Page 64 of The Christmas Box

The one wish I know of thathasn’tcome true is my own, the one that went missing. Will it happen now, as well? What Travis did for me the other day was incredible—but it doesn’t mean he’s staying. And it doesn’t mean he’s in love with me, either.

Maybe it’s too much to hope for. Maybe you should just be grateful for all the other wishes coming true. So many people are having merry Christmases. And your shop is safe— your family legacy remains alive and well in Winterberry. That should mean everything.

Unfortunately, though, somewhere along the way,hestarted mattering, too.

As a sinking feeling comes over me at the thought, my eyes fall on the sign above the mantel across the room.Believe. It’s the last thing I saw before shoppers filled the store on Saturday. So I focus on it again now.

That’s when I glance outside to see…snow. Thick, heavy snowflakes are falling fast. Okay, I love a white Christmas, but this has gotten ridiculous. Even Mr. Buble’s wish is being granted.

Checking my weather app, it looks like heavy snow is falling all across the Midwest. Good for Santa, bad for people’s holiday travel plans. But me, I’m safe and sound, just waiting for one more wish to come true.

Travis

It’s been a long couple of days at Dad’s side. I’ve slept in the reclining chair next to his bed and have been eating the cafeteria food, whatever’s on the menu.

Dad sleeps more than he’s awake. And when he’s awake, sometimes he’s lucid and other times he’s not. Yesterday around lunchtime, he opened his eyes and said, “You still here? You should go home and get some sleep, come back in the morning.”

I mustered a small smile to inform him, gently, “Itismorning.”

Without looking very surprised, he murmured, “Hmm.”

When I told Helen I find it hard to watch him waste away from not eating, she simply replied, “It’s the way of things. The natural order of the body closing up shop.”

Helen says if nothing changes, I should keep my plans with Lexi tonight. And that I should go to Christmas dinner at her place tomorrow with their group of “misfit toys,” as Helen called them. She pointed out that I need some breaks, and she’s probably right.

When I got here two days ago, I was nervous about that wish of Lexi’s—and maybe I still am. Does it bother me, worry me, make me feel pressured? Again, maybe. But at the very same time, right now being with her sounds like the safest place in the world.

Looking back to the bed, I wonder if Dad knows he’s dying, that this is it, the end of everything for him. If he somehow thinks this is just a setback, I’m not going to disabuse him of the notion.

Next to me, he stirs a little. Then he opens his eyes, his gaze connecting with mine. “Is your mother here?”

This is where things get tricky. Should I lie? I hardly ever lie. I lied a lot as a teenager—a result of poor parenting and trying to stay out of trouble—and I decided it was a bad way to live as an adult. But he clearly never stopped loving her, and he wants to believe that she’s come to be with him in this moment, or that she’s been here all along. So I lie.

“She just stepped out of the room,” I say, making this up as I go. “But says to tell you she loves you.”

“Hmm. Funny. Always seemed so mad at me,” he muses, lying on his side, appearing frail and weak. “But I love her, too.” Then he closes his eyes again.

For the first time, I begin to wonder how often he thinks of her. Frequently, or just now because it’s the end? I haven’t heard from her since she disappeared one day while I was at school during my sophomore year. She packed some bags and took the car. That was it, not even a note to say goodbye. I have no idea if she’s alive or dead. Nor do I care.

But wait. I’ve learned a few things these past few weeks. PI didn’t think I cared about my dad, either, but turns out love and hate are just different sides of the same coin. I guess that kind of abandonment leaves a wound that never really heals.

And then something else hits me for the first time ever. Dad was an awful father there for a while, but…at least he stayed. He stayed. And maybethat’swhy I’m here right now.

The hospice lady comes in around four that afternoon to check his vital signs. When he stirs and moans slightly, she administers morphine from a dropper onto his tongue. After that, she whispers with Helen in a corner, then gives me a somber nod before leaving the room.

Helen’s voice comes softly as she walks over to lay a hand on my shoulder. “There’s been a change, Travis. He’s starting to fade. His heart’s beating slower. Probably won’t be long now.”

A few minutes later, my phone buzzes in my pocket, and I pull it out to find a text from Lexi:Just wanted you to know that Cash is proposing to Marissa tonight, thanks to your conversation with Nick. And there are other wishes coming true from the box that we didn’t even have a hand in! S as far as I’m concerned, it really IS a wishing box.

Despite myself, it makes me smile. Do I really think that box is magic? Nope. But am I starting to believe in miracles? Maybe. I message her back.That’s crazy. But great.

How’s your dad doing?she asks.

No miracle for him, though, which makes the whole thing hard to understand—why do some people get miracles and others don’t? I don’t rain on her miracle parade, though. I just keep it simple.Might be a long night. Helen thinks he’ll go any time now. Sorry I have to cancel.

I understand,she texts back a minute later.And I’m here if you need me.

This is something I have to do by myself, but she makes me feel a little less alone.

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