“You didn’t seem to mind the other night.”
“Which night?”
Even though Brian ran a bar, he didn’t want to encourage her. “Trina, we don’t have to stay here. We can go for a walk, you can talk . . .”
“Desperate times, desperate measures. Pour, Windmill Man. And don’t forget yourself.”
He reluctantly smiled while he poured her refill, two fingers’ worth, which he hoped satisfied her. But what would he have? With the bar separating them, he took a step back and gazed at the varied glasses on his shelves. Wine, beer, cocktails of varying sizes and shapes, and with nearly three years’ bartending under his belt now, he knew just which glass to grab for whatever the customer ordered, but now that he was faced with making a decision for himself, it wasn’t the glass stopping him; it was his choice. He could have told her that he didn’t submit to peer pressure but figured she wasn’t in the mood for platitudes. He grabbed a pint glass, poured a Saranac lager, setting it before himself but not drinking from it. He stared at the amber liquid until his eyes blurred, the foamy top and hoppy scent like strangers. It was not unlike him and Trina, and while he had tasted both and had felt his heart zing at forgotten memories, he wasn’t sure if there was enough attraction building inside him to take the next step. To her, or to the beer. His eyes flicked upward to hers.
“Cheers,” she said, raising her glass.
Brian lifted the glass and let it clink against hers, and then set it against his lips. He took a small sip before setting it down. “Okay, Ms. Trina Winter, tell me your life story.”
“What do you want to know?”
“What do you want to tell me?”
“Brian, we’ll get nowhere if all we do is banter around questions,” she said, spinning in her chair as she took another drink. He’d have to watch her alcohol intake; he wasn’t sure if she had driven over, thinking it unlikely since she seemed to enjoy midnight walks. Which meant he might have to drive her home.
“What’s that?” she asked, pointing to the gift on the pool table. “You’re getting ready for Secret Santa already?”
“More like the other way around,” Brian said.
“I thought names were going to be picked on Sunday.”
He explained the strange gifts and how this had been going on since the night they’d met, and how the arrival of the second gift had inspired Cynthia to come up with a town-wide Secret Santa. “It was actually Janey who made the suggestion.”
“Janey, she’s adorable.”
Brian had lifted his glass to take a drink, happy for the diversion. “You met her?”
“Not officially,” she said. “She stopped by Nora’s store the other day and I happened to be there.”
“Janey was there, why?”
“From what I heard, a Christmas surprise,” Trina said. “I didn’t stay to find out what.”
Brian had no idea why Janey would be turning to Nora for something. Unless it was her way to move beyond her dependency on Cynthia. Which just reinforced the idea that both of his friends had—that Janey needed a woman in her life. The questions was, did Brian too? He stole a look at Trina, busy knocking back her scotch.
“Barkeep, how about a refill?”
He paused, looked at her empty glass, his full one. She was up two to none. “Last one.”
“Brian Duncan, you are too good to be true,” she suddenly said.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Do you ever get tired of looking out for people?”
He shrugged. “Guess it’s in my nature. The people of this town have been good to me, so I like to return the favor.”
Ignoring the fresh pour sitting before her, Trina hopped off the stool and came around the bar. Brian wasn’t sure what she was doing, but he didn’t have long to wait to find out. Like the other night at the river’s edge, she leaned in and kissed him, this time wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him toward her. Her lips pressed deep against his before releasing them.
“Maybe it’s time you do something for yourself, Brian Duncan.”
He paused to find his voice. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Yes, you do.”
He blushed again, and this time the color went deep on his face. “Uh, you do realize that Mark and Sara live upstairs?”
She slid her hand into his and smiled. “Brian, you do realize I run a motel.”
Whether her remark inspired him or perhaps just set fear afire inside him, Brian Duncan reached for his beer, and he drank.
Snow had begun to drift down onto Linden Corners in the last half hour, a heavy wet snow that was sticking to darkened roads and sidewalks. Conditions were deteriorating fast, making it less than ideal for walking and worse for driving, but Brian figured it was only a half mile to the Solemn Nights Motel and less than two miles the other way back to the farmhouse.
Inside the truck, the heat was blasting but he still felt a chill rip through him.
It wasn’t the outside cold affecting him but a rushing mixture of fear, apprehension, and something he hadn’t felt in too long, desire. As a result, he felt that every move he made, every word that popped into his mind, would just add to his nervousness. So he just stared forward, flicked on the wipers, and concentrated on turning out of the parking lot. He went left, driving toward the Solemn Nights.
Trina was at his side.
Neither said much of importance during the short ride, thankfully the arrival of winter’s first storm of the season distracting them. Trina admitted that the sight of snowflakes as they caught the beam of headlights was what had been missing from her Linden Corners experience, and Brian stole a look sideways, seeing the wide smile on her face. She’d grown up in Florida, and so the classic image of Christmas was just that, an iconic portrait she’d seen only in pictures and television shows. Branches of the surrounding trees were quick to grab the falling flakes, almost as though they were craving them, holding them tight and asking where they had been all season. Nature spoke its own language, both outside among the trees and here, inside the confines of the cab, where two people silently anticipated the complex clutches of warmth.
Brian pulled into the parking lot of the motel, dousing the engine just outside the office. Turning off the headlights, he was blinded by the blinking, teasing neon of the VACANCY sign. Taking a quick survey of the lot, he saw only two other cars parked in front of doors.
“Number seven and number ten,” she said, answering his question before he’d voiced it.
“Oh, uh, oh,” he said.
Yeah, better to keep quiet.
She took hold of his hand again and squeezed it, and he felt the warm touch of her skin. With her key already out, he realized this was the point of no return. Should he make his excuses and return home? But return home to . . . what? An empty series of rooms? Or he could follow the intent of that key, giving entry into a new room, a new world. Hesitation finally losing out, he got out of the truck, watching around him as she quickly slid the key into the lock and turned the knob. The door swung open and she waited for him to step in first.
“See, now I get to invite you in,” she said.
Brian had been inside the rooms at the Solemn Nights only once before, three years earlier, when he’d first come to Linden Corners. After just a few nights’ staying here, he’d secured more permanent lodging at the apartment above the tavern, now rented out to Mark and Sara. In an odd twist of fate, Brian entered a building owned by his tenant’s family. The room, he saw, was sparse, with the expected furnishings and little else that spoke of Trina’s individuality. Hadn’t she been here for a few weeks? It didn’t look very cozy at all, not in a way that would make her feel like it was home.
“I spend most of my waking hours at Richie’s apartment,” she explained, again before he’d asked the question.
“Oh, uh, oh,” he replied.
She slid up before him, wrapping her arms around his waist. “You’re nervous.”
“Trina,
I haven’t been with anyone since . . . since Annie.”
She kissed him, and he returned the kiss. He enjoyed her touch, realizing it had been so long—too long—since he’d been in the arms of a woman. Sure, he had his friends and he had Janey, whose hugs filled his heart in other ways, but Trina was different. She was an enigma, one minute seemingly annoyed at the world, the next ready to tackle it. He wondered which one he was getting now. Gazing into her soft eyes, he detected someone else entirely, a hint of the person he’d met on the banks of the river. He recognized in her sweetness, softness, and a warm, welcoming light that drew him close to her.
“Someone once told me that you’re not living unless you have something to look forward to,” she said. “Looking back only causes pain, but living beyond today has its share of dangers too. No one knows how long they have on this earth, but yet so many still put off today thinking they’ll wait for another time. Not me. I subscribe to living life in the here and now. It’s a good place to be. Here is a good place to be, with you, Brian.”
He took hold of her hand and led her to the bed. As he bent down, a flash of light flickered in his eye, momentarily distracting him. He noticed that an open slit in the curtains was allowing in the glow coming from the parking lot. Trina had seen it too, and she got up from the bed and peered out. Brian then heard the unmistakable sound of car doors opening, then closing.
Trina couldn’t help but laugh. “I do believe I have some late-night arrivals.”
“Hourly?”
“Not from the looks of them,” she said with a laugh. “It’s an older couple. Brian, I’m sorry, but Richie is asleep and this is why I’m staying here. Let me get them checked in and then I’ll be right back. Fear not, I’ll give them room nine, far away from us.”
Trina grabbed her keys and made a fast exit, closing the door behind her. Brian sat down on the bed, stretching out his body, surprised at how comfortable the mattress was. As he stared up at the ceiling, he couldn’t believe this scenario, nor could he have expected it. But had the stars not aligned on this night? Janey was taken care of, his customers had left him alone early, and his nosy friends had pushed him and Trina together, to the point where he accepted that they enjoyed each other’s company. And now he was here in her bed, as if it was meant to be.
He thought it was also too soon.
The door opened a few minutes later and Trina returned, her face as white as a sheet.
“Something wrong?”
“Uh, Brian, are you expecting company?”
“Here, at the Solemn Nights . . . ?” he asked, confusion on his face. “I don’t understand . . .”
“The people who just checked in—they gave their names as Kevin and Didi Duncan.”
INTERLUDE
She felt the warm, soothing touch of the woman she had known her entire life, wishing never to have it pulled away from comforting her. Wishing time could somehow stand still and the two of them could remain as together now as they had been in a time people referred to as the past. She was only ten, so the concept of the past was strangely foreign to her, memories not yet buried in her mind, and instead lying so very close to her heart. Which was why when night fell and her eyes closed to the image of snow drifting down from the darkened sky, she grabbed tight hold of a frog with no name and wished she could see her. That was when her dreams began in earnest.
“Sweet dreams, my sweet,” she heard, a fading echo in the room.
She snuggled deeper into the tangled mix of blankets, protected against the cold that had, almost without warning, swept down over the land of the windmill. Her worry over not having a white Christmas had been for naught, as a soft coating of snow began to cover her home. That didn’t mean her other worries were placated. Christmas was fast approaching, and so much was changing, so much to get done. This year’s celebration would mean saying good-bye to friends, and it meant welcoming new folks into their pine-scented world of decorated trees and glittering tinsel, and not for the first time did the little girl begin to feel like a stranger in her own home.
Even when she wasn’t there. Like tonight.
An inner fear washed over her and she stirred in her sleep. Her dream had darkened further with the thought that her desired visitor wouldn’t know where to find her. The frog she nearly strangled, her need for security, safety, deep. If she couldn’t come see her tonight, she would cling to that which best represented her, the first gift given to the little girl. Tonight would have been the ideal time for a visit, and she began to speak softly in the darkness of the room.
“Mama, I’m not home, Mama. Do you know that? Can you see me here?”
The wind howled its answer, and that’s when her sleepy eyes darted wide open, in time to see the willowy shape take form inside the room. A glow illuminated her face, wonder spreading wide over her features.
“It’s time for you to join me again, Janey. There’s another story for you to know.”
“I’d follow you wherever,” Janey replied.
But again such an unknown journey wasn’t necessary, because, much like the first time, the windmill was their inevitable destination, and only the story would be different.
Janey felt like she was floating on air, carried beyond the confines of the Knights’ home and toward the mighty windmill, and perhaps she was, since she saw no footprints in the fresh snow. The white blanket that had fallen from the sky in the last few hours remained as pure as when the clouds released it and gravity took hold.
Gravity had no such lock on her, and soon she was cresting the hill and through the thicket of woods that separated one property from another. She could hear the gentle gurgle of the stream and saw the stone bridge that enabled mortals to cross from one side of the bank to the other. At times, like when the snow melted and the season changed from cold to spring beauty, the stream would spill over and flood the land. It was one of the reasons for the building of the windmill, but practicality had not been the sole reason in the mind of its creator.
At last the little girl and the woman she called Mama emerged into the clearing, and the windmill loomed like a twirling giant on an empty landscape. The sails spun, slicing snowflakes that came into its path, the reconfigured flakes like confetti falling from the air. Janey, nearing the windmill, wondered why she wasn’t cold. With her tongue she tasted the snow, and when it melted seconds later, she knew she was surrounded by a force of great warmth. That was because her small hand was connected to the spirit guide and she could feel the steady pulse of their bond, Annie’s hair flowing behind her like wings able to keep them afloat.
“What story from the past are you going to tell me this time?” Janey asked.
“Why should it be a story from the past?” she asked.
“Isn’t that where all stories come from, from experiences already lived?”
“Some stories are yet to be written,” she said. “And others, well, their time is now.”
“Mama, you never used to speak in riddles,” she said.
“Where I live, all riddles have answers.”
“Do you see Dad?”
“Which one?” asked the willowy spirit, and she would say no more.
The windmill awaited them, and suddenly Janey found herself standing before the door. It opened without assistance from her, and she stepped in. Darkness surrounded her, and she realized she was alone. Not a single light shone inside the old mill, and not outside either. Sudden worry washed over her. Why, with Christmas ever so close, had Brian not done as he had the past two holiday seasons and adorned the windmill with its endless rows of lights?
Brightness called out to her from upstairs, that same glow she’d seen inside her room.
“Mama?”
“I’m here, Janey, always. But know that this is not a place for doubts, so you must leave them outside your dreams.”
Janey knew this was a test of faith, not just of Annie, not of Brian, but of herself. Trust in yourself, she thought, and moments later she was magically transpor
ted to the second level of the windmill, her eyes immediately glancing over at the closet, the door closed. Despite its being a place known for hiding Christmas gifts, temptation just a turn of the knob away, Janey knew not to look. This was another test, one of truth. So she turned her back to the door, and that’s when she saw a flickering light coming from outside the window. A sail passed by, then a second, a third, a fourth, and with each revolution that beckoning light flickered more, drawing her to its flame.
She saw a scene before a fireplace widening as fast as her eyes.
She knew the room; she recognized the photographs on the mantel and the red and white stockings that hung from it. This was her home, and it was magically decorated for Christmas. But which one? She had to wonder, expecting to see her mother and her father emerge from the shadows and enact another Christmas memory. But hadn’t Annie said tonight wasn’t a night for yesterday, and if not then, and if not tomorrow . . . then where was this scene supposed to be taking place? Time was making little sense to the little girl, and as was often the case, confusion set her nose scrunching.
“Mama . . . ?”
It wasn’t Annie who answered, but Brian. He’d called out her name, or she thought he had. She peered deeper into the magical window.
“Janey, we’re ready for the final touches,” he said.
He wasn’t speaking to her from inside the windmill, but rather from within the scene she saw through the window. A blurry image before her caused her to blink, and as she opened her eyes again she saw green tendrils come into focus. Branches of a tree, that’s what they were, and she knew then it was their Christmas tree. But still time eluded her. Which Christmas was this? Who else was there? Just she and Brian, as it had been? Or . . . and then she saw them.
She knew them, the two figures who stood before the tree, admiring its beauty.
“That’s Brian’s parents,” she said aloud.
But they weren’t here yet, she thought. Then she remembered tomorrow . . . if time’s laws still ruled in this dream-spun world, tomorrow they would arrive, and so this must be how the present Christmas would occur, Brian and his parents and Janey . . . wait, where was she? He’d called to her but she’d yet to appear.
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