“You, too.” Standing with his hands in his pockets, he faced her. “I want so much to kiss you, but I’m not gonna.”
“Probably better.” She longed for his kiss and his strong arms wrapped around her. But although he’d shown evidence of change, the problem still stood between them.
He pulled a wrapped package from his coat pocket. It was about the size and shape of a cell phone. “This isn’t exactly what you asked for, but….” He took another breath. “It’s what I can do.”
Her expectation of being invited up to the loft slowly dissipated and she gazed at him in confusion. “I didn’t ask for a Christmas present.” She’d bought one for him but had decided days ago it was a bad idea considering his attitude about the holiday.
“It’s not a Christmas present. Well, maybe it is, in a way. I’ve spent hours debating whether to give it to you. It might not help. It might make things worse.”
“Is that even possible?”
“Always.”
“What in hell is in that package?”
“Something I’ve kept for a long time. Couldn’t quite bring myself to destroy it. God only knows why.” He held it out. “Now it’s yours.”
She took it. In the light from the top of the stairs she could see it was wrapped in crinkled brown paper, the kind that was used in packing. “I feel like I’m holding a ticking time bomb.”
“You’re not wrong.”
“Should I open it now?”
“No. In fact, please don’t open it in front of Claudie.”
“All right.” She tucked it in her pocket. “Why are you wearing one of Luis’s Christmas shirts?”
“Jordie brought it over today as part of her program.”
“Oh?”
“She’s teaching me to handle Christmas without zoning out.”
Her heart leaped. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” He gave her a crooked grin. “How am I doing?”
“Awesome.” She stepped closer. “Now I want to kiss you.”
“And I want you to, but more than that I want you to go home and open that package. I need to know if….” He sucked in a breath. Then he shook his head. “Please take it home before I change my mind and ask for it back.”
“Okay.” Placing a kiss on the tips of her fingers, she pressed them against his mouth.
He closed his eyes.
“I love you.” Turning, she hurried toward the colorful lights of the mini-hacienda. Her sister would be curious about the gift.
In the end she convinced Claudie it was highly personal and not to be shared. She hinted it might be sloppy love poems. For all she knew it was.
Except it wasn’t. The small and cheaply made notebook began with a sentence in pencil by someone who had just learned to write.
There was a date at the top. On Christmas Day twenty-eight years ago, Cole had written in all caps. I HATE XMAS!!! The page was dimpled, either with drops of water… or tears.
As she slowly turned the pages, the notes got longer, took up more pages and had less dimpled places and more harsh words. Each was composed on Christmas Day.
The picture became clear. Every Christmas Eve, his father had treated himself to a bottle of Wild Turkey. Then he’d invited his son to the tool shed for a man-to-man talk.
The last entry was dated twenty years ago, the first and only time his father had drawn blood. That day, pressing hard enough to pierce the paper as he wrote, he’d vowed to get strong enough to fight back.
