“Just saying!” She holds up her hands before continuing. “He used to be so nice. He taught me how to make apple turnovers when I was little. Now he won’t even answer the door when I knock.” She fidgets with her apron strings. “Mom thinks the war changed something in him.”
That’s not surprising. I can’t even begin to imagine how you’d recover from fighting in a war; however, not speaking to your family again seems sad.
“Damn,” I mutter. “He doesn’t even speak to your mom or dad?”
“Nope. Mom made me promise before they moved away to check on him every Christmas.” She sucks in a breath. “I’ve tried. But it’s tough seeing him like this.”
“So, he spends Christmas alone?” My heart sinks a little.
If it weren’t for Beth, I would be alone at Christmas, and that makes me feel even more sorry for this guy. But I didn’t choose not to speak to my family—they were killed in a car accident.Pain slices through my stomach at the memory, and then the survivor’s guilt kicks in.
Don’t think about it. Listen to Beth.
“He’s alone all year.” Beth smiles, but I’ve known her long enough to know it’s forced. Beth’s parents moved away, leaving her with just a brother and this mysterious uncle she barely talks about. “Please, Cookie.”
I’m already mentally planning what gift to take with me, because I can’t turn up with gifts from Beth and nothing from me.
“Fine,” I mutter. “I’ll go after work.”
"Wear this." Beth tosses a paper bag in my direction, a smirk on her lips. "You're supposed to be a Christmas Singagram. You need to look the part."
I pull out the Santa outfit that won’t fit me or my curves and raise an eyebrow. The red velvet is soft beneath my touch, but I can already picture how it'll cling to all the wrong places.
My smile wavers for just a second—the automatic calculation every plus-size woman makes when handed clothes racing through my mind.Will it fit? Will I look ridiculous? Will whoever sees me laugh?
Then I shove the thought down where it belongs and grin at Beth. "This is definitely some sort of prank."
"Sorry. It's all the store had left last minute," Beth says. “It’s lovely! Plus, I made you a batch of cookies.”
“Have I really got to sing?” I ask.
She laughs. “Oh, you love it! You love Christmas!”
She’s right. I’m already picturing his face when he sees the cookies, maybe even humming along despite himself. Everyone deserves a little joy at Christmas.
“What’s his name?” I ask, watching as she smiles.
“Red.”
_____
Two hours later, I'm coaxing my ancient car up the mountain road. The forecast promised clear skies—partly cloudy at worst. Beth checked twice before I left, her phone showing nothing but light flurries for the next forty-eight hours.
"See? Perfect conditions," she said, shoving the pastry box into my arms. "You'll be up and back before dinner. But if for any reason you’re not, you won’t have any signal. You’ll be stuck up there with my uncle.”
I gave her a blank look.
No signal? Stuck with her grumpy uncle?
“I hope not. It’s Christmas tomorrow!”
Beth waved a hand. “Stop worrying. You’ll be fine.”
The sky had other plans.
Beth's brother said my car "needs some work"—quite the understatement for something that wheezes like an old horse—but it's gotten me to the bakery and back for six months without issue. It should've been fine for one mountain trip.
It’s not ideal, but I only use it to travel between home and work.
