Snowstorm at Cedar Creek

by J. L. Jarvis

  Without thinking, she reached out and touched the scar. He moved too slightly to call it a flinch. His eyes met hers, and something palpable happened between them. It was so unexpected, Annie’s breath caught in her throat. He appeared as stunned as she felt. His lips parted.

  Finn’s phone rang. His eyes flickered away as though he didn’t know what to do next. He recovered and pulled out his phone. He still looked like he was in shock when he said, “I’ve got to go.”

  Annie helplessly watched as he answered the phone and went back down the stairs.

  What was that?

  She leaned back against a stack of boxes and caught her breath.

  You are not going to torture yourself. She wasn’t a schoolgirl anymore. She was an adult. And one of the great benefits of being an adult was that she knew better than to do this to herself. She forced herself to think clearly. Finn had been through a traumatic series of events. He was vulnerable, and he trusted her. They trusted each other, which was why, no matter what that might have been, it wasn’t too late. They hadn’t done anything foolish. Like kiss.

  What if I’ve misread the whole situation?

  By the time Finn reached the bottom step, a recording came on his phone trying to sell him a car warranty. He shoved his phone back in his pocket, glanced back up the empty staircase, and nearly tripped over the cat as he walked out the door.

  He had crossed over into an alternate universe. What else could explain what just happened? It was a moment.

  A moment? I nearly leaned over and kissed her!

  Once inside his cabin, he put on his headphones and tried to drown out his thoughts with his playlist of nineties alternative rock. Three songs later, he lay sprawled on his sofa staring at the ceiling. It wasn’t working. He pulled off his headphones and gave in to his thoughts.

  How had that even happened? He’d been talking about his retirement, and she felt sorry for him. He hadn’t meant to elicit her pity, but Annie was inherently empathetic. He couldn’t blame her for that. The more he thought about it, sympathy and attraction could look a lot alike. Both involved gazing with soft, caring expressions, and her eyes had looked soft and caring. That must have been it. It was sympathy. He’d only misconstrued it because of his feelings for her. That made sense.

  Those feelings presented an issue. Finn wasn’t one to lie to himself. He’d loved her for years. He once assumed it would all fade away, but years passed. It wasn’t as though she was on his mind constantly. He’d been wrapped up in his life. Children had a way of making it easy to put one’s thoughts and needs on a figurative shelf. But from time to time, something would bring back a memory.

  There was something comforting about that. The past was a secret place he could escape to and remember what happiness felt like. He lived for the summers when he would see her or even exchange a few words. He tried to rationalize his emotions by telling himself she was just Annie, part of what made being up here in the mountains so special—like the sweet smell of grass and earth just as a summer rain starts to fall. This was where he felt peace, and Annie was part of it all.

  Being back at the cabin full-time had changed everything. Finn was single again, for one thing, and his son had gone on with his life. He wasn’t working, so he had time to think—too much time. And Annie wasn’t just in his past any longer. She was right there next door, practically within reach. His once-pleasant memory of the past was now present.

  And yet it seemed fitting that she would be there. Their friendship was solid and comfortable, the sort that could survive separation for years and resume where they’d left off when they got back together. A friendship like that was a valuable thing. Trying to shoehorn it into something else was too much of a risk. One weak moment of longing to put his lips on hers wasn’t worth acting on and losing a friendship over.

  Still, they’d had that moment. It was too powerful to try to pretend it hadn’t happened. It was going to make things awkward between them. The more time that passed before seeing each other, the more awkward it would become. He wasn’t sure what he could do about that. Except see her. Like ripping off a Band-Aid, they needed to see each other soon and do something that would feel normal again. At this moment, he couldn’t imagine anything that would make him feel normal. He’d have to figure that out. He and Annie might not ever forget how they’d felt at that moment. He certainly wouldn’t. But if they could view it as a passing aberration, their friendship would survive, as solid and reliable as always. With any luck, his feelings for her would go quietly back to the place in his heart where they belonged—safely buried.

  8

  Annie stole glances at Finn’s cabin while raking the last remnants of leaves from her yard. She had left it too long, but the first snow had melted and given her a second chance to clear the leaves.

  Two days had passed since she’d seen him. That wasn’t unusual for neighbors, but Finn was her friend. She missed him. That wasn’t unusual either. Annie surveyed her progress and decided she’d done enough raking for the season. After putting the rake away, she emerged from the garage. There he was at the mailbox.

  Finn seemed happy to see her. The resulting warmth in her chest was an overreaction, but she couldn’t help it. Since their little attic event, Annie’s insecurity had taken hold. She prided herself on being an expert at controlling her feelings. Why she had let her guard down like that, even if only for a moment, she still couldn’t understand. It was obviously awkward for Finn. She even wondered if he had some sort of app on his phone that had caused it to ring with one touch. She couldn’t bear the thought of him having to escape from her like that. It was a step beyond looking at your watch and saying, “Oh, look at the time.” She wondered if Finn was avoiding her now. No, that’s impossible. But she had a superstitious fear that if she said it or thought it enough, it might come true.

  Seeing him now reassured her.

  He waved, mail in hand. “Annie!”

  She waved back. Happiness washed over her. She’d missed his easy smile.

  He walked over to her and stood close enough for her to catch a whiff of his soap. She stifled an urge to lean forward, fling her arms about his waist, and bury her face in his chest.

  Finn’s eyes seemed intent on her. Was he having a similar thought? No, he pulled a dead leaf out of her hair, then he lifted his mail. “Look at this.”

  With a puzzled grin, she stated the obvious. “That looks like an envelope.”

  He glared into her eyes, but a mischievous spark betrayed his amusement. A moment passed. When she failed to produce the correct response, he said, “It’s a Christmas card.”

  “That’s nice.” She could immediately see that was the wrong thing to say.

  He looked earnestly at her and repeated. “It’s a Christmas card.”

  Confused, she said, “Yes. I think we’ve established that.”

  “Which means…?”

  “It’s a card… about Christmas?” She was really trying to grasp the point he was making.

  “Which means Christmas is coming.”

  Annie raised her eyebrows, which prompted a disapproving sigh from Finn. “Oh, I get it,” he said. “You’re one of those people who has their Christmas shopping done in July.”

  You don’t know me at all. Even if that were true, I would never admit it. “I’m actually not much of a shopper. It’s my only character flaw.”

  “That’s great!”

  “I know! As flaws go, it’s way better than sloth.”

  His eyebrows drew together. “Yeah. Too bad though.”

  Annie brushed her hair back. “Really? It’s never been a problem before.”

  “Because we’ve never been together at Christmas.”

  Together? That sounds like a promotion from neighbor. “No, I guess not.”

  His face lit up as if a light bulb had just gone on in his brain. “Misery loves company!”

  “Good to know. A stitch in time saves nine.” Annie glanced back at her cottage. This was not
one of their more sensible conversations. Still, any conversation with Finn was a good one.

  He was smiling that broad, spontaneous smile that always lit his face and invariably hers. “So we should go Christmas shopping together!”

  “Sure. We should do that.”

  “How does tomorrow morning sound? We could grab some breakfast then press our noses to the glass until the stores open.”

  That sounded just perfect, except for one thing. She winced. “Tomorrow’s a workday. I’m not on vacation till the end of the week.”

  “Oh. I forgot that you work since you’re here all the time.”

  Annie nodded. “Working from home. But I could go after work.”

  Finn shook his head. “Won’t you be tired?”

  “That’s okay. I still need to do my Christmas shopping—not that I’ll get it all done in one evening, but it’s a start.”

  Finn folded his arms and stared off in the distance. “Yeah, and what we don’t get done tomorrow, we can finish this weekend.”

  “I guess we could do that.” It sounded like a perfectly good idea. She just hadn’t expected the offer.

  “Good! It’s a date—a shopping date. Call me when you clock out of work.”

  “Okay.”

  As she went inside, the word date echoed in her mind. A shopping date’s almost a date. It has the word “date” in it, so that’s good enough.

  No, it wasn’t. It wasn’t good at all. For someone who was determined to focus on herself for the first time in years, the bulk of her thoughts went to Finn. Maybe thinking about Finn was just an unhealthy habit she’d carried over from youth, like leaves that don’t get raked away in the fall.

  Oh my gosh! My brain’s full of leaves! You can rake all you want, but you’re never fully rid of them. You might think that they’re gone, then it snows, and for months, you forget them. Then spring comes and there they are—all wet and mushy, and smothering healthy grass so it can’t grow up and live a full life. I’ve got Finn-induced leaf rot, and it’s keeping me from living a full life in the sun.

  It had to be some kind of syndrome. She fully expected to find it on the next cover of Psychology Today.

  But, eventually, leaves decompose and fertilize the soil, which is good. Except that means my brain is full of… fertilizer.

  Finding herself once again caught up in a familiar emotional cycle, Annie applied the only known cure. She went to the kitchen and cooked up a pot of hot chocolate, filled her favorite Christmas mug, and topped it off with whipped cream. On the way to the sofa, she grabbed a pair of fuzzy socks and a throw blanket then settled down by the fire to watch a holiday movie.

  9

  It was no use. Flutters of anticipation plagued Annie throughout the workday, and it wasn’t from work. She didn’t mind her job as an insurance biller, but it wasn’t exactly the kind of work that made one feel tingly all over.

  Finn, on the other hand, did. Each time her heart tried to take flight, Annie reminded herself they were only going shopping. Even if they’d be spending the evening together, Christmas shopping placed them firmly in the friend zone. Given the past couple of days, a return to familiar territory would be a relief. Annie rolled her eyes. She’d had a lifetime of that familiar territory, but overanalyzing a ten-second event in the attic was torture.

  The truth was, if she and Finn were meant to be together, it wouldn’t be so hard. People met all the time, and they knew which path they were on. Even if things didn’t work out, they knew where they stood. But she and Finn were just aimlessly wandering. They really needed a path.

  For two days, she had wasted valuable time she would never get back simply trying to second-guess Finn, which was something she'd never done well. Nothing tangible or measurable had happened between them, except one or both of them had tried to fly too close to the sun. Relationships were complicated and potentially painful. Friendships were consistent and reliable. So here they were where they belonged. It was good to be on familiar footing.

  Annie was ready and sipping a coffee when Finn arrived at the door looking like an outdoorsy magazine ad. He wore outdoor gear as a rule, but today, his jeans were freshly laundered, and his pullover knit shirt fit just snugly enough to define the muscles in his shoulders. She wouldn't mind giving him a few more of those shirts for Christmas. His hair stuck out in damp clumps, not yet dry from the shower, and a subtle whiff of cologne wafted toward her. She breathed in through her nostrils.

  His eyes swept over her face. “Ready?”

  “Yes.” As they walked to the car, she marveled at how shopping with a friend could feel so suspiciously like a date.

  Two hours of wandering from store to store cured Annie of any preconceived notion that this was a date. It was way too much fun for that. As small as Cedar Creek was, it went all out for Christmas, with evergreens and lights lining both sides of Main Street. Every store had its own charming Christmas display. Annie couldn’t imagine how anyone could walk down the sidewalks without being infused with Christmas spirit.

  Finn and Annie got so caught up in the holiday spirit that they began to compete for who could find the weirdest gift and then to identify who deserved to receive it. They realized it was time to go home when Annie was laughing so hard she had to apologize to the store clerk ringing them up, after which Finn grasped Annie’s hand and led her outside.

  As Finn settled into the driver’s seat, Annie said, “I still think the cowboy-boot toilet brush holder had your name written all over it.”

  “You, madam, have succumbed to a bad case of shopping hysteria.”

  Annie frowned. “Which isn’t a thing.”

  “But hunger is. How ’bout something to eat?”

  “Sure.”

  In the middle of town, they settled into a booth in a cozy cafe, where they reviewed their shopping lists and formed a plan of attack for the following weekend. Annie took her last sip of hot chocolate. “Christmas shopping was never this fun, although if Ella asks, tell her I said she’s my favorite shopping companion. I could never drag Matt into stores.” Why did I even bring up his name?

  “Matt never struck me as the gift-shopping type.” He hastened to add, “Most guys aren’t. I’m not. I guess that’s why I clown around so much. It’s a coping mechanism.”

  “I think shopping was too mundane for Matt.” She lifted her eyes to meet Finn’s. Being friends for so long wasn’t always a good thing. He seemed to know there was more, so he waited. “Matt never did anything in an ordinary way—including dying. He was good at surprises.” Annie drew in a breath. “I don’t know where that came from. I’m sorry.”

  “Why?”

  Compassion was a powerful thing. In the right hands, it could pierce any armor. It certainly cut through Annie’s. “Because.”

  “Good answer.” His mouth turned up at the corners.

  She’d meant to say more—something to smooth over the moment and veer the conversation in a different direction, but she couldn’t speak for a moment. No matter what she’d been through with Matt, random moments still gripped her.

  “Matt and I weren’t happy.” That was no deep, dark secret that she was disclosing. Matt had done everything in a grand way, including argue. He didn’t have a violent bone in his body, but he was dramatic. In retrospect, Annie realized all the excitement and energy she’d been drawn to at the start had a flip side. When things didn’t go his way, Matt's energy had been equally strong. “At the time, I let my emotions drive my decisions. That was a mistake and a tough lesson to learn.”

  Finn nodded with compassion, which almost overwhelmed her.

  “When Matt died, I just took that part of my life and gently packed it away. It would be there if I ever needed to remember, but I didn’t want to.” She stopped. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”

  Finn said simply, “Because I’m your friend.”

  How could the same words make her feel so cared for yet kept at arm’s length? “It’s this place—bei
ng home. I can’t seem to shake the sensation that I’ve stepped back in time, and the oddest memories come back with no warning. I still walk into the kitchen and see my grandfather holding a green Fiestaware mug full of coffee. For some reason, that makes me choke up. This village is full of things like that—little breadcrumbs people left behind marking their journeys. And me. I’m left behind.”

  Finn’s eyes softened. “I’m here too.”

  “I think I’ve always known you were there for me—even when I didn’t like what you had to say.”

  His eyebrows creased as though he didn’t understand when that might have happened.

  Annie felt the need to explain. “When you told me I shouldn’t have married Matt, I was angry. I think I might have overreacted.”

  “Do you mean when you said I was jealous?”

  Annie grimaced.

  He went on. “And that I didn’t want anyone else to be happy.”

  Annie winced. “I was wrong. You were right.”

  Finn smiled gently. “Let’s engrave that on something. It would make a great Christmas gift.”

  She would’ve laughed if she weren’t so embarrassed.

  Finn’s smile faded. He clenched his jaw, which he usually did when he was stressed. Or lying. Annie narrowed her eyes. “What?”

  “I didn’t say anything.”

  “But you’re thinking it. Come on, Finn. I know you. You’re a terrible liar.”

  He combed his fingers through his hair. “I’m not lying. I don’t even know what you think I’m lying about.”

  “I think you’re not telling me something.” She assumed he was sparing her feelings. She could only imagine what else he might’ve said.

  He exhaled. “Dammit, Annie. Okay, I was jealous!”

  His words dealt such a harsh blow, she froze. Is this one of Finn’s jokes?

  He shrugged. “I never told you the whole story about Europe.”

  Still in shock, Annie waited and listened.