“How do you know?” asked Ty through the muffle of his scarf.
“The wind,” said Bill, tilting his head back, pausing to look at the white, night-dark sky. “The wind is carrying it to the east. Which means we’ll have a white Christmas morning and nearly clear skies.”
They trudged through the snow and cold, through the darkness lit by the glow of the single light over the barn door, which came on as they neared the structure.
Once inside, Bea, without taking off her coat, raced to the box stall where Cinders was contentedly chewing on some hay. Clay went with her, taking her hand, getting her to slow down.
“Help me with this, young fellow,” said Bill. He took off his coat, hung it on a hook in the tack room, and crouched down next to the moon-and-stars decorated metal fire pit, and began arranging small sticks of wood amidst the dark gray ash.
“Sure,” said Ty, glad to be of use.
He helped build up the fire, then got the rum and eggnog from the small fridge in Leland’s office. He poured out five glasses of eggnog and poured a little rum in four of the glasses, leaving a rum-less glass of eggnog for Bea. Bill came into theoffice, took one look, and poured more rum into two of the glasses, taking one for himself and handing the other to Tye.
“Cheers,” he said. “Now let’s go sit by that fire.”
The fire was cheerfully flickering as Ty took a seat in one of the folding chairs. With the glass of eggnog in his hand, he absorbed the gentle warmth, and felt his shoulders relax. He didn’t have to drive anywhere tonight, nor the next day, and so could just let himself be, could let his troubles remain in the future, and did his best to pay them no attention.
Clay and Bea joined them around the little fire, and soon Austin came stomping into the barn, covered in streaks of snow, his cheeks red from the cold.
“Did you save any for me?” asked Austin as he took off his coat and looked into Leland’s office.
“There’s plenty,” said Clay. He hopped up from his folding chair, went to Austin, and kissed him on the mouth, letting the kiss linger.
Their fingers touched as Clay held the glass of eggnog and rum for Austin, and their eyes were closed, and the moment was soft. Bea jumped up and raced to them, throwing herself against both of them in a wide-armed hug.
In that stillness, while the flames in the fire pit flickered and danced, Ty felt Bill looking at him. And he felt a little foolish becauseof coursethese were Bea’s two papas, and they were gay and very much in love with each other.
He’d been a little blind not to see it right away, but then, as his life had been filled with more downs than ups since his dad died, it had become hard to see any beauty in the world. But he could see some of it now, and there was, frankly, nothing more beautiful than the purity of the love he was seeing before him.
Clay and Austin pulled apart, and Austin, smiling, took a long sip of his drink, an act which was followed by Clay using his thumb to wipe away the eggnog mustache on Austin’s upperlip. And still Bill was waiting, looking at Ty as if waiting for his reaction.
Ty didn’t give a damn who anybody loved, and that was the truth of it. But seeing this sweet couple kissing on Christmas Eve, made his belly sink, his chest feel hollow. He would never have what these two had, would never have a child of his own to spoil, would never have a place to call his own.
Maybe if he spoke these thoughts aloud, he’d be told, quite kindly, that of course he would have these things, but at that moment, it was not a possibility he could believe in. Still, he needed to let Bill and everyone gathered around the fire pit know that he was not about to race screaming into the night at an innocent and loving kiss.
“Here’s to Christmas Eve,” he said, raising his half-empty glass of eggnog and rum. “And may we see many more like it.” Which was just about as close as he’d ever gotten to sayingGod bless us, every one, for he’d given up on God and any sense of care nine months before, when he’d sat in the hospital room, holding his dad’s hand, listening to those rasping breaths, and watching the heart monitor’s numbers go lower and lower.
“Everything all right?” asked Bill, leaning a little forward.
If Bill was gauging Ty’s reaction to Clay and Austin being gay, looking for something negative, then he could look until hell froze over, but at the same time, a blue-gray weight seemed to be settling over him. Christmas blues, maybe it was, and if he had to fake being cheerful one more minute, he was going to come undone.
“I’m just tired, I think,” said Ty, keeping his voice level. He stood up and went to put his now-empty glass in Leland’s office so it wouldn’t get knocked over as the festivities continued. “I think I just need to get some rest. If someone can show me where Leland’s cabin is, I’ll just turn in for the night.”
A moment of silence followed this proclamation, which, inthe midst of lighthearted festivities, landed like an unwelcome, un-Christmassy brick.
“I’ll take you,” said Clay. “Just let me get my coat.” Stepping away from Austin’s side, he said to Bea, “Want to help me, honeybee?”
Bea’s reaction made no mistake of the fact that she was thrilled to be allowed to come, as if leading Ty through the snow might even make up for the fact that she’d not yet been allowed to ride her pony. She raced to get her coat from the tack room, and by the time she returned, Clay had his coat on and a warm knitted cap.
They waited for Ty to get ready, and once he was, the three of them stepped out of the bright, fire-lit barn, and into the dark night. Snow shifted about in the air, a curtain of flakes that seemed undetermined whether they wanted to stop falling or continue until every human on the planet was up to their necks in snow.
Ty followed where Clay and Bea led, watching as Bea tried to skip at Clay’s side, the snow coming halfway up her thighs. Finally, Clay bent and silently urged Bea to ride piggyback, which she accepted with a squeal of glee, and then the three of them silently trudged along the narrow track of footprints they’d made when coming back from dinner.
They didn’t go all the way to the main lodge, but instead Clay turned to go beneath a canopy of snow-draped pine trees. Beneath the trees, both pine and leafless cottonwoods, Ty had a sense they were following a trail that at any other time of year would be clear to see.
“This is you,” said Clay, leading Ty to the first of three cabins. “Down you get, Bea, and let me unlock this door.”
Bea climbed down and mounted the steps, stamping her boots as she went, the movement causing an auto-light to come on and flood the snow-flecked air of the small front porch. Clay unlocked the door, and Ty waited while he turned on one ortwo interior lights, then stepped into the small, chilly, and mostly dark cabin.
