Page 124 of Fated

The autumn fadesin a smudge of gray, blowing crisp leaves and bare, lonely branches toward the white forgetfulness of winter.

September. October. November.

December arrives on the coattails of a cold wind sweeping down the mountains.

Geneva is a dream at Christmastime. It always has been. The Christmas markets sparkle with lights, tinkle with reindeer bells, and smell of fresh gingerbread and roasting chestnuts. We ice-skate under the stars, Mila gripping her mittened hand in mine. Max is there too, his wool-coated arm threaded with mine. We spend long nights in front of crackling fires, Max, Mila, and I, sharing a plate of raclette, the melted cheese savory and comforting. Lazy weekends in bookstores, a cup of hot chocolate. Daniel and Mila ahead on the ski slope, racing down the white expanse.

Four months of living. Four months where the only dreams I have are nightmares—they came back. The woman with the gun, whispering urgently, “Christmas Eve, Christmas Eve.”

Yet during the days I’ve kept busy. Daniel and I took a trip to New York in October. And if I sat on the steps of the New York Public Library—just sat for an hour beneath the shadow of the library lions—well, no one knew the reason why but me. If I left a little note with a poem—“Hope”—on a slip of paper at the base of the steps for a girl who isn’t alive, well, that’s okay, isn’t it? And if I leaned over the cold metal railing in Battery Park to stare out over the rippling gray water—well, lots of people look at the water, don’t they?

In November Max asked Mila and me on a three-day holiday to the Canary Islands. We lounged on the sunbaked seashore, hiked into the mountains, and ate fresh oranges, the juice sticky and sweet. And while the bright sun rained down on the white bleached houses rising from the cliffsides, I held Max and Mila’s hands and didn’t think about white sand beaches or kissing in another turquoise sea or the smell of salt and the feel of powder-soft sand on my feet.

In December, Daniel and I reaffirmed that yes, we were hosting the Abry Christmas Eve Gala. There wasn’t any reason, not even a gunshot wound, to cancel our annual celebration.

Life goes on. It does.

I loved—love—Aaron. He was the tide that washed over me and opened me to all the good that love can bring. He loved me, and I loved him.

There are some things we hide from ourselves. For our whole lives we’ll keep certain truths hidden and buried deep inside. Those truths come out in dreams. And now I’ve seen my dreams, I can’t ever hide from myself again.

I love Aaron. And letting him go felt like losing a limb. There’s a phenomenon where people still feel pain, still have sensation, where an arm or a leg used to be. It’s as if the missing limb is still there—and it hurts.

I have the ghost of Aaron, the ghost of his love. I still feel it, as real as if it’s there, yet unseen and untouchable—and it hurts.

Some days I take the gold pocket watch from its antique wooden case. I pull it from the whisper-soft velvet and hold its heavy weight in the palm of my hand. I stare into the blue-wave enamel and try to conjure my dreams. I try to pull them into real life. But it never works. Aaron doesn’t appear. And I promised myself I wouldn’t dream anymore.

I’d live.

I’d love.

Isn’t that what he’d want me to do if he knew?

So I close the watch back in its wooden box, let the lid settle with a quiet snick, and lock the golden clasp, closing it tight.

Now, it’s December 22—the winter solstice, as my mum would say.

Outside my office window the winter sky is a bright cerulean blue and the sun sparkles in diamond light over the first dusting of snow.

The sky reminds me of how I felt this summer. I thought of them as halcyon days, idyllic and peaceful, but really, this is the halcyon day, isn’t it? Because long ago, on the winter solstice, a mythical bird, the halcyon, built an island nest at sea and calmed the wind and waves.

I smile at the thought and lean my elbows on my desk. I look out over the purple and blue snowcapped mountains and wonder if the island was built by the halcyon.

On my desk I have a pile of end-of-year reports, budgets to approve, and my Christmas letter to all our employees with our Christmas bonuses to send out. It’s late-afternoon, and at the end of the day Abry will close for the holidays.

A mug of piping-hot coffee sits on my desk, sending up a curl of aromatic steam. The soft reach of the winter sun falls across my office and adds a soft warmth to the empty room. I’ve always liked the modern cleanliness and clutter-free atmosphere, but now it feels cold and barren.

I tug my red cashmere sweater close and clasp my hands around the hot mug of coffee.

No matter. Soon I’ll head home and Mila will want to decorate Christmas cookies. Max asked to see me tonight to give me an early Christmas gift. I just have to finish the last of my work.

There’s a soft knock at my office door. I look up to find Daniel smiling at me.

“Fi, everyone else has left already. Why are you still here?”

I grin back at him. “Everyone else but you.”

He shrugs and strides into my office. He’s in a navy suit and he needs a shave. He’s been working long, late hours for the past two weeks so he can take the holiday off to spend time with Mila and me. We’ve both been working like mad so we can have a few days for family. I’ve been pulling more 6 a.m. till midnight workdays than I should. After tucking Mila in I’ve been going back to my computer to work. It’s a habit I returned to once the nightmares started again.

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