She’d been kind and open and honest with him. Maybe she’d been a bit pushy and he made her heart race when he even glanced at her with his hypnotic green eyes, sure, but overall, she’d done nothing but try to help him.
For the first time in a long time, Kate considered the possibility of someone else’s failure. Maybe she hadn’t failed him. Maybe nothing she could do would open him up. Emily could be right about him. Maybe he just…wasn’t a nice guy. Maybe he’d been cruel to her to get her to leave.
With that horrifying yet liberating thought, the full weight of his insults bayoneted her in the chest. You don’t care about me. I don’t care about Christmas. I don’t care about you. She heard them the first time, but blamed herself for their stings. Now, she accepted the full weight of his hatred. It burned her worse than the frostbite she was no doubt getting out here in this rain.
It occurred to her how every thought she had about him might have been the product of projection. She assumed everyone could be made to love Christmas because she loved it. She assumed he had a tragic backstory because she lived through a tragedy. She assumed he liked her because…well, against even her best judgment, she liked him. Sure, he could challenge the Grinch for grumpiness and Scrooge for Greatest Miser of All Time. But weirdly, she almost found it endearing, his little freak-outs any time she introduced something new and exciting into his world. He struggled with the basics of human interaction, but she swore he contained good inside of him.
Maybe she’d misjudged his character. Maybe he had nothing inside of him but hate and lumps of coal. She trudged through the woods to clear her head so she could eventually make her way back to the house with fresh eyes and a clear heart, ready to take on anything he threw at her. Now, she could only remember the words Michael always said when she ran to him for advice. Sometimes, he said, you just gotta know when to quit.
He said it knowing full well she’d never quit. But today…she considered it.
The crack and crunch of leaves behind her ended the internal debate. Kate spooked at the noise—she didn’t think a murderer would ever come to a nice place like Miller’s Point, but she’d watched enough Lifetime movies to know it was at least remotely possible—only to slump back down against her rock when she recognized the intruder. For some reason, the man who couldn’t stand the sight of her and didn’t care about her at all tracked her down through the rain.
A cynical shade cast over his sudden appearance. Not literally, of course, as she stared out at the frogs sticking to the iced-over river instead of turning to give him her full attention. Was her being on his property a legal liability for him? Did he want her to sign some kind of injury waiver or something?
“H-hey. You’re a fast walker,” he said. Sudden arrivals didn’t catch her attention, but labored, hard-fought gasping did. She turned her head just enough to survey him out of the corner of her eye. A small, eternally happy part of her almost giggled at the sight. Not only was he red-faced and anxious and bent over his knees to catch his breath, but the children of Miller’s Point often pretended to be dragons when their breath puffed in front of their face. Imagining Clark on all fours, feigning a mighty dragon’s roar, would’ve brought a less angry Kate to sidesplitting laughter, but as it was, she built a fence of hurt around her.
On the one hand, she needed him to save the town. And she couldn’t leave him alone if she thought he had a chance of finding even a sliver of hope. On the other, she selfishly wanted an apology. Her love of Miller’s Point and her belief in the goodness of the human heart would eventually dominate any selfish bone in her body, but for this one moment, she indulged in her own pain.
“Only when I’m running away from something. What are you doing here?”
“You’re going to get sick.”
“You don’t care.”
“You’re still on my employee insurance until January 1.”
“Good to know.”
A pause. Kate didn’t know what he expected by coming down here, and she didn’t know what she expected him to say. She knew what she wanted him to say, but she couldn’t imagine the words I’m sorry ever escaping his lips.
He circled her stone to stand before her, trying to force her to look at him. “Listen—”
“I listened to you all day. I listened to you trash and run over everything I tried to do to make you happy.”
“You don’t owe me anything. You don’t need to make me happy.”
“You don’t get it, do you? It’s not about you. It’s about humanity.”
“Great. Another soapbox speech about the magical healing powers of Christmas?”
“No. I won’t waste it on someone who refuses to listen.”
Kate kicked a pebble. It skidded along the dead grass down to the river, where it limply slid across the cracked-ice face of the still water. So, this was defeat. She’d worked so hard to avoid it, she hardly recognized the emotion. Defeat was wanting to scream the truth at the top of her lungs only to have him shove his fingers in his ears and refuse to listen. Defeat was standing in the rain and having someone else tell you it’s perfectly dry.
He didn’t get her, and she didn’t get him. Defeat.
“I hear you.” Despite the frost and the perfect cleanliness of his suit, Clark lowered himself to the grass. She couldn’t escape his Ireland eyes and their self-serious absurdities. “I’m listening. It’s just not for me.”
“Christmas is for everyone,” she said, for what felt like the millionth time since his arrival
