Page 32 of Meet Me at Christmas
Stella set her menu on the table and slid it toward the waitress. “I’ll have a regular burger and whatever beer he’s having.”
After the waitress left them alone once more, he asked, “How do you know what I eat? Did you stalk me at mealtimes?”
She laughed, glad his sense of humor remained, but then a wave of anxiety slithered down her neck as she considered how to answer that question.
“We were really close once,” she said.
“How close?”
Unsure how much to tell him or the right thing to do for Ms. Weixel’s approach to therapy, she tried to answer truthfully, but without actually divulging very much.
“We were…a thingat one time.”
That glimmer of curiosity she’d seen in his eyes returned, and the corners of his mouth curved slightly upward. “I could see that.”
His response shocked her, sending a sensation of exhilaration through her, despite her indecision about her feelings. “You could? How?”
“I feel close to you somehow. You don’t exhaust me.”
Before she could respond, the waitress brought their beers.
“So you live with your mother?” he asked after the woman left again.
“Oh, no. I’m just visiting.” Stella told him about her father, her sister, and how she’d returned to help her mom. “I hadn’t realized until Mama called how important it was to come back and be together for Christmas as a family, but now it’s fractured.” She took in his blue eyes, the idea of her broken family so much bigger than he knew.
For the first time, the hardened wall he’d built up slid all the way down. Her story seemed to have impacted him.
“I feel like I don’t have much of a family either.” He frowned, scooting the salt and pepper shakers tighter together.
Yes, she knew.
“My mother and father have both passed on, and I live on the grounds with my sister, but I don’t remember the last fourteen or so years with her.” He rolled his head on his shoulders slightly, giving away the tension the situation caused him. “It’s taxing to spend every moment with the same person and have no clue about who they’ve become. Sometimes I see sadness in Mary Jo’s eyes, and I feel responsible somehow for not remembering.”
“It’s definitely not your fault.”
“That’s why I agreed to go to therapy, even though it’s a waste of time.”
Without thinking, Stella leaned across the table and took his hand. “Give it a chance.”
He peered down at their fingers.
She pulled her hand back, angry with herself for the impulsive gesture. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have been so forward.”
“It’s okay. I didn’t mind. It just startled me, that’s all.” A glimmer of the old Henry peeked through. He shook his head. “You knew me well, yes?”
“Yes.”
“Then maybe you can answer this for me.” He leaned toward her on his forearms. “I don’t understand why I chose to join the military. I keep hoping that I have some deep-rooted history of courage, but I can’t find any evidence of it. And while I love my country, I don’t think I have the temperament for battle. Yet, apparently, I was involved in combat. Doyouknow why I enlisted?”
She swallowed against her dry mouth and grabbed her beer, taking a heady drink. “I, uh… I wasn’t around when you enlisted.”
“It makes me feel like I don’t really know who I am.”
The waitress cut between them once again with two overflowing plates of food. “Here ya go,” she said. And the moment with Henry flew away as if the woman had brought a gust of wind with her.
“Thank you,” Henry said, his expression thoughtful.
She wanted to make everything better, to ease the pain she’d inflicted, the pain that was now worse because of her. Then an idea came to her.
