“Are you two done?” Mark asked.
Cal hung up his coat and hat and threw Mark his jacket.
“What’s this for?” Mark asked.
“Aren’t you going to walk her to her car?” He turned toward the kitchen without waiting for an answer, mumbling, “He knows this stuff. That fire didn’t get to his brain—”
“I can hear you,” Mark said, shrugging into his coat.
“—didn’t get to his hearing, either.”
Riley bit her lip, hiding her grin.
Mark grabbed the door and pulled it open. “After you.”
She stepped outside. The Christmas lights on the porch blinked blue and white. Mark shut the front door behind them.
“I can see why you’re doing this for him,” she said.
“If you’re being sarcastic, I don’t blame you.”
She laughed. “I’m not. I think he’ll love it.”
“Christmas will be a lot brighter this year, for sure. And we’ll take you to the tree-lighting in Leavenworth, show you how we do things here in the valley.”
He’d said it offhandedly, she knew, and she hesitated to respond as they walked down the stone path. “I’m not sure I could handle it. What if it doesn’t measure up to the hype?”
He laughed quietly. “Now I know you’re being sarcastic.”
“Yeah, well, maybe I am, maybe I’m not.”
“So, what is it? About Christmas, I mean.” They stopped at her car and he shoved his hands in his pockets, toeing a rock out of the lawn and onto the drive.
She shrugged, not wanting to pursue it, but not wanting to put him off.
“Is that the real reason you didn’t want this job?” he asked.
“I didn’t say I didn’t want the job.”
“Yes, you did. Your first answer was no, remember?”
Her smiled faded, and she looked off into the trees. Her breath came out in puffs, and she shivered.
“You don’t have to tell me,” he said. “I’m just wondering if it will help me navigate this project better. It’s all Christmas—life-size.” He watched her expectantly.
“Okay,” she said, bracing herself. “Let’s say I learned at a very young age that Christmas is about wishes and hope. It’s about home, right? So I’d wish for a home.” She shrugged. “A real one—you know, one we weren’t tearing down or putting back together. One where I didn’t have to tell the friends I’d just made that we were leaving again. Don’t get me wrong, I know we had a lot. I saw a lot of the world. We had food, clothing, beds. When we were in the country, I’d spend Christmas with my grandma . . . Sometimes with my parents. Sometimes not. Most times they were busy.”
He winced.
“My grandma’s house was the closest thing to a permanent home I ever had.” She pulled her jacket closer, swallowing her emotions. “By the time my parents settled in California, I’d left for college. My mom started writing for travel blogs and magazines, so she was off again, all over the world. It was hit or miss. Then my dad invited me to come work for him.” She bit her lip. “But that didn’t work out. So here I am.”
His eyes narrowed in concern. “I’m sorry.”
She shrugged. “I just learned I was better off not hoping, you know? It was easier that way.”
She couldn’t tell if she saw pity or disapproval in his eyes.
“Hope is one of the big ones,” he said.
She frowned. “The big ones?”
“Hope. Faith. Love one another.”
“Ah,” she said. “Those big ones.”
He shrugged. “Christmas.” He leaned forward. “The Nativity.”
She nodded. “Yes, my point exactly. You asked why I hesitated about the project.”
He smiled at her sideways. “You know, I’m not going to judge anyone on the Christmas thing. For all I know, you’re an atheist.”
“I don’t know what I am.”
“Okay. I get that. But really? Hope?”
Riley folded her arms. “I told you.”
“So, you’ve chucked hope.”
She nodded. “Mostly.” The last time she’d allowed herself to freely hope, it had crashed around her like a building demolition.
“So, then what? What’s left?”
“Work,” she answered, sure of it. “Work hard. See your life come together under your sweat, your stipulations. Things go wrong, you know why. It’s not because of some silly desire for miracles.”
His smile was gone.
A sick feeling grew in her stomach as she realized who she was talking to.
His eyes darkened. “How nice to be in charge of what happens to you. Shielded from pain. From disappointment.” He stepped to her, his gaze intense. “But what happens when hurt and pain come after you? What happens when they tear at you and take everything you know and explode it into a thousand pieces?” His voice was hoarse with emotion. “What happens then, if you refuse to hope?”
She opened her mouth to answer but nothing came out. She knew the tearing pain of helplessness. Her heartbeat felt taut, like the plinking of a guitar string held against the fret.
“Nothing,” he said, quietly answering his own question. “You don’t work. You don’t look for tomorrow.” He shook his head, his jaw tight. “You don’t want a tomorrow.”
Warm tears pooled in her eyes. “I’m sorry, Mark,” she whispered. Seconds passed.
“No, I’m sorry,” he said. He stepped away. “And I’m sorry life has made you think hope is worthless. I’ve been there, too.” He looked away, toward the house. “Sometimes I’m still there, I guess.”
“Not if you come at it like that, you’re not.” She quickly swatted away her tears. “Wow,” she said. “You don’t hold back, do you?” She sniffled and forced a laugh, but her heart still cut that sharp rhythm, and she still couldn’t look at him.
“I should’ve stopped talking eight minutes ago.”
She couldn’t argue with that. “I shouldn’t have opened up.” She turned to the car, her emotions all over the place. She fumbled with her key fob, finally getting the door to unlock—as if she needed to lock her doors out here.
“Riley, wait.”
“Call me about using the school,” she managed to get out.
“Riley?”
She waited.
“Be careful driving down.”
She nodded and got in the car. She should have thanked him for dinner. She should have assured him that she was fine. Told him he was
