by Aria Ford
“You say so,” Amelia said, her back still toward me. “But yet you are kind. Thoughtful. Capable of much.” She turned to face me as I cleared my throat, about to argue that.
“Amelia…”
“You think you are broken,” she said, quiet but angry. “Yet you think of others, and wish not to hurt them. You are still whole, Carson.”
I stammered. “I have trauma,” I began, honestly.
“Yes,” she nodded. “But that’s okay. People you love can understand that.”
“No,” I said, shaking my head. For some reason, I didn’t want to hear that. “I don’t even understand,” I added, laughing.
“Maybe not,” Amelia said firmly. “But all I have to do—all anyone has to do—is know that they don’t know. That they can’t know. That’s enough.”
“Amelia…” I sighed. I reached out a hand to her but she brushed it away, startling me.
“No,” she said crossly. “You are so stubborn, Carson,” she accused, angrily. “You set your feet on a path and then you stick to it and it doesn’t matter to you how true it is or right it is or how much you hurt people. I could hate you for it.” She was clearly angry, for she stood back, chest heaving. I felt worried.
“Amelia…” I paused. Perhaps it would be best if I let her hate me. It was where I wanted her to be, after all. I turned away.
“You can walk away,” she said harshly. “It seems to be what you do best. But know this. You are not a lost cause. The only person who lost you is yourself.”
I turned and stared at her. I thought about what she was saying, but it made no sense. It made me confused, and angry. “You think that,” I hissed. “You can’t know that.”
“I know the man I have loved for years,” she snapped back. “I know the man who was always kind, always thoughtful, always noticed the little things and made them easier.”
“That man died, Amelia!” I said urgently. “I’m not him now.”
“Oh?” her voice was quiet now, and cold. “And so who was it, then, that paid for the Peterson’s broken window?”
I stared at her. “What? How?” I shook my head. “Amelia? You guessed it?”
She sighed. “I guessed, but it was obvious. Carson Grant, you’ve always cared that way.”
I shook my head, a tired grin on my face. “Amelia Carlyle,” I said. It was all I could think of saying. I reached out a hand to stroke her soft, curly hair. I let it drop, uncompleted, at my side. I sighed.
“It’s late,” I said softly. “I should go to bed.”
“Maybe,” she agreed quietly.
We looked at each other. I walked closer. Put my hand out. Touched her shoulder. We stayed where we were. We could have been statues, each lost in the moment.
I cleared my throat. “Thanks,” I said roughly.
“What for?” she asked. Her voice was soft. Her hand took my wrist and I didn’t move away.
“For knowing me. For telling me. You’re right.” I sighed.
“I didn’t do anything, Carson,” she said and her voice sounded gentle and tired both.
“Yes, you did,” I said. My own voice had almost disappeared, all tight in my chest.
“What?”
“You loved me when I thought I was unlovable,” I managed to say. “I can’t thank you enough.”
“You don’t need to thank people for love,” Amelia said quietly. “It just happens. I’m thankful for it too.”
My heart actually bruised. I knew it couldn’t, not really, but it ached inside me as if someone had punched me in the chest.
“Amelia,” I said roughly. My whole body longed for her, my heart pining.
“Carson,” she said.
We looked at each other for another long moment and a strange understanding communicated itself. She turned away.
“See you in the morning.”
I nodded, swallowing past the lump that pained my neck. “See you tomorrow.”
It was only after I had walked from the attic, turning the light off behind me, and down the hallway to my bedroom, that I remembered what tomorrow was.
Tomorrow was Christmas day.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Amelia
I woke the next morning to the sweet sound of carols, playing on the CD drive downstairs. I stretched my arms overhead and felt a delicious tingle in the pit of my stomach, one I hadn’t felt for years.
“It’s Christmas day!”
I rolled out of bed and drew off my nightgown, pulling on my dress I had laid out the night before. Another Christmas tradition in the family was to wear something a bit fancy for Christmas. I had selected a dark burgundy dress with a wide, ballerina-length skirt and a bow around the waist. I brushed out my hair and looked in the mirror.
“Amelia, you look stunning.”
I smiled at the woman with the soft butter-colored curls and big blue eyes, her figure draped in velvety cloth. I did look pretty. My eyes were shining. I was, I realized, quite excited.
“…was to cer-tain poor shep-herds…” I sang as I brushed my hair and put on makeup, doing bad close-harmony with the music downstairs. I pulled on some new shoes and headed lightly downstairs.
“Sister!” Brett said. He embraced me in a Brut-scented hug, clasping me fiercely to him. I blinked back tears.
“Brett,” I said. “Brother. Happy Christmas.”
“Happy Christmas, Amelia!” Reese said from the couch. She stood up and squeezed me against her. “You look gorgeous!”
I smiled shyly and pirouetted in the full skirt. “You do too, Reese.”
She blushed. “This old thing?” She ran a hand down the classic Hunter green dress. It was so stylish it screamed designer couture and it probably was, knowing Reese. She looked super-stylish, as always. Brett was wearing a navy-blue jacket and his hair shone in the candlelight.
“Come on,” he said. “The kids are already under the tree. I can’t see them waiting until breakfast is finished.”
I laughed. I followed them through to the kitchen, heart thumping, and breathed in the dizzying smell of eggs and toast and coffee, mixed together.
“Happy Christmas!”
I was bombarded by two small heat-seeking missiles that were Cayley and Josh. I knelt to hold them against me and they giggled and kissed my cheeks.
“Happy Christmas, Cayley,” I said. “Happy Christmas, Josh.”
“Auntie!”
“Come see the tree!”
I laughed and followed them into the sitting room. The lights were twinkling and sparkling, the pink ones glowing in high contrast with the leaves and the tinsel that wrapped the branches. I could smell pine and spices and coffee and my heart soared. I was with my loved ones and it was Christmas. What more could I want?
I bit my lip and followed the kids back to the kitchen for breakfast.
“Hello?”
The voice that spoke from the door behind me made my entire body shiver. It was Carson. I turned around. He was standing in the doorway, a slightly sheepish grin on his face. He had remembered the tradition and dressed in jeans but with a tweed blazer that looked absolutely rugged and stunning on him. I felt my belly warm with longing and I stood, turning to face him. I saw his eyes widen and then narrow as they took in my appearance and my heart soared, cheeks flaming.
“Hello,” I said simply.
He held out a hand and I took it. My thumb rubbed the roughness of his knuckles and I looked into those dark eyes. He smiled at me.
“Carson! You want coffee?” Brett said from behind me. Carson nodded.
“Yes, thanks Brett. That would be awesome.”
We all sat down for breakfast together. He was sitting beside me. My whole body tingled at his presence. He was not looking at me, but every now and then I caught his eye swiveling toward me, often as mine glanced at him. The third time it happened, I saw him bite back a grin. My whole body melted.
“So,” Reese was saying, passing me a tray of toast. “Are we going to open gifts now?”
We all laughed.
“Okay,” Brett said, swallowing the last of his coffee. “Let’s go and find some.”
“Hurray!”
Both kids vaulted from their seats and followed Brett into the sitting room. The three of us looked at each other in contented silence.
“I should go and fetch my things from upstairs,” I said, feeling nervous. Now, more than ever, I wished I’d brought something for Carson. He had turned and was looking into my eyes. He smiled warmly.
“Great plan. So should I.”
We went out into the hallway together. I walked next to him, my eyes rigidly ahead, not wanting to touch him. As I drifted past, my hand slid against his and I tensed, feeling the jolt of longing that had been there all morning suddenly spark like tinder.
“I’ll be down in two seconds,” I said through a dry throat, hurrying up the stairs ahead of him. I grabbed my bags of gifts, lamenting the lack of a fifth one, and hurried to the sitting room.
Once there, we all took a place in the chairs while the kids dove under the tree, where their presents had been piled up, gleaming with shiny wrapping and ribbon.
“Okay,” Reese said, taking over as master of ceremonies, “let’s start unwrapping.”
“Whee!”
“Hurray!”
The enthusiastic shouts from under the tree were echoed by soft smiles from the adults. I was opposite Carson and the look on his face was so tender that I blinked rapidly so as not to start crying again.
“Aw, sweetie!”
“You shouldn’t have!”
Brett and Reese were opening their gifts from each other. Carson and I watched, soft smiles on our faces, as the two of them expressed their love for one another. Reese had perfume, which she sprayed on herself liberally, filling the room with a sudden soft floral scent. Brett breathed in appreciatively and she giggled.
“Just what I needed,” Brett explained, showing us his gift, which turned out to be a voucher for a fancy menswear store.
“Oh, nice,” I said, nodding appreciatively.
“So much better than having to guess myself,” Reese said, rolling her eyes, making me chuckle.
“I got a sword! Look!” Josh said, producing a handsomely-crafted wooden saber. He brandished it with immense pride.
“I’ll show you how to use that later,” Carson promised, making me raise a brow at him inquiringly.
“My dad did fencing at college,” Carson explained softly. “He taught me the basics. You can’t start them too young, you know.” He winked.
I smiled back. “I didn’t know you did fencing. You should show me.”
“I’m too shy.”
I felt my heart melt at that smile. He couldn’t have said something more guaranteed to move me. I had never realized it before, but his aloofness really was shyness, not snobbery. I wished I had realized that ten years ago. It might have made things easier to understand.
“Okay,” I said, through a tight throat. “I promise not to watch.”
“Okay,” he chuckled.
“Come on, you two!” Brett interrupted. “You’re not opening presents.”
“You’re right!” I said.
He laughed. “Come on. Yours are over there, Amelia. And yours are by the fireplace, Carson.”
We both stood and, feeling like a little kid, I started to unwrap my gifts. There were three parcels. The first was predictable—a raincoat from the store for which Reese worked; an upmarket boutique for women. It was classic and elegant and I loved it. The second was from Brett—an external hard drive. I rolled my eyes at him.
“Well? It’s so you can save your photos on something,” Brett said with a smile.
“You really are my big brother, aren’t you?” I hugged him.
When we moved apart, we were both blinking back tears. I loved my brother so much it hurt.
I looked over at Carson, who had received a deluxe box of chocolates and a silk tie. He looked absurdly pleased with both gifts, and was already opening the chocolates. I looked at my last gift.
Who is it from?
It was small—very small—and wrapped in plain gold paper, the latter slightly rumpled as if it had been carried in a case or pocket over distance. I frowned.
It isn’t. It can’t be.
But it must have been. It must be from Carson.
Fingers trembling, I started to open it. As I worried at the sticky tape—it was really well-fastened down—I felt his gaze on me. I looked up into his level brown eyes and then looked away again, feeling my heart shiver.
I opened the parcel. Looked at the small, oblong box in my hands. I felt my heart stop.
He wouldn’t have. It isn’t.
But it was. In the box, coiled on its plump red cushioning was the little heart-shaped locket he had given me when I was seventeen. I had given it back when we split up. I hadn’t wanted to see it after that. But here, winking up at me in the light of a brace of candles, it was.
“Carson! I…oh…” I sighed. There were no words for this. I felt my throat close and swallowed hard, trying to work away the lump that filled my throat so I could speak again. But what could I say?
Reese was watching us thoughtfully. Brett was on his knees on the floor, collecting spent wrapping-paper and the kids were racing cars around the tree. I was dimly aware of all of it, but my eyes were glued to Carson.
He was smiling.
“You like it?” he whispered.
I nodded. “Oh, Carson. I…”
I sniffed. I suddenly needed to be elsewhere. I stood and walked quickly to the kitchen, heels clicking on the tiles. He followed me in.
“Oh, Carson,” I whispered. I reached out and took his hands. He held mine steadily. His fingers worked over the skin of my knuckles, caressing it softly.
“First,” he said in a ragged whisper, “I have something to say.” He swallowed and began again. “I have to say I’m sorry.”
“No, you don’t,” I said gently. “Carson, you don’t have to say sorry for anything.”
The old, familiar words between us took on a new layer of meaning. I leaned forward and he leaned forward and his mouth was soft on mine. I reached up and wrapped my arms around his chest and his arms closed around me, holding me tight against him.
Enveloped in the warmth of his embrace, his firm lips tender on mine, we stood there, rocking gently, as the CD player played “Angels from the realms of Glory.”
“Oh, Carson,” I murmured against his mouth as he broke away and looked into my eyes.
“I wanted you to have it,” he whispered. “It’s like my heart. It was always yours.”
I really did cry then. Burying my face in his shirt, I sobbed and sobbed. He stroked my back and held me close and together we healed something in the cozy, spice-scented space of the kitchen. At length, my nose twitched.
“Oh, heck.”
“Is that…”
“My cookies!”
Reese, her cool composure shattered temporarily, burst into the kitchen and threw open the oven door, emitting smoke.
We all laughed. After a moment of horror, she laughed too. We all stood in the kitchen, bracing ourselves on the table, as we laughed and tears of merriment poured down our faces to the strains of “Hark the Herald Angels Sing.”
Brett arrived in the kitchen with the kids, took one look at the smoke and, laughing, wrapped his arms around Reese tenderly.
“My beloved, all is not hopeless: we can make trifle.”
We all laughed. Reese kissed his cheek. “My gallant husband.”
Seeing them together, I felt a lump in my throat. Carson caught my eye and the look on his face was so tender I felt my heart melt.
The kids, sensing something momentous and happy had occurred in the sitting room, were dancing around the kitchen, singing along with the carol. There was an infinity of happiness in those four small walls and my heart soare
d.
Yes, there really was such a thing as Christmas magic, I decided.
We all set about preparing dinner after that. My gravy was a success, which was as much a proof of Christmas magic as any. I was nervous about how it would taste, but at least, as I put it aside to stay warm until required, I knew it was smooth and well-mixed.
“Okay,” Reese announced, sighing, “now all we have to do is wait for the oven to work.”
The kids, who had been helping, raced back out to the sitting room to play on the hearth with their new cards from Reese’s mother. We all sat around the table, peaceful and expectant, the crackle of the fire the only real sound in the room, Carson stood and excused himself.
“Sorry, guys. I have to make a phone-call.”
“Sure, Carson,” Brett called amiably after him. “Just don’t take long. I want to play snap, and I intend to beat you.”
“You keep on thinking that, Brett Carlyle. I’ll be back in a moment.”
We all laughed. When Carson had gone out, I caught Brett and Reese exchanging a strange look. I frowned.