“Want help putting all of that in the sleigh?” I ask, pointing to the small black cutter and the two gray reindeer who are munching oats out of a bright red feed bucket.
“No, no. I’m good.” Klaus is silver-haired but strapping, muscular in a thick, beefy way.
“Are you...” I hesitate. I’m not good at conversations. Not good at socializing, period. I like my work as a handyman. I talk to the client, the client hires me, then I work, and they keep out of my way while I work. If they try to talk, I turn on the power tools. Or, as it sometimes happens, the clientdoesn’thire me, and I get to leave them with a terse goodbye. Few words are exchanged in either case, and it suits me.
But I still itch to ask if this pretty, petite thing that barely comes to her husband’s ribcage is going to be all right flying in a sleigh across icy oceans and snow-covered tundra to one of the remotest places on Earth.
Eirwen smiles as Klaus loads their bags. “I’m not due until just after the big day, and we’ll fly low to the ground this time.”
“Better for risk of blood clots,” Klaus says, and I can feel sweat spring out on my palms, even in the frigid air. “We’ll be able to stop every few hours, except for the last leg of the journey. That’s a four-hour shot.”
“Oh. That’s quite the stretch.” Small talk is torture. I want to tell them to stay put, that I think it’s risky, but I don’t. None ofmy business. Wish my tail would stop swishing back and forth like I’m beset by flies. I’m not. Just agitated.
“Klaus and I were flying sleighs since before you were born,” Eirwen laughs and pats her middle. “Don’t worry.”
I grunt. Grunts are good because people just fill in whatever they think you would have said.
“I appreciate that you’re fixing all the furniture Eirwen got at the baby shower,” Klaus says, handing me a key to the beautiful, rustic lodge. “We could easily bring some back from the nursery in Brightlund, but we’re not sure if the baby will take after Eirwen, me, or a mixture.”
I look at how big she is and nod.
It’s either a mix or Klaus’ genes won, I think, looking at the watermelon-shaped protrusion Eirwen cradles as she slides into the front seat of the cutter.
“Better to have things full-size, just adjusted for my height. Are you sure you can fix that rocking chair?”
“I’ll make you a new one,” I say suddenly. “The one you have will fit Klaus. I’ll make you one.” Now I have to go back to the lumber mill in Castle City. Damn it.
Too late now, I already said I’d do it, and Promises Kept is my company slogan. I live up to it.
“Oh, but—”
“No charge, and it’ll be ready by—when will you come back?”
“First week of January. Our little sugar plum will have a chance to meet all our friends and family in Brightlund, and then come home to a beautiful new nursery. And my love will have everything just so, just her size, no stepstools required.” Klaus beams at Eirwen, a world of hope and excitement in his eyes.
I wish they’d go. It’s nice that they’re in love. That they’re having a baby. I don’t want to be that guy, the mean old grump who hates when others are happy.
Idon’thate it.
Just don’t want to benearit.
It’s true what they say about misery loves company, but they should have made it clear thatmiserablecompany is key.
These two are the polar opposite of miserable, no pun intended. “Best get off before it gets darker or colder. And don’t fret. It’ll be done well before January. It won’t take me more than four or five days. Just need to build the closet and adjust the furniture—and build the rocking chair.”
“Let’s see, it’s the twentieth now. Oh, good! With a little luck, you might be done before Christmas Day!” Klaus looks relieved, as though the thought of me working on Christmas Day is horrific.
Hypocrite. As I recall,healways worked Christmas Day—well, in someone’s time zone.
I try to sound speculative. “Yeah, maybe I might finish by then.” Not if I’m careful. If I take my time, I’ll drag this out until the 27th or so.
“You know... It’s beautiful here.” Eirwen looks around at the twilight sky, frosty lilac and midnight blue, streaks of clouds scuttling across a big white moon. “It’s quite a drive back into town.”
I shrug. The mountain roads can be a little dicey, but the trip isn’t far. Thirty minutes. Maybe forty.
“You can stay up here while you’re working if it’s more convenient.”
“Oh, do!” Klaus looks gleeful. “The place is all decorated, the freezer is stocked, and the woodshed is full! It’s been a wonderful Christmas season so far. I hate to leave our little Pine Ridge home standing empty while we go to Brightlund, even if it’s for a very good cause.”
