KT, Chloe, and I plan to celebrate Christmas together tomorrow, and they’ve planned a trip into Santa Barbara tonight for dinner and a drive around to look at Christmas lights. The three of us strung thousands of lights around the marina, on the buildings, the boats, even the construction equipment, and they light up the night and reflect off the lake now as I walk toward the parking lot.
My parents haven’t fully accepted my decision to stay in Wildfire, but they’re trying, which is better than I’d hoped for, and with the silence and serenity surrounding me, I’m calmer and more complete than I’ve
ever been. I still shake my head when I realize how long it took me to figure out where I belong.
I hear a clank from the other dock, then KT’s “Ow. Goddammit. You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
“What are you doing?” I hurry down my dock, leave the gifts at the edge of the parking lot, and veer toward KT. It’s nearly six p.m., and she and Chloe should be headed to Santa Barbara by now.
“Shit, shit, shit.” KT’s voice is edged with pain, and I push my feet into a jog toward the Cecelia Ann, not easily done on a dock in heels.
I find her on the deck of her houseboat, the engine hatch open, her arm deep in the compartment. She’s attached a spotlight to a deck chair, so it shines into the space below deck. It also illuminates the pain on her face.
“I keep hearing a knock every time I turn on the heat,” she tells me, “and it’s driving me crazy.”
Chloe comes up beside me, silent on bare feet, and she crouches to look into the compartment. “You’re bleeding.”
“I’m not exactly surprised.”
“What can we do?” I ask her.
She points with her free hand. “Hold that lever up and out of the way, please.”
I reach in and do as she asks, and she frees her arm, but when she pulls it out, a long cut on her forearm is gushing blood.
“Oh, Jesus,” I say, dragging my phone from my pocket. “I’ll call 9-1-1.”
“Stop,” KT says, “don’t be ridiculous.”
Chloe’s inspecting KT’s arm. “You need stitches.”
“Fucking perfect. Just what I want to do on Christmas Eve.”
Headlights wash over us from the parking lot. “That’s Levi. Come on.” I stand and help KT to her feet. “We’ll take you.”
“I’ll finish getting dressed,” Chloe says, “and meet you there.”
“Grab one of those clean rags for me,” KT tells me, holding her arm out in front of her, dripping blood on the deck. She flicks a look at me. “Stop looking, or you’ll puke.”
I pick up a rag she insists is clean but wouldn’t pass my inspection and wrap the wound. She looks up and sways. I grab her other arm and step close to support her. “If you pass out, I will call 9-1-1, and you’ll be embarrassed as hell.”
She huffs a laugh. “That’ll keep me conscious.”
I pull her into step toward Levi’s truck. He’s already gotten out and is collecting the bags of presents, but stops when he sees us. “What’s going on?”
“She cut herself,” I tell him. “She needs to go to the ER.”
Levi opens the passenger’s door, tosses the bags in back, and steps aside. “Only you could have such shitty timing, Rivers. The ER? On Christmas Eve?”
“Suck it, Asher.”
We’re all one big happy family now, and KT and Levi bicker and tease like siblings.
Once we’re on the road to the ER, Levi looks at KT. “You heard Santa’s coming to the hospital tonight, didn’t you?”
That makes KT laugh. “Maybe he’ll have some common sense for me.”
“We can only hope,” Levi quips.