Chapter 31
[Lumi]
December twenty-fourth was another day spent with holiday movies running in the background of our conversations about Danny’s job and the potential for a promotion, plus life in the big city.
He mentions how he’s seen his Aunt Icelyn, and I’m so grateful to learn my younger sister has checked in with my son once a month, even if she hasn’t reached out as often to me.
The day is full of appetizers as meals, and then the splurge of a lobster dinner. More wine is consumed. More stories told. And laughter that my heart severely needs to press down the sadness over Saint’s absence.
His name isn’t mentioned, and I’m thankful my sisters don’t expose my aching heart or recent affair.
Some things aren’t necessary to share with your child, even if he is an adult.
I had a winter fling. It’s over. The end.
Still, my chest hurts at the thought, because nothing felt casual about the time Saint and I spent together.
On Christmas morning, I quietly sit on the couch, staring at the crooked, oversized Christmas tree, glancing from one sentimental ornament to another. The decorating of the tree this year was different without Danny, but no less special. Saint made it that way.
I smile into a mug of hot chocolate with a splash of peppermint as I bring it to my lips.
“Merry Christmas, Saint,” I whisper to the quiet room.
Neve and Isolde stayed over another night, and the three of us attempted to share a bed again. Instead of drunk sisters, we curled into one another. The only thing missing was Danny, but he was a bit old to snuggle in bed with his mom and aunts.
The thought only momentarily makes me sad. My son has grown into a wonderful man.
When I hear heavy footfalls on the staircase, I close my eyes briefly, envisioning all the years a younger Danny raced down the steps, eager for Christmas morning, where he’d be spoiled by his aunts, his grandfather, and Santa.
Things look a little different as an adult, and as I thought he wouldn’t be home, I mailed all his presents to him a week ago.
“Merry Christmas, Mom,” he says from behind me, squeezing my shoulders before leaning down to kiss my head.
“Merry Christmas, honey.”
“Are you drinking already?” he chuckles, and I shift on the couch to look up at him behind me.
“Made hot chocolate with a splash of peppermint extract, but if you want schnapps, it’s above the refrigerator.”
Slowly, Danny smiles. “Hot chocolate with a splash of peppermint sounds good.”
As I lower my chin to the edge of the couch and watch Danny head toward the kitchen, my heart pinches.
Yes. Peppermint and chocolate is a nice combination.
When Danny returns to the living room, he plops down beside me and stares at the tree.
“How did you get such a big tree in here?”
“I had a little help from . . . a friend.” I sip my hot chocolate to disguise a smile.
“A friend, huh?” Without glancing at my son, certain my cheeks are pink and will give me away, I sense his questioning glance on the side of my head.
Thankfully, Neve rushes down the steps like she’s still a child and cries out, “Merry Christmas. God bless us, everyone.”
Danny and I twist to see Neve dramatically standing with her arms stretched wide like she’s part of A Christmas Carol production.
Isolde slowly ambles down behind our middle sister, and more quietly greets us with her wishes.
“Happy Christmas, family.”
A round of “Merry Christmas” and “Happy Christmas” follows before we gather near the tree and share presents with one another.
Books and sweaters. A game for Isolde. A new wrench for Neve.
“Looks like one more present is tucked behind the tree.” Danny stretches around the mammoth evergreen as best he can and picks up a rectangular box, which looks professionally wrapped in bright red paper with a large white bow.
Danny reads a tag dangling from the bow. “Lumi.” He lifts his head and hands over the box.
I glance from one sister to the next, knowing Danny didn’t arrive with such a large present in hand.
“What’s this?” I ask, shifting my gaze from Neve to Isolde.
“Looks like a present for you.” Neve rolls her eyes like obviously it’s for me as my name is on the package.
But the stoic way both she and Isolde sit, eyes wide and just as curious, makes my heart start to hammer faster.
They honestly don’t know what this gift contains. Which means it isn’t from them.
As I slowly remove the bow, my fingers shake. I slice at the paper like I don’t want to damage the perfectly wrapped package, but the second I see the pink script of a familiar name, tears spring to my eyes.
“A Barbie airplane?” Danny questions.
“A Barbie airplane,” I whisper, staring at the toy on my lap. One that might never come out of the packaging, making it triple in value, and yet this item is priceless to me.
“Who is it from?” Danny asks, glancing from one of his aunts to the other.
“Santa must have brought it,” Neve states, chuckling at her own joke.
“Yeah. Santa.” Isolde looks directly at me, brows pinching only slightly while her blue eyes widen, innocent and childlike despite her late thirties age.
I run my hands over the smooth packaging, staring once more through the transparent plastic wrap on the giant airplane, large enough for a slender doll, that promotes travel.
See the world, it whispers.
“That’s strange. Who gave you a toy?” Danny glances at my sisters, who both look at me askance.
Who would give me a toy? And why? But I know the answer. The one man whom I’d recently told I’d always wanted this item.
“Looks like you have something in your stocking, too.” Danny points toward one of the larger wool socks hanging from the mantel.
Counting the four of them yesterday, Danny assumed they were new and represented Neve, Isolde, myself, and him.
He was a little surprised I hadn’t hung one for my elusive sister, because he hadn’t known the set of four was actually two pairs. Saint’s and mine.
I narrow my eyes at the bulky outline of something inside one of Saint’s snowflake-decorated socks. The pair of treasured socks he’d also left behind.
Slowly, I rise, timidly smiling at my sisters, wondering what they’ve done, as I cross the living room floor, now littered with tissue paper and decorative bags.
Removing the sock from the small hook, I turn toward the room and stick my hand down the length of the stocking.
My fingers meet something small and wooden. Hesitantly, I remove it.
“What’s that?” Danny asks.
“A toy plane?” Isolde questions like she hadn’t placed it in the sock.
“Looks like a wooden biplane,” Neve clarifies, her voice as curious as the others.
My inspection recognizes how this hand-carved plane is similar to the one Saint picked up when we explored the holiday market.
I recall him telling me how his great-grandfather made wooden toys back when toys were simple.
The design of this item looks old. A little worn in places, like a well-loved object that has often been played with by a child.
Like a hand-carved toy for a beloved great-grandchild who dreamed of being a pilot one day.
My throat instantly clogs.
“Something else is in the stocking,” Isolde adds.
Glancing back at the sock, I tuck the plane under my arm and pull an envelope from the stocking. Then I switch the stocking under my arm and juggle the plane in one hand while holding the red envelope in the other.
The front simply reads my name. On the back flap of the envelope is an embossed stamp that reads North Pole Toys.
Inside the envelope are three items.
The first is a check for more money than I’ve ever held in my hands.
The second is a voucher for a plane ticket.
The final strip of heavy card stock is a note.
For the best hostess.
Take an adventure.
Eat all the food.
XO
Only the X looks like a snowflake, and the O looks like a heart.
“What is it?” Danny asks as my vision blurs.
Neve unfolds from the floor and comes to stand beside me.
“Holy shit,” she whispers, looking at the check. “That’s a lot of—”
“The number of days he was here.” A daily fee from my long-term houseguest, multiplied by a thousand. The check is signed rather illegibly, but it looks legitimate despite the North Pole Toys imprinted in the space for a person’s name and address.
I hadn’t noticed Isolde stand, but her hand lands on my lower back, rubbing up and down. “That’s very generous of him.”
“Who?” Danny questions from his seat on the couch.
I could be offended that Saint paid me for his stay in my house but this is a gift. I feel it in my soul. He wants me to explore all the places I want to visit.
“Where would you go?” Neve softly asks, and I glance up to meet eyes that match mine. Ones that are a little sad as the truth hits her. It’s time for me to live my life. Take that adventure.
I only wish I could share it with someone special.
Still holding her gaze, I ask, “Did you do this?”
Did she slip this toy into the sock? Did he set it up with her?
Neve instantly lifts her hands. “I had nothing to do with this.”
I turn toward Isolde. Saint took a liking to her, but he didn’t spend half as much time with her as he did Neve. “Did he ask you to do this?”
“Does someone want to fill me in here?” Danny prods.
Ignoring him, Isolde smiles sweetly. “I don’t know anything about this.” Her bright eyes expose the truth. She didn’t place the plane or envelope in the sock.
Glancing at Danny, I rule him out as he stares back at me full of inquiry and irritation. No one is addressing his questions.
Placing the three papers back together and slipping them back into the envelope, I hold up the wooden plane.
“It’s a toy plane,” I announce like it’s the greatest gift ever given.
“I can see that,” he counters, brows creased, concern etched between them.
“Inside joke,” I explain, though the gesture hardly qualifies as a jest. The well-loved plane looks like something often played with by a boy who wanted to be a pilot. Who grew up to fly a plane, one that he owned.
However, now isn’t the time to explain all that’s happened to my son. Instead, I glance at the front door, wondering if Saint was here.
Then something pulls my attention to the fireplace behind me.
He couldn’t have.
Slowly, I turn toward the hearth. The one full of ashes and a small piece of charred wood from the fires that kindled throughout most of yesterday.
Certain I will imagine a footprint in the ash, I glance at another sock, noting it looks a little full for a dangling stocking.
I brush past Neve and reach for one of my wool socks, finding it filled as well, and I tug free another item like an eager child.
Between my fingers I hold the exact pull-string Santa I admired at this year’s Christmas market. The one with loose limbs that expand, making Santa jump or dance. Flipping it over, the year has been handwritten on the decoration.
A permanent reminder of when he was here.
When Saint came to town.
“Hey. I had one of those as a kid,” Danny says, standing directly behind me. He reaches around me to snag the gift from my hands, but I bring it to my chest.
“This one is mine,” I argue, pouting at my grown son like I’m a spoiled child and won’t share.
Because I won’t. This item isn’t a toy but a treasure, and Saint is a secret my heart will forever keep.
Inside the stocking is another paper item, and I retrieve it next.
On the front is an image of a large home, surrounded by piles of snow, but the lights from the house beam outward, giving the place a cozy glow. In the bottom corner is one word:
NORTH.
I flip the postcard over and read the back.
Letter writing should be revived.
Here is a postcard just for you.
I wish you were here with me.
All my love, S
If I weren’t surrounded by family, I’d sob. Instead, I rapidly blink back the tears in my eyes and hug the postcard to my chest.
Wishing I was with him as well.