheard Heather teaching the kids some kind of rhyme, but he hadn't caught the name of the game. It didn't matter; Sam, Woody, and Sally were already eagerly headed to dispose of their coats.
“So, Jimmy couldn't make it?” said Jake.
“Nah, still not up to it. We offered to take them,” said Hawkins, making a slight motion of his hand in the kids' direction.
“I think he's enjoying the uninterrupted time with Margaret,” said Darcy in a conspiratorial tone as she leaned in to shake Jake's hand. Jake and the Hawkinses began walking over to the coat booth as they talked. After they had deposited their coats, Allison took off for the pool table, where a few other teens had congregated, and Darcy and Hawkins followed Jake to the table near the jukebox. It was covered in glasses, a pitcher of apple cider in the centre. Hawkins and Darcy each poured themself a glass. Jake helped himself to his third serving and glanced over at the group of kids in the corner again. The Taylors and Sam seemed to be enjoying themselves already.
“Hawkins, Darcy, good to see you!” came Eric's voice, as he stepped over from the bar. He had been greeting everyone who arrived, in between running around with plates of food, glasses, and people's coats. Jake nearly sniggered at his brother. They could be back twenty years ago, at another Town Hall Christmas party, and he might not know the difference. Hawkins, however, did not seem to find the situation amusing. He merely smiled and shook Eric's hand. “Glad to be here, Eric.”
Darcy added, “It's nice to do something like this for Christmas, and the kids are already having fun.”
“Everyone will be having more fun when we get this working,” said Bill from a few feet away. He and Walt Jackson, one of the newer deputies on the team, were standing beside the jukebox. Its back was open.
“What did you do?” asked Eric suddenly. “Mary's going to kill -”
“We're just switching the records like she asked us to,” said Bill in a voice meant to show how very unreasonable Eric was being. “So there'll be some Christmas music.”
“Oh,” said Eric. “And him?” he asked, motioning to Sean Henthorn, who sat a few tables away, fiddling with a radio. “Where'd he get that?”
“It's from town hall. He's looking for music too, I think.”
“Who's going to be broadcasting Christmas music?” asked Eric bemusedly, but everyone else had already shrugged it off.
“Hey, the Richmonds are here,” said Eric. Jake followed his gaze. Stanley and Mimi had indeed just come through the door, and looked a little breathless.
“Are you going to go warn him?” asked Eric teasingly.
“Warn him?” asked Darcy, her eyebrows raised.
“To hide somewhere before Mary asks him to play Santa,” explained Jake. “She's asking everyone who comes through the door.”
“She didn't ask me!” said an indignant Bill.
Jake and the Hawkinses were silent, but Eric let out a nervous chuckle. “Well, it's not really the most coveted job. No one's said 'yes' yet. Apparently, not everyone is as thrilled about it as Jimmy was.”
“Not everyone'd fit the costume as well as he would either,” muttered Bill, turning back to his work.
Jake felt a twinge of guilt, despite knowing he'd make a terrible St. Nick and that he was the last thing a bunch of kids whose belief had already become shaky over the past year needed at their Christmas party. He hurried over to greet his friends.
“Jake, buddy! Happy Christmas Afternoon!” boomed Stanley, lifting Jake into one of his bear hugs. Jake couldn't help but smile as he was finally released.
“Thought we'd see you guys sooner! Never knew you to come late to a party where there's food,” he joked.
Stanley just grinned. “We decided to take our time. A relaxing morning, you know.”
“I used to,” said Jake, pulling Mimi into a hug too. He was surprised to see his friends looking so lively on this day. He'd seen a lot of ups and downs from them over the past few months, and holidays had been especially hard on them, he knew. He'd been there for Stanley's birthday, which had dissolved fairly suddenly and quickly as Mimi had cried into her bread pudding, and he'd heard from Mimi how Stanley had barely managed to come inside after his afternoon hunting excursion on Thanksgiving. Now, Stanley didn't look as though all his worries had been erased, and he was more solemn than the Stanley of last Christmas had been, but he was smiling, laughing. Mimi seemed positively glowing.
“So you guys – had a good one?” he asked.
They exchanged a private smile before Mimi answered, “I'd say so. Nothing as exciting as...is that pin the tail on the donkey?”
Jake glanced over his shoulder. His mother had joined the children's games, it seemed, and was helping Heather spin a blindfolded Julie Hayworth around. He shrugged.
“So, when's the big guy arrive?” asked Stanley.
“Oh, right, I'm supposed to warn you -” began Jake, just as he heard Mary saying “Mimi! Stanley!”
She came from behind him, swooping in to hug each of her friends, complimenting Mimi on her hat and grabbing Stanley quickly by the arm. “Stanley, I'm so glad you're here! You have to come with me.”
As quickly as she'd appeared, she spirited him away, leaving Jake and Mimi to stare after them.
“So, was Santa good to you, Jake?” asked Mimi, pulling her scarf off.
“Not really. Mom was though,” he nodded at his sweater. “And somehow Mary and Eric got their hands on chocolate.”
“Helps to know people,” agreed Mimi with a chuckle.
Jake took her coat and led her over to the cider table. “So, how's he doing?” asked Jake.
“He was up all night playing Santa,” said Mimi. She attempted a half-hearted laugh before growing thoughtful. Her discussions with Jake were usually like this. They'd both dance around the harder topics for a while, but eventually, they'd be forced to be truthful with each other. It annoyed her sometimes, and she was sure it annoyed him, but today she felt a little grateful to share what she'd seen with someone. “I was so worried, about how this whole day would be for him...for both of us. This morning, though, I saw him sleeping in the living room, and he just looked...different. Like he wasn't worried about anything. Quiet. I just...I just watched him.”
Jake raised his eyebrows. “You let Stanley sleep in on Christmas morning?”
“Well, he woke up. I didn't have to wait that long.” She said, quickly glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. “I think he's happy.”
“Good,” said Jake, offering his friend a small smile. Her statement was simple, but he knew what it meant.
“How about you guys?” asked Mimi. “Everyone surviving?”
Jake shrugged. “We manage. I don't know how we do it. Whenever it seems like we're all ready to give up, one of us digs in and holds on for another round. Keeps us going.”
“We take turns,” breathed Mimi. It was hard to tell anymore who either of them were talking about as they both nodded.
Jake leaned against the wall, and Mimi crossed her arms, surveying the room with a contented smile. “How did you get so much food?” asked Mimi.
“Everyone brought something or other. Mom's been talking about making stone soup or something,” said Jake with a smirk. He could see another set of arrivals in the doorway: Dale and Skylar, carrying a small package between them. “Do you mind if I...?” he asked, turning to Mimi. “I've been on unofficial host duty -”
“Sure,” said Mimi with her own smirk. “Don't keep your public waiting.”
Jake flashed her a jokingly pained expression and headed towards Dale and Skylar.
Mimi, her glass in hand, wandered through the crowd of people herself. She came up to the table where Sean was fiddling with the radio.
“Merry Christmas,” she said softly.
He looked up, and his face broke out in a smile. “Hi. Do you want a seat?” He looked around to see if there were any free chairs nearby. “Luke, get up,” he said to his friend on the other side of the table.
“No, I'm fine,” said Mimi quickly. “So it looks like they've put you to work.”
“You know,” said Sean casually, “Just trying to do something nice, for Christmas. Find some kind of music.”
Mimi nodded, thinking it wise not to question his assumption that someone was broadcasting music out there. “Do you have any plans for Christmas, Sean?”
“Yeah. This is it,” he said, motioning around him.
“Oh,” said Mimi, suddenly wondering why she hadn't considered before how Sean would be spending this day.
“How about you? You and Stanley have a good Christmas so far? Start the holidays with a bang?” he asked with a cautious chuckle.
“We had a quiet morning,” she said with a grin.
“Me too,” said Sean, looking back down at his radio.
Mimi hesitated. She didn't want to bring up the person they were both thinking about, but she found herself wanting to offer some kind of words of comfort to the young man in front of her, who hadn't expressed any sadness yet seemed to her to be thinking the same way she was. “You know, Sean, you're always welcome to -”
“Hey, I have something for you,” came Stanley's voice in her ear. “Oh, hey Sean!” He slipped a hand to her waist as he rested his chin on her shoulder from behind.
“Stanley,” nodded Sean, as he fiddled with a dial on the radio. “Merry -”
“Sean!” said Mimi quickly, her hand shooting out to grab his wrist.
“What -” he began, but as she held his arm steady, he heard the voice coming from the radio. “...from Columbus, Ohio, on this snowy Christmas day.”
“Is that?” asked Stanley quickly. “Shh,” he said quickly, looking around him.
Mary had been walking by, and she stopped at the wild look on Stanley's face. “Columbus!” he motioned at the radio.
Her eyes lit with understanding immediately. “Quiet, everyone!”
“Listen to this!” Stanley added. Mary moved through the crowd, hurriedly hushing everyone, as Stanley bent towards the table, his arm still wrapped around Mimi's waist.
“Citizens of the United States of America, this is President Charles. This will be strange to hear, in the times we now find ourselves living, but I am speaking to you today to wish you a Merry Christmas and a happy year to come.”
Around the room, most eyes had focused on the radio. Some people looked down at the floor as they listened. Some glanced momentarily at their loved ones before looking back to the table in the centre of the room.
“In times such as these, it can be difficult to envision a happy new year. For many of you, imagining survival in the next year is a tall enough order. Our homeland, our very world has changed so drastically and across the country, our people, friends, family, neighbours, are fighting, suffering, and struggling.”
Mimi felt Stanley breathing behind her as she reached to lay her hand over his. Allison Hawkins quickly glanced at Dale Turner, who stood to her right, staring intently at the radio. Heather Lisinski watched as Gail Green took a step forward, and then stood entirely still as she continued to listen.
“Some of you listening to this are living in occupied territories. Some of you are living under the threat of attack from Cheyenne's army. Some of you are on your own entirely. It is a cold winter, an unfriendly sky, and a dark night.”
Bill shifted his weight, glancing around at the roomful of people. Darcy felt a small hand grabbing onto her arm from the side. Sally had come to stand beside her. Eric leaned against the wall, hugging his arms around himself.
“I ask you today, my friends, to fear not. Though it is dark and cold, fear not. This is the darkest time of year, and yet it is the time for hope. Hope, because even when everything seems lost, the smallest things can start great change. Because when it seems we're almost at the end of our strength, we find parts of ourselves that we never knew existed. The smallest light in the darkness can spark a fire.”
Jake swallowed quietly as his eyes searched the room, taking in his friends' reactions. Finding himself beside his sister-in-law, who was barely breathing as she listened, he patted her arm. She gave him a faint smile, though her eyes were as serious as his.
“Do not give up hope. The war has not been lost, and though you may be under someone else's control, or you may be surviving on your own, you are not lost. We are a nation of survivors, so I ask you to look to yourselves, to your own tenacity, and look to each other. It is through finding our strength in each other that we all may survive.”
Hailey had silently appeared beside her father and reached for his hand. Now, Russell quietly swung her up in his arms.
“I pray you enjoy this holiday, and find joy and comfort in all that you still have. Take care of yourselves, and I wish you a Merry Christmas and a happy year to come.”
Sean rested his chin on his hands as he leaned towards the table. The newscaster who came on after the Columbus president continued to talk about celebrating, but the room in Jericho, Kansas stayed silent for another few seconds. A few faces now bore stray tears that hadn't been wiped away, others merely frowned or looked to be contemplating. Mary now held onto Jake's arm as they both stared ahead in silence, Allison had found her father and stood shoulder to shoulder with him, and Julie Hayworth and Jamie Carmichael had come to lean against Heather on either side.
Slowly, the guests at the Christmas party began to move again, walking around the room, going back to their activities, or finding other family members or friends. Everyone moved a little more quietly, and it seemed as though they spoke in hushed tones. Some people continued to sit or stand in place, thinking. Bill sat in a chair, a faraway expression in his eyes, until the front door opened and Jimmy Taylor, supported by his wife and with a grin pasted on his face, entered. Bill stood and went over to tell him what had left the entire room so meditative.
Bill stood near the doorway by himself after he finished recounting the radio broadcast to his injured friend. He could see that the other guests were slowly going back to their previous activities; they were passing around food, gathering around the tables, playing games in the corner. But a change had come over the room and he wasn't quite ready to enter back into the party.
Jimmy had wanted to know every detail of what the president from Ohio had said to muster holiday spirit in the people on Christmas. “Hope?” he'd said. “Did he say anything about what's going on?”
Bill had done his best to give his friend the gist of the broadcast, but the words had sounded flat in his voice. Jimmy had seemed anxious at first, his eyes wide with surprise as he listened to the message, but by the end of Bill's recap, he looked as deeply in thought as everyone else. Margaret had thanked Bill and they had slowly made their way over to watch their children, now playing some kind of crowded 'Simon Says.'
Bill listened to the sounds of the party now. They had changed too. Before, people had been exuberant, forcefully cheerful, grabbing their friends into hugs and offering jokes. Now only a few voices boomed through the crowd, unsuccessful in masking the sedate murmur that now overtook the room.
Bill folded his arms. It was the same as always, really. Life since the bombs at least. It always seemed to follow a pattern. Low times, high times, and a lot of monotonous worry in between. And the simplest thing could bring on any of the three. One gun, one snowfall, one speech.
It seemed they took turns too, making the changes happen. Depending on what was needed, a joke, a celebration, or someone to share a story too painful to keep a secret. He wasn't good at a lot of those things. He'd never been much for deep conversations about those subjects Jimmy referred to as 'sensitive', nor had he really liked to examine his own feelings in detail. His job, when his turn came, was to lighten the moment. Whether it worked or not, he would fearlessly crack a joke or point out something random, in the chance someone might smile or forget the pain of living after the end of the world for one moment.
The room was still in a subdued mood, but now he could see the Greens putting out plates of food, and everyone was beginning to flock towards them. Nodding his head quickly to no one in particular, he strode back into the room. He would try again, like so often before. Even though he knew, some moods were not meant to be lightened and some truths couldn't be made humourous.
The jukebox door was open as he'd left it. He swung it shut, hitting a button. The twangy opening notes of a jazzy song began to fill the melancholic tavern.
“Hey, we've got Christmas tunes!”
Eric glanced up from the bowl of carrots he carried. Bill was grinning and pointing at the jukebox. The lyrics of It's a Marshmallow World were now intermingling with the sounds of the party. He politely smiled at Bill, turning to continue his trip with the vegetables. He quickly deposited his bowl on the table and leaned quickly against the wall nearby. The spot between the table and the place where both walls met in a corner was just big enough for him to shelter momentarily from the crowd of hungry party-goers and from his duties as co-host.
He wanted to present a brave face to his friends and neighbours. As usual. And as usual, he was finding himself in need of a moment to regain his composure. The president's words had inspired more consternation in him than he had expected. It had surprised him, the sudden rush of...he wasn't sure what, but it rose in his throat and made his mouth dry.
The speech had affected everyone else too, he knew, and there had been others in the room who seemed just as uneasy. Most had not retreated into the corner; most were now trying to resume the party and he felt silly for hiding from his mother and Mary, who had both attempted to plow through the cloud of bewilderment that had settled on their gathering, assigning tasks to any who volunteered and deciding to serve the food.
Eric fiddled with his thumbs and looked over at the plates of food already on the table. The president had spoken about hope. Why had it left him with such an empty feeling? There had been so many times, so many days, they'd tried so hard to get in contact with the outside world. So often had they craved news, information, and messages of hope. Now it seemed strange, out of place, foreign to hear those words.
When he was younger, he used to pay close attention to his father's speeches. Before that, he remembered watching his grandfather address the town at public events. People gave him books filled with speeches that great men had given through history as birthday presents. The power of words, spoken by leaders, had once fascinated him.
As Eric watched the spoons tear into his bowl of carrots, and the other plates of food around them, he thought about everything words had come to mean since the bombs. Words weren't what gave people comfort, closure, or encouragement to continue surviving in this world. All that mattered was who was saying them, where, and when. The speech on the radio, about light in the darkness, had little meaning for these people around him. The suffering the president so carefully spoke of was nothing compared to the actual pains they'd endured. The proud nation they'd been reminded of was a faded echo, eclipsed by the land between their borders, the place where they lived and died, the place for which they'd fought.
He smiled faintly at Dale, who had stepped up to fill his plate. Dale met him with an equally grim smile.
As he piled his plate with potatoes and squash, Dale considered the way the voice on the radio had sounded. Hollow. As scratchy and out of date as the records wishing him a Merry Christmas from the jukebox.
He felt Skylar's elbow bump his as she piled food on her plate too. It had been her idea to come today, and he had agreed grudgingly, as if he were doing it to make her happy. Really, it had been amusing to hear her passionate defense of a celebration she hadn't even been sure she'd wanted to attend in the first place. He'd pretended it would be painful to part with the case of orange soda he'd found on a stray shelf and played the part of the resolute martyr as he'd wrapped himself in scarves to brave the short walk to Bailey's.
The truth was, he had been very curious to see Christmas again. Over the past year, life had changed so much, it was sometimes unrecognizable to him. He learned to see the reality of each moment as his life. In this moment, he was proud to call this town his home and proud to have helped keep it going. It wasn't a place where he was doomed to be a downtrodden outsider, as he'd once thought, nor was it a feudal land-share where he could force the peasants to make up for their prior misdeeds. It was a place where he lived alongside others, would fight with them, struggle with them, and celebrate with them. It wasn't as perfect or as horrible a place as one could dream up, it was simply a real place.
He'd been many other places in his travels. Trade had taken him across the counties and state lines, and he had seen what was left around them. That was real too.
The places the voice on the radio spoke of weren't real. They were, in the sense that pictures in a textbook were real representations of places he'd never see. They weren't real places he could touch or experience, places that would change him in any way.
He had felt that way about Christmas once. The happy families pictured embracing intimately by a hearth or laughing over a turkey dinner were the stuff of print ads, and singing carolers lived only in cheesy television commercials. The twenty-fifth of December was a day like any other. It was whatever you made of it, nothing more or less.
This thought had once made him feel a powerless despair as he'd plastered a smile on his face and forced down his mother's 'Christmas casserole' on paper plates. In the time after the bombs, in the the time after the war, he'd learned to find strength in making what he would of the world around him. This was his reason for coming to Bailey's today, to see what he could make of it, and what they would all make it.
He turned to Skylar. Her plate was full, and she had picked up a can of orange soda. “Wanna share?” she asked.
He smiled, giving his head a quick tilt. They stepped together through the crowd, glancing around for somewhere to sit or stand. Skylar pointed to one of the corners of the raised section of the floor. A number of their former classmates stood there, but they were no longer fellow students. Sean Henthorn, Martin Jones and Allison Hawkins worked border patrol together, and Taylor Bintnell worked at the mine. Allison caught Dale's eye and waved the both of them over.
As they walked with their food laden plates, Dale almost bumped into Sam Hawkins and Sally Taylor racing by. Before he could exclaim anything about almost having spilled down his shirt, he found himself face to face with Russell, who was looking down. Dale looked down too, at Russell's daughter. She was looking in the direction Sam and Sally had run, her eyes wide with surprise.
“Ho ho ho! Merry Christmas!” boomed a familiar voice. Santa Claus had indeed made an appearance at the Bailey's Christmas party, and as he struggled to carry the stack of colouring books in his thickly gloved hands, he was quickly surrounded by children.
Dale felt Skylar's hand tugging on his arm. He didn't need to turn and look at her to guess the expression he'd see on her face.
The lights had grown dimmer inside Bailey's tavern. Candles had been lit on tables and the string of the lights in the illustrious bar. Forgotten plates were piled on some of the tables.
Softly festive music filled the air and some couples were dancing. Most families with young children had already gone home, though a few kids still hovered in the corner where Santa Claus sat, under the dart board.
Adults and teenagers sat in the booths, leaned against walls, and occupied the chairs Eric and Jake had set up. They talked lazily amongst themselves, adding to the hum in the air.
Mary Bailey stopped to sit on one of the bar stools, leaning her chin against the heel of her hand as she took in the scene. It was almost hypnotizing, with the colours and sounds blending together. It took her a moment to notice the hand waving the chocolate in front of her face. She turned to see that the hand belonged to Mimi, who had sidled up to the bar beside her.
“Want a square?” she asked.
“What? No, that's yours,” answered Mary.
Mimi shrugged, popping the square into her mouth. “I know where he got it,” she said, her mouth full of chocolate. Both friends looked over to the Santa in the corner.
Mary smiled, not looking directly at Mimi. She hadn't been sure if Santa was even a good idea, until she'd seen him with the kids. Though he had nothing to offer them besides colouring books, the little guests at the party had seemed happy to play games with him, and even take turns sitting on his lap, though what they were whispering to him was anyone's guess.
“Nice work,” continued Mimi. “And, since it's for a good cause and he seems to be having fun, I won't even hold the bribery against you.”
Mary raised her eyebrows at Mimi. “Bribery?”
Mimi held up her chocolate bar. “Sure you don't want a piece? If you don't speak now I'll eat it all myself. I've been having this horrible chocolate craving all week, ever since I started thinking about those truffles my mom used to make -”
Mary shook her head as she interrupted. “Mimi, he didn't do it for the chocolate. I gave it to him anyway.”
“What?” asked Mimi, another square of chocolate half raised to her mouth.
“I gave him the chocolate, and said he didn't have to play Santa, and he said he'd do it.”
A softer look came over Mimi's face. “Really?”
Mary nodded silently and they both watched Stanley, in the red suit and fake beard, finish talking to Laura and Jamie Carmichael as their parents got them ready to go out in the cold.
“I didn't want to ask him, I didn't know if it was a good idea. But he said he wanted to. And the kids seemed to love him,” whispered Mary.
Mimi watched the Carmichael kids hugging Stanley, her eyes suspiciously bright. “I'll – I'll be back in a bit,” said Mimi, slipping off her stool. Mary nodded silently and watched her friend make her way over to the corner.
She swiveled on her stool again to lean her elbows on the bar, not looking at anything in particular. She realized suddenly what song was playing on the jukebox. A song that had once made her cry, but she'd insisted on playing it again, to her father's bemusement. As a clear voice began to sing, Mary could practically mouth the opening lines herself. “Have yourself a Merry Little Christmas, let your heart be light...”
She stood, taking a step but not quite certain where she was walking. The music seemed to surround her, the lights, and the people. She felt, for the first time that day, the sting in the back of her eyes.
“Hey,” someone whispered. She turned. Eric stood behind her, his hat in his hand and a scarf draped around his neck.
“Hey,” she whispered back. Still holding the hat, he slipped his hands around her waist, pulling her gently towards him.
“It's beautiful, isn't it?” she asked.
He nodded slightly. “It is.”
She wrapped her hands in his scarf, pulling his face towards hers. They kissed amidst the lights, music, and people.
Mary leaned her head against his shoulder, swaying to the music she could still hear as clearly as if it were coming from within her. His arms crossed tightly around her as he matched her movements.
“Thank you,” he whispered in her ear.
She lifted her head just enough to meet his gaze with a quizzical look.
“For this. Thank you,” he said.
She nodded, not saying anything. She leaned against him again, her hands resting on the back of his neck.
The voice coming from the jukebox continued to sing about muddling through somehow, the party-goers continued to laugh and talk, and the candles continued to flicker. The woman and man in the centre of the room continued to sway together.
The gathering at Bailey's tavern had spilled outside early in the evening when the Taylor kids and the Hawkins kids had built a snow fort. Gradually, their friends, smaller and bigger kids, and even a few adults, had come out to join them in playing in the snow.
Shrieks and shouts could be heard through the air, but over time, they faded into the winds that howled through the night sky. Parents collected children on their way out of the party and teens migrated back inside where it was warm.
By the time Heather Lisinski found herself staring up at the cloudy night, there was no one else outside. The moon was nearly full, and where the clouds were parted, it shone down to illuminate the multitude of footprints making circles and figure eights across the ground in front of the tavern.
Heather had joined in the snowball fight earlier, helping Julie and Stacy pelt Dale Turner and Skylar Stevens from behind one of the forts. Her coat and mittens were still covered in snow and she was beginning to feel the cold seeping into her, but she couldn't tear herself away from the blustery peace of the wild winter night.
The day had begun quietly. Tea and toast with a favourite book. Remembering Christmas mornings as a kid. Her grandfather's homemade toys, her mother's famous French toast. All that was gone, all that she clung to and still tried not to think about. The day had passed in a blur. Scouring the Sunday School room at the church. Helping Eric sort plates. Inventing games when the children got bored with the ones she'd planned. Playing cards with Stanley and Mary. The voice on the radio. Seeing Hawkins take his daughter's hand and Mimi kissing Santa Claus. Playing in the snow, running, breathing it in. And now it was quiet again.
She remembered from when she was a child the feeling Christmas night had always had. She had often stood out in the icy air, in her grandparents' backyard, long after her cousins had gone inside, breathing in the night. It had always given her a feeling in the pit of her stomach, like birds' wings. It wasn't a bad feeling; it left her breathing hard. She came to recognize, if not entirely understand the feeling – it was the feeling of change. Though there were other appropriate times of the year to reflect on that inescapable truth at the core of living, Christmas night was always the time she felt it the most. Satisfied and full from the day she had looked forward to since the beginning of December, she would feel suddenly on Christmas night the excitement that accompanied the end of something. The whispers of something else to come that seemed to fly with the cold winds biting at her face and rustling her clothes.
It was strange how this feeling of newness hit her now, the same as it had when she was eight years old. So many strange times and places were between that old version of her and the person standing in the snow on Spruce Lane. But it gave her a sense of calm to feel so clearly that both those people were one in the same. There were other moments in her life she worried they weren't.
She wrapped her arms around herself in the wind, finding herself smiling at the calm and birds' wings intertwining.
The sound of the door opening, the snow crunching beneath a pair of boots, might have surprised her, but it didn't. Neither did the voice she heard, though she wasn't sure why she had expected it.
“Heather!”
He sounded slightly surprised. She turned her head, keeping her boots firmly planted in the snow. He was stepping towards her. “Cold enough for you?” He wasn't wearing gloves, and he clenched his hands in his coat sleeves. He came to stand near her, slipping his hands in his coat pockets.
“Just enjoying the quiet,” she said.
They both stood in silence for a few moments.
“Hawkins,” she said softly. “He'll be wanting to meet with us again soon, won't he?”
He stared at her, a solemn look on his face, before answering, “I think so.”
She blinked a few times, finally nodding her head. They were both quiet for a few more seconds and she wondered if he was thinking of the radio broadcast, or of the last time they had gone out on the road at Hawkins' bequest. Her thoughts were running through both.
She shivered. “You are cold,” he said, a slightly teasing look crossing his features. “How about going in to the land of the dethawed? Mary's serving the good stuff now.”
She smiled as she rolled her eyes. “I like the cold air. It's good for thinking.”
He bobbed his head in agreement. She looked back up at the nearly full moon, now partially obscured by gray clouds. “Feels like everything's changing,” she said. “I mean, it's always changing, but I just have this feeling tonight, you know?”
“I know,” he said quietly.
“And at the same time, everything's the same as ever. This could be last Christmas, or the end of the millennium, or twenty years ago. When you look at that sky, it's all the same.”
He looked up with her. “No matter what we do down here,” he breathed.
“I sometimes think, after everything I've seen, and what I've done, nothing will ever be the same. That I've gone somewhere I can never come back from. But then I look up and think, it's the same. Nothing's changed,” she said.
“Well, you did.”
She turned her head. His words seemed almost teasing, but his expression in the moonlight was serious.
“And somehow,” she continued, “It makes this all feel okay, for now.”
He nodded again, and they didn't need any more words to explain what they were thinking. They stood and stared up in the quiet for a few moments. Eventually, he shivered.
“Cold enough for you?” she teased.
He rubbed his hands together. “I guess I should go in. You coming? Stanley and Eric were threatening to start a game of charades in there.”
She laughed softly. “That sounds interesting.”
She hadn't imagined he would agree, but he took a step towards the door.
“You should go before your hands fall off,” she said, adding in what she hoped was a gentler tone, “I'll be in soon. I just want to...” she looked at the sky again, and back to him, and he was nodding before she had to explain.
“I'll save you a seat,” he said.
With a quick grin, he turned and made his retreat.
She looked up again after he'd gone, turning her smiling face to the wild sky.
Things would change again, she knew. In ways she could never predict. For now, she would stand in the night, look to the sky without fear, and go back inside to the warmth that was waiting for her.