Page 74 of Meet Me at Christmas
Mama’s face lit up and she looked over at Mr. Ferguson. “Oh, yes.”
Stella went outside and opened the car door so Mama could set the basket in the back seat, then she helped Mr. Ferguson into the passenger seat.
“What do you mean, ‘Oh, yes’?” Stella asked her mother.
“Just that Henry always likes to meet there.”
“Yeah, I’d forgotten. We always used to meet him at the tree lot before the parade, didn’t we?”
“It’s been a while...”
Mama got into the car, and Stella climbed in on the other side. Then the three of them headed to meet Henry.
As they drove into town, Stella considered how much had changed between each request to meet her at Christmas. What had begun as a holiday tradition when they were young and she’d had no idea what lay ahead, had picked right back up, even through hard times since she’d been back, when she battled her past. And now, here they were, meeting one more time at Christmas, everything out in the open and Henry almost completely himself again.
After dropping off Mr. Ferguson and parking the car, the walk into town was long with the crowds, but they made it. When they reached the entrance of the lot, Stella turned around to talk to Mama, but they’d somehow gotten separated. She texted her that she was going to meet Henry and would find her near their usual spot, where they used to watch the parade with Pop.
As she neared the lot, the crowd parted and Henry was standing there, smiling at her. He was clean-shaven, dressed up, a scarf hanging loose around his shoulders, and those blue eyes making her weak. She stepped forward to greet him.
“Follow me.” He took her hand, and they walked down a row of trees to a secluded area that had been blocked with cranberry-colored velvet ropes.
“Are we supposed to come back here?” she asked.
“It’s fine.” He led her through the maze of trees while she wondered what in the world he was doing.
When they reached the end of the last aisle, hidden away from the throngs of people and encircled in Christmas trees, her mouth dropped open. Nestled between the spruce trees, was a rectangular table sitting on a dark-green tweed rug. The table was covered in Christmas plaid with a chair on each end, and every surface held glowing candles and China dishes with Christmas trees painted around the edges. Above the table, instead of the bulb lights that hung above the aisle, was a glass chandelier, hanging on a wire. A space heater sat on each side of the table producing so much heat that she felt toasty, despite the frigid temperature.
There was so much to look at that she almost missed the one tree that had been decorated. Sweeping strands of red wooden beads cascaded through the white lights, and every branch was adorned with clear baubles. When she got closer, she could see that each one held a photo of the two of them inside.
“I found a box of our belongings,” he said over her shoulder, sending tingles down her body.
The captured memories—things she’d long forgotten—took her back in time, and one by one, pieced together all the good moments they’d had. Photos of the two of them up in the tree; Henry kissing her cheek as they sat inside his truck; them in their green-and-gold high school caps and gowns, raising their clasped hands in victory. There was even one where he held a water balloon precariously above her while she lay unsuspecting in the sun. As she took in the photos, each one representing a treasured slip of time, she felt at peace with the past and ready to take her first step into the future with Henry.
She reached out to lift one of the baubles into view and tears sprang to her eyes. “This time we went fishing with Pop was one of my favorite days.”
“You caught the biggest fish that day.”
She looked up at him in utter shock. “You remember that one?”
He waved his hand at the decorations. “All the photos on this tree are memories that have come back to me since you got here.”
She turned to face him, taking time to soak in this Henry, this man.
“Have a seat?” He pulled out a chair for her.
Stella complied, the warmth from the heaters allowing her to remove her coat. It gave her a chance to admire the frost-covered trees surrounding them without worrying about the cold. This area, tucked away from the gathering crowds, was like a dream.
A tuxedo-clad waiter appeared from behind one of the trees carrying a tray with a silver domed serving dish. He uncapped it and placed a plate in front of Stella. “Your lunch is buttermilk fried quail on a bed of open-fire grilled asparagus.”
She tried to hide her grin as she looked up at Henry. “I had this once before and loved it. It’s from that fancy restaurant you took me to.”
“For prom.”
She laughed. “Yes.”
“You wore that dark-blue sequined dress, and I couldn’t take my eyes off you.”
The man in the tuxedo placed a second plate in front of Henry and then left them alone once more.
