“Wow. A European romance. What a whirlwind fantasy.” He shudders when I say it. “I’m assuming they also broke it off before she came back.” That would account for why she wanted to meet Hector this morning. The classicI’m just out of a relationship and vulnerable, will you hold me until I feel better?It’s the oldest play in the book.
“Nope.” His jaw locks. I can almost hear his teeth grinding. “They’re doing long-distance.”
I suppress a gasp. That right there is why I don’t open myself up to people on the reg. They can show you their true colors with a single change of heart. She couldn’t do long-distance with Hector, but this Austrian opera buff gets what Hector couldn’t have? That must hurt.
I want to do something to show him I sympathize. Or empathize? I don’t even know what’s appropriate in this situation or what the difference is really. My own emotions have always taken center stage.
Plus we haven’t really set boundaries. We go from hostile to vulnerable in two breaths. We go from banter to heart-to-heart in three. Six days gone, and we’re in so damn deep. I guess that’s what sharing bunk beds and a shower can do to you.
“What happened with your dad?” I ask, thinking the change of subject might do him good, but I may have struck a second even-more-exposed nerve.
“He made some bad calls. His business partner was pushing for their contracting company to take on more remodeling jobs before they were ready,” he says, probably reliving the heartache all over again. “Business started booming when I was in high school. We were never a family with tons of money, and suddenly we could afford an above-ground pool. My dad paid for my sister’s beauty school. He started a college fund for me. I mean, it was almost like a dream.”
“Until?”
“Until while I was away at college the growth got away from him. Shoddy pipes, exposed wires, faulty door hinges. Hack jobs that completely ignored code that could’ve been avoided had they slowed down enough to notice, but the backlash was immediate,” he says, wiping a hand down his face. “Complaints were filed with the contractors’ board, and when my dad and his business partner couldn’t find the funds to foot the repairs, they were staring down the barrel of a lawsuit. That’s when I said goodbye to the rest of that shiny college fund, and my dad said goodbye to the business he fought tooth and nail to start.”
“That’s terrible,” I say.
“My mom was so mad at him for being so careless. His employees too. It sucked because I worked with those men and women over the summers to help out. I met their kids. I took lunch breaks with them. They were good people who were out of work because my dad got greedy and thought he could cut corners.”
God, I really should say something profound. Especially since his intense distaste for me probably stems somewhat from my flamboyant shows of material wealth. For his family to lose everything in pursuit of that must suck. As we drive, I can’t think of anything that feels right other than: “I’m sorry it went down like that.”
Wow. There it is. Another fully formed apology born from the ashes of my old habit. My chest blazes.
“It’s okay,” he says, even though it sounds like it’s anything but. “It taught me an important lesson.”
“What’s that?”
“You can’t count on good things to last,” he says. The burning inside me becomes a scorch, singeing my rib cage with blistering sadness. For him. For the hope he lost over someone else’s mistake.
Instead of harping on that, I gaze out the window, focusing on how such a small town can seem so infinite. We’ve only gone about eight miles from Havensmith Hollow, but the charged silence makes it feel more like eighty.
Finally, we pull into the farm, a dotted field of festive treasures. Hector kills the engine and sits there for a second. He stares out onto the rows and rows of trees lined with lights. An unexpected childlike wonder turns on inside me. I hope the sight does the same for him.
“This was a good idea.” A small smile forces its way onto his face, allowing me to relax. “I can’t think of a better way to get out my aggression.”
I can.It involves him, me, less clothes, and shaking bunk beds. But I shelve that thought and replace it with the wholesome, family-friendly one this place demands.
With a deep breath and a pep in my step, we join Grandma and Gramps at the small red barn wrapped in garland. Families stand in line. The kids race in circles around their parents’ feet, fueled by candy canes and hot chocolate from the snack bar.
The night is dark, the wind is cold, but I’m warmed by the prospect of bringing home the perfect tree to sit around on Christmas morning.
If I’m still here by then…
Chapter 17
“Let’s bring home a winner!” Grandma shouts when she sees us.
We move to meet Arthur inside, where chatter mixes with the sound of a model-train whistle. The train zooms around a toy village on an expansive table. I recognize it immediately as the collectible Dickens village with carolers, robotic ice-skaters, and Scrooge himself stalking through town. My inner child breaks through again, and I rush over to inspect it closer.
Arthur is a tall Black man with a bushy mustache. He wears layers upon layers of wildly contrasting flannels, which appears to be the dress code in these parts, and a Santa hat with Mickey Mouse ears sticking out the sides.
“Greetings, Winstons. What brings you out here tonight? You broke my heart when you went fake a few years ago. Come to mend it again?” His smile looks familiar, but I can’t place it.
“Don’t be such a softy,” Gramps says. “You know my back can’t handle all that upkeep. Good thing we’ve got these two boys to do the brunt of it.”
Hector and I smile sheepishly.
