33. Winona
Winona
It's not what's under the Christmas tree that matters,
it's who's around it.
~ Charles M. Schulz
I wake to bright light pushing through the slit between my curtains. When I pull them back, I squeal and shout, “Cass! Snow! It snowed!”
Cass shows up in my doorway with a mug of hot coffee.
“Christmas coffee,” she announces, handing me the mug.
“A white Christmas!” I say, leaning in to give her a hug. “I always feel like magical things will happen when it snows on Christmas.”
We stand side-by-side looking out over the back yard, a white unmarred blanket of snow covering the lawn and trees.
“It’ll melt by tomorrow,” she says.
“Okay, Scrooge McGrinchy. Way to poop all over my winter wonderland.”
She laughs. “Enjoy your coffee—and the view. Then we need to dress and head to Mom and Dad’s.”
“I say we go in PJs.”
“I’m down for that.”
I finish my coffee and we put coats on over our pajamas. Then we grab our presents and Cass drives us to our parents’ home.
The smell of warm cinnamon rolls greets us as soon as we open the door. Dad’s in his recliner. Mom comes out from the kitchen.
Cass places our packages under the tree and we settle on the couch for homemade pastries and our annual family gift exchange.
My parents’ holiday playlist is on in the background.
The lopsided tree is covered in mismatched ornaments—among them, ones Cass and I made over the years and others faded framed photos of us as kids.
We moved out ten years ago, but Christmas morning here always makes me feel like I’ve traveled back in time.
By lunchtime, I’m making eye contact with Cass across the room.
“You girls staying for lunch?” Mom asks.
“No,” I say, looking at Cass again. “I’m meeting Declan. We decided to spend the morning with our families and then I’m going to his house for the afternoon.”
“And so it begins,” Mom says with a smile.
Dad nods. “You can tie them down with duct tape, but they still escape and live their own lives.”
“We need better duct tape,” Mom says. “Stop buying that cheap stuff at the hardware store. I think those rolls are as old as the girls.”
“That’s the trouble,” Dad says, kissing Mom on the cheek. “I’m gonna splurge and get it at the Home Mart next time.”
“I’m sorry to be the one breaking things up,” I say.
“We’re just teasing with you,” Mom says. “We like Declan.”
“Oh,” Dad says. “I don’t just like him. I love him.”
“You love having a pro football player in the family,” Cass says, pointing at Dad and raising her brows.
“And you don’t?” Dad asks.
“He’s not in the family,” I say. “Not yet.”
“He came for Thanksgiving,” Mom says. “He’s in the family.”
I shake my head. “You all are the best.”
“You’re pretty okay yourself,” Mom says, standing and walking over to pull me into a hug.
“I think we should keep her,” Dad teases.
“What about me?” Cass asks. “Do I get hugs even though I’m not dating anyone famous?”
“Sooo demanding,” Dad teases, pulling Cass into a hug.
“Love you,” Mom says, hugging Cass next.
“If it gets unbearable hanging out with a handsome football player who can’t keep his eyes off you, you’re welcome to swing back around,” Dad says.
“I’ll do just that—when it gets unbearable.”
Cass drives us back home. I change and climb into my car, setting Declan’s gifts on the passenger seat.
When I pull away from the house, I glance in my rearview mirror. An SUV follows behind me. I don’t recognize the car as one of my neighbors. It’s probably a relative, here for Christmas.
Each time I turn, the SUV turns with me. I take a turn I hadn’t planned to take just to test my suspicions. The SUV stays with me. I call Declan on Bluetooth.
He answers with, “Merry Christmas, beautiful.”
“Well, Merry Christmas to you too. I’m on my way over.”
We texted early this morning, but we had already committed to spending time with our families. And I’m glad we did, even if my thoughts regularly drifted to being with him.
“Declan?”
“Hmmm?”
“There’s an SUV … you know what? It’s probably nothing.”
“An SUV what?” he asks, his tone moving from lazy and warm to on guard in a beat.
“Just … it seems to be following me. I even took some weird turns and it’s right there.”
“I’m sorry, Winona.”
“Why are you sorry? You didn’t order a tail on me. Did you?” I try to make light of this—for his sake—but I am feeling a little freaked out. I’ve never been followed before.
“Stay on the phone with me,” he says. “It’s probably nothing. Just more photographers.” He mumbles, almost to himself, “Which isn’t nothing.”
“Yeah. Probably.”
I drive the rest of the way to Declan’s. He stays on the phone.
“I’m at gate one. The SUV is driving in behind me.”
Declan practically growls. “What use are gates if people can come in anyway?”
“Let’s not let this ruin our Christmas,” I say.
“Yeah. Okay.” He pauses. “Yes. Definitely. Just drive in. He can’t come on my property.”
I drive through the second gate. The SUV follows. And, as I expected, he drives right up to Declan’s driveway behind me. Thankfully, he doesn’t try to follow me through the private gate to Declan’s house.
When I get out of the car, Declan’s on the porch, walking down to greet me. He leans in and kisses me. “Merry Christmas, Winona.”
“Merry Christmas,” I say, smiling up at him. “Let me get my gifts.”
I grab the presents and we walk inside together.
Geese Witherspoon is wearing a Mrs. Claus outfit; a light dusting of snow covers her ceramic webbed feet. I smile down at her.
“Cute,” I say, following Declan inside. He shuts the door and turns the latch.
“I woke to find her like that,” he says.
“Really?”
“No,” he smiles a shy smile. “I ordered the outfit weeks ago. You like it?”
“I love it. There aren’t words for how much I like it.” I glance at him. “I think she needs a friend.”
“Yeah. I was thinking the same thing. He’s on order.”
“You ordered another porch goose?”
“She looked lonely.”
I laugh softly and stand on tiptoes to kiss Declan on the cheek.
I try to put the man with a camera at the end of the driveway out of my mind. But when I glance out the window panes flanking the front door, Declan’s gaze follows mine.
“Get comfortable in the front room,” he says. “I’ll be right there.”
I walk into the front room. The tallest Christmas tree I’ve ever seen fills one corner.
It’s decked out with gorgeous matching ornaments in gold and cream and burgundy.
White twinkle lights sparkle evenly from every branch.
Obviously, Declan didn’t pick the tree or decorate it.
Underneath the tree a few wrapped boxes are waiting to be opened. I place my gifts next to them.
Declan’s voice carries through from the kitchen. He’s calling the police to report the man outside.
He walks into the front room, smiling at me. It’s not his usually warm smile, even though he’s obviously happy to see me.
“Hey,” he says, coming to stand right in front of me where I’m staring into the flames crackling in the fireplace. “Let’s start this over.”
“Okay,” I say softly.
“Merry Christmas, Winona.”
“Merry Christmas, Declan.”
He leans in and kisses me. I wrap my arms around him and hold on tight. He tugs me to himself, holding me close. The sound of a siren in the distance cuts through the moment.
Declan pulls back, running his hand through his hair.
“It’s okay,” I say. “What a way for that guy to spend Christmas, right?”
Declan smiles at me, but it’s strained.
It’s not okay. We both know it’s not okay.
A man followed me from my home to Declan’s.
He invaded our privacy. And he’s not alone.
We never know when someone will be lurking on the fringes.
If they just wanted pictures, that would be bad enough, but they want to twist our relationship into something ugly.
I take a deep breath.
“I brought you gifts,” I say.
“I have some for you too. Let me cue up some Christmas music. Have a seat.”
I take a seat on the couch while Declan turns on a station that’s playing carols and holiday songs.
I get the distinct feeling he’s trying to drown out whatever’s happening outside.
And I’m all for shutting out the world so we can get back to what we’ve always been—just the two of us without any onlookers.
“How was this morning with Maeve and Patrick?” I ask.
“Great. Spending Christmas with kids is the way to go. They get so excited about every single thing.”
“Awww.”
For a moment, I allow myself to imagine Declan and me with our kids around the tree, or maybe we’re all at Patrick and Daisy’s or Maeve’s. My children would have cousins.
Declan steps out of the room and comes back carrying a basket wrapped in cellophane.
“What’s this?” I ask, crossing my legs underneath me and reaching my hands out for the massive basket.
I set it on the couch next to me. Declan stands back, smiling and crossing his arms.
I carefully loosen the ribbon, letting the clear wrap fall away.
The book in the basket catches my eye right away. Theo of Golden.
“I’ve been wanting this book,” I say, looking over at Declan. “How did you know?”
He closes his eyes and when he opens them, he looks like a little boy. “I asked Cass for help.”
“That’s so sweet.”
“I wanted it to be perfect.”
“It’s better than perfect,” I tell him.
“How is it better? I outsourced Christmas—like my parents do.”
“No, Declan. You cared enough to make sure you got it right.”
He smiles. “And did I?”
“You got it so right.” I pull out the rest of the gifts from the basket—lotions, perfume, chocolates, a mug, more Cuban coffee, a fluffy blanket, and a Tennessee Thunder mascot plushie.
“Thank you, Declan. This is all so perfect. Now grab that box.” I point to my gift.
He picks up one of the three boxes I brought and carries it over, settling into the chair next to the couch.
He tears at the paper and lifts the lid, holding up a Thunder football jersey with the number eighty-eight and his name on the back.
He holds it up to his chest and says, “This definitely won't fit me.”
“I know,” I smile. “It's not for you. My gift will be me wearing it in the stands at every one of your home games.”