Page 4 of Mistletoe Misses
On my way to the locker rooms, a helpless, ambiguous feeling burrows under my skin. Why am I being punished? It’s not like I’ve done something wrong. Sure, I took someone’s life, but it was either him or a kid. The shooter had a rap sheet a mile long,and he shot at me before aiming the barrel at an innocent child. I had less than three seconds to decide, and I responded like I’ve been trained to do my entire adult life. There had been only one move. Why can’t he see that?
Pushing through the scarred metal doors, I’m like a ticking bomb. My uniform comes off with more force than necessary, and I’m nearly bare, just as raw emotionally, when my buddy Adrian enters to suit up for his shift.
“How long?” he asks, knowing the verdict and how much I loathe Captain’s decision with one look at me. We’ve been friends since the academy and spent three years as partners. You get to know a person after spending years of grueling, late-night shifts together and having each other’s backs in countless life-saving incidents.
I slip into the sweats I had on when I arrived, reach for my shirt, and yank it on. “At least a month.”
“Shit, man.” His fingers comb through his hair as he empathizes. “What will you do?”
“I have no idea.”
He steps closer and places a hand on my shoulder. “Let’s get a beer tonight. Maybe I can help figure something out.”
“Thanks, but—”
“Rusty’s Bar. 8:00. If you don’t show up, I’ll come to your apartment and drag you there myself. And based on our last sparring match, you know I can.”
“Jackass.”
???
It took two depressing days of sitting in my dark apartment, with only dispatch on my police radio and a case of beer for company, to decide I couldn’t continue that pattern for twenty-eight more.On a whim, I pack a duffel bag of essentials, climb into my truck, and head toward Ember Falls.
Home—the one place I swore I’d never go again unless I had a dire, unavoidable reason. Outside of my Nana’s third husband’s funeral four years ago, I haven’t stepped foot in Vermont since high school graduation.
My mom calls often, begging me to visit. Her latest attempts have included some story about Nana’s bookshop in near shutdown status. It would destroy Nana to close that shop. There’s no way she’s let it go so far as to jeopardize its future. It’s just Mom playing to my weakness to get me home.
She can stop trying to bribe me now. Thanks to Captain and my rash decision, her wish will be granted soon enough. It’s not like I haven’t missed my family. Nana is one of my best friends, and my parents are the world’s best. I have five younger siblings I’d die for and a town of people who helped raise me. Even after all these years, it’s just not enough. Pieces of my shattered heart are scattered across that town, and I have no faith this or any visit will put it back together. Yet, here I am, navigating the early evening Boston traffic on my way to give it a try anyway.
I choose the long route to avoid Fenway Park since tonight’s Red Sox game starts in an hour. As if that isn’t enough to shut down roads and back up traffic, playing the New York Yankees certainly is, and I don’t have the patience to handle seeing all the pin-striped paraphernalia of our rivals in my bleed red and blue city.
The pregame show plays on the radio, helping me focus on the road instead of what’s waiting for me beyond the horizon. But not thirty minutes later, the green, snowcapped Vermont mountains of my childhood appear ahead. With the setting sun tucked behind, glowing like a beacon, there’s no ignoring their beauty or what they represent—a past I can no longer ignore.
My path continues toward the little valley town until the heavy snowfall gives me an excuse to delay the inevitable. About an hour outside of Ember Falls, I stop at the first place I find—a bed and breakfast. The simple, two-story, brick colonial home looks innocent enough, and the best part is I’ll be anonymous here in Moyer’s Ridge.
Stepping inside, Christmas music, pine and cinnamon scents, and bright, flashy decorations cover every inch of the main living space and bombard my senses. My body revolts without warning, and I stumble backward.
“Oh, honey, did we frighten ya?” A woman, wearing a reindeer antler headband and a festive, oversized sweater, rushes toward me. On the way, she snatches a plate of cookies off the coffee table while a man hangs more lights over the living room fireplace. “Coming down out there?”
“Yeah.” I brush at the melting snowflakes covering my shoulders and favorite Red Sox baseball cap.
Ignoring the mess I made in her foyer, she holds up the plate, piled high with Christmas-themed sugar cookies. “Would you like one?”
“No, thanks.” Maybe I should backtrack and find a quiet hotel room somewhere else.
“How about a place to rest, then? With the storm brewin’, we don’t have any reservations on the books, so you can have your pick of the lot. Although, that’ll change when Ember Falls’ Christmas Spectacular gets goin’. Is that what you’re in town for?”
How could I have forgotten about the event of the year? It’s been a December tradition since the 1940s. For a two-week span, the town nearly shuts down to experience the long list of Christmas events, organized by the mayor and his special committees.
“Pure coincidence. When does it start this year?”
“On the tenth. Sounds like the mayor’s beefed up the events list this time. Gonna be doozy.”
“Great.” Given my horrific bad luck, I’m unable to match her enthusiasm. “Mind if I get one of those rooms you mentioned?”
“Oh, of course, dearie. Right this way.”
I follow her into the kitchen, stopping in the doorway as she fumbles through a stack of papers on the built-in desk. On the third drawer she opens, searching for God knows what, she lets out a squeal.
