Our First Christmas

by Lisa Jackson

  “You still there?” she said as she pressed the phone to her ear again.

  “Of course I am.”

  “Good, good,” she said.

  “Look, there’s been a bad accident on the interstate. It’s all over the news. I knew that you’d been working late and was worried that you might have been involved.”

  She closed her eyes for a second to gather herself. Her life was such a mess right now, such a disaster, and Adam Newell, Chris’s cousin and now her boss, was squarely in the middle of it.

  “I’m fine,” she said, seeing her breath fog in the cold air.

  “Thank God.”

  “But . . . but not Chris.”

  “Chris? What about him?” Concern edged Adam’s voice.

  “He was in the pileup somehow. I don’t know the details, but he was life flighted to County General.”

  “Oh, my God.”

  “He’s in surgery. I don’t know what for or how he’s injured, how bad it is, but obviously it’s not good. I’m at the hospital.”

  “Jesus, Meg.” He sounded devastated.

  Quickly, she filled him in on the sparse details, then finished with, “I have to get back inside to check on him, and then I need to call the kids.” She watched two more cars that were circling for spots and noted that most of the emergency vehicles had left. No longer were ambulances, their lights flashing, taking up space under the canopy of the emergency room entrance, and only one news van remained, two people cradling coffee cups visible through the windshield, no reporter or cameraman braving the elements.

  “I’ll be there in half an hour,” Adam was saying as she walked through the first set of double doors of the main entrance.

  “No, Adam,” she said. “You don’t have to—”

  “Of course I do. Chris is my cousin, for God’s sake. And you—” She stopped dead in her tracks and squeezed her eyes shut. Don’t. Don’t say it. “—well, you know what you mean to me.”

  She knew that he wasn’t talking about the fact that he’d once been her brother-in-law, had been married to her older sister. At the thought of Natalie, Megan’s heart twisted a little more painfully. “Adam, don’t,” she warned. “Please. No.”

  Click!

  The wireless connection was severed.

  Like it or not, Adam Newell was on his way.

  “Is he all right?” Lindy’s voice was an octave higher than usual. “Mom?”

  What could Megan say? How could she reassure her daughter? “He’s in surgery now,” she repeated from a cell-phone friendly area near the hospital’s cafeteria. “He’s been in for over two hours, but I still don’t know what’s wrong with him or any details. I’ve asked over and over again, and they’ve promised that I can speak to some nurse in the ER, but it’s a madhouse here.” And that wasn’t a lie. Though it was now close to midnight, the hospital was crawling with visitors, worried loved ones who, like Megan, waited for any kind of news. Not only had there been the massive accident on the interstate, but other emergencies as well. The one cafeteria that was open 24/7 was crowded and running out of food, benches and chairs in the open areas were filled, and through the wide glass windows, Megan noticed others talking or smoking in the parking lot, where the temperature had plunged to below twenty.

  “I’m coming home.”

  “Not now, honey. Please. There’s nothing you can do.”

  “I’m coming, Mom. I’ll catch the next train.”

  “But you have finals and—”

  “This is Dad, Mom. Dad! And I’m coming. You may not love him anymore, but I do!” Lindy clicked off, and Megan quietly counted to ten.

  Though the separation had been a mutual decision, Megan had been blamed for Chris’s moving out. At least by their daughter. “You never loved him enough,” Lindy had said more than once.

  “He adored you, Mom, adored you. And you didn’t love him.” Lindy hadn’t even realized she’d used the past tense when talking about her father’s feelings for Megan. That adoration had been a long, long while ago.

  “I loved him, love him . . . but you just don’t understand.”

  “You’re right; I don’t. People who love each other don’t get a divorce, Mom; they find a way to get over it, past it, through it, or whatever. You just have to try.”

  So easy for a girl not yet twenty to believe. Lindy was on the brink of womanhood, but still believed in Disney-like fairy-tale endings. There was nothing, in Lindy’s mind, that love couldn’t conquer. Meg, at Lindy’s age, had felt the same. Now, though . . .

  May as well make it a double, she thought as she stood in the hospital’s hallway and speed dialed her son. No answer. She wasn’t surprised. Brody lived in Boston now, was registered for school, but, Megan suspected, wasn’t really attending. A few classes here, an odd job there. Brody had come back from the war a man, yes, no longer a boy, but seemed to have no real goals, not even a purpose in life. Whatever spirit and boyish charm he’d carried with him to Afghanistan, he seemed to have left there. He’d been a medic, seen far too much, and now was drifting. Hopefully, not for long.

  She texted her son, asking him to call, then made her way to the third floor again, where, she discovered, there was no change in Chris’s status. He was still in surgery, but now, the clock registering the length of his procedures was ticking off the seconds at over three hours.

  She slid into one of the vacated chairs, glanced at the muted television, then at the scattered magazines, but nothing held her interest, and she couldn’t help checking and rechecking Chris’s status.

  At least he was alive.

  “Mrs. Johnson?” A female voice caught her attention, and she looked up to see a nurse standing in the doorway. Tall, slim, and African-American, she wore her hair clipped short and a uniform of a blue hospital tunic with matching pants. She said again, “Mrs. Johnson?” to the waiting room in general.

  “Yes. I’m Megan Johnson,” Meg said, on her feet in an instant. “My husband is Christopher.”

  “Edie Brown, RN.” Even though Megan’s boots had two-inch heels, Nurse Brown was taller than she, with regal features and eyes that had seen it all. Edie shook Megan’s outstretched hand. “Come into the hallway. It’s a little more private there, and I do mean ‘a little, ’ but all of the consulting rooms are full right now, and I’ve only got a few minutes. I heard you wanted to know about your husband.”

  “Yes,” Megan said, trying not to sound as desperate as she felt. She followed the nurse to a quieter space near an alcove for vending machines. “How is he? What’s wrong with him? I’ve heard nothing.” She was panicking again, her voice rising, and with effort, she took it down a notch. “Sorry. I’m just . . . I’m just worried sick.”

  “I know. I apologize for any delay or confusion. Look, it’s crazy tonight, but I was your husband’s ER nurse, and I won’t lie to you, his condition is serious. Multiple contusions, fractured pelvis, internal bleeding, head injuries.” She hesitated a second while Megan processed what was being said. “From what I understand he had to be pulled out of his vehicle. Jaws of life.”

  Megan leaned against the wall for support. “Oh, God.” For the first time she thought, really considered, what life would be like without Chris, how empty life would be for her, for the kids, if he didn’t survive.

  Her kids . . . oh, Lord, her kids would never get over it. Nor, she guessed, would she. The void would be so all-consuming. It was one thing to separate, to consider and decide on divorce, but another to be faced with the final and decimating thought that he would no longer exist. Her throat swelled so tight she could barely whisper, “Is he going to make it?”

  The nurse’s smile was patient if not reassuring. “We’re doing everything we can. He’s got a great surgical team with him, headed by Dr. Atwood. She’s the best. And your husband seemed like a strong, fit man.” She glanced down the hallway, then placed a warm hand on Megan’s shoulder. “But, as I said, his injuries are severe. You might want to contact any other of his relatives,
if you haven’t already.”

  “Oh, God.”

  “Where there’s life, there’s hope,” Nurse Brown said as a pager in her pocket went off. “Good luck. I’ll check back with you before my shift’s over.”

  “Thank . . . thank you,” Megan whispered, her eyes flooding. God, she’d been a fool. All the fights, all the anger, all the pain . . .

  Clearing her throat, she dashed her tears aside with the back of her hand. Now wasn’t the time for recriminations. Feeling numb inside, she made her way to the waiting room, checked the chart, saw no difference in Chris’s status, and fell into a chair. She texted a few people who were close to him, just saying he’d been in an accident and was in surgery and to call her—his folks, who spent their winters in Florida, and Natalie, across the Atlantic. Megan had known her husband since she was seventeen and to consider that he might not be around was . . . unthinkable. Sliding her phone into her pocket, she felt her fingers brush against something else, a sharp corner.

  Frowning, she pulled out the ornament she’d slipped into her pocket at the house, the silver frame with a tiny picture of Chris and Megan at their wedding over twenty years earlier. She’d been young, about Lindy’s age. And just as filled with dreams.

  In the photo, she and Chris looked so fresh-faced, so full of life, so ready to take on the world, even though, really, the ornament wasn’t representative of their first Christmas together, just their first holiday season as a married couple. Nowhere on the silvery decoration was it mentioned that she had been barely nineteen and already three months pregnant. She still remembered how disappointed her parents had been, how they’d pinned their hopes on her finishing college, and even going further, to law school, her dream, all of which she’d managed to accomplish. With not just one baby, but two.

  And Chris’s unyielding support.

  She bit her lip as the memories washed over her in an emotional torrent. Her first Christmas with Chris had happened two years earlier than the holiday captured in the photo. She’d been barely seventeen. At the time Megan had naïvely believed she was in love with the man who was marrying her sister, the man who even now was on his way to the hospital: Adam Newell.

  God, she’d been a fool. An innocent, naïve idiot.

  Glancing once more at the wall chart with its timer ticking off the seconds of Chris’s life, Megan blinked against those same tears that had been her companion since she’d heard of his accident. As she clutched the ornament tightly in her palm, she remembered that first magical night when she’d met Chris, a night when he’d been bold enough to kiss her and in so doing had altered the course of her life forever.

  Chapter 4

  Twenty-two Years Earlier

  With her fists clenched and her eyes closed tightly, Megan Simmons tried to erase the scene that was before her. But every time she sneaked a peek, the setting was the same.

  White lace and satin whispered across the polished floor. Soft music filled the air. Glasses clinked over the sound of soft music. Friends and family smiled as the newly married couple finished the dance that was to be the first in a lifetime.

  Megan’s insides churned, and she forced a smile she didn’t feel despite the tears she felt burning behind her eyelids.

  Yes, she felt a jab of guilt. How could she feel this way about her sister? On Natalie’s wedding day no less? But there it was: jealousy. Dark and deep and hideous, but burrowed deep in her heart. Megan had to be an awful person. Right? The whole situation was bilious. Yeah, that’s right: bilious. She was a nerd, plain and simple. An A student who liked literature, band, debate team, and everything so UNcool she could barely stand herself. No cheerleading. No modeling. No cool-crowd party invitations, but oh, watch out, she could ace a trig quiz with no problems whatsoever.

  And look where it had gotten her: staring at her older, gorgeous sister now married to the man of Megan’s dreams. It was sick and unfair, and she couldn’t stand it a second longer. She made a beeline for the French doors leading outside, where she could get away from the sickening happily-ever-after scene.

  Ugh!

  She was at the doors, her hand on the lever, when she noticed the same tall, brown-haired boy observing her. What was he looking at? She felt as if he’d been watching her most of the night and wished he’d just dial it back. In the reflection of the doors, she caught another glimpse of Natalie, positively glowing, the train of her gown tucked up, her smile infectious, and Adam . . . Oh, God, Megan’s heart twisted painfully. Elegant, almost regal-looking in his black tuxedo, he complemented Natalie perfectly. In pure white and striking ebony, they were the consummate image of a bride and groom.

  Megan’s stomach churned.

  She had to get out of here! Outside, the wintry Connecticut landscape beckoned, snow piling on the stone veranda, an icy contrast to the warm interior decorated with thousands of tiny lights, candles, and poinsettias.

  Yanking open the door, she heard her aunt’s voice over the music.

  “Look at you,” Aunt Janice said.

  Oh, yeah, right. Like anyone would notice her. Well, except for the boy she hadn’t recognized. He was still watching her and trying not to be too obvious. She wondered what his problem was.

  Aunt Janice, always a little out of step, said, “You look fabulous.”

  “If you say so.”

  “I just did.” She lifted a knowing eyebrow and glanced at Megan’s hand, still poised on the door handle. “Going somewhere?”

  “Not really,” Megan lied.

  “Hmm.” Aunt Janice wasn’t buying it. “It was a perfect wedding, don’t you think?”

  “Perfect.” Would it be anything else? Come on, Aunt J.

  “And Natalie! A beautiful girl, and she’s never looked lovelier.”

  Megan couldn’t argue that obvious fact. “Yes, she, I mean, they do look happy.” Megan forced the words out, told herself to quit being such a horrid person. After all, she was the damned maid of honor. With a sigh she leaned against the glass panels of the door and stared wistfully at her willowy, dark-haired sister.

  Why was it always that way: tall, beautiful Natalie, forever in the limelight, and smart Megan, always in the shadows? It wasn’t so bad that Natalie had enjoyed all the fruits of being gorgeous in high school. Megan had survived when year after year Natalie had been a member of the cheerleading squad, or whatever princess or queen was in season. In fact, it hadn’t really bothered Megan at the time.

  After all, that had been over two years ago, and Megan had only begun high school the year that Natalie had graduated. Those days, Megan had even felt a rising sense of pride in her older sister. Secretly, she’d thought, well, maybe hoped was a better word, that some of Megan’s popularity would rub off on her.

  But then Natalie had graduated, and even though the two girls had still lived at home together, they had grown further apart, or at least it seemed that way to Megan. Of course then there had been Adam. All too clearly Megan recalled the day that she’d met him. She’d been at home studying, of course, when Natalie had come breezing into the house, announcing that she’d met some incredible, hot boy, someone “different” from all the other cool dudes who’d hung out at the house. Megan had hardly looked up from her homework.

  Then Adam had appeared. And everything had changed.

  At the sight of him Megan had felt her throat tighten and her pulse jump.

  Tall and broad-shouldered, he’d had thick, kind of shaggy black hair and deep-set eyes that seemed to look right through her. And his smile was killer! The second that Adam had flashed Megan his faultless grin, she’d realized in horror that she could be falling in love. That had been silly, of course, but the idea had bloomed with each subsequent meeting. Far more mature than any of the other boys Natalie had dated, Adam had been the one with a purpose. Adam had been vocal about his intention of becoming the partner in a prestigious law firm one day.

  Now, the music stopped. Megan nearly jumped when she heard Adam call her name.

 
“Hey, Meg, how about a dance with your new brother-in-law?” He took her hand and gently pulled her toward the dance floor.

  Oh. God.

  Megan wanted to refuse. But she couldn’t. Not in front of all of the guests. Crap! As much as she had dreamed about being in Adam’s strong arms, she felt it a grim sort of betrayal of Natalie. Megan gazed furtively around the room, but Natalie was nowhere in sight. The only person who seemed to be paying any attention to her was the mysterious lone boy, the one who was still watching her with unconcealed interest. She wondered what his problem was.

  “I’m really not that good of a dancer,” Megan protested, hoping Adam would take the hint and let her beg out of the dance.

  “Neither am I.”

  “No, you don’t understand,” she whispered desperately as she died a thousand deaths. “Really, Adam, this is a bad idea. . . .” A really bad idea.

  “Quit stammering and dance. Ignore them.” He gestured broadly at the guests circling the floor. “Pretend we’re alone.”

  Inwardly she groaned. But she was stuck. Even though most of the crowd was involved in private conversations, Megan hoped that she could use Adam’s remarks as an excuse.

  “I know they’re watching, and that’s just the point! I can’t dance in front of them. I’ll be too embarrassed! I just can’t,” she pled as she tried to step away from him.

  “The only thing you can’t do is leave me stranded in the middle of the dance floor. Besides, you have to dance with me. You’re the maid of honor and the sister of the bride. It’s tradition. At least in my family.”

  “Who needs it? Look, I don’t think that my making a fool of myself is expected by anyone.”

  “Oh, Meg. Just chill out.” Adam looked down into her eyes, and she felt her heart bound with excitement. She couldn’t even find her voice—she was just so stupidly breathless to be this close to him.

  “So, come on, smile and act as if you’re having a good time.”