Jim beeped and pulled his truck next to her. “Get in,” her boss ordered.
“Thanks, but I can walk.”
He sighed, and the door to his truck squeaked as he climbed out, leaving the engine running. He grabbed her bike and lifted it into the bed of the truck. “I’m not asking.”
She glanced at the sky, noting the storm clouds in the distance over the mountains. She had an hour walk ahead of her, and if it rained, she’d be soaked through by the time she got home.
Lowering her head, she walked around the truck, and he opened the passenger door. Once she climbed in, he slammed it behind her. The broken in leather seats of the cab smelled of diesel fuel.
He clambered in behind the wheel. “There’s an empty takeout bag on the floor if you’re gonna be sick. Buckle up.”
A deep breath pulled from the hollow pit of her stomach as she clicked the seatbelt into place. Jim drove with both hands on the wheel and took his time, going slower than the law required.
“You know, after Tina died, I never put up a Christmas tree again. The holidays were her thing. She’d always spruce the house up and make it smell like cinnamon. Said it was her favorite time of year.”
Her gaze remained focused on the two-way CB radio all the firefighters had in their cars so as not to look out at the road rushing by.
“Wasn’t until years later when the kids were all teenagers that they told me how much they missed the way the holidays used to be.” The truck turned slowly, and her stomach lurched. “I agreed, saying no one did Christmas like their momma, but that wasn’t what they meant. Turns out, they missed spending the holidays with me. For years, I just treated it like any other day. I’d get them a few presents, but then I’d park my ass in front of the TV until I woke up and moved to bed.”
The rain started and the sky darkened, casting shadows around them. The windshield wipers kicked on, and she tried to time her breathing to the slow pace, but her heart was beating too fast.
“I can’t ever give them those holidays back, Maggie May. And just like me, you’re losin’ time too. Now my kids are grown and doing their own thing. They’ve made new traditions.”
The truck turned and her mouth watered. She glanced at the bag on the floor and closed her hands into fists.
“At first, I didn’t want to participate in holidays without Tina. I made excuses and told them to go on and enjoy it without me, but they insisted.”
She recognized her street from the corner of her eye. The rain fell harder, pinging off the metal roof and drowning the windows. The wipers sped up, now moving faster than her heart.
“Turns out, I never stopped loving Christmas. There are parts that remind me of Tina and make me miss her a little bit more, but it’s bittersweet. Just because she can’t celebrate with us anymore doesn’t necessarily mean we ain’t got reason to celebrate. This past year, my oldest gave birth to my first grandchild. And now her sister’s expecting.” He pulled into her driveway and put the truck in park. “The point is, life goes on, whether we want it to or not. You aren’t saving anyone by standing still. You’re only missing out and hurting yourself.”
Her hands were so tight her knuckles cracked when she opened her fists and unbuckled the seatbelt. She didn’t meet his eyes.
“I tried to move on. I can’t.”
“I couldn’t either. Not without my family.” He patted her arm through her sleeve. “Maybe give your mom and dad a call. I know they’d be happy to hear from you.”
Shutting her eyes against her tears, she nodded. “I will. Thanks for the ride home.”
“You go on in. I’ll put your bike in the shed before I go.”
“Thanks, Jim.”
Just as she climbed out of the truck, her vision and hearing muffled by the rain, twin headlights flashed. Ryan’s truck pulled into the driveway, casting a spotlight on Jim as he lifted her bike out of the truck bed and tucked it inside the shed.
His hood was up, due to the rain, and before he got back into the truck, he came around and hugged her. “You know I’m only looking out for you, Maggie May. To me, you’re still just a little girl playing dollies in my front room with my girls.”
“I know.”
“Go on and get out of this rain before you catch a cold. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Dodging puddles, she ran across the backyard and up the steps. Jim pulled away, and she looked across the driveway. Ryan sat in his truck watching her. She went inside.
Chapter 24
Maggie taped the box shut and carried it out to the shed where she’d crammed the others. It was getting difficult to open the doors without risking something spilling out. Furniture, instruments, bags of clothing, and paperwork filled the space from floor to ceiling. Yet, with every box removed, no sense of accomplishment came.