Page 76 of One Foggy Christmas
The performers hit the last note of “Deck the Halls,” and the crowd claps and cheers.
“These actors are amazing!” Nash gawks. “I really feel like I’m in the Victorian Era.”
Instead of searching for Stetson, I should be soaking up my stranger-husband’s pure enjoyment. It is cute watching him. There’s a simple happiness about Nash that I admire, especially right now when dark clouds seem to constantly hover over me, choking out the sunlight.
“There’s Scrooge.” He points to the other side of the gazebo. “Come on, let’s go talk to him.”
He grabs my hand, pulling me through the crowd of people. I glance down at our joined fingers. Shouldn’t there be a spark of something? A flicker of butterflies? A feeling that tells me this is right? Because I just don’t feel it.
“Scrooge!” Nash drops his hand from mine, extending it to the actor. “Merry Christmas.”
“Bah humbug!” Scrooge huffs, pushing Nash’s hand away as he rushes past us.
“Where are you going?” he asks the old miser.
“Bob Cratchit! I’ll skin him and turn him into a jacket when I find him. A Cratchit jacket!”
Another happy smile from Nash as he points to the actor. “I love this guy!” His eyes go wide, and he abandons Scrooge, distracted by something else more exciting. “Is that a horse-drawn carriage ride?”
I follow his gaze. “Yeah, you have to pay for it, though.”
“We were going to do that in Switzerland.”
“We were?”
If I hadn’t gotten in the accident, I’d be celebrating Christmas in Switzerland right now. That information slipped my mind this past week with everything else going on.
“We were going to doeverythingin Switzerland. It was the trip of a lifetime.”
“I’m sorry you had to cancel it because of me.”
“Don’t be sorry.”
He steps closer, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. The tips of his fingers graze the side of my face and ear, sending a shudder of anxiety down my spine. My muscles tense at his touch, and I hold my breath, waiting for the sensation to end.
“I know we’ll go again.”
Nash’s optimism fills my chest with more anxiety. My memory may never come back, and if it doesn’t, I can’t see myself traveling the world with him.
“But until we get to Switzerland, we have the horse-drawn carriage in Skaneateles.” His arm swings out to me in a dramatic gesture. “Come for a ride with me.”
It’s not really a question.
And I don’t want to seem like I’m not trying to be happy or that I’m not grateful I’m alive and walking around, because I am. But no amount of gratitude can fill the void inside me. It’s not just my mind that’s hollow. It’s my heart too—clinging onto a life from three and a half years ago that doesn’t exist anymore.
“Okay,” I give in, lightly placing my hand in his.
Nash leads me to the horses and makes all the arrangements with the driver.
“He offered me a blanket to keep you warm, but I told him it wasn’t necessary.” He winks. “I’ll keep you warm with my body heat.”
I don’t know if it’s panic or disgust on my face, but whatever it is, it makes Nash laugh.
“Relax! I’m kidding. There are blankets under the bench seat.”
I climb into the carriage, scooting over to the side as much as possible without making it look like I’m trying to avoid sitting by him. He spreads one of the blankets over me and then sits down. I try not to be annoyed by how close he is to me compared to the rest of the open bench seat.
The horses begin their steps, jolting the carriage forward. The clap of hooves on the pavement has a calming rhythm. I shift in my seat, trying to relax and lean into the beats.
