Christmas in Snow Valley

by Cindy Roland Anderson

  Chapter Four

  FAMILY.

  All of the times I’d been hugged and chastised by someone in Snow Valley played through me. Countless. They were like family. They treated each other as family whether they knew you that well or not.

  I nodded and then pushed into the room, the quiet hum of the television balancing out the beeping of a heart monitor. The blinds were pulled closed and the room was dark.

  My mother didn’t hear me enter. I watched them, my father lying there. His eyes closed. My mother. Her red hair was the same color as mine. It looked like it had a lot more grey now. Even though she had barely turned forty this past year, she was always in a hurry to get things done. And she did, even with her limp. She never let her hip degeneration get in the way of her taking care of everything and everyone else.

  No one was watching the television that cast an eerie glow over the bed. My mother held his hand, her eyes closed.

  I recognized the way her lips moved silently. Praying.

  Of course, my mother would be praying. It’s what she did.

  The wall I’d held in place the last two and a half years felt fragile. “Mom?”

  Her eyes flipped open and she rushed at me. “Molly.” A cry of relief.

  We hugged, but I quickly pushed back. “How is he?”

  My mother swallowed. “Doctor Taggert said it could have been caused by a lot of things, but I just think he works himself too hard. I’ve been trying to tell him, well, forever, you know, but he doesn’t listen to me.” Tears welled in her eyes.

  I nodded and moved next to him, trying not to think about the letter.

  His eyes fluttered open, a slow smile spread across his lips. “My Molly.” His voice was a whisper. He reached for my hand.

  I took his hand, not letting his fragility or endearment reach me.

  The pounding of my heart whooshed into my head, making me hold to the back of the chair next to him. I gave a rubbery smile to both of my parents. “He’s okay?” I questioned my mom.

  My mother pushed her hair behind her ear and her blue eyes fluttered rapidly. “The doctors say he needs to be on heart medication and he needs to off-load some of the ranch work, but we’re working that out. I think the Wilson boy, Porter, I don’t know if you remember him?” She questioned, not really wanting an answer, and then continued, “He’s going to help us out with the chores right now. We’ll pay him.” She shook her head, like she was trying to shake out the rest of the words. “It’ll be fine.” A small, quick smile, and she turned to my father. “It’ll be fine.”

  I recognized that ‘it’ll be fine’ for what it really was—just words. It would not be fine. She was worried. I pushed it away. “Good.”

  I stared down at my father’s rough, callused skin and then wanted to pull away. “I have to get back to the store as soon as I can.”

  “What?” My mother’s voice was desperate. “You’re not staying?”

  I turned to her. “You don’t need me, he’s fine.”

  She threw her hands into the air. “What do you mean, we don’t need you? You’re our daughter. Our only daughter, you should be here.”

  My pulse was fast, but I slowly unwound my hand from my father. “I have to go.”

  “No.” He pushed out the breath.

  I reluctantly looked back at him.

  He looked at my mother. “A minute, please.” His voice was so weak.

  A surge of worry went through me.

  I knew she didn’t want to leave the room for a second, but—he’d asked. She gave me a sad smile. “Okay.”

  I knew she thought if anyone could talk me into staying, he could. It had been that way between us when I was growing up—I’d been daddy’s girl.

  Without warning my hand shook. The last two and a half years of pain settled into me. I focused on my fingernails, picking at the polish I had been destroying the whole flight.

  The door lightly closed.

  “My Molly.”

  Emotion bubbled into my throat. No, I wouldn’t do this. I was a wall, my pain a shield against him.

  “Forgive me, Molly.”

  I stared into his face. His skin was like leather from working countless hours in the sun. His green eyes that I’d often been captivated by when he’d spoken to me, pierced me.

  “For what?” He didn’t know I’d seen the letter.

  “We should have come to visit you. Your mother wanted to, but I always hoped you’d just come home.”

  My heart squeezed, but I ignored it. “Well, it doesn’t matter now.”

  Nothing mattered.

  “Oh, Molly.” He sounded Irish when he said my name, even though he’d been born in America. “Why haven’t you come home before now? I’ve missed you singing with me.”

  I smiled and the pain of the letter surged into me. Some things were too hard to talk about. They were best left in the past. “I’ve been working toward my own store.”

  The way his lips turned down made me sad. He reached his hand out, again. “You’ve always been good at selling things. I knew you’d do great things.”

  I sighed and took his hand, not daring to look into his eyes.

  “I love you, my Molly.”

  Then the heart monitor let out a piercing flat-toned screech.

  The rest was a whirlwind. This time, it was exactly like it happened in the movies.

  My mother rushed in, her limp making her almost fall.

  “Mom.” I reached out and grabbed her as she threw herself on my father’s legs.

  Nurses ran in, yelling out orders. They grabbed a machine in the corner of the room and I heard loud static as the nurse pressed the handles together.

  “Get them out of here!” someone yelled.

  A man in blue scrubs grabbed my mother and pushed her away from my father.

  “No!” she cried.

  They pushed me, too.

  I was completely numb, only reacting by taking hold of my mother and blocking her from running back into the room.

  She broke down and dropped her head into my shoulder, holding onto my shirt. “No! No!”

  The jolt of energy they put into my father sounded exactly like a television show.

  At this exact point in time, I realized that he couldn’t die.

  His monitor went from that blaring monotone—to the pulse of life.

  Both my mother and I rushed back into the room.

  Two nurses stood on either side of him, their smiles showing their relief.

  A doctor ran in behind us. “What happened?” he demanded.

  “He flat-lined,” said one of the nurses.

  The doctor stared at the monitor and then took off his stethoscope and put it against my father’s chest. His eyes widened. “This might not be as simple of a problem to handle as we initially thought.”

  My mother turned back to me and took my hand. “I need you, Molly.”

  ***

  I woke to the smell of pancakes. Then I remembered sitting by my father’s bed with my mother until after midnight. Guilt seeped into me. We’d gotten home late, but my mother was up cooking for me.

  I opened my eyes. The popcorn ceiling from the nineteen sixties that my parents always talked about getting rid of stared back at me. I longed to pull on my shoes and go for a long run even if it was cold. But that wouldn’t happen today. I shoved off the thick, denim quilt on the bed. My mother and grandmother had made dozens from worn out jeans on a big frame in the middle of our living room while I was growing up.

  I loved the thickness of these quilts. I had one back in Colorado that I’d cleaved to since I’d been gone. The only thing, at times, that felt substantial enough to hold me when I felt the most ungrounded.

  I hadn’t shut the blinds the night before and the sun flooded my room. I pushed away the curtains and stared out at his house, less than an acre away.

  To my astonishment, he sat on the tire swing, staring back at me.

  My heart raced and I jumped back, my hands going to
the t-shirt and pajama pants I wore. I felt exposed. I sucked in a breath and couldn’t stop myself from peeking out, again.

  Kevin sat, a beanie hat covering his head, his whole body covered in Carhartt. He lifted a gloved hand.

  No. No. No.

  This couldn’t be happening. Kevin Snow couldn’t be there. I could imagine his green eyes behind those sunglasses.

  I didn’t wave back. I actually shut my blinds. “You won’t do this, Kevin Snow,” I muttered it as I went to the shower and then quickly got dressed. I ran down the stairs.

  My mother sat at the table, her hair perfectly coiffed into her A-line cut. The line of her shirt was ironed. Her makeup was fresh.

  “I’m sorry, mom.” I looked at the clock. Nine. I couldn’t believe she let me sleep in. “How long have you been waiting? Did you do all the chores by yourself?”

  She pushed her hair behind her ear and glanced in the direction of the Snow place. “Kevin did it.”

  I froze.

  She stopped talking. Brusquely stopped talking. The only kind of stopped talking my mother did when she really wanted to say more. A lot more.

  I slowly slid into the chair next to her.

  She didn’t speak.

  I took a sip of juice and then used the homemade syrup to slather my pancakes. I hadn’t eaten pancakes in a long, long time. “That’s great.” I said without looking at her.

  “He does all the morning chores. Then, the Wilson boy, Porter, you remember him?” she asked, but didn’t wait. “He comes at night while I’m with your dad at the hospital. But, I’m thinking I’m just going to keep him on.”

  I took another sip. “I’ll pay him.”

  My mother took an intake of breath. “No you won’t. We can manage just fine.”

  “Yes.” I said it firmly. “I can do that.”

  She dismissed this. “No, we’re fine.”

  “I got my own store.”

  “Really?” The smile that filled her face didn’t seem truly happy.

  “Really.” Surprisingly, I didn’t feel the same happiness as the other night.

  “Well, that is great. That is just great.”

  “Right.” My thoughts went to the store, I would have to call Sally and Joe and check on them later today. I could probably get a flight out later in the afternoon. Take a few hours with dad then hop on the plane.

  “Molly?”

  I shook my head, coming back. “Sorry, yes?”

  “Now you can run that store and then…another store, that’s the plan, right? Build businesses?” Her smile was stretched and rubbery, tears were in her eyes.

  “Mom?” I didn’t understand the tears.

  “It’s just…well, I thought you’d come home after…well, after you’d missed us.”

  She had hinted at the fact that she wanted me back in Snow Valley, but she’d never been this direct. I didn’t know what to say.

  She sucked in a breath. “Never mind, so anyway, I was talking to Pastor John on the phone about you this morning—”

  “This morning?”

  My mother nodded. “Of course, dear. Everyone knew you would come back when this happened.” She paused and blinked. “He wants me to make sure you have a personal invitation to the Christmas pageant and his services on Christmas Eve. And he said you could have your old spot as an angel in the play.” My mother grinned and took my hand. “I still have your wings. I got them out and put them on the back table.”

  The sheer whirlwind of Snow Valley’s Christmas events washed over me. “What? No.”

  “As long as you’re here you may as well enjoy it, right? I thought today we could go be with your father, but tonight is the town fireworks.

  You have to go.”

  “Mom, I’m leaving tonight.”

  If there would have been an extreme deafening noise from silence, this would have been the part when that noise would be played.

  “Mom, Mr. Hollingsworth gave me ten grand off my buy in because I’m good at what I do. Right now is premium sales time, I have to get back. I still have radio spots, we are having a multi-store raffle and giveaways. I’m in charge of all of it.”

  A severe frown twisted my mother’s lips. One side started trembling.

  I had never seen her lips tremble before. I thought of Susan Hinks telling me to be nice to them. “Mom.” I begged now, the sound of my voice, the sound of twelve-year-old me that wanted to do some activity she wouldn’t allow.

  “I hate that store.” Her words came out short, mean.

  I hesitated, the moisture in my eyes taking me off guard. “The Hollingsworth’s have been like family to me, I can’t disappoint them.”

  Without warning, she stood and half-way ran, limping from the table. “I don’t want your money to pay the Wilson boy.”

  Thirty minutes later, I walked out the front door, my bag rolling behind me. I’d come. Even though my mother was upset at this moment, five minutes of knocking at her bedroom door hadn’t lured her out. I had to go. I’d scheduled a flight out of Billings for seven p.m. That gave me a couple hours with my father. I ignored the layer of guilt that was taking up permanent residence in the lower pit of my gut and moved to the rental car. I piled my suitcase in the trunk and then did something I would regret later.

  I looked at the tire swing.

  Chapter Five

  KEVIN STILL SAT ON THE SWING. He waved and his mouth widened into a grin. I could see puffs of breath coming off of him from the cold.

  A stir of anger shifted inside me. Why was he on that swing? The swing we’d pushed each other in—all the time. All growing up. Through high school. As friends, then as boyfriend and girlfriend. Until—it’d been over.

  Just like that.

  Seeing him, just sitting there, ticked me off. It wasn’t logical. I hadn’t seen him in two-and–a-half years, either. I had defriended him on Facebook and purposely avoided looking at any post from friends that we shared.

  I had guarded my heart, well, the semblance of what had been left of my heart. Countless Christina lectures filled my brain. Why hadn’t I tried to date, at least accepted more dates? But, I hadn’t. I’d focused on the jewelry store. On becoming someone completely different than the girl from Snow Valley that her parents hadn’t wanted and her boyfriend…hadn’t wanted, either. I looked up and saw my mother standing in the window. She lifted an eyebrow in challenge.

  There had been two main reasons to leave Snow Valley—and both of them were staring back at me.

  I marched out to it, him—our swing. I trudged with righteous indignation. I tried not to notice his facial hair. It made him look different. Older. Mysterious.

  “Hey, Mol.” Kevin said it before I got there. “Are you coming to sell me something? Mud pies, snow balls? Let’s see, what else did I buy from you over the years?” He snapped. “Rocks. Do you remember when I paid a nickel for a bag of rocks?” He let out a soft laugh.

  Mol. He had said ‘Mol’ like he still could say it. Like he was still that boy I went to the swimming ditch with. Like he was still my best friend. Like he cared about me. He couldn’t talk to me like that. “Why are you doing the chores?” I demanded.

  His chin jerked up and he gut laughed. “You sound angry.”

  “I am angry.” And I was. So angry. For so long angry. He sat here like…like…like he could just sit here and talk to me about the past and do chores for my parents.

  His face got serious. “How’s your dad?”

  This question almost dispersed my anger. “He’s fine.”

  Kevin put his hand on the rope above his head; his eyes slowly searched my face. “What do you think of the swing?”

  “What?”

  He kicked his legs back and then forward. “I dug her out of the shed today.” The side of his lip tugged up. “I could use a push here.”

  I shook my head, trying to understand this ludicrousness. “Wh-no. No. Kevin, you and I are not people who push each other on swings anymore.”

  The speed of
the swing increased with his leg pumping. “Oh.” He cleared his throat. “Right. Well, I just thought it would be fun to swing on it again.”

  Fury. Damnation. Hell itself wouldn’t describe the way I wanted to push his swing off the tree track or whatever… “Well, it’s not fun. It’s not fun to swing or push or see you sitting out here.” I looked at my bedroom window. “Have you just been waiting for me to come out like some stalker?”

  He lifted his eyebrows. “You look good, Mol.”

  I didn’t respond.

  He grinned. “Let’s try this again. I say ‘you look good.’ You say, ‘thank you, Kevin, you look amazing. What—do you do like one hundred push-ups a day? You look like it. Plus, I know you’re not a crazy stalker.”

  I wanted to be anywhere except here.

  “C’mon, you used to love it when I’d have conversations for us.”

  I longed to chip more paint off my fingernails, but they were hidden in my gloves. “What do you want?”

  “I just want to know about you, what you’re doing?”

  Before I could stop myself, I said. “Really? You want to know? Because I thought we ‘needed time.’” I air quoted and then hated that I’d shown myself.

  Both of his hands gripped the sides of the swing. His jaw tightened. “What’s wrong with taking a turn on the swing again?”

  I rolled my eyes and threw up a hand. “It’s—I guess the swing should just be left in the past. I mean, do you even know if it’s safe to swing on it now?”

  He scoffed. “Obviously, it’s fine.”

  “Do you know where it’s been?”

  His eyes narrowed. “I told you, it was in the shed.”

  “For how long?”

  His lips perched into a line and he stopped swinging. “I don’t know.”

  “Then you don’t know if it will last, the last person to use it could have broken something.” I was grasping. This was ridiculous and we both knew it.

  He gave me a pointed stare and then shrugged. “I just thought…never mind.”