“I’ll be throwing a Christmas party,” Clara says brightly, as if she hasn’t just gutted him. Or me. “You’ll come, of course. I’verented the ballroom at the Pantages Hotel, just a few miles from here. Everyone is flying in, this is such a quaint little village. I thought it would be a novel change of scenery."
Marcel exhales sharply. “I don’t have time for your games.”
“You’ll make time,” she counters, still smug as a villain.
I can’t stand another second. I rise, quietly gathering my things. Neither of them notices me, their battle is too heated and too polished. This is them. They’ve danced to this tune so many times that they fall into step like soldiers. Inside, I’m shaking. Gran’s words echo in my head.Someone who doesn’t have your best interests at heart.She was right. He’ll be a terrible father, because he doesn’t know how to protect and cherish what matters.
I slip out the side door before my tears betray me, promising myself I’ll never need anything from Marcel Dubois.
The wind bites at my cheeks as I step out into the street, my breath puffing out in little clouds. Christmas lights twinkle from every lamppost and storefront, carolers sing down the block, and the scent of roasted chestnuts lingers in the air. Normally, this time of year fills me with warmth and joy, but today has robbed me of Christmas. It has always been my favorite time of year. A time I look forward to and now the world is dressed in joy and I’m carrying a heart full of sadness, disappointment, and longing. I wrap my coat tighter around me hoping that it will make me stop shaking. My fingers are freezing even through my gloves. I want to enjoy the love and magic around me, but all I can feel is the chill. Thinking of the Whos in Whoville who kept singing despite having their Christmas stolen, I couldn’t muster a song if I tried.
Does it mean I don’t have Christmas spirit? That I can’t feel the warmth of family and community and the joy that being loved and together gives?
No, it means that life is full of sadness and disappointment—and fear.
What will I do? I have Gran, I have my cousin, and my parents—though they haven’t even called from Aruba. It’s not like we don’t get along, but they are selfish, always have been. I was out of the house now, their job was done. I also have Kelley and my hippie dippy friends from school; I’m alone. I touch my stomach and think of my own child. I vow to always call, always be there, and when they go to college I’ll be happy if they want to stay with me for the holidays. It’s going to just be me, the baby, and Gran, really. I’m sure Thad will help when he can. He’ll probably buy the kiddo too much and be like a father—I guess.
I want to feel the magic I’ve always cherished, but it’s as though the colors have drained out of it all. Back at my desk, before I left, I set everything in perfect order. My report was finalized and bound. It gave detailed research on Eaton and had a five-page proposal at the end that presented another project. My vision is far less expensive in scope, but more profitable in the long term and, most importantly, it would save the community. Marcel asked me for a report to present to the board, a document with alternatives to tearing Eaton apart. I gave him much more than that. It’s too late though, as they’ve already decided to destroy Eaton.
I suggested bulldozing only the three blocks of derelict housing, the ones beyond saving. Highlighting ways to help those families, I identified several new buildings in the area that could be owned by the company and rented to the displacedfamilies at cost, considering the profit they will be making from the land after razing their homes.
Then the company could build something new, gleaming, high-end, and profitable in place of the tenements. Let residents have their expensive condos and their luxury, but not at the expense of everything Eaton already is. I cited every historical building worth protecting, every family that would benefit from revitalization, and every small business that could thrive with an influx of patrons with disposable income. I named the café and the bakery we’d visited together, imagining lines out the door and the hum of prosperity. I painted a picture of a quaint Eaton reborn, not erased.
And then I wrote the part that mattered most. The docks, forgotten, decrepit, and left to rot, could be Eaton’s crown jewel. Marcel’s company could commission hotels and a boardwalk district where tourism could thrive. This has been my dream for years, long before Marcel. Writing it all down didn’t feel like work, it was more like magic; like Christmas re-imagined. I left the report at my workstation as a gift and a goodbye. The final piece I wrote as Clara waited in Marcel’s office.
Thank you for initiating me into the Mile High Club, and for the gift of life, but I can’t love a Grinch if he won’t love himself or the world around him. We are just too different. I don’t need your money. I don’t need your name. All I wanted was you.
Merry Christmas and have a beautiful life,
Juliet
PS. Please, no heroic gestures. I’m a grown up, I made a choice, I can face the consequences.
When Marcel reads the report I hope he sees the potential in my proposal. If he does, maybe Eaton has a chance. But whether he does or not ... I can’t control that. All I can control is this walk out of his life. In the next few days I’ll tell Gran about the baby and we’ll get through this together. The bells from a Salvation Army bucket clang nearby. Children laugh with mittened hands clutching candy canes. I force a smile for them though my eyes sting with tears. Christmas is everywhere, but it has been stolen from me.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Marcel
The office is quiet after everyone’s gone home. Even Clara has gone, thank God. Sadly, Juliet has too. She told HR that she wasn’t feeling well but that she’d finished her assignment and they let her go. I tried to get clarity on whether that means let go as in no longer working on the project or allowed to leave for the day. Human resources said they’d check with the agency that supplied Juliet. With that uncertainty weighing on my heart, I loosen my tie, roll my shoulders, and let myself sink into the silence. I should head back to the hotel, but Juliet’s desk is too neat, too ... deliberate. She hasn’t just left for the day, she’s made a decision about us because this feels permanent.
With Clara, meetings, and the urgency of everything, I haven’t had the chance to read Juliet’s report. It sits there on her work station, squared off with surgical precision. I can feel the energy and love she gives everything radiating from the pages. I pick it up, expecting numbers, projections, and the kind of bottom line details I need to support my position. What I find instead stops me cold.
On page after page, she’s laid out Eaton’s heart. Not just the blocks my client wants to gut, but she’s identified all of the families and has recorded the history and potential of the community. She’s cited details I never bothered to learn and has listed the names of shops, restaurants, and businesses that could benefit from an influx of business. With an increase inrevenue, they will be putting money back into the community with upgrades and expansions. She’s envisioned a waterfront boardwalk with amusement, entertainment, shopping, dining, and recreation. Most impressive is the way she mapped out where the town could attract tourists instead of pushing its own people out. She’s built an argument that doesn’t just make sense, it shines.
In between the lines, I hear her voice and her boundless hope all tied up in the stubborn love she has for this place. I sit back in my chair with the weight of it settling in. It’s brilliant. She’s goddamn brilliant and gave me what I needed to support the pause I had just placed on the project. I told the investors and the Singapore parent company representative that I needed more time to assess our investment before we demolished it. Our original order had been for the week before Christmas, but I suspended that contract because I had enough evidence to support holding off. Not only had the library been officially declared a historic building, which meant we had to keep the structure, other zones were also not approved for demolition. We also hadn’t drafted the buy-out contracts. In short, we were not ready to break ground and my investors agreed.
What wasn’t assured and what I was struggling with was how to give Juliet and the town of Eaton the Christmas present they deserved. Staring at the report, I realize Juliet has just handed it to me on a platter. It offered me a compromise that could satisfy the investors and spare Eaton’s soul. And now Juliet is gone. Not just home for the day, but after reading the note attached to the report, I know she’s gone forever.
I rub a hand over my face, fighting the twist in my chest. She’s poured herself into this, into me, into all of it and I keep failing her.
I think of all Juliet has suffered because of me such as Clara barging in and disrupting our world, Juliet visiting my mansion full of ghosts and discovering the sad life I lead, and us finding out about our baby and the abysmal way I reacted. The things Juliet’s seen and misunderstood.
And now I have this proof that she’s not just some girl I fell into bed with. She’s loving and kind, but she’s also a force of determination with innovative problem solving and a vision. She is someone who can change the world. She’s not just my infatuation but my paramount. I could fund her visions and become her investor. If we created communities like Eaton around the world by revamping and revitalizing tight-knit groups to prosper in their own greatness, I imagine not only the profits but the satisfaction of giving back. It could be Christmas all year.
The thought makes me restless and excited; a dangerous combination because I’m a man of action.
I close the report carefully, like it’s something fragile and precious. Juliet thinks she can walk away. She believes I’ll read this and disregard it to do whatever the hell I want. But she’s wrong. I’ll be damned if I let her go without a fight.
