“I remember…” Clark bit his bottom lip. His hands flexed. He leaned against the counter for support. A tiny, tiny smile glowed on his softened face. “My mother’s perfume. Tuberose, I think. I remember them dragging me to go caroling. Every year, my mom would make a tub of hot cocoa and my dad would help her make cookies and we’d walk through the neighborhood caroling. None of us could sing, really. Dad was the worst of us, but it didn’t matter. It was fun.” He lost himself in the thoughts of his past. “When my mom would tuck me in on Christmas Eve, I remember she’d light a candle and put it on my windowsill. She told me it was so Santa knew where to find me.”
“Those are beautiful memories.”
“I miss them. I haven’t let myself think about them like this in so long, but…I miss them.” He trailed off, staring out into the distance. But no sooner had he withdrawn than he brought himself back, clearing his throat as if to clear the air of his very self. “Sorry. You don’t want to hear this.”
“I don’t mind at all. In fact, it’s pretty nice.”
“Cookies and sad stories. What next? Champagne and a dentist appointment?” He chuckled, but the light didn’t quite meet his eyes. Kate wanted nothing more than to sit here and talk to him about this forever. She wanted to know everything about him. What was his favorite shade of blue? What had his life been like after boarding school? What did he dream about?
For now, the questions would have to wait. As much as she wanted to keep talking, he needed something else. He needed a distraction. He still needed to fall in love with Christmas.
“Well.” She smiled, her fingers brushing the top of his hand reassuringly. “The tree still isn’t decorated.”
New memories would never replace a lifetime of horrible ones, but Kate could at least give him one special night.
Chapter Twelve
I can’t believe I told her. I can’t believe I told her.
For the entire thirteen-step journey from the kitchen into the Christmas tree-dominated living room, Clark could only repeat those words. Then the thought mutated. I can’t believe I’m happy I told her. I can’t believe I’m relieved I told her. I can’t believe I trusted her. And still trust her.
Clark couldn’t remember the last time he’d thought about his parents for any stretch of time, much less talked about them. He treated his memory of them like a precious, finite resource. The more he shared them, the less he had for himself. If he talked about them too much, he feared, he’d lose them forever. He wanted to protect the pieces of them he could.
But talking about them with Kate liberated him. Secrets he’d been jealously hiding all his life came to the surface, excavating the pieces of his heart he’d buried long ago.
Before his parents died, they spent most of their winter holidays here, visiting for a few days between Christmas and New Year’s, reveling in the time they got to spend with their family. The living room hadn’t changed. At least, it hadn’t physically changed since Clark saw it last. No one came in and threw extra tinsel on the mantel or hung more fake icicles from the ceiling. But as night cloaked the Woodward House, the quality of light changed inside the opulent family room. Instead of another room in a house on a cold winter’s day, it grew into a safe harbor of golden light, a refuge from the black night settling in outside of the walls. Kate turned the key in the fireplace, igniting the flames within and adding to the invisible layer of coziness wrapping itself around Clark’s shoulders. It reminded him of the time before, of the winter evenings spent here with his aunt and uncle, his mother and father.
“I’m guessing you haven’t decorated a tree in a while either?”
“I did a couple of times at school. That sort of celebration was mandatory.”
As a kid, Clark did everything to get out of the festivities required of boarding school boys to make them feel more at home during the season. Thinking about Christmas brought up those memories he fought so hard to hide and hold onto; participating in the jolly holiday with his schoolmates only made things worse. He feigned illnesses. He tried to get in-school suspension. He claimed religious exemption, even going as far as to wear a yarmulke for three months. All to no avail. The administration allowed him to remain on campus for the holidays, but refused to excuse him from celebrating that same holiday during term time.
“I guess you made handprint wreaths and stuff,” Kate ventured as she dragged a stack of boxes out into the middle of the room. Clark raced to help her, taking the top three boxes away to lighten her load. He followed her lead, opening the tops and exposing the blinding treasure trove of glitter, red paint, and homey paper stars tucked inside.
“We mostly made pinecone reindeer. Our teachers were not the most imaginative bunch.”
“That’s a shame. The teachers here in Miller’s Point are amazing.” Kate picked out a chain of paperclip stars. Their lopsided shapes assured him they were the handiwork of school children. He wondered if any of them hated Christmas as much as he had when he was a boy. Did anyone in Miller’s Point hate the season, or was he the only Grinch in sight? “Help me untangle these?”
“Yeah, sure.”
With delicate fingers, they picked apart the tangled knots of nickel. Clark paid special attention not to bend them out of shape. Frivolous as he thought the exercise was for a classroom—when he was a boy, he threatened to file suit because Christmas activities robbed him of the teaching time his family paid for—someone still spent
