Page 2 of Deck the Fire Halls

I was only thirty-six years old. I was young in this job. Maybe I’d gone too hard too fast. I’d worked insanely long hours; double shifts were standard. I’d beenpromoted before my peers, my dedication was commendable, blah blah blah.

My dedication had almost killed me.

Which is why I found myself in a very small town in the middle of the mountains in a small but cute house surrounded by boxes that needed to be unpacked.

That was my weekend plans, anyway.

Before going to the clinic for my first shift on Monday morning. I was trying to be optimistic. Maybe this was the fresh start I needed. Maybe it was the change of pace my mental health deserved.

Maybe it would decide my fate once and for all.

I told myself to give it a year, even two. Give it a fair trial run. Even if I was half-convinced I was already leaving.

Doomed before I begin, I thought as I drained my coffee, then put myself to work.

By late afternoon, I was almost done. I had a pile of flattened boxes I had no clue what to do with, my kitchen and clothes were sorted and put away, books unpacked on the bookcases in the spare room, and I had the TV set up.

I tried not to let it bother me that my entire life took just a few hours to unpack.

There wasn’t much of me. My entire life had been my job. I had a few photos of my parents and my sister. A candid photo of me at college, young and carefree, laughing with abandon, so oblivious to the path I was taking.

I wasn’t sure why I kept it. It felt a little self-serving, vain perhaps. But it was a good photo. I didn’t have many,and it was a good reminder to myself that Ididuse to smile.

God, that younger version of me had loved life. Full of adventure and a heart big and brave enough to take on the world.

Enough.

Stop it, Rob.

Get out and clear your mind.

Before I could let my thoughts spiral and have a full-blown what-have-I-done panic attack, I grabbed my coat and my keys, locked up my house, and walked outside.

Fresh air—albeit a little too fresh—warm sunshine, and a quick trip to the local store for some essentials was a great idea. The Home Mart itself was not much bigger than a 7-Eleven, but I managed to find some almond milk and some of that grain bread I hadn’t had in years. There was a small but decent supply of locally grown fruit and vegetables, which I had to admit... if it was in my closest farmer’s market back in Seattle, it’d have been five times the price.

The woman behind the counter gave me a bright smile. “Good afternoon,” she declared. “Find everything you were after today?”

At first I thought she was a little too over the top, but the way she paused for my answer to greet an older lady as she walked in with—“Oh, Mabel, I was going to call you. We got the yarn in you were looking for. It’s in aisle two, right alongside the others.”—I quickly realized she was maybe just that cheerful.

She turned her smile back to me and I’d almostforgotten she’d asked me a question. “Oh, yes, I did, thank you.”

“Just passing through?” she asked as she rang me up. “Or...”

“No, not passing through.” I wasn’t sure if anyone just passing through town would buy bread, milk, and a supply of fresh produce, but maybe I was out of practice with the art of small talk. “Just moved here, actually, from Seattle. Got a place on Elmwood Lane.”

Her eyes lit up. “Oh, how wonderful! What’s your name, love?”

Love?

I stopped short on the salutation of doctor. “Rob.”

“Well, Rob, I’m Rosie. Nice to meet you. I hope you’re happy here. It’s a great little town. Carl’s Diner on Main Street has some of the best coffee and cake you could ever want. And a whole range of meals, better than anything you could find in the city. Pizzeria, if you’d prefer. There’s a menswear store, Tania at the hairdressers, oh, and a hardware store if you need anything at all for your house. Go in and see Ren, he’ll fix you right up.”

Carl, Tania, Ren.

Right, then.

“Excellent, thank you,” I said, paying my bill. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

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