Page 6 of A Christmas Mystery

Went to college. Maybe grad school. No idea where???

Only child

White

Knows about my art show senior year. Attended???

Met Chris

Still lives in Green Valley

Not an artist or a poet

Deep, intelligent, emotional, genuine, sensitive

With a sigh, I put down my pen and stare down at the items on the list. The last ones are characteristics I gleaned from our messages, but they don’t really help me with his identity because they’re characteristics that often aren’t immediately obvious in a person.

The other items do narrow down possibilities considerably but not enough. Because Green Valley kids so often stick around after school or move back after college and grad school, there are far too many people I know who fit this list.

He could be dozens of men.

My best guess is he was probably in school with Chris and me. Maybe in one of our years or else only a couple of years before or after us. He seems so familiar with my history, and his experiences in Green Valley very closely match my own.

So maybe I’ll start with that. Tomorrow I can get my hands on some yearbooks and begin writing out names.

Pleased with this resolution, I finish my work online, too distracted to do any scrolling or research tonight. Then I close down my laptop and start my winding-down routine. Yoga. Shower and pajamas. Herbal tea with relaxing music and a snuggle with Claude and Ed. Then I brush, floss, do my skin regimen, and get into bed to read a few more chapters before I go to sleep.

My mind doesn’t want to turn off this evening. At first I think it’s because of the frustration of not being able to identify my pen pal, but the face I keep seeing, the conversations I keep rehearsing, when I close my eyes all belong to Theo Humphrey.

***

THE FOLLOWING DAY,my eyes pop open before seven o’clock. Normally, if I wake up too early, I’ll try to doze for another hour, but this morning my mind leaps into action, so there’s no reason not to get up.

I try to go through my relaxed morning routine of lemon water, walk, meditation, and yoga, but resting my mind simply isn’t happening today. I finally give up, make coffee in my French press, and sit down with my laptop to see what’s going on in the world.

My pen pal has already written back as he promised, telling me a funny story about a coworker who chides anyone who makes unexpected noises like sneezes or laughs and reported him for letting out an exclamation when he stubbed his toe.

I giggle over his description. He sounds more amused than angry about it, although I can imagine getting reported over such a thing would be incredibly annoying.

He goes on to talk about a Christmas when he was a boy. He was getting suspicious of Santa’s existence and so was determined to get proof one way or another. After his parents went to bed, he snuck outside and set up a strategic position on the back steps, bundled up in a blanket and staring at the sky until he finally fell asleep. His mom found him out there in the morning, still sleeping.

I’m touched by the little story, and I immediately send a message back, responding to both the coworker and the past Christmas story and then confessing I never believed in Santa but used to pretend I did so I could fit in with the other kids. I also mention that I’m not much in the Christmas spirit this year, but I’m going to try to conjure a more festive mood, so I’m planning to watch the carolers who have been singing in the town park every day at lunchtime this week.

Part of me hopes he’ll take the hint and show up to confess. If not, it’s still a normal thing I might mention in our daily messages.

I read over my note once before I send it to catch any obvious errors. Then I start working on my posts for the day. One is a very nice photo of the gray winter lake with a reflection on how all the artificial cheer of our commercial Christmases has stolen for us the instinctive solemnity of the season that nature itself guides us toward. The other is a reel of the creative ways I fit all my winter sweaters into my tiny home.

When I finish, it’s not even nine o’clock and I’ve done everything I need to do this morning. My brain still won’t let me rest, so I shower and dress to go hang out with Tee for the morning.

Later, at a few minutes before noon, I’m on the sidewalk downtown on my way to the park. I’ve got three packages to mail for Tee, a thermos of spiced tea she insisted I bring, my sketch pad, and a bag with the sandwich I just bought.

I’m juggling everything relatively well, but I’m not stable enough to withstand the bump and startled jerk when a door opens onto the sidewalk from a popular local coffee shop.

The packages and my sketch pad scatter on the ground. With a combination of luck and effort, I manage to hold on to my thermos and my lunch.

I let out a breathless exclamation, more surprised than upset by the altercation. But then I see a stunned, frowning Theo glaring at me, still holding the door to the coffee shop open.

“Oh. Oh, I’m sorry,” I say reflexively even though it’s quite clear I did nothing wrong.

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