Page 56 of Meet Me at Christmas
“He parked in his spot around back.”
Mama’s response surprised her, and she took in a deep breath to ward off the affection for him it caused. When they were growing up, to leave space in the driveway for Mama and Pop, Henry used to pull behind the house and park next to the maple tree. For his eighteenth birthday, her father added gravel to the area just for him.
“How did he know about his spot?” she asked.
Mama brushed her hands on her thighs and gave her a knowing look. “He said he remembered.”
A tingling sensation ran through her. “What, exactly, did he remember?”
Mama shook her head and shrugged helplessly, then dipped a serving spoon into the casserole. The air filled with the hearty scents of butter and potatoes.
“What’s he doing in the attic?”
“He’s seeing if he can fix the broken shingle and seal by crawling through the rafters. With no tether.” Mama’s lips pressed together—her annoyed face.
Stella rolled her eyes. “Henry’s always gone through life as if he’s invincible.”
“Iaminvincible,” he said as he came into the room. He offered her a cautious look of amusement, making her stomach flip. “I laid a tarp over the insulation in the attic, just in case you have any lingering drips. But I fixed the shingles—once I got up there and really checked, there were a couple of them.” He walked over next to the Christmas tree and fiddled with one of the ornaments. “I’d let it all dry for a week or two and then paint over the water stain on the ceiling. You should be good to go.”
“Thank you so much, Henry,” Mama said.
“No problem.”
His cheeks were slightly pink from the cold, making him look entirely too handsome. Stella wanted to put her hands on his face to warm them up. The thought surprised her, and she turned toward the steaming dish on the counter.
“Stay for dinner, Henry,” Mama said, offering him a plate. “I’ll pay you in chicken casserole.”
“Done.” He took the plate from Mama, dished out a helping of casserole, and handed it to Stella before getting another plate out of the cabinet, evidently remembering where they kept the dishes.
The slack in his shoulders and the ease of his movements as if he remembered every day he’d spent at their house, took Stella back to their youth, nearly stopping her in her tracks.
“Hey, Stella, after we eat, want to go over to the Christmas lot? I heard there’s a band playing in the pavilion.”
The invitation felt like a nudge from Pop after walking through town earlier, reminiscing about the bands they’d watched together.
“Sure.” She turned to Mama. “Wanna go with us?”
Mama shook her head. “Oh, no. You two go and enjoy yourselves. I’ve got laundry to do.” She gestured toward the table. “Y’all sit, I’ll get us some sweet tea.”
Henry pulled out a chair for Stella and, as she took her seat, he went to the counter and dished casserole onto a plate, offering it to Mama before getting his own.
Mama took three glasses from the cabinet and began filling them with tea. “So, Henry, what are you and Mary Jo doing for Christmas?”
“I’m not sure,” Henry replied, sitting down next to Stella with a full plate. “We haven’t really talked about it.”
“Well, you’re more than welcome to come here if you get bored. Stella’s invited her new friend, Mr. Ferguson, over, since he’s by himself this holiday.”
Henry gave Stella a curious look. “Mr. Ferguson from the hospital?”
“He’s my new subject,” Stella replied. “He’s such a sweet man, and his wife passed away this year, so I thought I’d be nice and spread some holiday cheer.”
Henry gave her a crooked grin. “That’s thoughtful of you.”
“You know Stella,” Mama said, “Always wanting to help people.”
When Henry didn’t respond, Stella looked over at him, only to find those eyes on her, full of fondness.
In that instant she got a glimpse of what it might have felt like if she’d never left.
