Page 65 of Snowed In

“No, that’s not what happened,” he says. “I just… No, you see— If you would just…”

A weird sort of anger fills me at the way his boss doesn’t seem to give a shit that his employee’s life had been in danger thanks to an assignment he’d sent him on, made worse by the fact that he keeps speaking over West.

He’s quiet for nearly a minute, phone pressed to his ear and free hand covering his eyes. I take a step toward him, drawn to him and his obvious distress, but I make myself stop.

“I see,” he says softly and then hangs up.

He stares down at his phone and then tosses it onto the unmade bed, his face doing something complicated. I’m not sure if I should ask what happened or not. It’s not really any of my business.

Swallowing, he turns to me. “He fired me.”

I give my head a quick shake, hands fisting at my sides. “He can’t do that.”

“Well, he did,” West says a little louder, and Carla scurries underneath the bed, unused to raised voices. “I don’t know if he didn’t believe me or if he truly doesn’t care, but he said since I wasn’t able to prioritize an important client, I obviously wasn’t a good fit for his company anymore.” His voice is raw as he recites the words, eyes glassy. He cards his fingers through his hair and shakes his head with a humorless laugh. “After all this time of putting up with his bullshit, I can’t believe he fucking fired me before I could quit.”

I don’t outwardly react to his words, but I can’t help but wonderwhat he means. If he hated his job so much, why had he risked his life for some client meeting?

“I’m sorry,” I finally say, my voice gruff.

“Yeah, me too, I guess.”

After checking on the alpacas and Rebecca—and stopping Norm from executing a prison escape—I go out past the clearing and hunt down something I hope will cheer up my house guest. It goes against my rules, but the loaded, hopeless silence I’d left him in wasn’t something I could tolerate for the next few days. His unhappiness is like an itch under my skin, just deep enough I can’t reach, and will drive me mad if I don’t do something.

I find a small pine tree not too far away and cut it down, shaking off the snow and making sure there aren’t any critters living in it. I carry it back to the cabin, doing my best to breathe through the mild panic building in my chest. It’s silly to ignore holidays after years of my parents’ deaths. They wouldn’t want that. I can still see Mom dancing to her favorite holiday songs as she decorated the tree, Dad bringing in cocoa and trying to help but not doing it to her satisfaction.

My lungs feel like they’re full of lead, forcing me to stop just as the cabin comes into view, smoke rising cheerily from the chimney. I take several deep breaths, reciting the mindfulness shit my old therapist taught me to bring myself back into the present.

It works—like it always does—and when I can take a deep breath without feeling like my chest might explode, I start walking again, keeping my eyes on the front porch.

This is for West, not me. It’ll be fine.

I can hear music as I draw near, Christmas songs blaring from the radio I have perched on the windowsill over the kitchen sink.

After losing my leg, I hadn’t felt like celebrating… anything. And then, when my parents passed in a car accident after being hit by a drunk driver the day before Christmas, I tucked away all my memories and feelings around the holiday and pretended like it was like any other day. Being out here by myself, it had been easier than it probably should have been.

But West… His brightness is already starting to fill the cabin in a way I’m not used to, like just him being in my space is shining a light on all of the places I’d been neglecting. Taking one last deep breath, I open the door and step inside, hefting the small tree in beside me.

West glances up from where he’d been focusing on Carla curled up on his lap, his eyes widening and mouth parting in shock as he takes in the tiny pine. “I thought you didn’t…”

He cut himself off, like he doesn’t want to point out what I had said the night before. I just shrug, carefully setting the tree in the corner so it can lean back against the walls. Carla stretches and hops down, coming right over to give it a sniff. Pulling off my gloves, I bend over and give her a quick pet.

The scent of the sap is already filling the room, washing me in memories of my childhood—presents and cocoa, cartoons with reindeer and snowmen.

“I don’t have any decorations,” I mutter, taking off my coat and boots.

West smiles at me, probably the first true smile since he woke up yesterday evening in my bed. It’s big and blinding and filled with so much happiness, his eyes creasing into half-moons.

My heart thuds in my chest, warming me from the inside out.

“We’ll find something.”

“I think it looks amazing,” West says, studying the tree.

I finish stirring our cups of cocoa and glance at it. I’m pretty sure he might be blind. We’d popped popcorn and strung the pieces on some fishing line, and then he’d used aluminum foil to make some ornaments and a star for the top.

It’s pretty sad-looking, honestly.

But the fact it’s made West beam with happiness for hours makes it the best tree I’ve ever had.

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