Yes, that was the word she’d have used for sunsets
on the coast, where she and her family used to vacation.
“I’d better check the bread.” He turned and went in,
leaving her to follow and wonder: had he gone in because the show was done, or because she had made him think of a time and place he wanted to forget?
Worry niggled at Fiona for the first time since she’d
arrived. Was it chance that they hadn’t yet talked about
his experience in Iraq?
Well, perhaps “chance” wasn’t the right word. The
truth was, last night they hadn’t been able to keep their
hands off each other. They hadn’t done nearly as much
talking as she’d imagined.
A smile curved Fiona’s mouth. Nope, she didn’t
regret how they’d spent the night at all. Besides, they
still had plenty of time to talk.
She followed him in, almost satisfied that she’d
imagined his change of tone at her mere mention of Iraq.
The lodge didn’t quite empty on the morning of the
twenty-fourth, but over half the guests left. The two
singles were still here, still completely uninterested in
each other or anyone else, and one couple stayed. They
were the ones that surprised Fiona. They dressed well,
and had been rather social since she arrived, as if being
so came naturally to them. She could picture them
hosting Christmas parties, not choosing to celebrate the
holidays in a rustic lodge far from the trappings that
meant Christmas to most people.
Curious, but trying to avoid being tactless, Fiona
asked casually over lunch, “Have you stayed here before
over Christmas? It’s going to be different for me.”
The woman seemed to force a smile. “Our daughter
is a junior in college. She’s doing the entire year abroad.”
“Oh? Where is she?”
“The University of Cape Town.”
“Oh, dear. I can see why she didn’t fly home for
the holidays.”
“We talked about going over there, but it’s all I can
do to make myself get on an airplane to zip down to
L.A. It takes something like twenty-five hours to get to
South Africa.” She shuddered. “Anyway…some friends
and she are traveling over the break. It’s summer there,
you know.”
“You must miss her,” Fiona said, her gaze caught by
the deep sadness in the woman’s eyes.
Her eyes filled with tears as she nodded, and a moment
later they made their excuses and left the kitchen. Fiona
felt bad that she’d reminded them of how far away their
daughter was and how unlikely that, having flown the
nest, she’d ever come home for long again.
That made her think of her own mother, who would
be celebrating Christmas for the first time without her
daughter. She knew Fiona wasn’t likely to call, given
the cell phone coverage here, and they planned to get
together as soon as Fiona was home.
John had put up a rather pathetic Christmas tree—a
scraggly six-footer dwarfed by the high ceiling and
massive peeled log pillars in the living area. When she
chided him about it, he shrugged.
“Couldn’t have put up much bigger with the tree
stand I found. Wouldn’t have been enough ornaments
for a bigger tree, either.”
Or lights. Fiona resolved, studying the tree, to hit the
after-Christmas sales when she got home and mail him
a new string or two of lights and some boxes of ornaments for future holidays.
Their small group gathered in front of the fire that
evening, sipped hot spiced cider and talked about
Christmases past. With the multicolored lights on the
tree, the deep comfortable chairs and the crackling fire,
the modest sense of companionship seemed to suffice
for everyone. They dispersed at an hour that would have
seemed absurd to her at home, murmuring, “Merry
Christmas,” as if they meant it—and, in the case of the
curmudgeon who liked to plant himself at the kitchen
table all day, as if he were surprised to mean it.
In bed, Fiona and John made love with the same, astonishing passion they’d felt the first time, sweetly tempered with patience and newfound knowledge of
where to touch to please each other.
On Christmas morning, while they were still in bed,