“Archer!” Mom called, coming out of the bakery behind me, but I didn’t stop, instead pushing through the barn-style door and into the cold air.
I paused, realizing my heart was pounding, and puffed out a cloud of breath while trying to shake off the chains of our town tradition. How was I supposed to put the past behind me when it was literally dragged out every year and hung in the town square for me to see?
“Archer,” Mom said, slipping outside behind me. “What you said back there?—”
Her words were cut off by a high-pitched whimper. Spine snapping upright, I glanced around.
Another whimper followed by a low, lingering whine.
“Is that—” Mom began as I yelled, “Marlowe!”
Movement at the edge of my vision had me turning to see the brown Aussie limping into view. The second he saw me, he gave another whine and sat down, lifting his front left paw off the ground.
I rushed forward and dropped to my knees in front of my dog, noting the mud splattered on his paws and chest. His ears were down, and his eyes were sad. But even so, the end of his tail beat against the dirt when I reached him.
“What happened, boy?” I asked, hands hovering around the leg he was favoring. I was afraid to touch it but also afraid not to.
“Oh, you poor baby.” Mom worried over my shoulder. “What happened?”
I reached for his front leg, and he let me touch it, even if he trembled a little. “It’s all right now,” I soothed, keeping the touch gentle. “Let me see, huh? I’m just going to take a look. I won’t hurt you.”
I leaned in and lifted the leg, noting the blood smeared with the mud around his paw.
“He’s bleeding,” I murmured and tried to get a closer look, but he let out a sharp cry and pulled back. The suddenness of the movement made him fall back and then scramble up, causing him to limp more.
“I think you should get him to the vet,” Mom said. “Right away.”
I nodded and scooped him into my arms, holding him against my chest while trying to avoid the injured leg. “He must have fallen or something out in the field.”
“Doc Thomas will fix him right up,” Mom said, coming closer to scratch behind his ear.
“Can you ask Johnny to finish tagging the Douglas fir? And have him bring up some wood for the bonfire.”
“Of course. Don’t worry about a thing. Just take care of Marlowe.”
Inside my truck, I carefully placed him on the long bench seat before getting behind the wheel and blasting the heat. Marlowe rested his head on my thigh while I drove across the farm to the main road, noting the guarantee of snow in the gray sky overhead.
There was only one veterinarian in all of Winterbury, Dr. George Thomas—who happened to be the father of Toby Thomas, my childhood best-friend-turned-not.
It had been nearly ten years since I’d last seen Toby… but just thinking of him irritated me. It bent my brain to think about how someone I’d once been inseparable from could change so much, so fast and turn into someone I didn’t even recognize.
Did he change? Or did you?
The thoughts were as unwelcome as soil erosion on the farm, and I shut them down immediately, turning my attention back to Marlowe panting against my leg.
“We’re almost there, boy.” I encouraged him, stroking along his side.
His tail beat against the seat and gave me some comfort because that was a good sign, right?
Yeah, Toby Thomas might have itchy Christmas sweater energy, but his father was a skilled vet, and Marlowe would be in good hands with him. Right then, that was all that mattered.
3
Toby
Ten yearsago (afterthatnight)…
It waseggnog cream puff day. A day I looked forward to every single year because it just wasn’t Christmas without a French puff pastry piped full of an airy, rich eggnog filling, topped off with powdered sugar and a drizzle of dark chocolate, and sprinkled with nutmeg.
