Chapter 18 #2
Drawn to it, she started at one end and worked her way along.
It depicted a landscape that transitioned through the seasons.
Each knot that made up the image was different.
Some were small and clean, others looked aged as if they’d been there longer.
Some of the knots were large and dark. She touched one and a shiver of unease went through her.
Drawing her hand back, she glanced at Nick who regarded her thoughtfully. “What is this?”
“It has a formal name, but I call it the Yearweave.”
“How lovely and strange.” Much like this house of his.
“Want to see my den? That’s where I have the TV,” he said.
The movie. That was the reason why she was here. “Of course.”
She glanced at the tapestry as she moved away and couldn’t help feeling like something about it called to her.
Nick knew it was coincidence that had drawn her to the Yearweave and her own knot. He’d been doing his best—or had he?—to try to unravel it for her. A deep sadness had moved through the room when she touched it.
He hadn’t planned this very well at all. How could he have left the Naughty List lying open on his desk like that? Luckily he didn’t think she’d seen her name.
Leading her into his private den and away from the Yearweave was all he could do. It was shielded from the outer hall by a pair of sliding wood doors that he’d carved himself. They showed scenes from his childhood with Ana as well as Jack, Finn and Pete. His life was on these doors.
“I love all the carving in this place. I guess it makes sense, given that you are a carver.”
“And winter can be very long,” he said with a wink.
“Do you hibernate?”
“In a manner of speaking. You?”
“I do a quick week at Disney World in Florida and then straight back to work. I guess that’s the same as hibernating.”
“Disney World?”
“I know. Seems like I’m the last one who should be there but in January the crowds aren’t too bad,” she said.
“Plus I just love all the themed lands. Most of them are based on books, which were my escape as a child. Have you read all of these?” she asked, trailing a finger along the spines of his stuffed bookshelves.
“Most of them,” he said. “Ready for the Christmas-iest movie of them all?”
She glanced around the room. He tried to see it through her eyes. The deep, oversized leather sofa that was worn smooth from years of use. The thick, knitted blankets folded over the back of it. The pile of plush pillows his mom had sent him in winter-soft colors.
“Nice flat-screen.”
“I host everyone when the Stanley Cup is on,” he explained.
He’d built shelves to frame it on either side.
He was old-school and preferred analog to digital for his movies so had a bunch of DVDs.
Cora walked over to the shelf and ran her finger along the titles.
He took note of the ones she stopped on, a lot of which were his mom’s old romantic comedies. She skipped over the Christmas titles.
He had to get to the bottom of her aversion to Christmas, and now was as good a time as any.
“Why don’t you like Christmas? Help me understand your deep-rooted resistance to a holiday that you excel at creating for everyone else.”
“Promise you won’t judge me and think I’m a whiner?”
“No one would ever accuse you of whining.”
“It’s a bunch of little things. My earliest memory of Christmas is of my parents fighting in the driveway over who had me for Christmas dinner. Not who got to have me, but who’s turn it was to take me.”
“Oh, Cora…”
“Dad left when I was four. I have to be honest and say that other than fighting, I don’t recall much. Mom said we were better off without the pressure of buying gifts since we had bills due.”
“That’s sad. Some gifts don’t cost a thing.”
“I never saw any of those either,” she said.
“What else?”
She took a deep breath. “When my dad remarried and had his new kids, they used to do all the Christmas things—you know, like matching pjs on Christmas morning—and when I was there, they never included me. I was the odd one out in every photo. They just … they forgot about me,” she said, her voice cracking.
“Cora…”
“Not that it mattered. I wasn’t part of their family,” she said.
But it clearly did matter. A lot. “That was cruel.”
She shrugged. “There was lots of stuff like that. I was only there because my mom made him take me every other holiday. He didn’t want me there, but Mom didn’t really want me either. I got over it. I stopped going when I was sixteen.”
She drifted over to Nick’s snack nook. “What’s this?”
The half-pantry, half-café took up a corner of the room. The polished wood counter held a small popcorn machine and a series of glass jars filled with chocolates, caramels, and mixed nuts. There were stacked ceramic bowls that Ana had made for him and decorated with everyone’s names.
Cora picked up the top bowl which had his name on it. Ana had rolled the clay to shape his name so it was raised. “This is nice. Did you make it?”
“My sister did,” he said, coming over to take the bowl from her.
“That’s nice. Did she make them all?”
“Yup. She was really into ceramics. I still have her kiln out in the garden. Maybe I’ll show it to you in the spring.”
“The spring? You think we’ll be … hanging out then?” Cora asked.
“I hope so.”
A flush spread over her face. “Me too. And isn’t it time you told me what movie we’re watching?”
He hadn’t decided until this moment, but as the child of a non-believer who struggled to see the true meaning of Christmas, it had to be… “Miracle on 34th Street. The original with Natalie Wood.”
“That one is so corny. I see what you’re doing. I’m not an eight-year-old child. I’m not going to have an epiphany at the end of the movie,” she said.
“There’s no hidden agenda here. It’s a fun movie and I thought you’d enjoy it. Also, I won the bet so it’s my choice.”
“Fair enough. Are you making popcorn?”
“I can. Want some?”
“I do. Does your wonder snack bar have a stove top? I can melt some caramel to toss the popcorn in,” she suggested.
They worked side by side, making their snacks for the movie.
Her shoulder brushed his as she talked about her favorite toppings on popcorn.
Their fingers tangled as they both reached for bowls.
That slow hum that he always experienced while she was with him was back, but this time, knowing he was taking her to his bed, it felt different. Significant, somehow.