Page 42 of Season of Gifts

Chapter twenty-three

Henry

“Hello!”ThehouseswallowedHenry’s greeting, eerily hollow for a Saturday afternoon.“Hello?”

He absentmindedly shut the door behind him, struck by the empty hooks where Alice and Jay’s coats belonged.“Out for groceries, are you?”

He hung his own winter coat, smoothing the folds more than strictly necessary, and laid his gloves neatly on the shelf above.His sudden chill couldn’t be blamed on the house; it was merely the temperature of his expectations falling.Three hours in the car foolishly envisioning a joyous reunion, the surprise and delight on their faces, the precious time together after a week apart, built up an unreasonable demand.

They would be home soon enough, and he well knew the satisfaction of patience.Leaving his overnight bag at the foot of the stairs, he paused in the living room and lit the tree.Better.An opening gambit to make the house warmer and more welcoming—the home he’d been missing.

His gift calendar sat on the dining room table, the basket more than half empty already.The envelope marked 14 rested on the tablecloth in front, the red wax seal unstuck and propping it up at a lopsided angle.He creased the edge between his fingernails, flattening the flap.The toothy texture of the heavyweight cardstock invigorated his nerve endings, inviting his fingers to seek out a sketchbook.He’d taken none to Mother’s house, done no work in the past week, instructed Elliott to respond to any clients who inquired about the delay.Nothing remained due before Christmas, thankfully; those pieces had been delivered well in advance.

A jaunty coil of scarf and mittens spilling over a line of musical notes formed today’s image.He’d intended to take his spouses out for a festive public singalong before dinner.Where once the mounting losses would have burned, he now registered only a dull ache.He traced the edge of the card.Evens today.Alice would have been the one to reveal the message, to hold it just so.He tipped it back into position.“Next year.”

Many things would be deferred until next year.

In the kitchen, the sink and counters remained well in order.Jay and Alice had been managing—hmm.The refrigerator held multiple takeout containers and no signs of preparation for today’s meal.No fresh fruit, no vegetables in the crisper.The longer he stayed in Maine, the worse their health and habits would become.Jay knew better than to ride without proper nutrition; he burned an excessive number of calories daily.

If only Henry could paint a doppelganger that might step off the canvas and allow him to be in two places simultaneously.

The house stayed stubbornly silent but for the slight creaking of the heating system.He toted his bag upstairs.The playroom stood closed.The bedroom proffered rumpled sheets and achingly familiar scents, Jay’s deep evergreen sweetened with Alice’s honey, both brightened with a touch of citrus.The room at his mother’s house had once been his childhood bedroom, but only this room smelled like home.

One pillow bore two imprints, as clear a sign as any that his spouses were turning to each other for solace.

He collapsed more than sat, the bed obligingly catching him.Surely he’d earned a moment’s indulgence.The long drive had renewed his headache; the pillow promised aromatherapy to cure it.With his eyes closed, he might imagine his loves beside him.Could he but wick the unending energy from Jay, the dispassionate logic from Alice, he would have all he needed to accomplish his aims.What a lovely dream that would be.

Too warm.Henry stretched his legs, hunting for a cool space to press his feet.Why the devil had he worn socks to bed—

Jolting upright, he blinked away the daze.The angle of the light through the windows had shifted.The bedside clock blatantly lied to him.He fumbled for the watch on his wrist, only compounding the horror.

Two hours.

He’d lost every minute he’d so carefully carved out for Alice and Jay.By the time he reached Augusta, Lina would have been at Mother’s side for more than eight hours—far beyond a small favor.She had a daughter, and grandchildren, and Christmas preparations of her own to attend to.

Yanking the bureau open more firmly than necessary, he began refilling his bag with casual, easy-clean shirts.Slacks, underthings, refreshed toiletries, a sketchbook and small travel case of pencils, pens, and inks—he zipped the bag shut.His phone was in his coat pocket downstairs.

If Alice and Jay had tried to contact him—

If Mother’s condition had worsened—

The thud of shoes filtered up from the floor below.

“—positive that’s his car.”The door shut on Alice’s words.

“And his coat.”Jay grew in volume as something clattered on the tile.“He’s here.He’s—Henry?Henry!We’re here, are you here?”

Running footsteps, though not up the stairs.To the kitchen, perhaps.He swung his bag over his shoulder and walked at what one might uncharitably call a dash, though he did not dash in the house.“I am most certainly present, and overjoyed—”

Halfway down the stairs, he nearly crashed into Jay speeding his way up and received an embrace so powerful his ribs ached.Burying his face against Jay’s neck, he inhaled deeply.“I missed you as well, my boy.”

He kissed Jay with what energy he could spare, a pale imitation of his usual vigor.Attempting to surprise his spouses had been a costly mistake.He should have informed them of his intention last night.Such mistakes weren’t like him.And now was not the time to be making them.Compounding them.Why hadn’t he called when he’d found the house empty?

“I’m so glad you’re home.”Jay lifted the bag strap from Henry’s shoulder, yet he felt no lighter.“I can take this upstairs for you while you settle in.”

A slow blink couldn’t delay the inevitable for long.Two hours he could have had.His inadequacies cost him dearly.A full night of sleep would help.But even when Mother slept, he awakened three, four times a night, jarred by some instinct to listen to her breath, to assure himself she remained among the living.

“Downstairs, I’m afraid.”

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