Fate, Snow & Mistletoe: A Sex and Lies Holiday Novella

by Kris Calvert

  “Sure.”

  “Have a seat,” he said, placing his hand in the small of my back to escort me to the couch. “I’ll be right back. I do believe Santa Claus has been here.”

  I raised an eyebrow in his direction. “If he showed up last night, he probably heard us and decided a couple of sinners like us didn’t deserve presents.”

  “Mimi,” he droned, walking to the kitchen.

  Leaning back into the couch, I crossed my legs and straightened the seams on the back of my stockings. I’d gotten dressed quickly and hadn’t paid much attention to them.

  Cecil was back quickly with my coffee and a smile. “Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?” he asked, placing the hot mug of coffee on the end table.

  I shook my head. “I’m not beautiful.”

  “Yes,” he said, dropping to his knees to slip off my high heel and caress the stockinged calf muscle I’d just left. “Yes, you are.” Continuing up my leg, he ran his hands along the outside of my dress to my waist, where he gave me a squeeze, leaning his forehead into mine.

  I watched him close his eyes and take a deep breath.

  I whispered his name. “Cecil?”

  “Yes.”

  “Now what?”

  Blindly taking my face in his hands, he began to kiss me. Softly at first and then I felt it. That deep-seated awareness of simply being that coincided with the intoxicating sweetness of his mouth. “What do you mean?” he asked between each brush of his lips against mine.

  “I can’t think when you do that,” I mumbled.

  “Good. I don’t want you to think. I want you to feel.”

  “Wait,” I said, taking his hands in mine, pulling them from my face. “You said you wanted to—you know—talk.”

  “First,” he said. “I want to dance.”

  “Dance?”

  He nodded, but didn’t say a word as he walked to the radio and turned it up. I recognized the voice on the airwaves. It was Bing Crosby introducing a new Christmas song. “They settled among the orange blossoms and they dreamt about the happy days back in their Connecticut home, up above Hartford just a little below zero. To this very day they appreciate the red Pacific sunsets and the blue Burbank skies. But most of all they miss a white Christmas.”

  Bing Crosby crooned about longing for snow on Christmas Day and Cecil pulled me into his arms, swaying to the music.

  “You’re crazy. You know that?” I asked.

  “With all my heart.”

  He twirled me around the open room, always bringing me back to his tight embrace. When the song ended, I was sad. Mostly because of Bing’s words.

  “Just have a word here before we close the old hall,” he began, his voice distant and tinny. “You know the best Christmas presents money can buy are still those ever lovin’ war bonds. When you give a war bond you’re giving yourself a stake in the future of free men everywhere. When you buy a war bond you’re giving the men on every fighting front the gift they want most—the assurance the folks back home know the toughest battles are still to be won. Your war bond is actually just a loan and the sacrifices our boys make are offered as a gift, because they’re fighting for a day when Christmas can once again dawn in a world of peace. Let’s let them know we’re behind them with everything we’ve got.”

  I’d stopped and listened to every word Bing said and it cut to the heart of me. Standing in front of me was one of the boys who was about to sacrifice everything for his country.

  He gave me a quick peck on the lips, leaving me to retrieve a small white box with a red ribbon from under the Christmas tree.

  With a smile, he handed it to me. “Merry Christmas, Mimi.”

  “But,” I looked to him in shock. “I didn’t—my parents always do the present thing.”

  “They do,” he agreed. “And I’ve many a dandy cardigan to prove it.”

  I handed the small box back to him “Cecil, I can’t.”

  “Of course you can. Are you going to deny a man leaving for the ravages of war the pleasure of giving you a Christmas gift in the very spirit of our Lord and Savior? Even Bing Crosby wants you to be nice to me today.”

  I cocked my head and gave him a smirk. “Laying it on a little thick, don’t you think?”

  “Just open the damn box, Mimi. For me.”

  I slipped the ribbon from the knot and watched the satin fall from the edge. There was no wrapping paper and I hesitated before lifting the lid. Cecil grabbed my hands, giving them a squeeze. “Just open it, for the love of all that’s holy. Woman, you are making me crazy. You know that?”

  I walked away the box still in my trembling hands. “I don’t want to open it.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me. Thank you, but no.”

  We stood in silence, the sound of rain tapped on the window. I looked out to see the snow melting and the heavy drizzle washing what was once a white wonderland into a gray slush. Reality set in in my head and I realized the fantasy—the fantasy Cecil even confessed to—was coming to an end. This was reality. Tomorrow we’d both leave and who knew when we’d see each other again? It was too much. It was too much to think about and I physically felt my heart sink into the pit of my stomach.

  “What’s going on?”

  I shook my head. “Nothing. It’s just.” I swallowed hard, the words I needed to say caught in my throat.

  “What?” he asked, taking three steps toward me.

  I backed up, keeping my distance.

  “This feels like goodbye. The rain,” I said, pointing out the window. “The gift. The day.”

  “The day?”

  “Yes. Christmas Day. We’ve ruined it—or at least I’ve ruined it. I won’t be able to have another without thinking of this place. These couple of days. This experience. You.”

  “Mimi, I’m sorry if I can’t apologize for what we’ve shared. I can’t. I won’t. I can’t help it if you’ll look back on this with sadness. I’ll take these two days to my grave with me as the best of my life.”

  I choked through my words. “I’m not sad it happened. I’m sad it has to end. Besides,” I muttered, finding a new line of defense for my breaking heart. “You don’t know these two days will be the best of your life. You could meet someone. You could even meet someone in Europe. I heard plenty of men came home with new wives from the first war. Besides, I’m sure I was just a good time before you shipped out. Something to tell your Army buddies about on a cold night in the middle of God knows where.”

  “Mimi.” His tone was full of exasperation as he walked to me. I found my feet seemingly glued to the floor as I held back a rush of emotion along with my tears.

  “I’m serious.”

  “Please stop.” Brushing a single tear that fell from my cheek, he smoothed the loose tendrils of my hair away from my face. He parted my lips with his tongue, kissing me deeply. My knees were weak, my mind, blank.

  “You can’t do this to me,” I said, pulling away and allowing my tears to flow.

  He shook his head at me, the confusion on his face obvious.

  “I need you to yell at me. Be mad at me,” I said.

  “Whatever for?”

  “Because it will make it easier to say goodbye.”

  “Listen to me. I’m never going to say goodbye. I’ll say goodnight, I’ll say see you soon, or see you later, but never goodbye. That’s my promise.”

  “Stop making promises you can’t keep. Do you hear me?” I said, breaking his embrace to back away from him. I rushed up the staircase to the master bedroom and began throwing all my clothes into my suitcase. Hurrying to the bathroom, I held open my train case and used my arm to sweep all of my cosmetics in with one fluid motion.

  Satisfied I had everything, I sat both suitcases just inside the open closet before Cecil came storming into the room without knocking.

  “Talk to me. Tell me what you need to hear,” he said standing in front of me, his hands slung low on his hips.

  “What I need to hear.” I pa
used, choking back my tears. “What I need to hear, you cannot say.”

  “Why not?”

  “I need you to tell me you’re coming home. And you can’t do that.”

  “I can promise you I will try my damnedest to come home, Mimi. But I can’t control the universe. I can’t know what’s in store for me out there,” he shouted, pointing into the unknown.

  I hiccupped, my breath catching as I tried to suppress my tears.

  “I’m not saying you have to wait on me, Mimi. But I’m asking—I’m begging for you to just give this a chance. What we’ve shared here? What we’ve shared our whole lives for God’s sake—it’s special. I know it. Hell, you know it.”

  I could only shake my head at him. I couldn’t allow this to happen. I couldn’t be held accountable for my feelings. I didn’t want the responsibility of loving a man three thousand or more miles away from me. I couldn’t be one of those noble, lonely girlfriends who sat around waiting for love letters—or worse, a telegram letting me know he’d never be coming home.

  I turned away. I couldn’t look him in the eye.

  “Don’t turn your back on me, Mimi. Not now. Not ever.”

  Spinning me around, he kissed me, quickly picking me up in his arms to lay me down on the bed just a few steps away.

  “This is real. This is us. And this is now. I love you Marilyn Peterson and I always will.”

  I nodded and kissed him back. It was beyond my control.

  December 26, 1941

  Cecil

  A low rumble of thunder roused me and I lifted my head to see an early gray light through the window, rain pelting the pane. The room was cold. The bed was colder. Turning on my side, I found the space next to me empty.

  Bolting upright in bed, I called out to her. “Mimi?” The house was silent, save for the rain coming down outside.

  I hurried into my pants, leaving the top button open and rushed through the hallway, looking down the staircase for her. Nothing. The house was as still as I’d ever known it to be. I went to the front door, throwing it open only to find the spot where Mimi’s car had spent the past three days empty, the grass where it had been the only area void of slushy snow.

  She was gone.

  An overwhelming feeling of dread and sadness filled my body and mind. How could she leave? How could she leave without saying goodbye?

  I slammed the door, causing the entrance of the lodge to echo with a resounding boom.

  “Shit!” I screamed as loud as I could. Kicking one of the end tables over in frustration, I walked to the bar looking for some bourbon. It was only seven in the morning, but I needed something to calm my nerves.

  I took a long swig, slamming the crystal glass on the bar top. I was completely unhinged.

  I walked to the couch facing the now smoldering fire and dropped my head into my hands. “Why didn’t you let me say goodbye?” I asked aloud.

  Leaning back, I saw it sitting on the coffee table. A letter, sealed with a lipstick kiss. The sun shone through the window, casting a glint of something on top of the note. I knew what it was—Mimi’s mustard seed.

  I picked up the letter, clutching the charm, now off the gold chain in the palm of my hand. Taking a deep breath, I opened the letter addressed simply to C.

  December 25, 1941

  My dearest Cecil,

  You were right when you said we could never say goodbye, but I couldn’t even bear to say So Long while gazing into your eyes. Please forgive me.

  The past few days have been transformative. I’ll keep them close to my heart for, as you said, the rest of my life. A love as unique as ours can never truly die even if something should happen to one of us. I’ll remind myself of that every day.

  Please write to me. Let me know you are safe. I won’t expect a lot because I know your life will change drastically as soon as you get to Europe, but promise one thing. You’ll always write to me at Christmas.

  Thank you for the beautiful ruby heart pin. I’ll wear it always and keep it close to my real heart until life brings you back to me. You will always be my hero, Cecil Winterbourne.

  All my love,

  Your Mimi

  p.s. You didn’t need to say ‘I love you’ for me to know it is so.

  December 24, 1942

  My love, my Mimi,

  I miss you like the earth misses the rain in the Alabama heat. Your words keep me going and I carry them with me always. I fold the letters in oilcloth, storing them in the bottom of my rucksack. After a long day’s march, I will wash my hands, sit in the foxhole under a tarp and unwrap them. I read them over and over, only holding them by the edges for fear something might smear your beautiful handwriting. I lay under the stars most nights thinking of you and dream of you when I do manage to catch some sleep.

  I heard Bing Crosby sing our Christmas song the other day on the armed forces radio. At first it made me happy, thinking about our dance. But then I was sad, missing you and all of the people waiting for me back home.

  There’s no need for me to tell you of what this war is like. I’ll gladly shield you from this and anything else so hateful and destructive for the rest of my life.

  I’m praying for a white Christmas at Winter Lodge for you and the family. You are always in my thoughts, Mimi. I love you. I miss you.

  Yours until the end of time,

  Cecil

  February 14, 1943

  Dear Cecil,

  I cherish the last letter you sent at the holidays, but I worry now that I’ve not heard from you since. Still, I try to stay positive. You promised me you’d come home and so I hang on to that promise as I wear the ruby pin you gave me each and every day.

  It’s been a gray winter in Alabama. Not cold, but dreary. I often feel the weather outside is a good indicator of my own feelings. Without you, I too am dreary. Without knowing you are safe I seem to meander about, day to day, waiting to hear from you. I’m sure I’ve begun to annoy the postman when he finally brings the mail around. I’ve grown accustomed to the look on his face. He’s never smiling and I sometimes daydream he will arrive at our home grinning ear to ear and that will be my sign. The sign that in his satchel he has a letter from you.

  I kiss you each night before I go to sleep and I pray for you constantly. Stay safe my love and come home to me.

  All my love—

  Your Mimi

  July 4, 1943

  My dearest Cecil,

  Outside the sound of firecrackers rings through the air. Everyone is celebrating Independence Day as if we aren’t in the middle of a war. Too many of our friends and family have been lost and I find it hard to revel in our freedom although I am thankful for it every day after reading of the atrocities happening in Nazi Germany.

  It’s been six months since I last heard from you. I keep telling myself these letters will catch up to you and we will all have a good laugh about how worried I’ve been. But it’s true. I am worried. Your mother is worried. So if you do get this or any of my other letters, please, please, please, let someone know you’re all right.

  I can’t wait to see you. I can’t wait to have you tease me for being such a ninny.

  I think of you every day and long to be in your arms again.

  Come home to me.

  All my love—

  Your Mimi

  September 29, 1943

  Marilyn

  Dear Diary,

  I found the courage to go on a date with a man. Thomas Piper is his name. He is handsome, smart, funny and is the one person who seems to be able to make me smile these days. I feel guilty and happy all at the same time. Knowing Cecil could be out there somewhere, knowing Thomas is right in front of me—it’s hard to decipher my feelings these days. I know I’ll always love Cecil. How could I not? We shared something so beautiful and if I had to lose my virginity to someone who wasn’t my husband, well then, I’m glad it was him.

  Mother has finally started leaving me alone these days. I don’t know if it is the fact that I’m letting g
o of my feelings for Cecil, which she’s never understood—how could she? Or the idea that Thomas is exactly the kind of man she would pick for me to marry.

  Mind you, he’s not asking me to marry him—well not yet anyway. I get a funny feeling in my stomach when I’m with Thomas. It was the same kind of feeling I had that magical Christmas I shared with Cecil in ’41.

  I’m so confused anymore. What do I believe and what do I believe in? Do I hold out hope that Cecil will come back to me? Do I fall in line with his family and give up the idea that he’s out there waiting to come home?

  Daddy told me I had to live my life and I know he’s right. A man like Thomas Piper—a man who always has a smile on his face and funny story to tell me can’t be bad, right?

  Part of me wants to move on. The other part stares at the ruby heart pin now sitting on top of my jewelry box. I stopped wearing it the day Cecil’s mother called to say he’d been reported missing.

  Tonight, I’ll take a deep breath, pick out a red dress and heels and have dinner with Thomas. My heart needs healing and maybe he’s just the cure.

  December 23, 1943

  Dear Cecil,

  I write this as tears fall from my eyes so I apologize for the stains on the letter. Where are you Cecil? Why can’t we find you? An Army representative met with your parents nearly a year ago and still no word. You are what they’re calling MIA—missing in action.

  I’ve cried for you every night for a year, Cecil, but now I have to let you go. We said we’d never say goodbye. Everyone is telling me I need to come to grips with reality and my mother has now enlisted the help of our minister to exorcise the idea from my head that you are still alive.

  Since you’ll never get this letter and I write it only for myself, I want you to know I have found a man to live my life with. Much to my chagrin, he is shipping out soon—something as I’m sure you know I’m having a hard time dealing with. His name is Thomas Piper. He’s a good man, Cecil—the kind of man you’d be friends with.