Rachel knew why her father tended to that precious evergreen day and night. Why he did everything he could to make sure it thrived and flourished under his deliberate care.
Yes, Rachel had been the one to plant it so many years ago, but her older sister, Bethany, had been right there with her, digging that hole in the ground, side by side. It was Bethany’s last summer in Snowdrift before leaving for college, and planting that tree was the last act they’d done as a family. The last thing they were able to do before tragedy cut everything unexpectedly short.
There was a bit of her legacy in the towering evergreen, and Stewart made certain he did everything possible to keep his beloved daughter’s memory alive in those branches and in its stately presence.
“I should get down those ornaments your mother mentioned.” Pressing up to his feet with a groan that seemed to accompany most movements these days, Stewart looked down at his daughter and toyed with the sleeves of his sweater, cuffing them up to his elbows. “And you should take a break from whatever it is you’ve been staring at on that computer. You’re straining those beautiful blues of yours.”
‘Whatever it is’ was her entire professional future, but she didn’t care to delve into it. Not now. “Sure. I can take a break.” Rachel agreed with a conceding nod. “And trimming the tree is always a good excuse for one.”
She followed her father into the spare bedroom—her temporary sleeping quarters—and took each box he lowered from the uppermost closet shelf and passed her way. In truth, it surprised her that her parents had waited so long to set up and decorate their tree. They were typically the put-it-up-the-day-after-Thanksgiving sort of people. And yet it was already into December and Stewart had only gotten the fir into the tree stand that very morning. Something felt amiss, but Rachel had little more to go on than a hunch.
By the time they’d parceled off and stacked the boxes into groups they could easily cart into the family room, Paula came back with a tray of mugs. Tendrils of steam coiled above them, mixing with the aroma of spicy cider. She passed one to Rachel, along with a cinnamon stick.
“Here you go, darling. Careful. It’s hot.”
“Thanks, Mom.” She took that first sip, savoring the heat that moved through her like a holiday hug. She had missed this—being back in Snowdrift with her parents, in this house that held her childhood memories like a scrapbook made from wood and beams. Everywhere her gaze landed, she saw a scene that carted her back to a time she hadn’t fully appreciated when she was in the middle of it.
The consistency of family. The comforting routine of a simple schedule. Knowing there was someone to come home to after a bad day.
Rachel didn’t have that now. Sure, she had a handful of friends, none of them close. They were the type that she’d go out with for drinks after work. They’d talk about their days at their respective offices on a surface level, never getting too deep. In fact, she didn’t even know the professions of half of them, and couldn’t confidently say the last names of the rest.
She’d met them in the elevator, all working on separate floors but within the same sky rise.
It was an accident that they had even invited her to join them in the first place. She had been on a phone call when the small group arranged plans, and her perfectly placed, “What was that?” to the caller on the other line led the organizer to believe Rachel was asking for clarification.
They’d insisted she tag along, and she’d been too embarrassed to explain her blunder.
That wasn’t like her. And yet, it was the person she’d become.
One who rode the elevator at work and glommed onto people who showed any amount of interest.
Removed from it all now, the sad loneliness of it swept through her like a frigid mountain wind.
“Are you sure you’re okay, Sugar Plum?” Her father lowered his mug to a coaster and removed the lid to the first box.
“I’m great,” she lied. “Why?”
“The other day—when I called for you to sing to the tree—you seemed…I don’t know. A little off.”
She took another sip to prolong the time before his question required an answer.
“Go easy on her, Stewart. She had that big presentation this week, remember?”
Her father lifted the first ornament from the box and paused before sliding the hook in the eyehole, a repentant gaze shrouding his eyes. “I didn’t remember that.” His shoulders fell. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. That’s why you were in such a rush to get off the phone, wasn’t it? How did it go?”
“Not all that great,” Rachel admitted through a smile she worked hard to give. “But they’ve given me until the first of the year to rework things and pitch it again.”
“That’s a very gracious offer,” Paula acknowledged, taking the ornament from her husband’s hand and placing it onto a branch.
“It is.” Rachel knew it was. “But I’m not even sure I should bother trying a second time.”
Both sets of eyes locked in on her.
“What?” She suddenly felt self-conscious, like she’d spilled her drink on her sweater without knowing.
“You’ve never shied away from a challenge.” Stewart handed off another ornament to his wife. “As I recall, you once lived for them.”
That was a long time ago, back when winning or losing had little consequence in the real world. Now, a failed opportunity could cost Rachel her entire livelihood, her San Francisco apartment, her carefully curated lifestyle.
