Christmas memory, p.19
Christmas Memory, page 19
“Remote starts are awesome,” she said as he stomped his feet off.
Bryce chuckled. “I wish I had one. Let’s give it a minute to warm up.”
The snow was still coming down. Memory stood at the window and watched the neighbor’s Christmas lights turn the white flakes to a multitude of colors, reflecting on the conversation she’d had with her dad earlier. Was it fair for her to tell him to acknowledge his feelings when she wasn’t ready to face hers?
“Ready?”
“Yeah.” She’d have to ponder that idea later. Making sure her coat was zipped up all the way, she followed him out the door, securing the lock behind her.
“It looks like it’s let up some,” her dad said, opening the passenger door of his pickup truck for her.
“Not enough,” Memory muttered climbing in and hooking her seatbelt. Bryce pulled out and carefully made his way along the road. Thank goodness it was only a couple of blocks to the square. She hoped Ellie had gotten a ride with Dak so she wouldn’t have to drive in this. It was dark now, save the lights from the street and the houses, the moon and stars obscured by the clouds heavy with snow. Memory had definitely made the right decision not driving in this.
Her dad found a parking spot in one of the lots near the square, and Memory prepared herself to be frozen for the next couple of hours. The snow was still crunchy, not frozen yet, so that was a positive. Falling on her keister in front of Dak wasn’t an appealing thought—yet another reason to avoid the skating party.
He was already at the gazebo when they got there. Memory wasn’t surprised. Punctuality seemed to be his middle name. A few other people from church were huddled together chatting, and Bryce went over to speak to them as Memory approached the attractive man in the black coat with caution. “You remembered your hat.”
“And my earmuffs,” he pointed out. “How are you?”
“Cold.”
“How could you be cold? You’re bundled up.” He grinned at her.
“My nose is cold. I should’ve worn a ski mask.”
“But then I wouldn’t be able to see your beautiful smile.”
Memory rolled her eyes, and they both laughed at the cheesy comment. “No one would be able to tell I wasn’t singing.”
“True. I’d know, though.”
She snickered. “You’d definitely know if I was. So would all of the alley cats.”
“Mem—stop. It can’t be that bad.”
Rather than trying to explain to him just how awful a singer she was, Memory decided to change the subject, noting the warmth that seemed to radiate throughout her body when he called her Mem. “I was hoping Ellie would ride with you.”
“She ended up not being able to come,” he explained. “Kirsten mentioned she needed a sitter for Anson, so Ellie decided to watch him at her house instead.”
“Oh.” Memory wasn’t sure what to think about that. It seemed a little odd that her sister would ask her co-worker to watch her son and not mention it. But then, Ellie didn’t belong to Memory, and she would only be in town a few more days. As would the man in front of her, should he be unable to find a suitable property. “How did your search go today?”
Dak made a face. “Not well. I did check out the inside of the old factory, though. It’s in pretty good shape considering it was built in 1889.”
“Yeah, well it was in full operation for most of those years. It was only a few years ago when Mr. Clark passed away that the family decided not to keep the business going.” She didn’t mean to make a face, but it happened just the same. Dak raised a questioning eyebrow at her. “I just hate it when someone passes away and their family doesn’t seem to care about something they worked so hard for.”
“Maybe Mr. Clark’s descendants have different dreams than he had. Shouldn’t they be able to do whatever they feel compelled to do without having to concentrate on something they might not find fulfilling?”
It was her turn to raise an eyebrow. “Sure—but that business had been in their family for years. Now, the building sits empty. And so many people lost their livelihood because of it.”
“That sounds like a pretty big burden to inherit.”
“They all live in Indianapolis, so they don’t even care.”
“It would’ve been hard to run the business from that far away.”
“They could’ve moved.”
“Maybe they love Indianapolis.”
“Maybe they would love Christmas Falls if they gave it a try.”
“Maybe we should stop talking about this because your face is turning red, and I don’t think it’s a sunburn.”
Memory took a deep breath and shook her head. “I’m sorry—I’m not mad. I just... I don’t know how you can understand. You don’t live here. You didn’t see what happened when all of those people lost their jobs.”
“True. And I also haven’t lost someone I love who left an important building in my care.” He tipped his head to the side and shrugged, implying that he understood her argument wasn’t solely about the factory. Memory’s face felt like it was on fire. She’d let her own emotions get entangled with her conviction about fixing the factory.
She wouldn’t get a chance to say that at the moment though as Kirsten’s family headed over. Lorelei wasn’t as fast in her snowsuit but she still hurled herself at each of them, her hugs a little softer through so many layers. “How are you, Lorelou?” Dak asked her.
“You know that’s not my name, Uncle Dak,” she said, her tone very matter-of-fact. “It’s cold, but I’m ready to sing.”
“Me, too.”
“Not Aunt Memory, though,” Kirsten said with a smirk. “I am shocked you’re here. I figured you’d find a way to bow out.”
Shrugging, Memory said, “Some people just won’t take no for an answer.”
Dak chuckled. “I think I am some people.”
“I think you must be.” Kirsten smiled at him. “By the way, we went over to the shelter today because Lorelei wanted to pet the dogs, and Kim told me what you did. I was shocked! Do you have any idea what she can do with that amount of money?”
Dak shifted uncomfortably. “I was just glad to help.”
“Well, I’d say you did. And there were only two dogs left to pet! Lorelei’s going to have to find a new place to volunteer her services.”
“Or maybe Santa will bring me a puppy for Christmas,” Lorelei chimed in as Maison shouted for them to come over to where he was standing with a group of families. He waved at Memory and Dak, who waved back.
Kirsten sighed. “I guess we should go say hi.” Looking down at her daughter she added, “I don’t think Santa delivers puppies, honey.” As Lorelei attempted to reason that she’d seen it on a movie, Kirsten said, “Anyway, it was pretty cool you did that, Dak. And I can’t blame them for giving you two the trophy under the circumstances. If I have a hundred thousand dollars to donate, maybe I’ll win next year.” She bumped Memory in the arm with the back of her fist for emphasis and then took Lorelei’s hand. “Come on, let’s go see Daddy.”
“See you, Lor,” Memory said, her eyes still bulging out of her head as she processed the number her sister had spewed.
“By Lorelou!” The little girl sung back her name pronounced correctly, and Dak smiled at her retreating form. “She’s so cute.”
“Yeah, and she really likes you.”
“I’m glad someone does.” He squinted at Memory in a way that let her know he was mostly teasing but also unsure of where she stood. “Can we please not talk about the donation?”
“Oh, yeah.” She shrugged and took a step back, like it wasn’t a big deal, like she wasn’t about to ask if that number was accurate. The fact that he hadn’t corrected Kirsten or denied it made her realize it had to be. While it was easy to imagine what Kim could do with that much money, Memory let herself think for a few moments about what it would be like to have it herself. She could fix the roof on her grandma’s house and do all of the other repairs, hire someone to work in the shop with her so she could concentrate on the website, and even afford to send her dad and the rest of the family on a nice trip. Not to mention new tires for her car....
“Are you okay, Mem?”
She realized she was staring at nothing and blinked a few times. “Great—yeah, I’m fine.” She found a reassuring smile, but she could see he wasn’t buying it. Her thoughts from earlier—the ones about high society girls waiting for him in Chicago—flooded her mind, and she suddenly felt very uncomfortable. “You know, Kirsten’s right. I probably shouldn’t be here.”
“What? That’s not what your sister said at all, Memory. You aren’t seriously thinking about reneging on our bet are you?”
“You mean the one that would put me here whether I won or lost?” she reminded him.
“Well, it doesn’t really matter what might’ve happened if we lost—because we didn’t. Come on, let’s go over there with everyone else where it’s warmer.” He wrapped his arm around her and guided her toward the larger group as Pastor Phil and Cindy called for everyone’s attention so they could pray and pass out the songbooks. Dak didn’t keep his arm around her once he’d gotten her to join in with the others, and Memory felt the chill deeper where his touch had been keeping her warm. As much as she wanted to run away, she’d stay, even if that line from “Baby It’s Cold Outside” about catching pneumonia and dying echoed in her head.
Pastor Phil led them in prayer, and Memory closed her eyes, bowing her head and trying to focus on his words instead of the intoxicating scent of Dak’s cologne. With her eyes closed, she could imagine walking with him through a forest, crisp snow crunching under their boots, laughing and holding hands. He smelled like the great outdoors, like freedom and fun, and all of the things she rarely experienced. His arm brushed against hers as the prayer was ending, and Memory found herself taking a cautious step closer, not wanting to lose contact with him, even if her concerns hadn’t been completely quieted.
When they started walking to the neighborhood they’d been assigned by the local church cooperative group, Memory found a songbook in her hand, even though she wouldn’t need it. Not only was she not going to be singing, she knew all of the words to every carol included by heart. She hoped Dak did, too, because she was looking forward to hearing him sing again. He walked alongside her, looking over the lyrics. “Oh, songbook, where were you Saturday night?” he asked, making her giggle. “Verdant—do people still use that word?”
“Only when they’re singing, ‘O, Christmas Tree.’”
“Then I guess that’s a no for you—non-singer.” He leaned in closer to her, to emphasize his teasing, and she narrowed her eyes.
“It’s for your own good.”
“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?”
“Nope.”
They gathered around the front lawn of the first house, one Memory knew belonged to an older couple, and Cindy announced they’d be starting with “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen.” On her signal, the entire group of about fifty began to sing—except for Memory. She stood in the back next to Dak, smiling, not holding the song book over her face as she was tempted to do. When Mr. and Mrs. Relic came out, they were grinning ear to ear, his arms around her shoulders. They applauded at the end of the song and requested “Silent Night.” The choir did not disappoint, and Memory pretended Dak was serenading her, not singing with a group of others to a sweet couple who looked happy, but cold.
When they were done, they all moved on, Lorelei skipping along at the front between her parents, Grandpa Bryce and his friend Sheila right behind. Memory was content to stay in the back, even when the snow blew directly at them with no one else to act as a windbreak. It was too cold to talk much, and they stopped at every house, so there wasn’t much time for it anyway. She was perfectly satisfied to just be with Dak, though, and not speak. At least they couldn’t disagree if they weren’t talking.
Mrs. Peterson had hot cocoa ready for them when they reached her house at the end of the third block, and Memory gulped it down, letting it burn her tongue like her latte and warm her insides. Her cheeks were frozen, but the heat from the drink did little to thaw them. Still, it was much appreciated by everyone, particularly Lorelei, who sang a solo rendition of “Jingle Bells” for the Peterson family to show her thanks.
Once all of the cups were collected, the party crossed the road to head back to the square. “Halfway there,” Dak said, offering his hand to help Memory over the ditch to the street.
She took his hand, careful of her footing as she stepped down. A layer of ice was developing on the slick surfaces, and visions of herself wiping out lingered. “Thanks.”
He smiled, and once she was safely across the street with everyone else, he pulled his hand away from her and tucked it back into his pocket. Memory drew in a sharp breath, much more audible than she would’ve intended. He turned and looked at her, a questioning expression on his face. Memory cleared her throat and looked away, not willing to admit she’d hoped he wouldn’t let go of her hand so quickly.
They caroled on, winding their way back up the road, the wind hitting them directly in the face now. Lorelei had gone from overly cheerful and full of energy from the cocoa to overly tired and cranky. Even from the back, Memory could hear her begging her dad to carry her, which he refused to do. Other children were slogging along, also complaining or so frozen they didn’t have the will to care anymore. By the time they reached the last house, even the most optimistic of the group, such as Cindy and Pastor Phil, looked relieved to be nearly done, thoughts of warming their feet by the fire dancing in their eyes.
“Let’s sing, ‘O, Christmas Tree,’” Cindy said, forcing a smile. “This will be our last song.”
“You singing?” Dak asked, close to her ear.
“No.”
“Come on, Mem. Last chance.”
“I... can’t.”
“You can. You choose not to.”
The others had already started singing, but Memory held his gaze for a second, a challenge in his brown eyes she couldn’t ignore. She glared at him, shaking her head slightly. Something told her he would have to discover she was right for himself. With a deep breath, she opened her mouth, joining in on the chorus. What came out sounded like a crackling old record to her, a sick frog after ingesting too much mud from the bottom of the pond, an alley cat stuck in a garbage can filled with spoiled tuna. She kept her voice down so no one else could hear and waited for him to tell her to stop.
He didn’t though. Instead, he grinned at her, his eyes sparkling through the falling snow, and sang along with her, mumbling through the words he still didn’t know so that he didn’t have to pull his eyes away to look at the songbook. The cold, the wind, even the snow, seemed to fade away, along with the crowd and the house in front of them, and for a moment, Memory felt like they were all alone, just the two of them, someplace warm, singing only to each other.
The song ended, the family on the porch clapped and thanked them, and Cindy started collecting songbooks as people headed to their cars. Memory looked away from Dak first, reality crashing back in on her with the commotion of everyone talking and moving around them.
“I should find my dad.”
“That wasn’t terrible at all, Memory.”
Her face morphed into something out of a horror film. “Excuse me?”
“Your singing. It wasn’t terrible. You had me thinking you were going to sound like... my dad’s brother Frank when he’s had too much to drink. You’re not a bad singer.”
“I’m a horrible singer, Dak. Maybe your earmuffs are on too tight.”
He chuckled at her. “No—you just seem to think you have to be great at something for it to be worth doing. That’s not always the case, you know. Sometimes, you can do things just because they’re fun, even if you’re not the best at them.”
“I think you have me confused with my sister. I’m not the one who always wants to be the best.”
He shrugged. “Maybe not always—I’m just saying, it’s okay to be vulnerable, to take a chance. That’s all.”
She studied him for a moment, noticing out of the corner of her eye that almost everyone had moved on, heading for their cars as quickly as they could through the snow, and she didn’t see her dad. “Are you all about taking chances?” she asked, wondering if he was a practitioner of what he preached.
“I’m here, aren’t I?”
Memory’s forehead crinkled as she pondered what he meant. “Oh, you mean in Christmas Falls? Taking a chance on our town?”
One corner of his mouth pulled up into a grin. Dak leaned closer to her, so close she could feel his minty, warm breath on her cheek. “No, I meant I’m here with you—aren’t I?”
She swallowed hard, trying not to stare at his lips while hers quivered slightly. He was taking a chance on her. Because he didn’t know how she felt about him. Because she’d been doing her best to fight it, to hide it—even from herself.
“Memory! Are you coming? Or are you riding with Dak?” Bryce shouted from down the block.
“I... uh... have to go.” Her voice was a whisper. If he hadn’t been standing so close, he might not have heard her.
But he did. He heard what she wasn’t saying, too—that she’d be riding with her dad.
“Okay.” He leaned back, but his eyes stayed on her face as her teeth clamped down on her bottom lip. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Okay.” She drew in a deep breath, willing her feet to move. They didn’t seem to want to go any more than her heart did, but her head was shouting that she needed to run away. “Bye.”
“Goodbye, Memory.”
She gave him a small smile and then rushed off to catch up with her dad who’d stopped on the sidewalk on the other side of the square. Her feet slid slightly as she crossed the street, and Memory prayed she wouldn’t fall because she could feel Dak’s eyes on her back. Once she reached her dad, she latched onto his arm for balance.
