Inside the farmhouse, the whistling winds were drowned out somewhat by the crackling fire and the sporadic talking of the people sitting in various positions on the couch and chairs. An ever-present sound of clicking knitting needles kept a steady low rhythm below everything else.
“Dammit.”
Mimi looked over at Jake. “Watch it.”
Jake glanced around. “I think they're both asleep.”
Mimi shook her head. “No, you're miscounting and it's throwing that whole row off.”
Jake sighed and held out the tangle of yarn like it was a small-pox-infected blanket. “Well, I gave it a try. Who wants to finish it?”
“Does it count as completing the dare if he only did two rows?” asked Eric.
Jake scowled. “Come on Eric, I'll trade you?”
Eric chuckled. “You can have Johnny but I already finished my socks, I'm not doing any more.” He stood carefully, balancing the baby in his arm.
“You guys seriously all did this, when I was away?” Jake asked.
Mary nodded. “Sometimes, if Mimi could handle dealing with the gaps in skill level.”
“We've got a holiday to get ready for,” said Mimi, and everyone around the room nodded with an unconcerned acknowledgement of this familiar reminder.
“I must've at least done better than Stanley,” said Jake, though everyone avoided his eyes as he looked around. He shook his head, taking his nephew in his arms as Eric passed him over. “Jeez, can you imagine being able to sleep like this?” he asked.
Heather grinned, leaning down from her perch on the arm of the chair to peer at the sleeping boy. “He's used to strangers walking around under his bedroom, right?” she said.
From the other side of the coffee table, Gail laughed. “True, but it also reminds me of Eric. When he was little, you could shoot off fireworks outside his bedroom and he wouldn't wake up.”
Mimi laughed, though glanced as if by reflex over at the playpen where her own son slept. “Clark takes after Stanley too. They both fall asleep as soon as their heads hit the pillow. I can't imagine. And in all this quiet.”
Jake gave a knowing nod, but Gail glanced towards the window. “I don't know. Seems like it'll be another windy one. I hope those guys out on patrol don't freeze.”
Eric shivered. “That'll be us tomorrow. Christmas Eve shift.”
“The few and proud,” said Heather with a chuckle.
“Someone's gotta do it,” said Jake with a swaggering head tilt.
“Speaking of, someone's gotta put another log on the fire,” said Mimi.
“I'm on it,” said Eric, standing again and going over to the fireplace. “This is the last,” he said, pushing aside the screen and briefly looking into the orange flames. “We should go out and grab some more so you'll have enough for the night.”
Mimi waved a hand while still grasping her needles. “Later. Stay in the warm for now.” She paused as Eric sat back down on the couch. “You guys should just stay,” she said.
“We are,” said Mary, leaning towards Mimi and holding out the knitting she had been working on. “What am I doing wrong?”
Mimi squinted down at it. “What? I think you keep adding extras. No, I mean you should just stay here. You don't have to leave when Stanley gets back from his shift, do you? It's the holidays. We could all just be here. Not out there.” She stared down at the project with the extra stitches, carefully working the yarn with her fingers.
“Hey, we'll be together Christmas,” said Mary, patting her friend's arm. At the looks that suddenly settled on her from around the room, she reached across Eric to knock on the wooden side table. “And if not, we'll deal like we did before.”
“I know,” said Mimi, presenting the now fixed knitting project back to its owner. “I know it's not going to be a huge deal, but I'm just looking forward to Clark's first Christmas with everyone. And Johnny's first Christmas. It's a few firsts.”
“You know they're not going to remember this one, right?” asked Jake.
“I know,” said Mimi, drawing herself up with a dignified posture as she resumed her own knitting. “But we'll remember, and we'll tell them about it.”
Jake laughed. “Then I guess it'll be better if some things don't go so well.” At Mimi's raised eyebrows, he continued. “The best stories are the ones where something happens. The ones where things were normal, nobody cares about. Like my first Christmas.”
“It was very nice, dear,” said Gail. “You slept through the night, which was a miracle in of itself.”
Mary, Eric, and Mimi all nodded their heads appreciatively, but Jake made an emphatic gesture. “See, I bring it up and you mention me sleeping. Eric's first Christmas on the other hand...”
Everyone glanced at Eric, whose face was sporting his characteristic half-amused, half-embarrassed grin. “Hey, I don't remember it,” he said, holding up his hands.
“Yeah, you were what, three months old?” asked Mimi.
Mary's eyes widened slightly. “Is this the year...?” she looked from him to Gail, who chuckled.
“Jake, you want to take this one?” she asked, turning over her nearly-finished hat.
“I don't remember much either,” protested Jake. “But it was the first year my grandparents were here for Christmas.”
“My parents,” clarified Gail. “We'd taken Jake their way the year before, but it was their first time being in town for the holidays, and their first time seeing the baby.”
“I guess they made a big deal about it for awhile beforehand,” said Jake.
“I felt like I was cleaning for weeks,” added Gail. “Johnston was finishing the dining room table, right up to the last minute, and we were having his folks over too, so there was a lot of stuff to get ready, presents to buy, food to plan.”
“Somehow, I guess I decided it was all about Eric,” said Jake.
“I'm not sure why,” said Gail, shooting an affectionate look at each of her sons. “I mentioned a few times that it was Eric's first Christmas, but I never said 'this entire event is for your little brother.'”
“That's just how everything seems for a while after they're born,” said Jake, nodding sagely and glancing around at the others. Mimi raised an eyebrow, Mary shook her head with a small smile, and Heather shrugged. “So the whole sibling rivalry thing stated to rear its ugly head, huh?” she asked.
“There were a few meltdowns,” said Gail. “But nothing too out of the ordinary. And then, lots of excitement in between, with Christmas pageants and cookie baking, visits with Santa. Of course more than one treat ahead of time too.”
“Remember Christmas back when there was chocolate everywhere?” asked Mimi.
Mary nodded and sighed dramatically. “And hot chocolate.”
“And candy canes. And kids totally hopped up on it all,” said Heather with a grin. “Up all night, waiting for Santa to bring even more.”
“Yeah, you guys really dodged a bullet on that one,” said Jake, motioning down at Johnny.
“They'll still have Santa, right?” asked Heather, glancing over at Eric, who smiled. She glanced back at Jake. “But now I'm picturing a tiny, sugar high Jake.”
“Kind of paints a scary picture doesn't it?” asked Eric.
“So what happened that was better than sleeping through the night?” asked Mimi.
“Well, my folks came into town Christmas Eve, everything seemed to be going smoothly, we had a nice dinner, and everyone was getting settled in for the evening. I'd set my parents up in the guest room and I was just putting away the china while Johnston was reading the kids a story by the Christmas tree. I came over to get them so I could get them ready for bed.” Gail paused, smirking at Jake. Mary chuckled slightly, putting her hand on Eric's arm, but Mimi raised her eyebrows and Heather turned a suspicious look on Jake. “What happened?” asked Mimi. Eric grinned.
Gail shook her head slowly, reaching to place the finished hat on the coffee table before leaning back in her chair. “Johnston had turned his back for a minute, I think, to clean up a drink that had spilled. He turned back just as I came in, so we both saw it at the same time. There was Jake, sitting on the blanket on the floor with this guilty look on his face. And there in the midst of all this wrapping paper was Eric.”
“You tried to wrap him?” asked Mimi, scandal in her tone.
“What? Was he okay?” asked Heather, the expression on her face seeming torn between concern and amusement.
“Yeah, I wasn't going to cover his face or anything,” said Jake, awkwardly shifting his sleeping nephew to his other arm. “I remember this part mostly. I just wanted to make him look like a gift.”
“Why?” asked Mimi.
“He wanted to regift me,” said Eric with a shrug.
“I just remember deciding,” said Jake, “that Grandma and Grandpa would love to take him home with them.” He shook his head, smirking but somewhat sheepish. “Sorry man,” he said, reaching over to pat Eric's shoulder.
“Well, no long term harm done, right?” said Eric.
Gail sighed. “At the time I was quite upset. I'm pretty sure I ended up crying, and Jake ended up crying, and Eric too. Johnston was the only one who stayed calm. I remember him saying later 'I'm sure there were times I wanted to give Caroline away too.' And we laughed, later. But it was a scare at the time.”
“I can believe it,” said Mimi, glancing over at her own sleeping son.
Gail smiled. “Of course it didn't take much to push me to tears that year. When I look back on those early Christmases, I remember working so hard to try to make everything special. My first Christmas in Jericho, nothing really went wrong besides the centrepiece we brought Johnston's parents falling apart on the car ride there. But it was because I spent so long worrying, trying to make it all work out, no matter what. I wouldn't have told you I wanted it any other way, but you know what? It got a lot easier when the kids came along and started getting into trouble.”
Jake feigned an expression of innocence. Eric smiled cautiously. “Easier?” he asked.
“Yeah. When one of my kids was wrapping the other one up like a present, or one was helping guests to punch and spilling it all over the house, or they were both running back and forth between each other's rooms long after we'd hoped they'd be asleep and we could put out the gifts, I would realize I couldn't really make those moments perfect, or anything but what they were.” She glanced down briefly, but smiled. “So it got easier to laugh, and take a step back, and not be quite so worried. Not that I didn't try to keep the ball rolling through all the disasters, mind you.”
“Useful talent if there ever was one,” said Eric. His mother smiled at him.
“I think you're right though, Jake,” he said. “Eventful ones make better stories.”
“My first Christmas in Jericho nearly ended in an all out brawl,” boasted Mimi.
“I thought you had drinks with us,” protested Mary. Eric nodded. “You kept wanting that song on the jukebox, but I don't think anyone was willing to fight you for it.”
“Yeah, but before that I went on a journey through the underworld of Jericho's teenage population,” she said. “Stanley was trying to track down Sean.” She sighed, leaning back, her hands pausing in their task for a moment. “I think I spent most of it worrying about frostbite. It seemed like nowhere on earth had ever been that cold, back then.”
“Little did we know, huh?” asked Jake.
Heather smiled, though with a somewhat faraway look in her eyes. “Actually, my first Christmas in Jericho was all caused by a snowstorm. I wouldn't even have been in town if I hadn't heard the roads were really bad.”
“I thought your first Christmas here was after the bombs,” said Jake, glancing up at her.
She shook her head. “I had one before. I was supposed to be going to a friend's dinner, in New Bern. That's where I did Christmas my first couple of years here, but it was going to be different because it was the first year I'd be spending without either of my parents. Then Christmas Eve, the storm hit, and it was really rough going just driving over to the gas station.”
“What did you do?” asked Eric.
“I got lucky,” she said. At the raised eyebrows, she chuckled. “I got invited to another friend's,” she said, smiling but somewhat more serious. “One of those moments where everything comes together, I guess.”
Jake nodded, taking her hand in his for a moment and staring down at it. There was a silence that came over them, but Heather didn't say anything else. The crackling of the fire was punctuated every so often with a pop of sparks.
After a moment, Mimi glanced from them to Mary. “And was your first Christmas in Jericho memorable?”
Mary smirked. “Sure, memorably awkward. First time I gave away my heart.”
Mimi raised her eyebrows. “Did it get given away the very next day?”
Mary wrinkled her nose. “Actually I don't know. My dad and I had moved at the beginning of summer, and on the last day of school, in a totally romantic moment surrounded by our whole class daring us, I had my first kiss, with Bobby Snyder.” Jake snickered and Mary raised an eyebrow, smirking herself before continuing. “I'm not sure what eleven-year-old me was so taken with, but I guess absence made my heart fonder. I really liked it here, but I was convinced I'd left my love in Ashton. By the time November rolled around, I decided I couldn't let the holiday go by without making some kind of statement.”
“What did you do?” asked Heather.
“I made him a very special set of friendship pins,” she said.
“Of what?” asked Gail.
“You know those safety pins with the beads? I guess it was mostly girls who traded them, but I made Bobby the best, most embarrassingly romantic set of four pins. I got this bead with a big sparkly heart to put in the centre, and I used letter beads to spell out L-O-V-E.”
“Exactly what every sixth-grade boy wants,” said Eric, smiling apologetically. Mary laughed. “Yeah. And I sent it the first week of December so he'd have lots of time to respond. I'm not sure exactly what I was expecting, but the weeks went by and I never heard from him. Then, the day school let out for the holidays, I phoned one of my old girlfriends. I didn't want to ask directly but I thought maybe if I hinted around, I'd hear something. Turned out I didn't have to hint. The first thing she had to tell me was how my name kept coming up in the slam books people were passing around. Everyone knew about the friendship pins. They were some kind of punch line.”
“And Bobby?” asked Gail, with a sympathetic smile.
“Had passed them around to everyone,” she said with a chuckle. “After that I was mostly over Ashton.”
“I don't blame you,” said Mimi. “Sixth grade was unfortunate, wasn't it?”
“I kind of liked it,” said Heather. “I got my first tool box. Seventh grade on the other hand.” She shook her head, but then held up a slightly misshapen mitten. “Finished. Best it'll be, anyway.” She glanced at Jake, a question on her face. He raised his eyebrows. “Want to trade?” she asked.
“I thought we covered me and knitting,” he said with a sigh, but he passed her the baby, standing up so she could take his seat. She grinned as she settled into the chair, carefully supporting Johnny in the crook of her arm, as Jake attempted to balance on the chair's arm before giving up and sitting on the floor, leaning against her knee instead. “You know what we should do?” she asked, addressing the room at large. “Where's Trivial Pursuit?”
“No!” said Jake, with an expression of feigned horror.
“Worried you'll be beaten by team Book Smarts again?” she asked with a teasing smile.
“Well, you guys should be glad Stanley isn't here, or team Street Smarts might get our revenge,” he said.
“Gail could play on our team,” suggested Mary. “I think we'd be a force to be reckoned with.”
“True,” said Jake, glancing between his mother and sister-in-law. “But how are you going to finish all your knitting projects if you're busy trying to beat us?” He looked over at Mimi.
She was about to answer, but just then a wail from the direction of the playpen cut her off. She began to stand up, but Eric cut in. “I'll get him. I've got free hands,” he said.
“We'll have a rematch at some point,” she said, turning back to Jake with her most intimidating expression.
“I thought we got to pick the turf,” said Mary. “We were going to do charades.”
“You and Stanley wanted charades,” mumbled Jake.
Heather chuckled. “I'm sure you'd all be badass charaders.” She glanced over as Eric sat back on the couch, bouncing Clark lightly on his lap. “What's the story, little guy?” he asked. Clark giggled and reached out to grab Eric's beard. “Already getting ready for your Santa debut, I see,” she said.
“I've got a fake one for that,” he said, chuckling but gently pulling Clark's hand away and whispering “Gentle.”
“Are you guys excited for the other Santa visit?” asked Heather, peering carefully at Clark, who was now examining one of the socks Eric had knitted. “First one and all.”
Mary glanced at Eric. “Yeah, though we're not sure just how much of a splash he's going to make.”
“Not that there aren't knitted things for everyone,” said Eric, glancing at Mimi who was sending a pointed look.
“It'll be fun anyway,” said Mary. “Whatever you don't have, you can always enjoy the things you do, right? Not like he knows the difference. Santa could come down the chimney to rearrange the living room or make a mess in the kitchen or something. No one would tell him that's weird.”
Eric nodded. “Who knows? Maybe Santa will get up to some mischief, along with the knitting.”
“I don't know,” said Jake, skepticism in his tone. “Remember the town hall Christmas parties?”
“Of course,” said Eric. “So?”
“I'm just saying, you were always more the enforcer of tradition,” said Jake.
Glancing quickly between her sons, Gail said “You were always a big help.”
Noticing the blank look on Mimi's face, Eric said, “Dad's staff used to put together a Christmas party at town hall every year. Anyone could go. I loved helping out.”
“Yeah, he'd always direct people to the coat check or inspect cookie trays for broken gingerbread men,” said Jake.
“And you'd always help by sampling the punch,” said Eric.
“Everyone did that,” said Jake. Mary smirked but glanced down at her knitting. “Everyone except you and Bill.”
“Bill?” At Mimi and Heather's questioning looks, he added, “Before he started trying to convince us he's a badass, he used to always worry about getting in trouble. He wouldn't even leave the cabin at night on our seventh grade camp trip, but everyone else did.”
“Speaking of leaving the cabin, it looks like we're going to need that firewood,” said Mary. She turned to Mimi. “Finish this edge and I'll get enough to last you the night?”
Mimi pretended it was a difficult decision for a moment before taking the needles and yarn from her friend.
“Want help?” asked Heather. Mary nodded. “Thanks.”
“Want an extra pair of hands?,” said Jake, standing up. Eric opened his mouth to speak too, but Heather was already handing Johnny to his uncle. She raised her eyebrows. “You don't think I can watch her back?” she asked.
Mary smiled. “I trust you.” She looked back at Eric, who sent her a quick nod, and she stopped to pat Johnny's arm lightly as she crossed the room. Jake shrugged and sat back in the chair.
Heather followed Mary to the back door, where they began the arduous process of putting on outdoor wear.
Mary glanced back towards the room where the others were now talking about Christmas radio messages before saying quietly, “So did you figure out your tomorrow night plans?”
Heather nodded. “Yeah, I'm going to stay over. I guess we can all walk together, after they're done their shifts.”
“Great!” said Mary, wrapping a scarf around her face. “That'll be so nice, all being together in the morning. And you can be there for whatever Santa-ing goes down, if you want. Or not, of course, we don't want to cramp your style.”
Heather laughed and waved a hand before pulling on her boot. “No way, I'm so there.”
Tugging on a hat, Mary took a breath. “Ready?” She hoisted a lantern.
Heather nodded, bracing herself as she opened the door.
The blast of cold that hit them was familiar in its biting surprise. After closing the door, they walked in silence for a few steps, adjusting to the bone-deep chill. The crunch of their footsteps and the smooth glide of the small sled Mary pulled along seemed muffled. The snow around the farmhouse wasn't too deep, but the wind was harsh and the pale beam of their lantern in the darkness twisted the shapes of things and made it seem more like a strange new, very cold planet than ever. As Heather walked with her arms crossed against her body, she could almost imagine an alien creature popping out from behind the truck or lounging against the woodpile. Set phasers to stun, she thought to herself. She stopped suddenly, as Mary had stopped just ahead of her, several feet from the woodpile.
Heather looked at her in silence, quickly looking forward in the direction her friend was staring. She waited for a moment, peering in the dark. Mary was frozen, her features all intent and searching the darkness ahead. After a few more moments passed, Mary relaxed her posture slightly, shivering. “I thought something up there...sorry. You know how sometimes...”
“Yeah,” said Heather, stepping up beside her. “I know.” She peered again at the yard ahead for a moment longer before linking her arm through Mary's. They walked the last steps to the woodpile steadily.
Positioning the lantern on top of a sturdy part of the pile, they worked quickly, filling the sled. Heather lifted the lantern, surveying the woodpile. “One of these days, I'm going to invent a wood-chopping machine, like that one from Beauty and the Beast.”
“That'd be amazing,” said Mary, gripping the rope handle of the sled. They both laughed as they started towards the house. A strange sound in the howling night.
Heather stepped onto the porch first, clutching a few sticks of wood. She placed the lantern far enough back that they wouldn't accidentally kick it, but it still cast a faint pool of light towards the sled with their wood haul. She gripped the porch railing for a moment and stared out at the land. After a moment, she looked up at the sky. The stars seemed sharper tonight than they had recently. A wave of things old and recent came over her. She felt her breath catch, and she clutched the railing tighter.
“You okay?” Mary was standing on the bottom step, adjusting the firewood in her arms.
“Yeah,” said Heather, hearing the shiver in her voice.
Mary stepped up beside her, leaning slightly to look up too.
“It's weird,” breathed Heather, feeling a strange kinship with the cold as her muscles gave in to the stillness. “When I look up, I think it looks the same. But it isn't, is it?”
She could feel Mary's question, though she couldn't hear her say anything.
“It makes a difference,” Heather said, willing herself to stay here, still, locked in a staring match with the stars. “Somehow...how it looks...somehow.”
“Depending where you stand?” asked Mary.
Heather nodded. She stepped back down to grab her own bundle of firewood.
The cold seemed a worse shock as they moved in and out of the back door, bringing the rest of the wood inside. The vague promise of warmth beyond the hallway cheered them too and they spoke breathlessly of brighter things.
“We can play a game tomorrow, if you want,” Mary said. “When you come over after the school thing. Your pick.”
“That'd be nice,” said Heather. “Is the Star Wars game still at your house?”
“Last I knew,” said Mary. “But we haven't looked for it since Jake was last there.”
Heather chuckled, finally kicking her boots against the stoop and stepping inside at last. “You know what I was thinking?”
“What?” asked Mary, pulling off her mittens and bending and flexing her fingers in the warmer air.
“If you guys decide to you know, play around with the Santa thing, a little bit. Do something sort of different. Mischief, like you were saying.” Heather pulled off her coat, shivering as she tried to adjust.
“Yeah? Got something in mind?” asked Mary.
“I was thinking about that story, Jake wrapping Eric,” Heather said. “Do you think Santa might think it time to get a little payback?”
“Aw, come on, don't get up yet.”
Mimi turned to raise her eyebrows at Stanley. “Seriously?”
He propped his elbow against his pillow. “Ten more minutes? Five? I wouldn't think you of all people would be looking forward to going back out there.”
She sighed, midway through the act of pulling on a shirt, awkwardly attempting to work within the blankets still pulled around her. “Don't you think this is going to make her even angrier?”
“You kidding me? I don't think she's ever coming in here without knocking again,” he said, shuddering but then shifting and fixing her with the grin he seemed to think irresistible. “So we're safe.”
“No, not that,” said Mimi rolling her eyes. “I mean she's probably going to be mad you're not spending time with her.”
“She's not even back yet,” he said, motioning towards the window, though her words seemed to be having their desired effect. He looked less pleased with himself. “Besides, I don't think she can get any madder. That was seriously an eleven on the Bonnie's mad scale. Ten was the time that girl stole her egg project at the fair.”
Mimi paused and pulled her feet back into the warmth. “You shouldn't have forced her.”
He glanced at her, and then looked down at the bedspread. Mimi sighed, and leaned back onto her elbows. “You're right,” he finally said. “I just wanted you to have an okay Christmas.”
She glanced sideways. “Through the magic of re-gifted clothes?”
“I didn't know she'd give you the worst pair of pants ever made,” he said with a shrug. “I told her you like nice clothes.”
She snorted, but then sent him a softer smile that was almost apologetic. “Well, it's the thought that counts.”
“Sorry that the thought was still 'How dare you move into my house and eat my food and take over my brother's life,'” he said.
She shrugged. “Could be worse I guess. I once gave my dad's girlfriend a marzipan Mount Rushmore. That was a gift picked out under duress.”
Stanley laughed. “Yeah, you're really horrible.”
She raised her eyebrows cautiously. “I never liked it when someone pushed me into things.”
“Huh. Weird,” he said, but he became serious again. “Anyway, I'm sorry.”
“It is what it is,” she shrugged.
“I wanted it to be a good one,” he said with a sigh.
She peered at him for a moment, sizing him up. He shivered and pulled the blankets further towards his chin. “You know, we don't get many holidays. I thought I'd make this one count.”
“Case it's our last?” she asked.
“Always the optimist,” he said with a shake of his head. He folded his arms into his chest.
“I just try not to expect things, these days,” she said. “I find it easier, not getting my hopes up.”
“Okay,” he said slowly. “Fair enough.” He stared at the ceiling for a moment, then turned to look at her. “You know what though? I'm going to keep trying anyway. Hoping for things. I think I have enough for the both of us.”
“You do, huh?” she asked, raising her eyebrows again.
“Yeah,” he nodded, smiling once more. He leaned back again, letting out a sigh.
She studied him. “I guess we should go look for her.” Her face was posing the question, though she was shifting closer to him again.
A dark look passed over his features. “I have an idea of where she is.” His face softened though as he held out an arm, pulling her towards him. “But I guess it'd be nice to go into town. Stop and have a drink, if they have any, on our way home.”
She sighed, but nodded before leaning her head against his shoulder. “Okay. In five minutes. It's so cold.”
“I always thought it was cool how Picard was so good at the diplomatic stuff. You know, he could kick some ass if needed, but he always understood the value of using a cooler head. Thank you,” Heather paused to accept a spring roll from the plate being offered to her.
The young man perched on the edge of the ottoman nodded. “Yeah. He stood strong and made the tough calls, but he was good at making friends too, and he'd admit it if he screwed up, you know what I mean?” He accepted a spring roll himself and bit into it, making a surprised face. “These are – really hot,” he managed between quick breaths, grabbing his glass and taking a big gulp.
“Sorry Kyle,” said Scott Rennie with a chuckle, taking a seat in the arm chair and holding the plate out to the young woman seated beside Heather on the couch. “You know, I see what you guys are saying, but I've still gotta go with Kirk. You're right that Picard is a better diplomat, maybe even a better leader, but Kirk was always just such a no holds barred hero. He was young, messed up sometimes, but he was unstoppable. And back when I was a kid, he was everything I wanted to be. I guess you can't beat childhood heroes, huh?”
Heather shook her head, musing over her own preference. “No, I guess not. How about you, Caitlin? Who's your pick?”
“Kind of like apples and oranges right?” she asked with a grin, carefully biting into her spring roll. “I always liked Data best anyway.”
“She did, she used to call the whole show 'Data,'” said Kyle.
Scott laughed. “We'd call out 'Caitlin, Data's on!' when it was time for it to start.” He chuckled again. “She'd come running.”
Caitlin's expression seemed torn between embarrassment and affection. “I'd never miss it, if I was awake.”
Heather smiled at her. “Me neither.” Deciding it was now safe, she began eating her spring roll. “These are really good,” she said.
Scott gave a nod of thanks, but chuckled. “Not quite as good as if we'd gotten take out from Fielding, but the best laid plans right?”
“Hey, it's much better than anything I've got in my freezer right now, guaranteed,” said Heather. “If you guys hadn't invited me over, I'd probably be calling the Pizza Garden or something.” She chuckled but glanced to the window. “Though I'm not sure they're delivering in this.”
“We're happy you could join us instead. But frozen pizza's the second course,” said Scott. “So I'm glad you're up for adventure.”
“I don't know how adventurous this is,” said Caitlin, gesturing around their living room. “Monopoly and cleaning out our freezer.”
“I'm just glad I made it back in time,” Kyle announced. “Those exams were brutal. I wasn't sure I would make it through.”
Heather chuckled but gave him a sympathetic look. “First round is the hardest. I must've called my mom to freak out at least once a week.” She smiled, though for a moment she went to a slightly quieter place in her head. It was weird – the place was sometimes a terrible shock, when she'd find herself plunging there unexpectedly, after a surprise conversation or finding something small in the back of a drawer. Sometimes it was welcome, a place to retreat, quiet and warm and outside the storm. Often though it was a jumble of both. She took a breath, trying to shake it off. “So I guess that'll be you soon, huh Caitlin?”
She nodded. “If everything works out.”
“Next year I'll be calling her every week,” said Scott.
Caitlin rolled her eyes, but smiled. “You'll be fine Dad. I'm going to do physics, or something in the medical sciences maybe.”
“Excellent,” said Heather. “That's really awesome, and you have lots of time to decide.” Caitlin smiled.
A timer beeped from the direction of the kitchen. “Must be the pizza!” said Scott, standing up. Caitlin followed him, mumbling something about plates.
“So how'd you decide to come here?” asked Kyle.
“Well, I was going to go to a friend's over in New Bern, but since the roads were so bad I figured I'd be staying in, and then I ran into your dad at the gas station and he said you guys were snowed in too and the rest's history I guess,” said Heather.
“But how'd you decide on here, I mean, to live?” said Kyle. “Jericho.”
Heather smiled. “Close to home without being home, you know what I mean? New Bern's nice and I still have friends there, but I definitely didn't want to teach in the same town my dad taught in. So I thought I'd have an adventure here. Which probably sounds really boring to you guys, huh?”
Kyle chuckled. “I get not wanting to teach in a town where your dad's a teacher,” he said, glancing toward the kitchen. “And you're right it doesn't seem so exciting if you grew up here, but I'm really glad to be home for now.” He paused for a moment, studying his glass. “It's our first Christmas here in a while.”
“Yeah?” asked Heather, with just a hint of caution in her voice. Her colleague hadn't mentioned much about this.
“After our mom died, we went different places for Christmas. Sometimes we went to visit our cousins in Denver. One year we even went to New York.” He smiled. “Dad wanted to make new memories, I think.”
“I get that,” said Heather slowly. “Trying something new. It's nice.” She glanced hesitantly at him. “Usually.”
“Yeah, it's nice,” he nodded.
He glanced at her and she grinned. “This is nice too. I've never spent a Christmas quite like this.”
“Pizza, everyone!” called Scott, coming into the room.
Heather happily accepted a plate from Caitlin and took a slice. As everyone began to dig in, she took a bite. “Better than the Pizza Garden,” she declared.
They ate in silence for a few moments, hearing the roar of the winds outside and the crackling fire. After a while, Scott raised his glass. “Can I propose a toast?”
Heather raised her wine glass, and Kyle and Caitlin raised their root beers. “To good food, new friends and new traditions!” said Scott.
Heather smiled. She hadn't been certain earlier. She'd been surprised when she'd had to call Ted and Leah and cancel at the strange sort of relief she'd felt, imagining her cosy night alone in her apartment. She hadn't realized until that moment how nice a prospect it was, not having to do anything. Not having to go back to her hometown, not having to bring gingerbreads and the gifts she'd bought last month, not having to even think about Christmas if she didn't feel like it. Jericho could be a Christmas-free zone, without obligations or memories, without ties. It was easy enough, when you were young and single, and your friends who loved you and looked out for you, checked in on your feelings and baked you brownies through the year were busy with their own obligations and memories and ties, these two days. You could maybe escape that whole routine. It was much easier.
It was much harder to say yes. She'd run into Scott Rennie at the gas station check-out. She'd worked with him for two years, but it wasn't like they knew each other incredibly well. But she'd somehow let it slip she wasn't going back to New Bern and he'd explained that their plans were off too and she might as well join them. It had seemed risky. Not that she didn't trust Scott, the great tamer of sixth grade chaos and enthusiastic basketball coach, and his kids, it turned out, were cute and had good taste. It was risky to share this Christmas, also a first for her, with someone else.
Still, something had reminded her of those conversations she'd had on the phone with her mother. “Sounds like an adventure,” she would always say, even if Heather had been talking about the exam that allowed graphing calculators, the student apartment with the leaky kitchen sink, or the disastrous school play debut of several of her students. So she had said yes.
She enthusiastically clinked her glass with Kyle's, then Caitlin's, then Scott's. “This really is a nice way to do Christmas,” she said. “Nowhere we have to be, an awesome smorgasbord of food, Monopoly and Clue. When are we ever going to have another like this?”
“I think we should play Life next,” said Caitlin.
“Dessert first,” said Kyle.
Scott shook his head. “Guest's choice. What do you want to do, Heather?”
Heather considered them, all looking at her with the same eyebrow raised expression. “Can we do both? And can I have the red car?”
The town hall Christmas party was winding down, at least for the adults in the room, who mingled in clusters around the foyer, some on their third glass of punch. The warmth of the air, contrasted with the cold night, seemed lulling as the soft music playing in the background.
The younger guests, however, seemed to be experiencing an opposite effect, and some were on their sixth or seventh Christmas cookie. Even those who had arrived with their Christmas outfits in perfect order and their manners dusted off had abandoned their adults and now dashed in and out of the shadows at the edges of the room, giggling, sneaking more candy canes from the table in the corner, and taking advantage of the adults' distraction to loosen collars and let suspenders dangle.
A grand tradition had been continued, that of playing the tiniest of pranks – not anything big enough to get one evicted from the gathering or to jeopardize one's chances of rewards on Christmas morning, just little things to show off to the others and prove one's lack of lameness. Someone had moved the nutcracker on the front table so that he was now saluting the flag. Someone had covered a photo of Jericho's second mayor with mistletoe. The rules were to move quickly and quietly.
Three girls had gathered on the landing of the staircase, and were whispering amongst themselves as they surveyed the railing running across the upper level of the room. “Let's put it over that weird sun face dude so it looks like it's riding on his shoulders!” said the one with the darkest hair.
“Sounds good Diane. Go ahead and climb up there,” said her blond friend.
“No, I'll give you a boost,” said Diane. “Come on Heidi, I'm steady as a rock. You won't fall.” Heidi shook her head.
“I can do it,” the third girl said, handing over the object she had been guarding. “Here, toss it up to me.”
“Okay, but first take off your shoes,” said Diane, bending her knees and preparing to hoist her friend.
“Ready?” asked the climber, exchanging a mischievous grin with her friends before stepping with one stocking foot into her friend's interlocked fingers. “One, two -”
“Look out Mary!” shouted Heidi as three other kids came careening onto the landing. Mary and Diane stumbled backwards, just out of the way of the newcomers, who were laughing and running past them up the stairs. “Hey, they got the elf!” shouted Heidi. The girls chased the thieves to the top of the stairs, where Diane snatched the object of their prank back from the sandy-haired boy. “Stanley Richmond, that is not yours!”
“It's not yours either,” said the other boy, folding his arms and puffing up his chest. “What are you doing with it anyway?”
“Putting it on the stupid sun face guy,” shrugged Heidi, pointing towards the carving along the stairs' edge.
“Kids' stuff. Someone steals that elf and puts it somewhere weird every year,” scoffed the boy. “See what we're doing?”
“Don't tell them, Jake,” hissed the blond girl at his side.
Mary eyed the carton of milk she was holding. “Trying to make people cry or something?” she asked.
The girl raised her eyebrows but said nothing, glancing towards her companions instead.
“Let's just say the people who add milk to their coffee are going to get a surprise,” said Jake. “What?” he whispered to the girl, who had glared at him. “They're not going to drink the coffee. And they're not going to be lame and tell anyone.”
“Ew, what are you doing with it?” asked Heidi. “You can't poison people, Emily.”
“We're not,” said Emily. “Jake knows where there's some chocolate syrup.”
“Chocolate?” asked Diane. She burst into laughter. “That's the poison?” Her friends began giggling too.
“Laugh all you want,” said Jake. “It's the little things that drive him crazy. Come on,” he nudged Stanley but then he stopped and frowned. A slightly smaller boy conspicuously wearing a tie had appeared at the top of the stairs. Jake stared at him for a moment before turning back towards his friends.
“Where are you guys going?” asked the boy in the tie, following behind him.
“Just getting something from the break room,” said Jake, glancing at his friends and his audience before giving a casual smirk.
“No one's supposed to go back there,” said the boy, glancing warily between the older kids but looking more determined as he fixed Jake with a serious look.
“Then what are you doing here?” asked Emily, putting her hands on her hips.
“Really, guys,” said the boy. “Mom said -”
“Eric, isn't it tiring sometimes, being such a dork?” asked Jake. Undeterred, Eric continued to stare back at him.
With an expertly put-upon sigh, Jake said, “If you shut up about what Mom says, you can come with us.”
Eric looked seriously tempted, but as he glanced between Jake, Stanley, and Emily, he shook his head. “No, I'm going back downstairs, and you should too.”
Jake raised his eyebrows incredulously. “You're going to tell them?”
Eric scowled but said nothing.
Jake appeared to be contemplating for a moment, but he turned to his friends. “It'll take at least three minutes. We can make it there and back!” With a giggle, he and his friends began racing down the hall, Stanley shouting “Don't spill it, Emily!”
Eric looked as though he might shout something after them, but then he turned towards the stairs. “You shouldn't go back there,” he warned the girls still gathered at the top. He paused. “And you're supposed to wear shoes in here.”
“Okay, fine,” said Mary, holding her hands up in a placating gesture, but sending her friends a sideways glance. They waited until the mayor's younger son had retreated before bursting into laughter themselves. “So where do we put it now? Somewhere I won't get killed trying to reach it,” said Mary.
“I don't know, but let's go scope out the dessert table. We can get more brownies and see if there's somewhere good nearby,” said Diane.
Moments later, they had tucked themselves into the small alcove near the dessert table, each having secreted away one of the candy cane brownies Mrs. Leigh had proudly unveiled earlier. From this vantage point, most of the foyer was visible, and they watched as the adults still wandered and visited in pockets around the room, waiting for a window of opportunity to hide the famous elf. “Whoa, is that your brother Diane?” asked Heidi. “Talking to Cynthia James, over there by the punch bowl?”
Diane rolled her eyes. “Yup. He used to be one of the best Christmas party pranksters, but now he just thinks it's some big deal to pour some girl a glass of punch.”
“Jimmy-James used to be a prankster?” asked Heidi, staring still at the older kids.
“Yeah!” said Diane. “You know one year he took the elf and he somehow got it into the mayor's office. He had it sitting at the desk.” She paused, and rolled her eyes again. “And now look at them. Love.”
Mary was looking on quietly, but now she smirked. “Jimmy-James and Cynthia James?”
“I know right?” said Diane.
Heidi put a hand on her hip. “What do you think he's saying?”
Diane looked vaguely horrified at the thought, but then shrugged. “Wanna find out?” She began dramatically tiptoeing out of their hiding place.
“You're going to spy on them?” asked Mary.
“We won't get caught,” shrugged Diane. Heidi giggled and began to follow.
Mary smirked at her friends and shook her head at their offer to come along. “Have fun,” she said, leaning back against the wall and taking another bite of brownie. She looked around the room. For the first time that evening, she felt free to stare at all of the other party goers, since none of them could notice her watching them. It was interesting, seeing these people in a different sort of mood than normal. Even Mrs. Leigh was in an incredibly festive mood, and she could see her giggling, patting Reverend Carlson on the arm, wiping her mouth with one of the red napkins. There was Mr. Hughes, somehow nearly as awkward looking in the midst of a group of punch-sipping adults as he normally was in front of the blackboard, explaining integers to belligerent sixth-graders. There was her father, chatting with the mayor and his father, laughing at some story he'd probably never repeat to her. And someone nearby was talking about her father.
She automatically paused at the sound of her own last name, but as she listened, frozen to her spot, she heard “Patrick” and a few moments later, “the poor man.”
She glanced towards the name droppers. At the dessert table two women she recognized, though she couldn't remember their names, were carefully loading the leftover desserts into colourful tins. Making certain that they hadn't seen her, she edged slightly closer, holding her breath.
“Gladys,” one was chiding the other. “He probably hoped he'd leave gossip like that behind when he moved here.”
“Maybe. But why is he still wearing that ring? You'd think he would understand that it's bound to raise questions,” said Gladys.
Mary focused her eyes on the wall ahead of the speakers, trying to listen to their words only. “Obviously he isn't interested,” said Gladys's friend. “Maybe he's using it to ward off the bloodhounds. God knows, any time a single man under forty without too much baggage comes along, it's like the whole pack can smell him forty miles out.”
“Me?” asked Gladys, “You don't have to make me sound so tawdry. But I do suppose you're right. It's baggage. He's clearly got some, hasn't he?”
“It's none of our business, Gladys. Everyone's got their own crosses to bear.”
“Oh, speaking of, did you see the Reverend tonight? Lord, if he isn't thinking of getting back into the dating game. As if it wasn't disastrous enough the first time.”
Mary didn't wait to hear the details of the reverend's previous dating disaster. She slipped out of her hiding place as carefully as she could, making her way over to her friends. “So, love. Grody, huh?” she whispered.
“Jimmy totally saw us and called us out in front of everyone. Lame to the max,” said Diane, rolling her eyes. “And now we have to bounce, or Mom won't get home in time to put away her shortbreads or something. You guys have a good Christmas! I'll see you if I survive!”
The girls exchanged hugs and Heidi left soon after with her parents. Mary eventually found her way to her father's side. He was at the tail end of the story about the raccoon that'd come in through their roof and sent them both running around the apartment in the middle of the night, but he smiled at her. “Ready to go home?”
She nodded, smiling briefly at the adults he introduced her to, but feeling more serious as she went to get her coat. “Nice walk home, huh?” he asked as they made their way into the night. She nodded. “Those ones new?” he asked as they stepped inside and into the hall light. She glanced down. He was pointing at the friendship pins she's fastened to her coat pocket. “Yeah, from Diane and Heidi,” she shrugged. “I'm going to make sure everything's set for tomorrow morning. Want to hang out in the main room?” he asked, heading towards the hall instead of up the stairs. She nodded again, and followed him into the dining room, pulling off her coat and swinging herself up onto one of the stools at the counter. She always liked the moments when no one else was there, and they had free reign of the place they'd spent summer fixing up. Tonight, she watched her father going over an inventory list with a pen in his hand, eying the conspicuous gold band around his finger. “You want to put some music on?” he asked. “I can make you a hot drink. Some party huh?”
“Yeah, I guess,” she said, still twirling in her seat. She paused, watching as he arranged a tray of juice glasses. “Dad?” she asked, wondering as she said it if she would be able to throw the rest of the question out there.
“What is it, Mary girl?” he asked, not looking up from his task.
She took a breath, looking down at the smooth surface of the counter. She could almost see her reflection in it, though it was too murky to make out features. “Um, do you...do you believe in love?” she asked. It was out there. In this weirdly quiet room, in this weirdly quiet moment. She waited.
He smiled. “Why you asking? One of those boys back there...”
“Ew! No,” she said. “I don't know. I guess I was just wondering. Just wondering what you thought.”
“Huh,” he said, pausing to peer at one of the glasses in the light. He reached for a cloth. “I guess I'd say yeah. You mean like that Romeo and Juliet stuff?”
“I don't know,” she said, wrinkling her forehead and leaning her chin in her hands.
“I don't know about love at first sight. But I guess I'd say yeah,” repeated Patrick. “I think there's real love. For some people.”
She hazarded a glance at him, but wasn't sure what else to ask.
“I guess you might find out for yourself, if you're lucky,” he said. “Long time from now, course.”
She made a face, but smirked. “How about you?”
“What about me?” he asked. For a moment, he had the same look on his face he usually had when telling a funny story, but when he saw the serious look she was fixing him with, he grew serious too. She willed herself to keep looking back, like a staring contest.
“I don't know,” he said, looking down, and for a moment she was sure that was the end of it. He shrugged, but looked back at her. “You know, I think it's really nice for some people, but it can also be a bitch.”
Mary nodded, trying to appear understanding. She looked down again at the smooth surface, wondering who had won the staring contest. She glanced up as her father took a seat in one of the nearby stools. He leaned one arm against the counter.
“Course, can't be all bad,” he said. “Got you, didn't I?”
She widened her eyes, but gave him a small smile.
He grinned back. “You want hot chocolate? I'll make us some.”
“Now?” she asked.
“Sure, it's our first Christmas here. We've got to kick it off with style,” he said.
“It's the twenty-third,” she said, but she climbed off her stool to help.
The night was bitterly cold, but the heat coursing through him was enough to compel his footsteps forward.
He stared at the sidewalk ahead, walking purposefully and ignoring the festive decorations and the few other pedestrians still out clutching packages and wading through the snow at this hour. There weren't many, but if he came within a too-close-for-comfort proximity to someone heading in the other direction, he pulled his coat collar up further and hoped they wouldn't look at his face.
It was very seldom he ever cried. If it had ever been a habit, he'd learned to avoid it early in life. The tears on his face tonight took him by surprise, and the more frustrated he became, the worse the slow cascade of hot hitting his cheekbones and burning them cold became. He kicked at the ground, sending a powdery spray of snow into the air. Getting angrier wasn't helping, he realized, in a small, new moment of clarity. They were tears of rage.
He kept going, listening to the rhythmic crunching of his feet against the covered sidewalk. The steadiness of movement was slightly calming, though he could still feel his blood screaming with all the things he couldn't say.
He had tried earlier. It was something he'd often daydreamed about, when he was younger. Putting his toys aside, getting out from under his blankets, bursting into the room and commanding a ceasefire with a forceful, steady voice. In his imagination, his posture was so imposing, his speech so confident, his father was shocked into submission. When he'd gotten older, he'd imagined less, but he'd felt flashes, from time to time, envisioning himself stepping forward instead of back, raising his eyes and his voice, showing his own rage or wounded pride, anything but the stone face he had usually learned to adopt. Tonight it hadn't really happened like that. He hadn't planned it. He'd actually planned to ignore his father, because he'd been working on a chemistry assignment that was due on Wednesday, but quite unexpectedly he'd found himself shooting his father a quick but biting rebuke. And when his father had forgotten the burnt casserole dish and had instead taken issue with him, he had even more unexpectedly stood from the table, squared himself, and answered his father's disbelieving question.
It was strange, letting the rage take over. He had many times wondered, watching and listening to his father, if it would feel like power, like control, but it felt more out of control than anything. He'd shouted words, but most hadn't been the right ones, and none had worked. His father had words too, and none of them made sense. Not knowing why, he didn't back down, and soon enough they were face to face, uncomfortably close to a thing that had never transpired yet between any of them. But before either of them dared, his father found at last a few words of control. “If you don't like it, leave!”
And he hadn't dared either. He'd run to his coat, trying not to see his mother leaning, clutching the sides of the sink, or his father pacing, his hands shaking, taking up space in the hallway. He'd run as fast as he could into the cold, taking coat, hat, scarf, and gloves only so that he wouldn't have to come back.
Only now, far enough into the cold to feel his tears, did he fully understand how enraged he was at this defeat. The moment he had hoped he might have, one day, had been a failure. He had not become the conquering hero of his daydreams. He stopped at an intersection with a red light, but the street stretched out empty on either side of him. He crossed, not wanting to break the pattern of his steady steps.
He'd given up on her being the one to step forward. She wasn't strong enough. Her thin frame seemed as light and liable to fall apart sometimes as the dresses she wore on cleaning day. It was her own way of standing up, he knew, when she held herself so still and steady. She whispered, and sometimes she was reduced to tears, but her hands never shook and she never covered her face. She could hide in plain sight. It wasn't enough for him. He got taller, he got louder, and he was sure he had to be getting stronger. He'd never given up hoping one day it would be enough.
It wasn't enough. Suddenly he felt the hot rage slipping away, like smoke vanishing into the blue-black night. His eyes were dry but his steps had begun to slow. There was no use for all that furor. It wouldn't be enough. The cold was taking over. It was seeping through his coat, under the fibres of his gloves and scarf, binding his arms and legs like a million icy cords. It filled him with every breath.
What would it be like to stop? Could he stand and let it swallow him whole? He envisioned his joints freezing, his pose that of a statue, no longer fighting, and maybe not feeling. This moment in time would be enough, and he wouldn't have to keep imagining how to be better.
Still, his legs kept moving. His arms kept swaying. The crunching of his feet was steady. His lungs kept breathing in, forcing everything to go on. He took a deeper breath, letting it out slowly. Stopping wasn't enough either.
As he turned the corner, he caught sight of his reflection in the window of the record store. His face, foggy underneath his hat in the low light of the reflecting street lamp, had a wild look. He tried smoothing his muscles, staring at the calmer mask he could make. I won't be like him, he thought to himself. I will be different. He stared for a moment longer before his legs took over again and he continued through the silent street.
Gray took another deep, steadying breath, shaking his arms and legs out slowly. His whole body ached, but he was worried that if he stayed resting for too long, the cold would become too comfortable again.
Looking longingly at the ground, which seemed to beckon like some kind of soft feathery bed, he hoisted his pack onto his shoulders once more. As he stepped forward, his stomach grumbled, unsatisfied with the portion of energy bar he had swallowed. Good, he decided. It was good to carry that spark of dissatisfaction. His legs kept moving him forward.
He reminded himself again of the moment he'd woken and pulled himself out of his snowbank shelter, surveying the empty land. He'd repeated this moment in his mind many times since yesterday. It didn't carry the terror of the moment when his horse had first startled at the vehicle chasing them, or the shock of being thrown or of crawling to safety through a throbbing injury. It was the moment he remembered being the angriest. He was angry at himself for going to the meeting instead of waiting for the next, hoping it would come at a time of better weather and more stability at home. He shouldn't have trusted that the area between Fielding and home would be clear, just because the road gang had supposedly been run out three months ago. He should've allocated more resources for this trip, taken others with him, if it had been so important. He had felt he owed it to the town, to reach out to the small council newly developing as Fielding recovered, but he should've thought of the many more important things he owed Jericho. They would manage as they always did, but they deserved the best he could give them. He should've realized that he owed it to himself to give his best, too.
He held on to the anger at those who had done him harm, and the harms he had done himself. He let it become light, burning at a low, steady pace as he kept his footsteps even.