North of Light

by J. M. Paul

  I’m not sure if this is something you want, but I know you discussed the possibility with my dad and in your interview. I thought maybe it could help you heal. To realize you made the right decision for your parents in seeing how many lives theirs saved.

  I wanted to be with you, to hold your hand as you made this difficult choice, but know that I’m with you in spirit, heart, and in love. Yes, love. Because I do, Noel. I love you with every fiber of my being. My biggest regret is that I couldn’t tell you this in person for the first time, that I might never get the opportunity to tell you face-to-face.

  I choose you, Journal Girl. It’s only ever been you, and I’m sorry my past and stupidity made me doubt that fact. I told Emily we were done—for good. You were right; it was guilt making me question everything.

  I hope that, someday, you’ll find it within yourself to forgive me and to give me a second chance because you’re all I want. You’re all I’ll ever want.

  Merry Christmas and happy birthday.

  Love,

  Connor (aka Turkey Head and Butterball)

  And I’m sobbing. To the point that I almost can’t breathe and my chest is heaving. I can’t believe Connor did this. He tracked down this information without asking me first.

  I rest my hand on the black folder and fight with the urge to open it or throw it in the trash. I’m not sure if seeing the names will help or hurt me. To know that my parents had to give up their lives to assure these people could keep theirs.

  Lying back on the mattress, I clutch the folder to my chest and stare at my lit birch tree. Memories of past Christmases, family vacations, and traditions flit through my mind, bringing a smile to my face. My parents were the best people I knew, and it doesn’t take me long to realize that I want to know who was blessed to receive help from them. The recipients’ names won’t have meaning to me, but I’ll know they are alive because of my mom and dad, that each person’s family and friends are able to celebrate this joyous holiday because of my parents’ selflessness.

  Sitting up, I close my eyes and take several deep breaths, trying to prepare myself for what I’m about to do. When I think I’ve gathered enough strength, I open my eyes and slowly crack open the folder.

  There are sheets and sheets of medical terms I don’t understand, so I flip until I see my mom’s name and a list of recipients, their ailments, and what organ of my mom’s they were matched with. The list is longer than I expected and makes me feel slightly uncomfortable. I’m happy these people got what they needed, but it’s surreal, thinking they are walking around with pieces of my mom keeping them alive. She’s still here—at least, portions of her are—in strangers.

  I didn’t think about that fact until now when it’s written in nothing more than medical terms. It doesn’t account for her soul, her generosity, her sense of humor, or her caring nature. It’s Jane Doe received left kidney, Jane Doe II received liver, etcetera, etcetera. I’m happy for the recipients, but that’s my mom.

  Tears are rolling down my face, and I’m finding it hard to breathe. My hands shake as I flip to my dad’s file and go through a similar list but with different names. It’s wonderful and overwhelming and completely heartbreaking at the same time.

  I start to close the folder when a name on my father’s list catches my eye. Blinking several times, I squint and lean closer to make sure I’m reading the name correctly.

  My throat clogs. I try to gulp in air, but it doesn’t work, and my stomach caves in on itself.

  I cover my mouth with a trembling hand and shake my head.

  “Oh. My. God.”

  Ghost of Christmas Past

  I usher in my birthday with another long night of barely any sleep while I toss and turn over, discovering the information Connor gave me for Christmas. When he’d sought out obtaining the information, I bet he never imagined what I would find.

  My mind is still reeling at the discovery, and I’ve been digesting it for hours.

  “Happy birthday! Merry Christmas!” Cami barges into my room, jumps on my bed, and tackles me.

  Obviously, this is becoming a thing.

  “How’s my favorite person?” Cami smiles up at me and then sobers. “What’s wrong?”

  Tears instantly spring into my eyes, and I start sniveling uncontrollably.

  I shake my head and burrow further into the covers. No part of me knows what to do with the facts I learned last night, how to process and deal with the truth.

  When I think about the reality of my discovery, so many things make sense now that I know. So much so that it’s frightening and astounding.

  “Noles?” Cami lifts onto her elbow to study my face. “Is it because it’s Christmas?”

  I shake my head and whimper.

  “Connor?” she asks.

  It is about Connor but not in the way she thinks.

  “Tell me then.”

  She runs her fingers through my messy hair, and I close my eyes, trying to find strength in her comfort.

  That’s when I know what I need to do.

  I climb over Cami and plant my feet on the floor.

  “Noles?” Cami says again.

  I struggle to pull myself together and school my features. If I’m going to do this, I have to find vigor deep within myself. Weeping and a lack of control over my emotions won’t solve anything.

  Needing to focus on something other than the immediate concern, I blow Cami a kiss and then shut the bathroom door in her face when she jumps from the bed to follow me.

  For the next hour, I concentrate on taking a shower, putting a great deal of effort and time into straightening my hair, and putting on minimal makeup. As hard as I’m trying to be strong, I know there will be many more tears shed in what I’m about to do.

  This burden of knowledge is too heavy for me to carry alone, and I need to confront the one person who will understand—to a point—the magnitude of what I know.

  Nicholas and Cami both stand from the couch when I enter the living room.

  “What’s going on, Jelly? Is everything all right?” Nicholas walks over to me and places his hands on my shoulders.

  Obviously, he knows it’s not. I’m sure the answer is written in my defeated posture—not to mention, my puffy and red-rimmed eyes.

  “It will be.” I nod. “I have to go.”

  I glance at Cami and then at the pity tree—the one Connor so lovingly gave us as a bribe to make me fall in love with Christmas again. Little did we know that I would fall in love with both him and Christmas, only to have my hope shattered again.

  “Where are you going?” Cami pouts. “I thought we could open our presents before I had to leave for torture-time at the parents’ loony bin.”

  What she’s really saying is, she wants to help stitch me back together and then kick the ass of whatever or whoever unraveled me in the first place.

  “Rain check?” I sniffle, and my eyes burn. If I don’t leave, I’m going to go into full-on blubbering mode again.

  “I don’t want you to leave when you’re so upset.” That’s from Nicholas.

  My eyes look deep into his, communicating through our twindom the fact that this isn’t a choice. That, when I deal with this, I will tell him everything I know, but for now, I have to do it on my own.

  “Be careful.” Nicholas kisses me on the temple.

  “Love you in case I die, Noles.” Cami marches over and gives me a hug, also understanding that whatever is going on is important and that I’ll explain when I’m able.

  I have the best family in the world.

  Because that’s what we are now. This threesome—we are a new family.

  “Love you in case I die.” I squeeze her hard enough to make her grunt.

  With a wave, I grab my coat, the folder Connor gave me, and head toward something that could quite possibly ruin me or save me.

  I knock on the large wooden door adorned with a mammoth wreath. Christmas music and laughter filter through from the other side, and the distinct scent
of cinnamon, vanilla, and pine wafts in the air.

  The biting wind blows snow up into my face, and I shiver, pulling my jacket closer to my neck. I knock again until I finally hear footsteps making their way toward me.

  The door swings open—the jolliness from within spilling out onto the stoop where I’m standing alone and fidgeting with the folder—and a booming “Merry Christmas!” greets me.

  I blink up at David; my eyes searching his kind, happy face. He’s wearing Christmas pajamas covered by an apron with a woman’s body in a Santa bikini and a jubilant smile.

  “Noel.” His surprised voice seeps its way into my chest and shakes my resolve loose.

  “David.” It comes out on a strangled sob, and I throw my pride at his feet and crush him into a hug.

  David tenses and takes a steadying step back from my momentum. Slowly, he relaxes and wraps his arms around me, one hand patting my shoulder.

  “Sweetheart, are you okay?”

  That seems to be the question of the day.

  Am I okay?

  I shake my head and continue to soak his shirt and apron in my tears. I’m convulsing, my chest heaving, and I’m gripping on to David so tightly that I’m probably cutting off his circulation.

  “What’s wrong? Did someone hurt you?” His head moves, and I imagine his gaze is searching the premises for a looming figure of threat.

  “N-n-n-noooo.” I weep into him.

  My hand moves up to rest over his heart—beating strong and steady—and I didn’t think it was possible, but I cry even harder.

  “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy …” I keep saying over and over.

  David’s hand covers mine and wraps around it. “Noel, I’m not—”

  “Are you trying to heat the outside?” I hear Laura’s voice behind David.

  He shakes his head and then motions down toward me. The two of them are probably having an entire conversation by looks alone.

  A gentle hand runs down my hair.

  “Noel, honey, what has you so upset?” That’s Laura.

  I sniffle and try to speak, but nothing comes out. Instead, I shiver and hiccup and clutch the material of David’s pajamas in my hands, trying to get closer. I’m not ready to let go, not when I’m still this weak and this close to something I love and miss so deeply.

  “She’s freezing,” Laura says to David. “Let’s get her inside.”

  David moves, and I whimper at the loss of his closeness, grasping for him in such a desperate way that I should be embarrassed.

  “We’re just moving inside, out of the cold, sweetheart.” David’s voice is low, comforting, as he moves me from the stoop and into their foyer.

  “Guys, the elves are getting antsy. They want Papa’s famous Santa pancakes and to divulge their stockings. What the heck are you doing out here?” The sound of Connor’s voice pours a soothing cream over the hurricane happening inside my stomach and mind.

  David turns slightly, so Connor can see me wrapped in his arms, my hand over his heart. My swollen eyes land on his, and I watch a myriad of emotions move across his face.

  “Journal Girl?” Connor takes a step closer, looking at his parents, trying to figure out what’s going on.

  At the sight of him in his ugly onesie Christmas pajamas and Santa hat, my waterworks go into overdrive.

  The storm inside me is starting to rage out of control again. This is all too much. Learning what I know, seeing Connor in his element, this loving family, my favorite holiday passing again without my parents here to celebrate with me.

  “What’s going on?” Connor asks his dad as he steps next to me. He brushes strands of hair back from my face that were stuck to my tearstained cheeks.

  “I don’t know, son. When I opened the door, she started crying and not making much sense.” David rubs my back.

  “Noel,” Connor says in a gentle tone and leans down, so he’s eye-level with me, “you have to tell us what’s going on, baby. What has you so upset?”

  I shake my head, not trusting my voice or my words. How do you tell someone what I know? Now that I’m here, I’m not positive it’s information I should share. What if this is something they never wanted? What if it makes things more awkward than they already are?

  Before I have a chance to decide, my arm moves, and I hold up the folder.

  His brow puckers as he takes it in, and then his gaze flies to mine. “You opened your present.” It’s a statement, not a question.

  I nod and squeeze my eyes closed, listening to David’s heartbeat. It calms me, and I exhale a long breath that feels like it’s been trapped in my lungs for hours.

  After a few more seconds, I finally make myself pull away from David, my head hanging low. We stand in awkward silence, the bustling noise of their family filtering through the house from another room. Kids are laughing, whining, and singing. I’ve interrupted their family get-together.

  Snot is running down my face, so I wipe it with the back of my hand. Laura shifts and then hands me a few tissues.

  “Thank you.” I hiccup and then tuck the folder under my arm, so I can blow my nose. I shake my head, trying to hide behind my hair.

  Coming here was a mistake. I should leave and let them enjoy Christmas Day with their family.

  Connor’s finger moves to my chin and lifts it up. His eyes are searching and soulful, and I’m scared to know what he finds written in mine.

  “What did you come across in there that has you so upset?” He nods his head toward the folder under my arm.

  My attention flashes to David, who is observing us with a sympathetic expression, and then back to Connor.

  Whatever I choose in this moment will change all of our lives forever. I should be strong, tell them I’m sad about the holiday and my parents, and let them move on with their day and celebrations, but I’m fragile. My head, chest, and heart are damaged, and I don’t think I can walk away and carry this burden of knowledge alone.

  It’ll always be there, between me and Connor. If there is anything left between us.

  I wipe my nose again and take a steadying breath before I pull the folder from under my arm and hand it to Connor.

  He grasps it, his hand running over the glossy front, before his jade eyes seek mine.

  “Open it. You’ll understand once you read it,” I urge him.

  “What is that, son?” David asks.

  The sound of his voice has more moisture pooling in my eyes.

  Pull yourself together, girl. At this rate, you’ll put yourself in the hospital because of dehydration.

  As if she can hear my thoughts, Laura enters the foyer again—I didn’t even notice her slip out—with a bottle of water in hand. She hands it to me and offers a sympathetic smile and a reassuring one-armed hug.

  The motherly gesture warms me from the inside out and makes me relish the feel of her caring spirit next to me.

  Connor glances at his dad, then me, and then his dad again before he studies the folder and runs his fingers over the front. He knows what he got me for Christmas, so I wonder if he’s already piecing together my behavior in relation to what he’s holding.

  He opens the folder and goes through a couple of pages, and I know the exact moment he reads the truth.

  His body stiffens, his mouth falls open, and he blinks several times. The folder drops to the floor, all the papers scattering across the hardwood floor—all, except the piece of paper he holds in his hand.

  “Oh my God. This can’t be.” His attention snaps up to mine and then his dad.

  “Connor? What is it?” Laura asks.

  “What are the odds?” Connor whispers. He steps closer to me and cups my cheek, his thumb brushing against my skin.

  “Probably one in a gazillion.” I briefly shut my eyes and lean into his touch.

  “Son.” David’s running out of patience as to what’s going on.

  “I think we should move into the study, Dad.” Connor nudges his head toward the hallway. “You’ll probably need to sit down for t
his, and it’ll offer us some privacy.”

  Just as he says that, three boys in pajamas tear through the foyer, chasing each other with lightsabers. They circle us, trying to jab each other through the gaps between our bodies.

  “Hey, hey, hey,” Laura says and herds them together. “No running in the house and no hitting your cousins.”

  “Ah, Nana,” the tallest boy with blond hair whines.

  The other two boys’ faces fall, and they give good puppy-dog eyes.

  “Don’t you Nana me.” She taps the tall boy on the nose and ushers the three Jedis toward the kitchen. Laura glances over her shoulder at us and says, “Go. I’ll join you in a few minutes.”

  We make our way into the library—otherwise known as the first place Connor and I made out—and sit on the couches. My cheeks heat when I glance at the desk, and the memories of what we almost did on that surface come rushing back.

  Connor smirks at me, knowing exactly where my mind is going, and squeezes my knee.

  Not helping, dude.

  David rests his arm along the back of the couch across from us, pops his ankle on the opposite knee, and waits for us to explain my odd behavior.

  Connor tightens his grip on my knee and nods for me to tell David because I guess it is my news to break.

  “I don’t know—”

  Laura enters the study and shuts the door behind her before she makes her way over to the couch to sit next to David.

  “What did I miss?” Laura’s gaze bounces between all of us.

  “Nothing yet,” David says gently.

  Before I lose my nerve, I say, “I don’t know how to tell you this, so I’m just going to say it.” I twist my hands together and focus on David. “I came across my parents’ organ donation list.”

  I leave out the fact that it was Connor who obtained the illegal information.

  “And …” I stall, swallowing against the river of tears that want to flow before I focus on David. “The heart beating in your chest, your miracle donation of life”—my breath hitches in my throat—“it’s my father’s.”