Page 40 of The Christmas Letters
I nod and lead the way across the parking lot, a little dumbstruck that fifteen minutes ago, I didn’t even know Tess would be here, and now we’ll be alone together in my truck.
At least I cleaned it out earlier this week.
I unlock the doors as we approach, and the taillights blink in response.
“Thanks for this,” Tess says as she climbs into the passenger side. “I tried to think of everything, but Mrs. Greenly was supposed to drop off the wrapping paper and gift bags earlier today, and her daughter Trish was supposed to bring the pizza. I had no reason to assume they wouldn’t be here. I didn’t think of a contingency plan.”
“It’s no problem,” I say. “I’m happy to help.”
Inside the truck, Tess tugs on her seatbelt. “Um, is this supposed to happen?” The belt is somehow locked, only pulling a few inches away from the side of the truck.
“It gets caught sometimes. You just have to pull it toward the window a little.” I lean over, reaching across her to adjust the seat belt. My hand brushes against hers, and she lets out a little gasp that makes my heart rate immediately spike. Her scent wraps around me, and I just…stay there, breathing her in, my eyes locked on hers.
“Thanks,” she finally says, her voice breathy and light.
What am I doing?
I jolt and lean away from her, settling into my seat as I clear my throat. “Sure—it—right—sorry.”
Tess chuckles. “Was that supposed to be a sentence?”
Heat creeps up my cheeks, and I rub a hand down my face as if that could possibly conceal the impact she’s having on me.
“So where are we headed?” I say, a little too loudly.
Tess smirks like she recognizes my avoidance for exactly what it is, but she doesn’t tease me anymore.“The Greenlys live just over the bridge in Mount Pleasant. It shouldn’t take us long to get there.”
I nod and make a right turn toward the downtown bridge. Somehow, I have to find my equilibrium. Get to a point where I’mnottripping over my own words. I clear my throat one more time. “So how have you been?”
“Great. Busy with the toy drive, which is why you haven’t seen me at the hospital.”
“Yeah, I’ve noticed the other volunteers a few times, but I haven’t seen you. How did you get involved in the toy drive?”
“Actually, it was my idea,” she says with a sheepish shrug. “This is the first year the Southern Society has ever had one.”
“Yeah? That feels like a big deal,” I say, impressed that she isn’t just volunteering, she’s running the whole show. Yet more evidence that I wasn’t fair in my initial judgments of Tess.
“So the Southern Society does this thing where we answer letters that kids write to Santa every year,” she says. “I guess it’s the job that no one really wants because it’s just copying the same letter over and over again so they all feel authentic and handwritten, which is just as boring as it sounds. But I’m new to the society, so the Santa letters project was given to me.”
My hands tighten on the steering wheel as Tess continues to talk.
Is she saying what I think she’s saying?
She can’t be…because that would mean…butno.
“So I started responding to all these letters—letters asking for puppies and Barbie dream houses and Xboxes and all kinds of things. It felt wrong to respond with rote answers and empty platitudes when I actually have no idea what these kids’ parents’ are going to be able to provide. For some families, an Xbox isn’t ever going to be in the budget, you know? So that question turned into a toy drive where we’re providing the actual gifts kids ask for in their letters, big or small.”
The details of Tess’s toy drive barely register in my brain because I can’t stop thinking aboutTessanswering Santa letters.
Is there more than one organization in Charleston that answers Santa letters? Is it the same organization now that it was sixteen years ago? I don’t have any memory ofwhereI sent the letter I wrote, but Gran’s connection to Shelby at the Southern Society makes me think it’s likely my letter wound up there.
Does that mean Tess found it?
Does that meanTessis my Christmas pen pal?
The thought sends a burst of excitement racing through me, making my hands tremble. I’ve only known it’s a possibility for a matter of seconds, but apparently, that’s all my brain needs to lock in on the idea and wish for it with all I’ve got.
I really want it to be Tess.
