Jer Stonigan, at eighty-eight years old, told me if he and his ninety-year-old wife “snuck in,” there was nothing I could do about it. I agreed with him and said I would see him and Lorilei there. “I aim to buy Grenadine Scotch Wild’s collage painting. The wife wants it.”
When I was wiped out from working at the bar, I drove home through the dark, down the country roads, the snow falling here and there, and I tried to beat off my feelings of hopelessness and loss. I had been here before, I told myself. I would be better. Later. “Be strong,” I told myself. “And, if you must, eat an entire box of high-quality chocolates. That should help.”
I could not believe how devastated I felt. It was even worse than the last time.
My mother’s Christmas trees glowed through her windows. I was back to hating Christmas. I didn’t want to celebrate. I so wanted it to be over.
35
Logan
Logan thought he might die. Literally might die.
He had her, he’d lost her, he’d had her again, and now she was gone. Again.
He could not take this anymore.
He loved Bellini with all he had.
He had been her Christmas boyfriend, nothing more.
He should have felt used, but he didn’t. Was it worth it to be with Bellini even for a short amount of time, even when she was going to walk away soon?
Yes. He’d made that conscious decision before they’d rekindled their relationship.
He would not trade the time he’d had with her again for anything. Yes, it was excruciating, but he would have the memories, and one day they wouldn’t hurt as much. He hoped.
But Logan knew he would never celebrate Christmas again without remembering how he had lost Bellini. In fact, he was quite sure he would never celebrate Christmas again, period. He wanted it to be over.
36
Bellini
My truck broke down on my way to Lady Whiskey’s at one on Tuesday afternoon on the near-deserted road we drove into town. It shuddered and clanked, then blew smoke out of the hood like an erupting volcano. Even I know that you can’t drive a truck that’s spewing smoke. I called the mechanic in town—Stephan, who was in my second-grade class. When Logan had stood up for show-and-share and told everyone he was going to marry me, Stephan had said something about how he wanted a big slice of cake at the wedding and asked whether we would serve pink punch or orange.
Stephan had made the Olympic team for skiing, placed fourth, then blew out his knee and opened a mechanic’s shop. He had two loves—skiing and cars. He had a tow truck, an SUV, and a Corvette. Yes, a Corvette. In Montana. A place where we get buried in snow for months every year.
“Where are you again, Bellini? Gotcha. I know where that is. Give me thirty minutes, and I’ll come tow you on in. How’s your mother feeling? I know that Dr. Brenda stole her uterus.” I heard the low chuckle. “Dr. Brenda shouldn’t be stealing uteruses from unsuspecting patients!”
I assured him my mom was much better without her uterus and said she’d told me only a “prickly witch” should have a uterus like hers.
He agreed. “No prickly witch uteruses. I’ll be there soon, pal. Hey, and great to see you back here. I missed seeing you around.”
“It’s great to be back.” We chitchatted for about twenty minutes as he got ready to go and started driving to meet me, then hung up. I got out of my truck and leaned against the passenger door. It was so quiet out here in the country, so peaceful. The Rocky Mountains, covered in snow, traipsed across the land like earthly giants, the air crisp and cold, but not so cold your nose would freeze and fall off within minutes.
I could hear the trees rustling, the snow crunching. And yet, the sun was out. Funny thing about Montana. It could snow like white blankets were coming on down…and then the sun would pop up, and the bright blue sky would shine down on you. It was a gorgeous day. I took a deep, calming breath.
I missed Logan. When we were young, days like this would see us outside hiking or skiing or having snowball fights with our friends. Or we’d be reading books and playing chess. I smiled. Or we’d be in the back of one of our trucks, rolling around.
I remembered every moment we’d been together these last weeks—how safe and happy I’d felt, so desired and cared for, so excited, too, as if life had opened up for me, and I was truly living. Being around Logan made me feel like I was living—living with hope, light, and joy—and I understood how much I’d barred myself off from those emotions for years. After losing Logan, a lonely marriage, a miscarriage, a difficult divorce…I’d shut down and shut out. I simply hadn’t grasped how much until Logan made me feel like life could sparkle and glow again.
I blinked. A familiar truck was coming down the road. Was it Logan’s? Was I conjuring him? Was I seeing an illusion? Sheesh. But this was the road he would drive down after seeing his dad out on his mom’s land. The truck got closer, and yes; it was him. I almost felt magical. I’d thought of Logan and—voilà—he’d appeared. Just like that. I should make magical wishes more often.
“Hi, Bellini.” He stopped his truck and got out, looking rangy and manly and smokin’ hot in his jeans and jacket. “What happened? Did your truck break down?”
“Yes. Hi, Logan. Stephan’s coming to tow me in.”Can I hug you for a long time? Do you want to get in my truck and kiss me? We could probably make love lickety-split before Stephan arrives…
“I’ll drive you into town. Are you going to work?”
