After Christmas

by Anna Catherine Field

  I draw an “x” over my heart with my finger. “Promise.”

  With a glance at the timer on the oven, she takes my hand, and I follow her out of the house and down the skinny porch to the narrow staircase that leads to the upper levels of the house. She goes first, giving me an amazing view of her backside as she climbs to the second floor. The staircase shifts to a ladder as it stretches upward, going to the small room off the third-floor attic. My house is a similar floorplan, but at some point, the upper room here was enclosed, where mine is still a screened porch.

  Wind whips against us when we get to the top, blustering against our legs. Collin’s reaches over her head and pushes open the trap door, the warning sign long gone.

  I follow her in, peeking my head through the opening. It’s like a tiny tree house up in the sky. The view of the ocean and much of Haven Island is spectacular—almost as good as the historic lighthouse a few blocks away. Once I climb all the way in, she closes the door beneath us, and I get a good look at the small room.

  An L-shaped table takes up part of the room—part of it is workspace, the rest for supplies. The walls are covered in art; posters, postcards, stickers, magazine pages…it’s a hodgepodge of imagery. A bulletin board is filled with photos of her brothers. In one, I hold up a crab, taunting Collins, her face scrunched up in annoyance. We’re all golden from the sun and carefree.

  Small trinkets line the windowsill—everything from figurines to tea cups to cut glass and dried flowers. I spot something familiar, the tin antique Santa she’d taken from Mom’s trash.

  “What is all this?” I ask, touching the Santa.

  “Little things from all the houses I’ve worked on over the years. Sometimes pieces just call out to me. Usually the stuff isn’t worth very much.”

  On the actual worktable, I see the sheet of wrapping paper we’d made our deal over—the one that turned into our first date. Other than that, there’s nothing really concrete going on, just sketches and a few crumbled-up papers in the trash.

  “Well,” she says, spreading her arms. “Does it meet all your childhood expectations?”

  I glance around purposefully. “I thought there would be more dolls and possibly unicorns.”

  She laughs. “I’m sorry to disappoint you.”

  “Never,” I reply, and I walk over, slipping my arms around her waist. “Thank you for bringing me up here.” I nod to the workspace. “I have no doubt you’ll create something fantastic.”

  “We’ll see…I can’t get focused right now. Too much going on or something.”

  “If it makes you feel better, I’m finding you a little distracting, too.”

  I press my lips against her neck, feeling the warm, tender skin, and her phone rings, vibrating in her pocket. She fumbles for it, a process made harder by the fact I refuse to loosen my grip.

  “It’s my mom,” she says. “Hello.” Her mother speaks, her voice muffled against Collins’ ear, and I kiss her collarbone. “Oh shoot. Sorry, sorry, sorry. I’ll be right down.”

  “What happened?”

  “The cookies! That’s what happened! We left them on.”

  She scrambles and lifts the trap door, and I grab her before she steps away.

  “You’re going to finish this project, Collins, I have no doubt about that. I can’t wait to see what you come up with.”

  “You think you’ll come to the show?”

  “I wouldn’t miss it.”

  She grins and heads down the ladder, off to salvage the cookies.

  I get one last look at Collins’ little world perched at the top of the island, and relish the fact that I’m the only guy she’s ever allowed inside.

  17

  Collins

  The house smells like sugar and spice, triggering an automatic sensation. The cookie party is a tradition, something my mother has done since before I was adopted. The lead-up is chaotic, filled with trips to the store, burnt batches of cookies, forgotten invitations, and my mother growing annoyed with my brothers.

  Yet, every year, including this one, she pulls it off.

  It wasn’t easy adding it in to the work we were doing next door. The sale starts tomorrow, and we spent most of the day arranging and pricing everything.

  None of us wanted to give up the party, so we worked fast and now we’re in position, each of us having our standard jobs. Tillman is in charge of ice and the drinks. Van takes coats and points guests to the dining room. Miller stands around, looking handsome and charming (and doing nothing very productive), and I’m in charge of arranging the cookies, which takes more talent than you’d expect.

  By the time Julian walks through the door, I feel like I’ve greeted a never-ending sea of neighbors carrying trays, each one more awkward to arrange than the next.

  When I see what’s in his hands, I smile. “I want to kiss you.”

  “Good, I want to kiss you, too.” He bends over, and I grab the two-tiered display trays he’s carrying.

  “For these,” I tell him. “I want to kiss you because you brought these and just gave me a lot more room for my display.”

  “Sometimes I think you’re using me for access to my mother’s extensive holiday and party supplies.”

  I push a tray of gingerbread in his hands. “Hold this.” Then I rearrange the space, filling the tiers with peanut butter balls and snowflake-shaped sugar cookies. I add in the gingerbread and survey the table. “Much better.”

  He surveys the table and slips a hand around my waist. “Now can I get that kiss?”

  I glance up at him. The purple blemishes are gone from under his eyes and he looks a million times better than he had when he first got home. Better rested, less stressed. There’s a flicker of light in his eyes that I can’t help feel is just for me. I touch his chin and he bends slightly, brushing his lips against mine.

  “You taste like brown sugar,” I say. “How many cookies did you eat before you got here?” I’d sent extras over to his house to store.

  “Just one,” he replies. “Maybe two.”

  I make a scolding face, but he’s reaching for another cookie. I playfully slap his hand. “Not yet.”

  “What? Why?”

  “It’s not time. We can come in for these when it’s time to swap.”

  He frowns, looking confused. “So it’s a party for cookies and we can’t eat them.”

  Miller walks through the room. “Don’t even try to figure out the cookie process. Just do what I do.” He sneaks two different treats and shoves them in his mouth. He then says though a mouthful of cookies, “Sneak them.”

  “Miller! You know the rules! You both do! Don’t make me tell your moms!”

  The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. I wince. “I’m sorry, Julian.”

  “It’s okay. Sometimes I forget she’s gone, too.”

  In a flash, he’s not the man I’ve come to know, but the little boy I grew up with. I grab a peanut butter ball and slip it to him. “She’d be happy to know you’re here and that you brought her plates and cookies.”

  “I think she would be.” He brushes back my hair. “I think she’d also be happy to know about us.”

  I smile. “Yeah?”

  “She always loved you, Collins. She’d be thrilled to know that you guys had taken me in and were helping me through all this.”

  I wrap my arms around him, inhaling his clean scent among the cinnamon and chocolate. He holds me back with strong arms and a tight grip. It’s a perfect moment, one with only the slightest concern. I can’t help but wonder if Julian would have started dating me if his mom was still alive, if he’d come home like any other Christmas. Typically, he’s in and out in a few days, never glancing my way.

  I can’t help but wonder if he really likes me, or if he just needs me.

  And what that means for the future.

  18

  Collins

  “Excuse me, can you tell me if this is an antique?”

  “There’s a chip in this, can I have
ten percent off?”

  “Does this sewing machine work? Can you set it up for me to try?”

  There was a line twenty minutes before the sale started, snaking down the driveway and onto the street. We’d expected a good turnout. Mom placed an ad in the local paper, and Van left signs all over the neighborhood. We have a mailing list and Facebook page. Add all that to the fact the Edges' home is a historic landmark—people just want to see it.

  We hit the ground running, and I barely notice Julian come down the stairs. I do see the slash of worry on his forehead and how he looks anxiously at all the customers. After having a few good days, I hate seeing his anxiety return.

  Miller has just finished setting up the sewing machine, and I grab him by the arm.

  “You’re on Julian duty. Make sure he doesn’t flip out with all these people in here.”

  “Got it.”

  We’d gone out of our way to give the house a little bit of holiday flare—just to capitalize on the season. Mrs. Edge had so many decorations, it seems like a great way to organize the merchandise. One whole room is dedicated to other holidays. Mom decided to set the dining room up traditionally, including a big tree and the holiday china place settings around the table. It looked beautiful. Maybe too much so, because when Julian walks into the room, he stops cold.

  “Why is that for sale?” he asks, squeezing between two customers, and pointing to a box of ornaments.

  I frown. It’s a newer set, something we’d agreed would be for sale. I keep an even tone. “Would you like to keep it? We can pull it out if necessary.”

  He grabs it off the table, his bright eyes stormy and stressed. “What about that clock? My grandfather made that.”

  “Okay.” I look around the room for help. Everyone is busy. Where’s Miller? “I thought you’d decided you already took one clock and didn’t have room for another.”

  He looks on the verge of a breakdown. I grab his arm and pull him down the hall. I text Miller.

  Collins: SOS

  “Hey, what’s going on?”

  His jaw tenses, and he runs both hands through his hair. “It’s just…it’s just moving too fast. All these people here, the sale,” he looks down the hall at someone carrying a vase, “seeing my mom’s stuff head out the door.”

  I step between him and the exit. “We sorted through all of it, remember? None of that is stuff you want.”

  He cranes his neck. “But what if I do need it? What if I made the wrong decision.”

  “Dude, I’ve been looking all over for you,” Miller says from the end of the hall. I exhale in relief. “Mom needs me to go pick something up in Savannah. It’s heavy—can you ride with me?”

  Julian’s eyes dart between us. “I don’t know, you guys probably need my help around here.”

  “Go,” I say, forcing a smile. “Get out of here. We’ve got this and will call you if we need anything.”

  He nods, still conflicted. “Okay, we can come back if there’s a problem.”

  “Perfect.” I push up on my toes and kiss him on the cheek. “Talk to you later, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  My brother and I share a look as he ushers him out the back door, away from the shoppers and any temptation to stick around.

  I breath a sigh of relief, knowing it’s the right thing to do. Julian is just overwhelmed; hopefully, once the sale is over, he’ll chill out.

  Down the hall, a woman walks by holding a metal folding chair. It’s one we brought over to sit on during the sale.

  “Excuse me,” I call, kicking back into gear. “Ma’am, that’s not for sale…”

  I see the guys out the window, climbing in the truck, thankful they’re leaving. I’ve got too many things to do and babysitting Julian isn’t one of them.

  The good news, I remind myself, is that this is my last job. I can get through it.

  I just hope Julian can, too.

  19

  Collins

  Pop! Pop! Pop!

  The cracks are followed by the familiar squeal of fireworks. Illegal and not common on Christmas Eve Eve. The Fourth, sure. New Year’s Eve? Totally.

  Only tourists and trouble-making island boys would set off fireworks at this time of year. Unfortunately, I knew of two unaccounted-for boys at the moment.

  “Tell me that’s not your brother,” Mom says from her desk as I walk toward the door. “The last thing I need is Sheriff Jacobson showing up. They’re not juveniles anymore, you know.”

  “Yeah,” I say. “Trust me, I know.”

  I grab my jacket and a flashlight, taking the porch that leads down to the long boardwalk. The wooden planks stretch over the sand dunes that protect the houses from storms and erosion. I’ve just reached the beach when two more streaks of fire cut through the sky. One red, one blue. The blue one bursts into a shower of light over the ocean.

  Two boys—young men—stand by the edge of the water, faces aglow. My heart twists when I see one of them. Julian. “Collins!” Miller shouts when he sees me. “Come on. I have a few Roman candles left.”

  Julian looks up, guilt written on his face.

  “Seriously? Fireworks? The police are bored—do you really want to give them an excuse to come down here?”

  I take a step forward in the dark, tripping over something hard. The objects clank, glass against glass. I flash the light over it. Beer bottles.

  I fight a wave of annoyance. “So fireworks, glass on the beach, and underage drinking. It’s like you want to break every rule you can? Did you guys drive here too? Want to toss in a DUI?”

  “No one drove, Collins,” Miller says, obviously irritated I’m harshing their buzz. None of my brothers are big drinkers. It’s one reason Mom let Tillman start working the bar at the Dive. They’ve all had a stupid moment, every bored local kid has, but I’m not used to seeing either of them drunk. I shine the light in their faces and they wince, shielding their faces.

  “Clean all this up and come inside.”

  I drop the light and Julian’s eyes connect with mine. He smiles ruefully while Miller starts to pick up the debris.

  “Hey,” he says, words a little slurred.

  “Hi.”

  “Are you mad?”

  “No, but it’s been a long day and I’m tired.” He picks up the cooler and stacks the beer bottles inside.

  Once it looks like they’re both really going to come inside, I start back up to the boardwalk. That’s when I see two other figures coming down the boardwalk steps, faces illuminated by the moonlight. Girls. Rita and Shelby. They each have a six-pack of beer in their hands.

  My stomach plummets.

  “Hey, Collins,” Rita says when she sees me. I only glance long enough at Shelby to see the smug grin on her mouth. “Want a drink? We just ran to the store.”

  “No, thank you.” I wrap my coat around me and keep walking. My main--and only--goal is to not have a breakdown. At least on the outside. It’s already happening on the inside.

  Footsteps pound on the sand behind me, followed by the clank of empty bottles. “Collins! Wait up!”

  I don’t.

  “That’s not what it looks like,” Julian says, catching up to me, out of breath from running through the loose sand. “Miller invited Rita. I had no idea Shelby was coming.”

  “Whatever, Julian,” I say, heading up the steps.

  “I don’t want you to be mad.”

  “I’m tired,” I repeat, “from working your estate sale. Which, if you remember, is not something I wanted to do in the first place.”

  “Yes, you’ve made it clear that I need constant babysitting.”

  I storm forward, trying to put space between us. I don’t want him to see me upset. How important he is to me. How much this has hurt. “This is on me. I asked Miller to get you out of there today. I just didn’t realize that would mean you two acting like idiots.”

  We reach the spot in the boardwalk that has a small gazebo and benches. He grabs my arm. “Collins, hold up. Stop runni
ng away from me.”

  I laugh. “Me? Stop running from you? That’s rich.”

  “What do you mean?”

  There’s a light in the boardwalk, small and dim, but it’s enough that I can see his eyes. They’re glazed, distant, confused.

  Every insecurity I’ve been carrying for the last week bubbles over. “I mean, all you’ve done for the past three years is try your hardest to get away from Haven Island. Away from your family and friends. And suddenly you’re attached to lamps and old Christmas decorations. You’re attached to me. Is that all I am to you? Another piece of Haven to cling to before you walk away for good?”

  I don’t even mention Shelby.

  “That’s not fair. It’s never been about running away, Collins.” His hands thrust into his hair. “I’ve spent years running toward something; an education, a career, a bigger life than what I can have on this tiny island.”

  “What about now? What do we do now? Because I live here, and I don’t plan on leaving.”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t come here expecting this—you. After losing my mom, the house, I came back home thinking it would be the end. A clean break. But instead, I found you.” His expression softens. “Grown-up, gorgeous, witty, smart you.”

  My heart, which one second ago felt like it’d been stabbed, twists another direction. It’s not a good thing. It’s confusing and overwhelming.

  He grimaces. “Can we talk about this later? After Christmas?”

  I shake my head and cross my arms over my chest. “No. Whatever you have to say, I want to hear it now.”

  Because I need to know. I can’t drag this out any longer.

  His hands push into his hair. “I thought I was going to leave here for good. Maybe visit Molly. A reunion with Miller, but being with you, that changes everything. You’re going to tie me back here.”

  “And you don’t want that.”

  “It wasn’t in my plan.”

  “What do you want now, Julian?”

  He swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing. “I don’t know.”