Page 34 of The Healing of Christmas

“Don’t blame the architecture,” Charlie said.

“I won’t.” Charlotte crossed her arms over her chest. When she glanced beyond Charlie at the front of the church, she could half-imagine herself and her ex-husband kissing for the first time as husband and wife. They were like ghosts.

“Can we get out of here?” Charlotte asked.

Charlie and Charlotte walked side-by-side down the aisle and burst back into the glittering sunshine of that frigid December afternoon. As they descended the front steps, Charlotte reached out to take Charlie’s hand. It was warm and huge in her small, chilly one. When he turned to look at her, his eyes told her what she already knew.

There was something between them. Something real. And perhaps Charlotte was too tired to deny it any longer.

All at once, his lips were upon hers. His arms wrapped around her, and he placed his hands on her lower back, swallowing her with his warmth. His kiss was tender, not too long. When it broke, Charlotte bit down on her lower lip. She didn’t want to smile. She didn’t want him to know how much it meant to her.

The snowfall had thickened, and it filled Charlie’s hair. Charlotte didn’t step away from his embrace.

“I couldn’t kiss you in the church,” Charlotte said softly.

“The last time didn’t turn out so well,” Charlie affirmed. “I get it.”

Charlotte laughed, surprised, as ever, with his sense of humor. “I didn’t know rich Manhattanites were so funny.”

“We’re not,” Charlie said. “But I wasn’t always a rich Manhattanite.”

“They let you keep some of your Midwestern sense of humor.”

“In exchange for my soul,” Charlie agreed. “Exactly.”

Charlotte stumbled down one of the church steps. She felt out of her mind. “Thank you for showing me the church.” She said it formally, as though they’d just had a business meeting. She stepped further away from him, forcing herself from their dream.

“Where are you headed?” Charlie asked.

“I have to help Van,” Charlotte lied. She was suddenly overwhelmed with terror.

“Grandmother duties.”

Charlotte walked away from him, leaving him there on the church steps. At the corner, she waved goodbye, and he smiled, his dimples deep, the winter winds whipping through his hair. If only she’d met and married someone like him, she thought now, before completely dismissing the memory. Charlie was just a fling. Yet another confusion in what was turning out to be the strangest Christmas season of all. She couldn’t give her feelings too much power.

ChapterFifteen

Charlie watched Charlotte walk quickly away from the Presbyterian Church. His lips still held the memory of hers, of their soft warmth, and he ached to run after her and draw her into his arms again. Something glimmered in her eyes. Was it fear?

Charlie wasn’t sure what to do with himself. He shoved his hands in his pockets, turned on his heel, and walked through downtown, tugging at his hair, killing time. It was never far from his mind that the accident that had taken both Sarah and Melissa from him had happened approximately ten miles from the downtown of White Plains. Although they’d been buried in Manhattan, he felt closer to them here, as though their spirits echoed through the woods and fields. Even standing in the Presbyterian Church, enthralled with the architecture, he’d known how much Sarah would have appreciated it, too. She was never far from his mind.

Charlie returned to the woods, walking slowly as the light dimmed over the treetops. It had been three years since the accident— three years in this world alone. Charlie recognized how grim he’d become. He’d lost his enthusiasm for everything. He wanted to run away from being himself. That had been the whole point of coming out here. Yet, of course, the guilt got into every emotion, poisoning it. Even now, as he fluttered with feelings for Charlotte Summers, his stomach twisted with it. He couldn’t love anyone but Sarah. He had to uphold her memory above everything for the rest of his days.

It was far worse to think about Melissa. She’d been at the dawn of her life, eyes widening as university approached. There was no telling the good she could have done in the world, the joy she would have brought to her friends, family, and future romantic partners. She would have been a brilliant mother if she’d decided on that. And she would have made Sarah and Charlie proud.

Charlie reached the cabin and stumbled at the doorway. His heartbeat was loud in his ears. Inside, he made another fire and poured himself a glass of whiskey. Perhaps he could go to bed early tonight. Perhaps, in that way, he could escape his swirling thoughts.

His phone rang. It was Baxter. Charlie ignored it, deciding he’d call him back tomorrow. But after three missed calls, Timothy texted Charlie to say:

TIMOTHY: Just pick up the phone, Charlie. Baxter isn’t the kind of guy you yank around.

Charlie rolled his eyes into the back of his head. He felt like a puppet.

“Evening,” Charlie said as he answered the phone.

“There he is!” Baxter called. “My man. What kept you? Are you out in that forest of yours, hunting for bears?”

Charlie laughed falsely and stared into the fire. “What can I help you with, Baxter?”

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