Chapter 16
Sixteen
Holly
That’s it. I’m done.
I can’t hold it in anymore.
The tears come in hot, silent waves as I press my palms to my eyes, my shoulders shaking with the force of the emotion I’ve been holding back for days.
Those people were awful. Truly, genuinely awful in a way that makes my soul ache.
Their casual cruelty, their breezy dismissal of a living creature’s fear and pain, the way they treated me like I was a talentless hack instead of an artist with years of expertise working with animals and producing incredible work—it’s all just too much.
But it’s not just them.
It’s everything. How hard I’ve been trying to juggle work and holiday obligations. The fifteen-hour day I pulled on Wednesday, and the weight of this horrible week pressing down on me like an avalanche of confusion and heartbreak.
And it’s Luke.
God, it’s Luke, and the way he turned into a completely different person overnight. The way he cut me off for no reason, without an explanation or so much as the decency to look at me like I was something other than a complete stranger.
And well, as far as public places go, this alley isn’t the worst place to crash out. The country store keeps the snow meticulously cleared, and it’s off the beaten path for the average tourist. That’s why I do outdoor shoots here in the first place.
I sink onto the railroad tie surrounding the now-empty flower beds beside the building and give in.
The tears fall freely, hot against my cold cheeks, blurring my vision, dripping off my chin. I let them come, let myself feel every bit of the hurt I’ve been pushing down. There’s something almost cleansing about it, like lancing a wound that’s been festering.
I cry and cry, until my head is full of cotton and I finally have to slow down because I’m just…tired.
And thirsty.
And too messy to let this go on for much longer.
I’m digging through my bag for my water bottle—and a tissue—when a soft voice rumbles my name, “Holly?”
I flinch so hard I nearly drop my water and turn to see the last person I expected to see near the local home of overpriced fudge standing a few feet away.
It’s Luke, my grumpy, possibly sociopathic—according to Candy—billionaire. He’s holding two paper cups from the country store coffee shop, steam rising from the lids into the frigid air. His expression is uncertain, like he’s not sure saying hello is the best idea.
But at least there’s an expression on his face, light in his eyes.
He appears to be back, just in time to catch me with snot leaking out of my nose.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, tucking my chin as I dig through my bag again, deciding my lens cloth will have to do for a tissue. I have a dozen others at home, and right now, I need dignity more than I need an extra lens cleaner.
I mop up my face, sniffing as I add, “Is there something I can do for you?”
“Of course not. I’m… I’m sorry.”
I take a drink of water, gulping down glugs of courage, then screwing the cap on before I say, “Okay.”
He moves closer, slowly, like he’s approaching a wounded animal. “I saw what happened with that couple with the little dog. I was walking by. I heard voices and…” He trails off, holding up the cups. “I brought hot chocolate. I thought you could use something hot and sugary.”
His kindness, coming from out of left field every bit as much as his sudden shutdown, threatens to break me all over again.
“I…” I shake my head with a humorless laugh. “I don’t know what to say to you, Luke. I really don’t. What the heck is happening with you? With us? I… Friday sucked, you know? It really, really sucked.”
“I know, I’m sorry,” he says, a ragged note in his voice I’m not sure I’ve heard before. “Can I at least give you the cocoa? And then I can go if you want.”
Every protective instinct inside me warns that I should tell him to go. Tell him that I wish him well, but this is too much for me. I can’t handle the emotional whiplash.
But I’m so tired.
I don’t know if I have the strength to firmly turn someone away, and a part of me is dying to know what the hell happened. An explanation would go a long way to making me feel less crazy.
“Sit,” I hear myself whisper. “Drink cocoa with me.”
“Thank you.” He settles onto the railroad tie, leaving a respectful distance between us—a foot of space that feels like a small canyon—and extends one of the cups my way.
I take it, wrapping my hands around the warm paper, letting the heat seep into my frozen fingers. I can’t get my settings right if I wear gloves or mittens when I shoot. It’s one of the hazards of outdoor portraits in December.
I lift the cup to my lips, taking a small sip. It’s good. Really good. Rich and creamy with a hint of peppermint and cinnamon, the kind of hot chocolate that feels like a hug from the inside.
“It’s better than I remember,” I say. “Thanks.”
“It was the seasonal special, peppermint Cinna-burst or…something like that.”
I hum my acknowledgment of this revelation.
Then, we sit in silence for a long time, neither of us seeming to know where to start.
Around us, the town continues its normal Thursday afternoon rhythm, but with extra night-before-the-night-before-Christmas urgency. Everyone is doing their best to get their holiday shopping done before the storm rolls in tonight.
Music drifts from the speakers mounted on the lampposts on Main, currently playing an instrumental version of “It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas” as shoppers bustle from store to store, hunting stocking stuffers and deals on moose print flannel.
Kids laugh from the bouncy house by the mercantile—a last-minute lure to coax their parents in to buy toys—and it sounds like someone’s yelling for a friend to hold the bus.
And then, like a trauma-laced blast from the past, I hear Colette let out one of her “about to be skinned alive” yelps in the distance, and flinch.
“Jesus, what is wrong with those people?” Luke growls. “Why have a dog if you’re going to treat it like that?” I’m about to agree when he adds bitterly, “But I don’t know why I’m surprised. I know my share of privileged idiots. Sadly, those two were typical.”
The word “typical” hits me nearly as hard as Colette’s yelp.
Something inside me, something I didn’t even realize was hanging on by a thread until my heart starts to race, snaps. “Really? You honestly think jerks like that, who have no compassion for the suffering of a creature they claim to love, are typical?”
He blinks, seemingly surprised by my intensity. “I mean…yes? In my experience, people are cruel with alarmingly regularity.”
I shake my head. “No. I don’t think so.”
His jaw tightens, but his tone is gentle as he insists, “Well, I do. You would be shocked at how many people with extreme wealth believe that entitles them to engage in unspeakable behavior. I heard the way that couple spoke to you. Do you think they considered you fully human? Do you think they wouldn’t put a leash around your neck and jerk it, if they thought they could get away with it? ”
“No, I don’t think they would,” I insist, my voice stronger than it’s been in days, even as I’m forced to admit, “Okay, maybe they would. But Kyle and Zelda are not typical. They’re a unique pair of assholes who haven’t figured out why ‘having it all and an adorable dog, too’ hasn’t filled the gaping hole of misery eating away inside of them.
But most people aren’t like that. Not even close. ”
“Holly—” he begins, but I can’t stop now.
The words surge up from my core, demanding I make my stand.
“I know you’ve been through a lot, Luke.
I know you’ve lost so much—things like years of your childhood and your innocence, that money can never buy back.
And I know you come from a much more cutthroat world than I do, but even you have to admit that most people aren’t awful.
Most people are just trying to build a life that feels meaningful to them and take care of the people they love.
All while dealing with the hard stuff life throws at all of us, no matter how much money we have. ”
He frowns, a mixture of sadness and something that looks like pity creasing his forehead. “I’m sorry, but that hasn’t been my experience. When I look at the world, there are no rose-colored glasses. I’ve seen things, Holly. Cruel, evil, pointlessly terrible things.”
“I know. You think I don’t know?” My voice breaks, but I push through, ignoring the sting at the backs of my eyes.
“I’m not a fool, Luke. I see things, too.
I see how many kids there are in line at the food pantry every Christmas, and how that line gets longer every year.
I saw the way that asshole we just voted off the town council treated the flood victims a few years ago.
The way he screamed at them at the meetings, acting like they’d done something to deserve losing their homes.
Victimizing them when he was supposed to be helping them recover.
I see that so many people in the world are just like him.
They want to believe all the suffering, starving, hurting people in the world did something to deserve it.
Because if they did something to deserve it, then it’s okay for other people to look away and do nothing.
It’s okay for them to believe nothing like that will ever happen to them because they’re ‘good’ people, not ‘bad’ people like those unlucky souls that their twisted version of God has decided to curse for whatever reason. I know all of that and so much more.”
I take a shaky breath, staring down at the cup in my hands.
The steam has stopped rising from it, the surface congealing in the cold air.
“I’ve always seen it. Ever since I was little.
I used to cry about it so much as a kid that it scared my mom.
She would tell me that she loved my tender heart so much, but that I had to try to toughen up.
Just so all the sadness wouldn’t crush me into pieces. ”