Page 22 of Midnight Clear

Maybe her mother had been right. Maybe it was time for her to see what her dreams really were. But the reality was, her chances of doing it in Laurel Valley without the bookstore were slim. She could try to find a job at one of the resorts. At least her house was paid for. Maybe she should sell it? Then what? Where would she go? What would she do?

The truth was she couldn’t see herself doing anything other than what she was doing. Of course she had dreams. But they were all for expanding the bookstore. A coffee shop and a children’s section where she could have story hour, and a large room where book clubs could meet. Even a small kitchen area where a cookbook club could meet and try out recipes. Those were the things she dreamed of at night and that kept her motivated to keep patching things together.

She sighed as she looked around the bookstore. This was definitely not the Christmas she was hoping for. But if she was anything, she was practical.

“I’m heading out for the night,” Cori said, already wrapped up in her coat and scarf. “I’ve got a date.”

“It’s almost nine o’clock,” Sophie said.

“He works up at the resort, so he’s on late tonight too,” she said. “We’re going to see a movie. I’m hoping I can stay awake. We were swamped today.”

“Three days until Christmas,” Sophie said.

“And we’ll be the busiest on Christmas Eve,” Cori said. “Why so many people like to wait until the last minute boggles the mind. Anyway, you good here?”

“I’m good,” Sophie said. “Have fun on your date. Be careful.”

“I’ve got my Mace and my own car,” she said. “I’m all set. See you tomorrow.”

Sophie was slower to gather her own things, methodically walking through each room of the bookstore and turning off the lights. She remembered her mother and grandmother shelving books and talking about the latest bestsellers. Even when her grandmother had gotten sick with cancer she’d still sat behind the register and checked out customers. Sophie had been six when she’d died.

The snow had been relentless over the past few days, so she zipped herself into her down coat with the fur-lined hood. It was black and skimmed to mid-thigh and it was warm enough for her to walk the two blocks home in the snow and wind. She pulled her red beanie cap down over her ears and remembered to get her gloves off her desk. She slipped them on and then turned off the light to her office, jumping as the light switch sent out a spark to her fingers.

Maybe that was a sign.

Now all she needed to do was talk to Hank.

There was a resoluteness in the set of her shoulders as she locked the door behind her. She thought of Cori and the other staff. They were all smart and good workers. They’d find other jobs. But they’d been hers. Just like the bookstore had been hers. The whole situation made her feel like a failure.

She checked the door once more after she locked it and turned around only to see Hank walking up the sidewalk toward her.

“I was hoping I’d make it here before you left for the night,” he said, taking her hand and pulling her close for a hug. “I got stuck in a meeting.”

“You didn’t have to come all this way,” she told him. “I know you’ve been working over at the new resort. I was just about to head home.”

“I had to pick up a couple of things in town,” he said. “I just walked over and hoped I’d persuade you to take a walk and grab some cider. They closed the rink because the snow is too heavy, but the cider stand is still open and they’re still blasting Christmas music through the streets. What do you say?”

She sighed, feeling the heaviness of the day around her shoulders, but there was no reason to delay the inevitable. As much as she wanted to put it off, they needed to talk about the hard things. So she put her arm through his and they started the walk down the hill to downtown Laurel Valley, where several of the stores and restaurants were still open, and people milled around, laughing and oohing and ahhing over their finds. “Winter Wonderland” played over the speakers, and she could hear people singing along.

“I love this time of year,” she said quietly, watching the scene unfold around her. “It’s like the snow globe you gave me, but it’s come to life. But I’ve always felt like the person looking through the glass, watching everyone else on the inside.”

Hank didn’t say anything, but he squeezed the hand that was in the crook of his arm.

“There’s something special about these days leading up to Christmas,” she said. “There’s an anticipation. A cheerfulness. A joy. I don’t know how to explain it. And then as soon as Christmas Day ends…”

“The magic is gone,” he said.

She nodded and said, “I wonder why that is.”

“Why do you love Christmas so much?” he asked. “What is it about the season?”

“It’s normal,” she said automatically. “You watch old movies or read books and there’s this fantasy of the all-American family, loving each other, buying gifts, working out conflicts, and then coming together to celebrate something that’s bigger than all of us. There’s a hope in that, I guess. And I’ve always held out for that hope. It was the only time of year when I was growing up where I could pretend we were a normal family.”

“Silver Bells” started playing through the speakers and she watched as fat flakes danced around the streetlights.

“My dad would stop drinking the week before Christmas like clockwork every year,” she said. “I don’t know why. Mom never told me. But I looked forward to that one week every year. His clothes would be neat and clean and he’d keep his face shaved. He’d be at dinner every night and then we’d all come down here as a family and listen to the carolers or we’d take our sleds up to Marmot Hill.

“When my grandmother was alive we’d go to her house for Christmas Eve and we’d all go to church. Junie and I would dress up and then we’d all go to Grandma’s for dinner and we’d have a feast. I know now that most of that food was donated. The pastor would come by and give Grandma a ham every year. But to me and Junie it was a feast. And then on Christmas morning we’d wake up early, before the sun came up, to see what was under the tree. It was never much. Mostly practical things like socks and hand-me-down clothes. But we almost always got one toy each.

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