Page 4 of Postmarked December

Her phone rang again. She checked the number. Not recognizing it, she let it go to voicemail. When the message showed, she listened to it.

“Hi, Heather. I’m hoping we can meet. Toby’s album is up for an award⁠—”

She’d already heard. It was up for album of the year. While she’d always wanted to get dressed up and go to one of those awards shows, she and Toby never had. He’d promised her they were more hype than excitement.

“It’s lots of long hours sitting and smiling awkwardly at half-baked jokes with people at your table, when the actual people you want to sit with are so far across the room that you never even see them,” he’d said. “If you want to celebrate, let’s have a party, and I’ll eat the food I want, with the friends I want, and have zero bathroom lines.”

She deleted the message, but then noticed she’d missed another one, so she hit play.

“Hi, Heather, this is Alice Beckmeyer with Stargate Publishing here in Nashville. I was going through our records for something else, and I happened upon an inquiry about four months ago. We had a call for a last-minute request from someone who’s written something about Toby and needed to double-check their copyright information for a couple of his songs with us before it’s distributed. I didn’t speak to them, our legal department did, and they said they’d cleared everything, but I thought I’d give you a heads-up that something might be released soon. I know Toby wouldn’t be thrilled about that…”

She’d have to call Alice back after the holiday and thank her for the warning. She couldn’t face it now. The press was relentless—they always seemed to have so much to say about Toby, yet they didn’t know a thing. No one knew their real story of love and endurance during his sickness, of how he’d invested all his available money into helping the less fortunate, or the way he’d told Heather he adored her when it was just the two of them. And she would keep it that way. If she could do one thing for Toby, it would be to live the way he’d wanted—privately.

Heather was so thankful for Marion. She needed a good coffee and a jolt back to the present. She dug around in her makeup bin, grabbed her best concealer, and swiped it under her dark eyes. Then she used a little sponge and patted it until the last of the redness on her rims had disappeared. She moved on to powder and blush. When the color made her look more human, she combed her hair and took a step back to check her reflection. She’d hidden most of her sadness.

Just as she’d tidied the living room and wiped down the kitchen, Marion was at the door with a duffel bag on her shoulder, a tray with two coffees, and a small paper sack.

“I went five minutes out of the way to The Steaming Quill,” her friend said.

“Oooh, that’s my favorite.” Heather let her inside.

“I know. That’s why I went.” She crossed the room, dropped her bag on the floor with an odd clinking sound, and set the coffees on the bar that separated the small kitchen from the living area. Then she began digging around in the sack. “I got their hazelnut-ganache-stuffed croissants, lemon-lavender scones, and salted caramel butter bread.”

Heather rolled her eyes in ecstasy as she took the lid off her coffee to reveal the foamy heart and a rich scent of maple and brown sugar—absolute decadence. “What would I do without you?”

“Probably consume something healthier than this.” Marion laughed at her own joke. She washed her hands and then helped herself to a plate from the cabinet. She arranged the pastries artfully. “You look better than I expected.” She pushed the plate toward Heather.

“I needed you to call,” Heather finally admitted. “Knowing you were on the way helped.”

Marion gave her a squeeze. “I had a feeling.”

“It’s just this time of year…” Heather tried not to slip back into the low place she’d been in a few minutes ago. “I don’t even know how to do the holidays without him. What eats at me the most is that Toby and I had our whole lives ahead of us. What was the purpose of his gift of singing if he couldn’t see it through?”

“He has the number-one song this year.”

“I know. But think about where his career could’ve gone.”

Like everything he touched, his Christmas album released last year turned to gold. One of the songs, “Christmas With You,” flew up the charts a few years ago, and had been a cult favorite ever since.

“I feel like the cancer stole his happy ending—and mine.”

“It did,” Marion said. “And he was robbed. But your life is still going. There are more endings out there for you. You just have to grab another one when you feel strong enough.”

“You make moving on sound easy.” Heather took a drink of the warm, nutty coffee.

“I doubt it’s easy, but maybe it will be smoother if you relax and let life happen. Don’t try so hard to plan it.”

“I’m a librarian. Planning is my thing.”

“Have you forgotten that I, also, am in your field of work?” Marion took a croissant and tore it in two, the chocolate center whipped and fluffy. She offered half to Heather.

Heather wrinkled her nose. “I’ve never understood how you ended up enjoying library science, given the way you are.”

“The way I am?” Marion nibbled her end of the croissant.

“You oversleep. You never know what day it is. You’re disorganized. That’s not a cut-down; they’re your own words.”

“Mmm, but I love a good book,” she cooed. “And you, missy”—she waggled a finger—“aren’t any better than I am. You don’t know how to bake for yourself.”