by Teri Wilson
“I don’t know,” I say. “I’m not sure I meet the qualifications.”
This is code for reminding everyone that I no longer live in Owl Lake. Even Sophie and Olivia should be capable of deciphering it.
Uncle Hugh shrugs one shoulder as if my actual residence has no bearing on the matter. “It makes perfect sense. Who better to serve as co-chair than an actual Firefighters’ Sweetheart?”
Firefighters’ sweetheart. The words make me feel all sparkly inside for completely nonsensical reasons.
“That was a long time ago,” I protest, but no one seems to care.
“Seems like yesterday.” Uncle Hugh grins at me over the rim of his coffee cup.
As I meet his gaze, my attention snags on Aidan and the sudden flash of dimples in his manly face. That tiny hint of pleasure in his expression is all it takes for my resistance to crumble. I’ll figure out how to deal with next Christmas later. Video conferencing and email do exist. Even Santa plans Christmas from miles away.
Aren’t you forgetting something? Santa isn’t real.
I run my fingertips over the delicate charms dangling from my wrist. They’re cool against my skin, like a kiss of winter air.
“I’m in.”
“What’s all this?” my dad asks me hours later as I’m poring over three fat binders full of toy parade paperwork at the kitchen table.
Mom glances up from the peppermint tea she’s preparing at the butcher-block island. It’s part of her nightly ritual and watching her repeatedly dunk her fragrant teabag into her mug as darkness falls and the owls begin gliding over the lake is oddly soothing.
“You haven’t heard?” She arches a brow. “Ashley is the new co-chair of the Firefighters’ Toy Parade.”
Dad shoves his hands into his pocket and rocks back and forth on his heels. “Co-chair, huh?”
“Yep,” I say, pausing from my reading to run a hand over the top of Fruitcake’s head. He’s been sitting patiently beside me since I returned from an early dinner with Susan, Josh and the twins, waiting for his nightly walk. I might as well take him out. My head is spinning with facts and figures. Trying to absorb any more information tonight isn’t going to happen.
But volunteering to be co-chair has made me acutely aware that my time here in Owl Lake is limited. The parade is on Christmas Eve, just four days from now. I’m due back at Windsor the day after Christmas. What was I thinking when I signed on for this?
“That’s a pretty big commitment.” Dad frowns.
I have to be honest, this isn’t at all the reaction I’d expected from him. The toy parade is near and dear to his heart. I thought he’d be thrilled to find out that I’ve taken on a bigger role in the event.
“It is.” I nod, burying my fingertips deeper into Fruitcake’s warm fur. “But Aidan needed the help, and I’ve been enjoying working on the committee so far. It was Uncle Hugh’s idea, actually. He thought I’d be a good choice since I was a parade sweetheart once upon a time.”
My dad nods but says nothing as his gaze sweeps over my pile of binders.
“Ed,” my mom says quietly. Something unspoken passes between them.
“What?” My head swivels back and forth between my parents. “Dad, I thought you’d be glad to hear I stepped up to help more. Mom thinks it’s a good idea.”
“I am glad,” he says, followed by a sigh that doesn’t sound glad at all. “But do the other committee members realize you’re not here to stay?”
“I’m sure they do.” I swallow. Then a lead ball settles in the pit of my stomach when I realize I’m not exactly sure of this fact at all. “It didn’t specifically come up in the meeting, but everyone in town knows I’m only here for a visit.”
“They also know that there was a possible promotion waiting for you back in Manhattan, but that you gave that option up to stay here for the holidays.”
“Exactly. For the holidays,” I repeat.
But even as I’m saying it, I get my dad’s point. It’s possible that my behavior in the past few days has been sending mixed messages. I’ve accepted the well-meaning nominations of people I care about for a volunteer position that by its very nature extends into next year. I’ve adopted a dog knowing full well that my apartment back in the city has a no-pet policy. I haven’t bothered checking in with my boss at Windsor to let her know I’m not coming in for an interview. I’ve been too busy peppering the town with snowmen.
I’ve also nearly kissed Aidan. Twice.
But he knows I’m not staying permanently. I’ve made that very clear. I’m sure I have.
“I’m always proud of you, sweetheart. Your mom and I are both thrilled at how much you’re enjoying your time here at home, and I am so glad to see that you want to spend some of that time helping others.” My father smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. It seems I’m not the only one who’s newly aware of the ticking clock.
Everything has been happening so fast. Have I really been back in my hometown for a week already?
“It’s okay, Dad. I’ll make sure my intentions are clear. The last thing I want to do is disappoint anyone.” I push back from the table and wrap my arms around him, hugging him tight while Fruitcake prances in a circle around us, tail wagging against our legs.
I pull away when I hear the shutter of a cell phone camera. “Mom, what are you doing?”
She holds up her iPhone. “Look at the three of you—it was such a sweet moment. I had to capture it.”
The photo puts a lump in my throat, and I think that maybe the reason I haven’t reminded everyone I’m leaving so soon after Christmas is because I’m not ready to go, a thought that’s only just occurring to me now. And I’m pretty sure a handful of days isn’t going to make a difference.
“Can you text it to me?” I give my mom a wobbly grin. “I want to make it the wallpaper on my phone.”
“Sure, honey.” She taps the screen of her cell and seconds later, my phone chimes with her incoming message.
“And now I’m off to bed,” Mom says, slipping her phone into the pocket of her bathrobe before gathering her teacup and heading toward the bedroom.
“Me, too.” Dad yawns. “Good night, sweetheart.”
“Night-night,” I say, and the sight of them walking past our glittering Christmas tree and down the hall together makes me feel unexpectedly wistful.
The holidays are passing in a blur, and soon Christmas will be over. No more snowmen, maybe even no more charms.
Fruitcake lets out a tiny whine and nudges his head beneath my hand the way he always does when he thinks I need extra-special attention. How have I gone so long without a dog in my life? I bend down to hug his thick neck. Warm, golden fur tickles my cheek.
“I’m not ready,” I whisper.
He swivels his soft brown eyes in my direction. There are questions shining in his gaze—questions I have no idea how to answer. I fumble with the silver charm bracelet and marvel at how much has changed in only a matter of days.
I might never be ready to leave this all behind.
Chapter Fifteen
The following day, I start checking off items on my to-do list of things that need to get done before the parade kicks off the day after tomorrow. All the town permits have already been obtained, and I’ve organized them behind a special tab in my binder. The parade route is set, and the firefighters on duty tomorrow night have already agreed to set up signs so all the participants are clear on where they’re supposed to go. Best of all, we’ve already surpassed our goal for the amount of toys we’ve collected for children in need. Check, check and check.
I flip through the planning binder again and again, ticking off more boxes on my list as I go. Before long, when I look out the window of the coffee shop where I’ve set up camp for the day, I see that the sky is growing dark. I’ve been sitting here far longer than I’d realized. The lights on t
he big Christmas tree at the top of the hill shimmer in the twilight. The streets of Owl Lake turn lavender and then brilliant purple as early evening shadows sweep across the snow.
I glance across the street toward Enchanted Jewels, and squint at the sign still propped in the corner window. Going out of business. At the meeting the other day, Susan mentioned the shop was for sale, though. Until that moment, I hadn’t realized the buyer might be open to selling the business.
Fruitcake lets out a snuffle, dragging my attention back to the task at hand. I don’t know why I’m thinking about Enchanted Jewels, anyway. I’ve got enough on my plate to deal with between now and the parade, not to mention Christmas the following day. Plus I’ve already got a train ticket back to the city—to my life and my job in Manhattan.
And my apartment that doesn’t allow pets, I think, reaching down to scratch Fruitcake behind his ears.
“I know, buddy. You’ve been so patient today. We should pack up and go for a little walk, hmm?”
He scrambles to his feet, and the patron at the table next to us smiles. Dogs are welcome pretty much everywhere in Owl Lake, and Fruitcake’s fan club seems to be growing by the day. I suppose if I had to, it would be really easy to find him a new home. But just the thought of telling him goodbye makes me feel sick to my stomach.
Maya and I will just have to find a new place to live after the holidays. Someplace pet friendly and available immediately—in the most expensive city in the United States. That’s possible, isn’t it?
Only a person with a magic charm bracelet could believe in that sort of Christmas miracle.
I sigh, gather my binder in my arms and take my empty coffee cup to the front counter as Fruitcake trots beside me at the end of his leash. We bid goodbye to the barista and then make our way outside. A frosty wind sends ripples through Fruitcake’s golden fur, but the cold air on my face feels good. I lift my gaze to the sky, where stars twinkle against the deepening darkness. Yet another thing I’ve forgotten since I’ve been away—the breathtaking beauty of a starlit sky.
My gaze flits toward Enchanting Jewels again, and Fruitcake cocks his head at me, tail wagging like a pendulum.
“Don’t even think it. There’s not a single charm on my bracelet shaped like a jewelry store,” I mutter, and then my phone rings, so I turn my back on the quaint jewelry shop and answer it.
“Hey, Ash.” Aidan’s voice come through the line, and I feel like I’m in high school again. We used to spend hours on the phone back then. We actually talked instead of texting.
“Hi.” My smile creeps into my tone, and I tell myself to calm down. Aidan isn’t about to ask me to prom. This call is sure to be parade-related.
“I just got off duty and I’m about to deliver a load of donated toys to a church up in North Pole. Pastor Mike, the head clergyman up there, is a friend of mine. We’ve got several boxes of things for the community served by his chapel. I’m pretty sure your dad once told me you always loved North Pole when you were a kid.” He lets out a low laugh that sends shivers coursing through me. It’s just the cold air, I try to tell myself. Sure it is. “I figured it’s been a while since you’ve been there, so I thought you might want to tag along.”
He’s not talking about the North Pole, obviously. North Pole, New York, is a tiny hamlet only fifteen miles or so from Owl Lake, best known for its Santa’s Workshop theme park. The park has been around since the 1940s, so it’s not sleek or modern by today’s standards. I haven’t quite thought of it like this before, but I suppose it could be considered vintage.
“I’d love to,” I say. I haven’t been to North Pole since I was probably ten years old, and I’m sure what Aidan is suggesting is more of a glorified errand than a date, but I’m tingling with anticipation, all the same.
The feeling goes away when reality sets in and I remember my dad’s concerns from last night. I still need to remind Aidan that I’m going back to the city right after Christmas.
“I’ll come get you at the lake house in ten minutes?” Aidan says.
“Actually, I was just leaving the coffee shop if you want to pick me up here.” I glance down at Fruitcake, who’s regarding me with his melting puppy dog eyes. “Fruitcake is with me, though.”
“Fruitcake is more than welcome to tag along,” Aidan says.
We hang up, and I’m struck by how happy he sounded. Even though he’s moving straight from his shift to more work in a volunteer capacity, I can sense a change in him. He’s letting down his guard and letting life in. I can feel it. I just wish I didn’t have to remind him that I’m leaving so soon. The timing is admittedly terrible. But maybe I’m overthinking things. I’ve never told Aidan I was staying in Owl Lake for good. He knows I’m committed to my job—so committed that I ran myself ragged trying to get into Manhattan for days on end. He can’t possibly be surprised to hear I’m going back once Christmas is over.
Minutes later, I’m once again sitting in the passenger seat of an OLFD vehicle. We’re in the small SUV again, and the back of it is piled high with cardboard boxes containing Christmas gifts collected by the firefighters and the toy parade. The community church we’re visiting in North Pole will be distributing them to families on Christmas morning.
I’ve never thought much about the way the toy parade works and the mostly anonymous role the fire department plays in getting so many presents into the hands of children who might otherwise never have a gift to open on Christmas morning. There’s very little public attention given to the organizers—and that’s deliberate. The firefighters truly want to keep the focus on the children. I think it’s one of the things that makes the toy parade’s charity mission so special.
I take a sideways glance at Aidan as he maneuvers the SUV onto the state highway that leads to North Pole. He’s relaxed, with his elbow propped on the armrest, casually holding onto the steering wheel with just two fingers.
I smile to myself and burrow further into the soft leather seat. “Thanks for asking me to come along. You’re right. I haven’t been out this way in a long time.”
Fruitcake’s head pops between us from the back seat, panting softly, and he almost looks like he’s grinning. Aidan gives his chest a sweet pat, and before I know it, the dog’s chin is resting contentedly on Aidan’s shoulder. They look so cute together that I have trouble forcing my next words out.
“Aidan, you know I’m still going back to New York after Christmas, right?” I focus intently on the dashboard in front of me because I’m not sure I can take it if Aidan slips back into character as the cranky action hero who first found me at the Owl Lake train station.
A quiet moment passes between us. The only sounds I hear are the crunch of the snow beneath the tires as Aidan pulls into the church’s parking lot and Fruitcake’s happy sighs.
The vehicle rolls to a halt in front of a small country chapel with a tall white steeple rising into the velvety night sky. Beyond the church, in the distance, I can see the carousel at the amusement park spinning round and round. The poles are painted red and white like candy canes, and instead of carousel horses, the children are sitting on pretty painted reindeer. They move gracefully up and down as the carousel spins, and it almost seems like they’re flying.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Aidan says, and there’s an unexpected tenderness to his tone that squeezes my heart so hard that I press the heel of my hand against my breastbone to try and ease it.
He knows I’m leaving. He couldn’t possibly forget, but it’s okay. I can tell that any hard feelings that lingered between us are gone, which should come as an immense relief. Somehow, though, the fact that my departure is a given hurts even more.
I’m a mess, basically. Why does being back home seem to get harder every day when it should be getting easier?
“Absolutely,” I say, swallowing hard.
We climb out of the SUV and I follow Aidan around to the trunk. It’s no
t until he opens it and removes the first box that I realize what, exactly, we’re delivering.
Teddy bears.
There must be dozens of them—boxes and boxes full of plush brown bears. I inhale a ragged breath, and my own six-year-old voice echoes in my consciousness.
And there should be cuddly teddy bears…
“Hey, is everything all right?” Aidan says, eyeing me with concern, with his arms full of bears. “Where’d you go just now?”
Jingle, jingle.
The bracelet chimes its familiar tune, but this time it doesn’t feel magical at all. What have I been doing? Why have I been making snowmen left and right, trying to force my way to the happy ending charm when getting to the end of the bracelet will mean an end to the Christmas of my dreams? There are only a few charms left, and I think I’m just beginning to realize the implications of what will happen when they eventually run out.
Everything comes to an end eventually. My days in Owl Lake are numbered, and each chime of the bracelet is like a countdown, reminding me this is all little more than a dream. Real life awaits.
“Everything is fine,” I say. “I’m right here.”
For now.
The inside of the church smells like a combination of incense, flowers and lemony furniture polish. I take a deep inhale, letting the comforting scents soothe my fragile emotional state. It’s so serene here, so quiet. Nothing at all like the massive St. Patrick’s Cathedral on 5th Avenue in Manhattan. I like to drop by there on my lunch hour sometimes to say a prayer or light a candle. It makes me feel closer to God, but not like this. The cathedral may be grand and beautiful, but it’s harder to sense God’s presence in a massive cathedral packed with tourists than in a quiet country chapel with only a dozen or so rows of pews.
Or maybe that’s just me. Maybe I’m more aware of a presence larger than myself here in the Adirondacks, nestled among snow-swept mountains and forests so thick they seem to go on forever.