Chapter 17
CHAPTER 17
S anta’s Wonderland was eerily silent at this time of night as Natalie sat in the shimmering silver sleigh alongside countless wrapped presents waiting to be delivered on Christmas Eve. She hadn’t expected to find the town hall unlocked, nor was she surprised when she turned the handle on the front door and it yielded to her instantly—that was the kind of town Chestnut Cove was. A place where people trusted each other, and supported each other, and welcomed everyone, strangers included.
Natalie included.
Wiping her wet eyes with a shaky hand, Natalie glanced around, her eyes lingering on the velvet rope that separated Santa’s throne from the line of children who would be here tomorrow, waiting for their chance to see him. Despite her initial reluctance, and her initial fear, Natalie had loved everything about her role as Santa’s helper. She’d loved feeling like part of a family, for the first time in so long. She’d loved bearing witness to the pure, unadulterated joy on those children’s faces, the wonder that filled their eyes, the anticipation, the belief that Christmas truly was the most wonderful time of the year.
She loved so much about this town, and the people in it—and one person in particular—but she understood now that she couldn’t stay, because it had never been an option. Not really. Just a trick of the imagination, a sleight of hand, a misguided belief that she could be anything other than who she really was.
She didn’t belong here. She knew it the moment she arrived, and she knew it now.
But that didn’t make the prospect of leaving any less agonizing.
The minutes ticked by in silence as Natalie leaned her head against the sleigh seat, the tears spilling from her eyes, slowly at first and then streaming down her cheeks in twin rivers that stained her jeans and splattered onto the festive wrapping paper surrounding her. Those tears soon became sobs, the full-body kind, the kind that had her doubled over and gasping for breath, and oh, the pain of it all, the regret for what might have been, and?—
“Natalie?” There was a creak as the front door closed, and then Gabe was walking toward her, his eyes shadowed with concern. He approached the sleigh. “I thought I might find you here.” Nodding toward the piles of gifts surrounding her, he asked, “Is there room for one more?”
Natalie hesitated, then shifted a few packages until Gabe was able to squeeze in beside her, his knee and shoulder pressed against hers, the scent of him filling every inch of that sleigh and causing a fresh wave of tears to build behind her eyes. He was silent for a moment, then reached out and took her hand, a simple gesture filled with so much tenderness, so much kindness, that Natalie crumpled.
He stroked her hair as she wept for all she had lost, then and now, and all that she would still lose, including the moment when she left this beautiful town in her rearview mirror, forever.
When she finally quieted, he used the pads of both thumbs to wipe away her tears, his touch lingering on her face, before he looked her in the eyes and murmured, “Please, Natalie. Please tell me.”
She took a deep breath, preparing once more to say no, but then… something inside her shattered. Face still streaked with tears, she gazed out the window, where the snow-dusted trees were just visible through the inky darkness. Then, softly, “My parents died on Christmas Eve. When I was eight.” She heard Gabe’s sharp intake of breath as the memories of that day flooded over her, but this time, she didn’t fight them. She didn’t battle against the unrelenting current. She just let them come.
“We’d spent the day decorating the whole house, inside and out—for whatever reason, we did the bulk of our decorating the day before Christmas, I guess to make everything seem even more festive. My mother baked cookies with me, I helped hold the ladder while my father hung lights from the roof. And we always saved the Christmas tree for last.” Natalie dabbed at her eyes with the sleeve of her sweater. “My parents liked to make an event of it—there would be appetizers, and hot apple cider, and my mother’s favorite records on the stereo. I got to stay up late, and we ended the night by looking out the window, watching the skies to see if we could spot Santa’s sleigh.” She let out a shaky laugh. “My father swore up and down that he saw him flying above the clouds, but I’m pretty sure it was just an airplane.”
As she was speaking, Gabe had his arm around her, but she barely registered his touch.
“At the end of the night, we all went upstairs to get ready for bed, and my father asked me to turn off the Christmas tree. He’d forgotten to unplug it, and we never left it on overnight. Ever.” The memories of her bounding back down the stairs were crystal clear… and then everything went blank.
“I don’t know what happened… Maybe I looked out the window again, trying to find Santa’s sleigh. Maybe I went to the kitchen to grab another cookie—which my mother told me not to do, since I’d already had so many. Whatever it was, I got distracted, and I forgot to turn the tree off. That night…” She stopped speaking and swallowed hard, and after that, her voice was barely a whisper.
“The investigator never could say for sure exactly what happened, but he suspects one of the wires was frayed on the strands of lights my father used. Whatever the reason, the Christmas tree caught fire in the middle of the night. We were sleeping… a neighbor happened to be awake, and he was able to grab a ladder and prop it against my window. He tried go ing back for my parents, but by then…” Her tone was dull now, wooden, robotic. “The fire… I remember how hot it was. And strangely, how beautiful it was, too. Powerful, almost magnetic. I was looking at the house, watching it burn to the ground, watching my parents die… and I was hypnotized.”
She scrubbed at her cheeks with her hands, trying to claw away the memories. Then she looked at Gabe, her eyes hollow. “It was my fault. If I had just unplugged the tree like my father asked, I would still have parents.” She stared down at her hands. “Needless to say, I don’t celebrate Christmas anymore.”
There was a long pause, an eternal pause, and then Gabe started to speak. Natalie interrupted him with a shake of her head. “Please don’t tell me it wasn’t my fault, that I was only a kid. I’ve been told that my entire life. Not a single person who’s said that to me has ever walked in my shoes.”
Another pause, then, softly, “I wasn’t going to say that. I was going to say that I’m sorry, Natalie. I’m sorry for everything you lost, and I’m especially sorry that I tried pushing all of my Christmas cheer onto you. If I had known…” He laughed softly, though the sound held no mirth. “Suffice it to say that I’m horrified with myself. You told me you di dn’t like Christmas, and I should have accepted that without question.” He looked up, and directly into her eyes. “Please forgive me.”
Natalie waved away his words. “It’s not your fault. You couldn’t have known, and I could have told you to stop at any point.” She shook her head. “The truth is, I think that part of me was enjoying the whole ‘Christmas is amazing and magical’ thing. I used to love the holidays more than anything, and you helped me to remember that. You helped me to escape from reality for a little while.” She smiled softly. “Tonight, for the first time, being with you… I actually thought I could move on. I thought I could be happy, and normal, and the person I was always meant to be. I was happy, Gabe. You made me happy, you gave me joy, and that’s something I haven’t felt in a long time. Not truly.”
He nodded slowly, considering her words. Then, after another long moment of silence, “I’m glad. But the ornament…?”
He left the rest of the sentence unfinished, and Natalie’s heart cracked as she pictured that unremarkable glass angel. “We had the same one when I was a kid. In fact, it was the last Christmas ornament my mother ever bought. Months after the fire, when the house was being demolished, one of the workers found it in the ruins. Everything around it was destroyed by the flames, but somehow that little angel was left untouched.”
Her breath hitched as she recalled her grandmother presenting it to her—“a miracle,” she’d called it. Natalie had carried it with her from that day on; the angel was the one constant in her life, especially after her grandmother died and she entered the foster care system. Natalie told all of this to Gabe, then finished with, “And when I saw you holding that same ornament tonight, something in me just… cracked.” She stared down at her hands again. “It’s my own fault. It was stupid of me to think that I could be anything other than what I am.”
Gabe took her hand in his, and when she finally met his gaze, his eyes were haunted. “You’re leaving, aren’t you.” It wasn’t a question, because he already knew the answer.
Mutely, she nodded.
“Is there anything I can do to change your mind?” He swallowed hard. “Please don’t go, Natalie. Please… don’t go.”
“I have to,” she said, her voice trembling. She raised her hand to gesture all around them. “You have a beautiful life here, Gabe. You have a beautiful town, and wonderful neighbors, and you’ve been…” Sh e shook her head, pressing her lips together, unable to continue for a moment. “You’ve been like something out of a dream. Like something out of someone else’s life.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “I’m leaving, Gabe, because I have to. This life… it just isn’t the one for me.”