Page 26 of The Bright Side of Christmas
I would know. I was watching.
ELEVEN
I ignored Adam for the next two days after he broke into my house. Even though the bucket of decorations in my dining room stares at me each time I walk past it, I don’t add any to his yard. Each day when I leave, I keep my head down, just in case he steps out for his morning run at the same time. (He doesn’t, something that unfortunately doesn’t go unnoticed by me.)
I also haven’t received any new ransom notes, though when I gather the courage to look, I note that the nutcracker is still in the window.
I’ve also stopped working in my office at night and now do my projects at the kitchen table, though that has absolutelynothingto do with Adam. Of course not. Although my stubborn streak prevents me from adhering to his ten p.m. bedtime, I find myself going to bed by midnight each night.
Again, that has nothing to do with Adam. I’m just…tired.
Though I’m regretting not getting more sleep right now as I teeter precariously on a ladder before I have to head to work, fingers frozen from the cold as I work on hanging Mr. and Mrs. Campbell’s lights. Maybe if I weren’t so exhausted, I would have been smart enough to keep my mouth shut instead of offering to help.
Yesterday, I went around the neighborhood to check in and make sure everyone was doing okay with their holiday lights and decorations. I also dropped off pamphlets about the toy and food drives we were still collecting for, just like my grandmother always did, skipping over Adam, obviously. When I stopped at the Campbells' house on the other side of Adam, Mr. Campbell told me he was getting to it, but he was working late nights, so he hadn’t been able to get to it yet. A silence lapsed, and Ishouldhave just nodded and moved along, but I didn’t.
Instead, I did what I always do: I offered to help, telling him I could probably help him hang the lights before work one of these days. What Imeantwas more along the lines ofmany hands make light work, but he interpreted it to mean I would completely handle the project on my own, hence me hanging up a few hundred feet of lights this morning before I get to work.
I’m reminded why I hang my actual lights up right after Halloween when we inevitably get one strangely warm day. It’s fuckingcoldright now, and the thin layer of ice from the recent rainstorm that froze makes everything slippery and, if I’m being honest, a bit dangerous.
I’m almost done, and the timer I set on my phone for the absolute latest I could leave is counting down with less than ten minutes to go when I hear it.
“What are you doing?” a voice calls, and I don’t miss that it sounds annoyed, as usual.
“Give me a second, Adam, and I’ll give you the attention you’re looking for,” I say, reaching to snap another light clip onto the gutter.
“Excuse me?” he asks, annoyed. If I weren’t concentrating, I’d look over my shoulder to catch his inevitable irritated look.
“One second, Adam, my god,” I grumble, trying to snap a light into the little figure. My fingers are nearly frozen, and I’m having a harder and harder time locking each bulb into place,but I’m almost done with this side. I’ve already resigned myself to the fact that I’ll have to find time to finish the job tomorrow morning. But right now, I have just five or so more lights to install on this ledge. Then I can sit in my car and crank the heat as high as it will feasibly go on the five-minute drive to school, hoping the feeling comes back to my fingers quickly.
“You’re going to freeze out here, Wren. And that entire gutter is covered in ice. Why not just wait for the sun to thaw it?”
I huff at him, but otherwise don’t reply. I hear his feet brushing along the ice-frozen grass, edging nearer, and I groan. As much as I enjoy this back-and-forth between us, I don’t have the energy for it today.
“I have school today,” I say through gritted teeth, the twist ties I’m using to hang the lights between my teeth. “And I’m working late.” Silence fills the space as I snap another holder onto the gutter, my fingers stinging as I do.
“Is it really necessary for you to do it right now? Or for you to do it instead of the actual homeowners?”
I ignore him, of course; he wouldn’t understand. Three more to go.
“Wren, come on. Your fingers are purple.” There’s a new softness to his words that I’m not sure how to respond to, though I decide brushing it off is the best option.
“I’m fine, Adam; go away,” I instruct, eyes not leaving my work, even though I’m secretly wondering what his face looks like when he talks softly like that.
I’m down to one more light, though I’ll have to stretch to get it or climb down and move the ladder over. It’s not the widest stretch I’ve ever had to make, so I decide to go for it. I need to be in my car and on my way in under four minutes. Stretching, I almost get it, but then my hands slip, throwing my center of balance off, and I lose my step.
I shriek as I begin to fall, closing my eyes tight to avoid watching the ground get closer as I fall to my death.
Okay, it’s not so high that I’ll die, but I’m definitely going to get hurt.
When I fall, though, it’s over much faster than I anticipated. My eyes are still squeezed shut when my body stops moving and warmth takes over my side. Is it blood? Am I lying in a puddle of my own blood, and that’s why I don’t feel pain? Maybe I actuallyamdying. Maybe?—
“Jesus Christ, Wren, what the fuck?” a deep voice asks, cutting through my own panic.
That’s when I realize I’m not in a bloody heap on the frozen ground.
I’m in Adam Porter’s arms.
And he’s moving me across the yard.
