Page 59 of Meet Me at Christmas
After Mama left her alone in the kitchen, Stella opened her laptop and pulled up her notes. She stared at the page from Henry’s therapy, trying to find the perfect intro to tie it into Mr. Ferguson’s. She opened a blank document and began typing:Memory loss comes in many different shapes and sizes…
Just then, the faint sound of her phone ringing in her bedroom filtered into the kitchen. She loped down the hallway to get it. When she reached her room, she scooped it up and saw her sister’s name.
“Hello? Lily?”
When there was no response, she checked the screen. She’d missed the call. She must have answered it just as her sister hung up. She quickly dialed back but got a message saying the call couldn’t be completed. Her shoulders slumped and she dropped onto her bed. Mama needed family around her and, while Stella was doing the best she could at keeping her spirits high, she needed the whole family together. She couldn’t help but wonder again if her absence had set the tone for the family and, looking up to her, Lily had followed her lead. Considering the last year, she’d squandered the time, and now she could never get it back.
Christmas wasn’t going to be the same without Pop and Lily, and she wasn’t quite sure how to get through it.Andwith Mr. Ferguson possibly coming, would they all be clouded in grief for their loved ones? Her mind full, she struggled to get back into research mode. She sat on her childhood bed, trying to keep her attention on the task at hand.
“Step away for a while.”
When Stella had been studying for her final history exam in high school, she’d broken down in tears with Pop, concerned there were too many dates to remember. He’d taken her over to her pottery wheel and lumped one of her clay balls onto it.
“Step away for a while and do something you love. The joy will release your stress and all those dates will have room to filter in.”
The buzz of the doorbell pulled her attention from the memory. She peeked out the window to find Henry’s truck in the driveway. She got up and went to answer the front door.
“Hey. I know it’s Saturday, but I thought we could have a therapy session.” The corner of his mouth twitched upward in that charming way of his. He stepped inside and shut the door. “Have you eaten? We could go out for breakfast.”
Stella had to hone in on the depth of her inhale to keep the flutters at bay. With every day that passed, he felt more and more like Henry.
“I haven’t, actually,” she replied, unable to turn him down. “I could do with stepping away from writing for a little while too.”
Henry grabbed her coat from the hook near the door and held it out so she could slip her arms into it. “Are you having a hard time?”
“I think I have an angle. And I have one piece of research. I just hope there’s more out there.”
“Maybe we can talk about it over a plate of eggs and bacon.” He opened the door, his truck still running in the driveway.
Stella locked up and got in, the old vinyl seat warm from the heater. They drove down the road to Smokey’s. Once inside, they took a seat at one of the tables by the window. The owner, John Purdy, also known as Smokey, brought over a couple of laminated menus. He eyed the two of them, clearly interested in the fact that the town lovebirds were back together after their decade-plus hiatus.
Stella greeted him. “Hey, Smokey.”
“Nice to have y’all back. I didn’t think I’d ever see you ’round here again,” he said to Stella.
“Why’s that?” Henry asked.
“Miss Stella left outta here in a hurry, and you weren’t far behind.”
An older man wearing a tattered John Deere cap and bibbed overalls called over from the bar. Stella recognized Mr. MacAvoy, the owner of a strawberry farm down the road. He’d always let Stella and Lily run through the fields and eat their weight in fresh strawberries, right off the runners. His wrinkled cheeks lifted into a smile, and he gave her a little wave.
She waved back, warmed that he’d remembered her.
“Special’s shrimp ’n grits,” Smokey said before heading back to pour coffee for the old man and his friend.
Stella scanned the choices, but she was wondering what she was doing there with Henry. He was confusing her. She needed to get her work done—work she’d left all those years ago to do, work she’d poured herself into and, until now, absolutely enjoyed. Henry wasn’t making this easy. How was she ever going to win the President’s Award when she had no article written? All she had to do was write one more incredible article to set her apart from the other candidate being considered. But it was easier said than done with everything going on in her personal life.
“He-ey,” Henry said, waving in her peripheral vision. “You’re a hundred miles away. You okay?”
“Yeah,” she replied, attempting to shake off her contemplations.
He squinted at her. “What were you thinking about? Was it what Smokey said about leaving?”
“No, just work.”
He stared at her.
She sighed. “I’m up for an award, and if I get it, it comes with a big promotion. But I have to knock it out of the park with this article to win it.”
