1
No one knew that Carol Langstrom hated Christmas. Okay,hatewas a strong word, but thanks to her parents’ dysfunctional relationship during her childhood—particularly whenever the holidays came around—she would nearly break out into hives at the sound of “Jingle Bells.” One year she had even complained to a big-box store manager when she saw a display of artificial trees before Halloween. And those obnoxious “have a perfect Christmas” online pop-up ads nearly drove her to distraction. Some people counted the days until Christmas, but her countdown went until December 26 because she couldn’t wait until Christmas was over and done with.
As an employee of a home-staging firm that spent most of the year getting expensive houses ready to sell but caved to focus on holiday decor in late October, the months following Halloween were something to endure and escape. Carol knew the layout of the holiday section of their warehouse by heart and even dreamed about its colorful contents sometimes. Her boss’s love of everything Christmas had begun years ago. Marsha Forrester had collected dedicated clientele along with faux life-sized reindeer, enormous pine-scented artificial trees, five-foot-tall nutcrackers, and enough realistic-looking elves to fill a shelter for unemployed height-challenged holiday workers.
Early on, Carol learned to conceal her yuletide phobia when the calendar turned to November. From that day on, Divine Design seemed to go into hypermode, concocting everyone’s dream Christmas. Well, not everyone. Just the well-heeled, self-obsessed, somewhat overindulgent, and entitled clients. All of whom seemed to have Divine Design on speed dial and were equally determined to outdo their neighbors and friends with the very latest in “festive yet tasteful” holiday decor. People, in her undisclosed opinion, had too much time and money on their hands. Of course, she kept her personal feelings toward them and Christmas to herself. After all, she was a working girl.
“Carol,” Marsha Forrester said urgently over the phone. “Did you drop the new wreaths at the Barstrums’ yet?”
Carol could tell by the sharp tone that her normally cool and controlled boss was even more stressed than she sounded right now.
“Yes,” Carol answered. “I removed the dried ones and hung the fresh wreaths myself. But if Mrs. Barstrum had simply spritzed the originals with the bottle of water I left for her, or asked her housekeeper to do it, they would’ve been fine. The sun just beats down on that southern exposure—”
“Yes, yes, I know,” Marsha said, cutting her off. “And I did remind her that our faux wreaths are even prettier than fresh ones, not to mention reusable, but she insists on the real thing.”
“Right.” Carol slid her black carry-on bag into the back seat of her Uber and listened impatiently as Marsha droned on about how they might be better off by letting some clients go next year.
“Just the difficult ones, of course.”
“The holidays have gotten super busy for us.” Carol peered at the darkening sky. “Anything else?”
“I suppose you’re on your way to the airport by now?” Marsha sounded a little wistful. “Off to your sunny destination. I’ll admit your plan sounded a bit harebrained at first—I mean,Christmas in the Bahamas of all places—but it’s suddenly rather appealing.”
“Especially with this storm coming.” Carol slid in, closed the car door, and leaned back. “Seattle’s supposed to be inundated with a deluge by tomorrow.”
“Someone must’ve been dreaming of awetChristmas here.” Marsha laughed without sounding particularly jolly. “Well, think of me while you’re down there working on your tan.”
“I’ll send you pics,” Carol promised. “Have a good Christmas, Marsha.”
“You too, Carol. Oh, by the way, have a good birthday too. I always forget that you share your birthday with Jesus. My little Christmas Carol.” She chuckled like this was a new joke and not something Carol had heard her entire life. “And I believe this year is a big one for you too.” Her laughter had a sharpness to it. “But don’t worry, honey, today’s forty is yesterday’s thirty. Just wait until you hit the big 6-0 like me next spring. Now that’s getting serious.”
“Oh, Marsha, you’re so youthful for your age,” Carol reassured her egotistical boss, reminding her that age was just a number as the Uber driver expertly navigated the late-day city traffic toward SeaTac. But even as she smoothed Marsha’s vain feathers, her mind wandered to how she was what some would call middle-aged yet was still stuck in the single lane.
“Well, I must go. Warren is here to take me to dinner.” The sound of air kisses came over the phone and then the call ended. Carol slid her phone into her purse and wondered if it was fair to call forty middle-aged. Sure, if one only lived to eighty that would be true. But weren’t people supposed to live longer these days? Still...
Carol was good at faking a lot of things. Like not despising Christmas, or that cream-colored sofas were sensible for a client with two ill-mannered doodle dogs and an elderly, incontinent cat. She could even pretend that she loved her “career in design,”which was mostly staging homes for realtors once the holidays were behind them. She could even feign how lovely it was living alone and being “independent” and act like remaining single was her personal preference.
But with each passing year spent alone, it seemed to matter a bit more. Just not enough for her to settle down. And that was exactly what she’d be doing if she got seriously involved with any of the men who had pursued her—settling. And that did not sit well with her. Of course, even if she did meet Mr. Right, perhaps in the Bahamas, would she even know it? Besides, didn’t she always tell her girlfriends, the ones who were also still looking, that Mr. Right was a mere figment in fairy tales and Hallmark movies?
By the time her driver pulled into the Delta terminal, the rain was pelting sideways in enormous droplets. She would not miss this a bit! She thanked the driver, gathered her bag, and was relieved to see that she still had ample time to make it through security and grab a bite. Feeling strangely out of place in her summery garb and sandals when everyone else sported parkas and slickers and winter hats and scarves, she made her way to her gate. After overhearing passenger chatter in TSA about a storm blustering on the Atlantic and the possibility of cancelations, she wanted to ensure her direct flight to Miami wasn’t affected.
To her relief her flight wasn’t even delayed. Imagining a nasty nor’easter pounding into the Eastern seaboard, not down South where she was headed, she felt relatively reassured as she waited for a seat in a crowded café. She should be in Nassau by midday tomorrow, basking in the sun with all thoughts of Christmas blown away by this inconvenient winter storm. She almost felt sorry for the passengers whose journeys might be rocked by Mother Nature’s Christmas present. Almost.
As she dined on a chef salad and a glass of white wine, she began to truly relax for the first time in weeks. She had thisvacation in the bag. Sure, her father and stepmother were miffed that she wasn’t joining them for Christmas. They wondered why she wasn’t dying to visit them in their fabulous estate in British Columbia, like she usually did. But she’d never really bonded with Dad’s new wife and never really felt at home in their “perfect” house. Her stepmom Barb had bought it with her divorce settlements, then furnished it with only the “best of the best.”
It made no difference that Carol’s parents had been apart for almost thirty years now, that her mom had left Dad for another man, or that their marriage had been a disaster for as long as Carol could remember.. . Something about their miserable break had always left Carol feeling more broken than ever during the holidays. Probably because as a child that’s when she always felt torn down the middle.
Still, like so many other things, she’d learned to cleverly conceal this childish angst beneath a veneer of togetherness and sophisticated nonchalance. She rationalized that her “selfless” rationale was to protect those around her. She’d spare them from seeing her old wounds or sensing her pain. Especially during the holidays. But she knew that wasn’t wholly true ... her pride was wrapped up in the facade too.
The alarm on her phone chimed, jarring her back to reality. It was time to head to her gate for boarding. Her check prepaid, she only needed to grab her lightweight carry-on and hurry down the bustling terminal. With no coat or hat or miscellaneous travel gear to wrestle with, she hurried past an artificial Christmas tree, then, with the tinny sound of“Twelve Days of Christmas” grating on her ears like a dentist’s drill, she paused to let a woman burdened with cumbersome luggage and two small children go past her.
Carol smiled pleasantly at them, winking at the little boy with the chocolate-smudged face. The kids were cute, but Carol was mostly smiling at how lightly she had been able to pack. Itwas unusual for a person who liked to be prepared for everything when she traveled, but Carol never had much use for summer clothes in Seattle. Plus, bringing little gave her a good excuse to peruse shops in Nassau. She’d heard it was a trendy place. As she turned toward her gate, she couldn’t help but observe even more anxious faces, which drew her attention to the gate signs. Red streaks across the screens told her there’d been numerous delays and several cancelations. Hers was one of the few flights with no changes. She sighed in relief, even though she felt for the many now-stranded travelers all around her. But traveling during the holidays was like that. You had to roll with the punches, right?
She kept moving forward until she reached her gate, where passengers were already lined up. Like her, most were dressed for warm weather and in good spirits. Jokes were made about how they were all escaping the big winter storm. Before long, they were loaded on, buckled in, and preparing for takeoff. She stared out the window at the darkened skies as they taxied. The illuminated runways were being pounded with sheets of rain. Good riddance, Seattle, see you next year!
No time was wasted on the soggy runway, but shortly after takeoff they were hit with strong turbulence. Yet no one seemed concerned. Passengers remained in good spirits, making light of the bouncy ride, and flight attendants assured everyone they’d soon be out of it and drinks would be served.
Not generally a fan of air travel, Carol attempted to ignore the bumpiness, focusing instead on the beach read she’d loaded onto her Kindle that morning. She preferred a “real” book in her hands and planned to get something good at the resort, but she had been determined to travel light, so this would do for now. After a while, the flight smoothed out and Carol closed her eyes and, thanks to her earlier glass of pinot gris, managed to fall asleep.
