Page 67 of The Christmas Box

And from a selfish standpoint, I’m excited he’s keeping our date. I understood when he had to cancel, but…well, the truth is that Christmas Eve can be a little lonely for me.

People would probably be surprised to know that. Clearly, it’s not the vibe I give off. But when you don’t have any close family, the days right around the holiday can be hard.

That’s why I started our Christmas dinner for people who don’t have anywhere else to go. It gave Christmas Day renewed purpose for me.

Which leaves Christmas Eve, a time when so many people gather with their loved ones as well. And I’ve never told my friends I find it a lonely night because I don’t want anyone feeling sorry for me or as if they need to invite me to their family gatherings.

But finallyIhave someone to spend Christmas Eve with, too, and I can’t wait to see him.

It’s almost ten-thirty when I hear the familiar rumble of his truck pull to the curb outside.

Turning toward the window, I draw back a curtain and peek out. Wow, it’s really coming down out there. Being a big night for holiday get-togethers, there are ample tire tracks through the snow, but it looks just as blizzard-like as when we delivered the tree to Bluegrass Manor.

I watch as Travis gets out and tromps through the snowfall into the Lucas Building. He probably wants to check on Marley before coming over, or maybe he wants to take a shower and change—he’s had a long stay at the nursing home.

Upstairs, a light comes on, and I think maybe he’ll plug in the tree—but he doesn’t.

Okay, drop the curtain. You’re not a smitten schoolgirl anymore—you don’t need to spy on his every move.

No, you’re a smittenwoman,excited about a date that’s been a dozen years in the making.

So as I get up to make the hot chocolate, I forgive myself the staring-out-the-window indulgence. After I start some milk heating in a pan on the stove, I pad back to the couch in my snowman socks, allowing myself one more anticipatory peek outside.

That’s when Travis exits the building and…it’s dark, but what am I seeing? I squint, looking harder, to find that his arms are full. He’s carrying Marley and…a large duffel bag? Opening the passenger side door of his truck, he loads both inside.

Then he walks around the pickup in the heavily-falling snow, gets in, starts the engine, and races away from the curb, the truck fishtailing up Main Street before his taillights disappear.

I sit there staring at the empty street for a long moment. Did that really just happen? Did Travis Hutchins just pack up his dog and his belongings and leave town without a word? What about his Dad? Did he leave Tom behind after all of this? Or…maybe Tom’s rebound was short-lived and he passed away tonight, after all.

And even if so, what about…me? I don’t know what he and I have become, but it was…something. And I deserve better. Just like I did in high school.

Just where is it he thinks he’s going in this weather? I know the old Ford is good in the snow, but according to the news, roads are hazardous all over the Midwest. If he thinks he’s headed to Chicago tonight…I just shake my head. It’s over five hours away on a sunny, perfect-weather day—and these are no conditions for travel.

As I curl up in a ball on the couch, my mind is a blurred mix of confusion, worry, and heartbreak. I’m forced to remember the man I first met downstairs on the day after Thanksgiving—slightly churlish, slightly bitter, and he hated Christmas. I thought my wishes had really changed him, changedeverything, but I guess wanting him to stay just went too far. Or maybe I’m naïve and wishes don’t really come true at all.

As my stomach ties into knots of rejection, I pull Crinkle into my arms, hugging him tight as I murmur, “Well, he stood me up again. Looks like it’s just me and you again for another Christmas Eve. Why was I foolish enough to expect anything else?”

Travis

My truck sits alongside a desolate highway in a snowstorm somewhere in Indiana, out of gas.

I bang my hand on the steering wheel, and the dog flinches. “Sorry,” I tell her.

I’m sorry for a lot of things right about now.

I’m sorry I roared away from Winterberry in too much of a frenzy to even notice the gas gauge the whole time I was driving. I’m sorry the snow hasn’t let up since I left and the expressway is as empty as a frozen tundra. I’m sorry I can’t reassure the faithful pup at my side that everything’s going to be okay, because it’s getting cold in the truck and we’re miles between exits, with no lights in any direction. I’m sorry I pulled out my phone to dial 9-1-1 only to discover I let the battery go dead sometime between the moment Dad died and now. “I’ve made a colossal mess out of things,” I glance toward the dog to say.

I’m also sorry my father is dead. I’m sorry I stayed away for so many years and didn’t know this version of him longer. I realize I had good reason to leave—but we could have rebuilt our relationship long before now and that’s squandered time I can never get back.

I’m sorry I felt so overwhelmed by all of that in the few minutes after he died. It still feels like there’s been a hole ripped in my chest, but I can see more clearly now. “Where did I think I was rushing off to and why?” I ask Marley, as if I think she has the answers. “What is it I was trying so hard to get away from?”

The dog still doesn’t reply, of course, but I dig a little deeper inside myself.

The answer to the first question: Safety maybe? But I’m not sure that really exists in any lasting way. And the answer to the second: Regret. And fear. And feelings. So many feelings, flooding me this past month.

If I’m being honest with myself —and right before you and your poor dog freeze to death from your stupidity seems like to a good time to start being honest—I’ve spent all the years since leaving home working pretty hard, and succeeding, at feeling as little as possible.Get lost in your job, upgrade your truck, get yourself a nice place, date casually—always, always casually, nothing more. Trick yourself into believing you’re having a great life because it looks good on paper and makes you feel like you’ve outrun your past.

But that past was still there, wasn’t it? And you’ve felt it in so many different ways these past few weeks. And deep down, that got you afraid all over again, same as when you were a teenager. It got you afraid of giving a crap about anyone or anything that might pull the rug out from under you.

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