Page 54 of Christmas Charms
We climb out of the SUV and I follow Aidan around to the trunk. It’s not until he opens it and removes the first box that I realize what, exactly, we’re delivering.
Teddy bears.
There must be dozens of them—boxes and boxes full of plush brown bears. I inhale a ragged breath, and my own six-year-old voice echoes in my consciousness.
And there should be cuddly teddy bears…
“Hey, is everything all right?” Aidan says, eyeing me with concern, with his arms full of bears. “Where’d you go just now?”
Jingle, jingle.
The bracelet chimes its familiar tune, but this time it doesn’t feel magical at all. What have I been doing? Why have I been making snowmen left and right, trying to force my way to the happy ending charm when getting to the end of the bracelet will mean an end to the Christmas of my dreams? There are only a few charms left, and I think I’m just beginning to realize the implications of what will happen when they eventually run out.
Everything comes to an end eventually. My days in Owl Lake are numbered, and each chime of the bracelet is like a countdown, reminding me this is all little more than a dream. Real life awaits.
“Everything is fine,” I say. “I’m right here.”
For now.
The inside of the church smells like a combination of incense, flowers and lemony furniture polish. I take a deep inhale, letting the comforting scents soothe my fragile emotional state. It’s so serene here, so quiet. Nothing at all like the massive St. Patrick’s Cathedral on 5thAvenue in Manhattan. I like to drop by there on my lunch hour sometimes to say a prayer or light a candle. It makes me feel closer to God, but not like this. The cathedral may be grand and beautiful, but it’s harder to sense God’s presence in a massive cathedral packed with tourists than in a quiet country chapel with only a dozen or so rows of pews.
Or maybe that’s just me. Maybe I’m more aware of a presence larger than myself here in the Adirondacks, nestled among snow-swept mountains and forests so thick they seem to go on forever.
I glance up at the stained glass windows, where snowflakes pitter-patter against the colorful glass, casting kaleidoscope shadows on the chapel walls in watercolor shades of blues, pinks and violets. Aidan shifts the box of teddy bears in his arms, and when I glance over at him, I’m struck once again by the startling blue of his eyes, as breathtakingly beautiful as stained glass, hidden deep within the evergreens.
“Aidan, good to see you,” someone says from the back of the chapel, and when I turn around, I can’t help but laugh.
The man who has just entered from the side door off the main chapel—Pastor Mike, I presume—is dressed in an odd combination of Christmas attire. He’s got a clerical collar around the neck of his simple black shirt, but on top of his regular clergy uniform, he’s wearing an oversized felt Santa suit. Plus, there’s a pair of black leather ice skates slung over his shoulder, dangling by the laces. It’s as if he took every item of clothing in a Victorian Christmas village and piled them all on at once. I do a double take and then let out a giggle. I can’t quite help it.
“I know,” he says, gesturing toward his outfit. “It’s a lot of look, isn’t it?”
“That it is, my friend,” Aidan says.
He deposits his box of bears onto a nearby pew and shakes Pastor Mike’s hand in greeting, but Mike pulls him into a man-hug that Aidan doesn’t seem quite prepared for. Still, there’s clearly a warmth between them. I’m happy that Aidan has friends and people in his life who care about him, but it’s also strange to think about everything he’s experienced since I left. Especially now that the feelings swirling between us are starting to feel all too familiar.
“Mike, this is Ashley.” Aidan takes the box from my arms and piles it on top of his while Pastor Mike and I exchange pleasantries.
“Ah, Ashley.” Mike’s gaze flits between Aidan and me, and the corner of his mouth twitches into a half grin. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
This comment pleases me far more than it should. Doubly so when I glance at Aidan and notice that the tips of his ears are almost as red as Pastor Mike’s Santa suit.
“What’s with the skates?” Aidan asks, arching a brow as he takes in the entirety of Mike’s outfit. “Not to mention the rest of it. I’ve never seen you in a felt beard before.”
“It suits me, don’t you think?” Mike says, stroking a hand down the ridiculous oval of felt strapped to his chin with clearly visible elastic. It’s the worst fake beard I’ve ever set eyes on. By far.
“Absolutely,” Aidan deadpans. “You should wear it to your next Sunday sermon.”
“I will, so long as you wear yours the next time you save a kitten in a tree.” Pastor Mike waggles his eyebrows. A challenge.
Aidan’s eyes narrow. “Mine?”
“Yes, yours. You and Ashley are here just in time for North Pole’s first annual Santa Skate. I’ve got a pair of Santa suits set aside for you two, if you’re up for it,” Mike says.
I glance at Aidan, but he seems just as clueless as I am.
He cocks his head. “Dare I ask what a Santa Skate is, exactly?”
“One frozen pond and dozens of townspeople dressed as Santa, all skating in circles to Christmas music under a perfect, starlit sky for a few magical hours.” Mike shrugs. “Sounds like fun, right?”
