Chapter Thirteen #2
He grabbed the trunk of the tree and dragged it through the snow, heading toward the truck. Clara, beside him, was quiet. Brent knew he should probably let it go, but he couldn’t seem to do it.
“So, I guess you really were traumatized by those bugs last year if you’ve already blocked it from your memory.” He smiled at her, hoping to keep the mood airy.
“Oh! Last year. Of course.” Her eyes got wide. “It must have slipped my mind for a moment. Of course, I remember the bugs.” An awkward laugh escaped her throat. “Crickets, right?”
Brent could feel his face fall. It slipped her mind? They had talked about that Christmas-tree incident for weeks last year. He’d thought it was hilarious when she’d first told him what had happened.
It was the week before Christmas. Clara had been at home sitting by the fireplace, watching a movie, when she heard the loud chirp of crickets.
Assuming she’d left a window open, she walked over to close it, only to have one jump out of her tree and right onto her head.
She had screamed so loudly that her next-door neighbor had called to check on her.
Once she’d calmed down, she went to inspect the tree with a flashlight and found a whole nest of baby crickets setting up home right there in the branches of her tree.
Brent hadn’t been able to stop laughing when she’d told him the story.
He could just imagine her surprise, and terror, to find this Christmas bonus.
He’d especially loved the part when she opened the door to her backyard and tossed the tree outside, fully decorated, stand and all.
She hadn’t thought about anything other than getting those bugs out of her house.
His favorite part of the story, though, had been when her neighbor offered to take the tree to the dump for her.
Clara had declined, stating that the babies needed a nice home to spend Christmas in.
She had left that tree there in her tiny backyard for the rest of the season.
She said they would stay there until they could grow up and venture out on their own.
He loved this about her. As panicked as she was over those bugs, she still had a caring heart that showed itself at every turn.
Brent remembered how she would update him daily as she checked in on her cricket family.
At first, she’d felt bad taking up so much of their precious phone-call time to burden him with her trivial problems, like insects in a tree.
But he had soon convinced her that hearing about life—and Christmas—at home was the best way to keep his spirits up. Besides, he loved that story.
He frowned, his worry about Clara—and their relationship—back at the forefront of his thoughts.
Why did it seem as if she didn’t want to talk about it?
In fact, it didn’t even seem like she remembered the incident at all.
How could a memory that was so important to him be so easily forgotten by her?
She seemed to notice his concern as they approached his truck. “Brent,” she started, “I feel like I should tell you something.”
“Okay.” He stopped, still holding the tree by its trunk. He looked at her and waited for her to speak.
“Well, this past year . . .”
“Yes?”
“Well, it wasn’t quite the same for me as . . .”
He nodded, urging her to continue. He noticed an eerie feeling in the pit of his stomach.
“It’s hard to explain, but—”
Elvis Presley interrupted her as “Blue Christmas” sounded from her phone.
She looked at him, confused. He could also detect a hint of relief in her face.
Whatever she had been trying to say to him, it seemed she welcomed the interruption.
Clara obviously didn’t realize the song was coming from her pocket, though.
She looked behind her, frustration on her face, trying to identify the source of the music.
Brent laughed. “I think that’s you.”
“Huh?”
He pointed to her pocket. “That’s your ringtone.”
She fished around her coat for her phone. “What? No. My ringtone is ‘Jingle Bells’.”
“You changed it.” He opened the bed of his truck. “Remember?”
She looked at him with a blank expression.
“You changed your ringtone from ‘Jingle Bells’ to ‘Blue Christmas’ as soon as I left last year, remember?” Brent noticed his nervous laugh return as he waited for a hint of recognition.
“Oh, yeah,” she said. “I must have forgotten about that.” She pulled her phone from her pocket, still playing music, and looked down at the screen. “I’m sorry, Brent, but I have to take this. It’s the hotel.”
“Of course.” He lowered his head and slowly backed away, giving her some privacy.
Unbelievable. Had she really forgotten that “Blue Christmas,” their song, was her ringtone—that it had been for a year now?
She had never changed it back, even during summertime, saying it meant too much to her.
From the looks of it now, she’d never heard that song coming from her pocket before.
How was that possible after everything that song had meant to them?
What was going on with her memory today? Perhaps it was stress. Brent shook his head. He hoisted the tree into the back of the truck. Stress could certainly cause forgetfulness, right?
He felt terrible that their relationship was causing her any stress at all.
He hated that this transition had to be so hard on her.
Clara had seemed to be doing so well during the deployment.
She always seemed so strong. So positive.
So open about everything. When they’d had their hard days, they had always talked things through.
She was never closed off to him, the way she seemed to be now.
Perhaps he had simply been blind to the truth.
Maybe things were so much more difficult for her than he’d ever known.
Brent lay his forehead on his arm, resting on the edge of the truck bed.
Everything seemed so right between them at times.
But then there were others when it felt as if they were completely distant from each other.
He lifted his head and firmed his jaw. Maybe some of his memories from the past year weren’t as meaningful to her as they had been to him.
Or perhaps it was worse than that. Maybe their relationship meant more to him than it did to her.
No. Brent shook his head and closed his eyes.
He knew deep down that wasn’t true. Besides, it wasn’t like him to give up, to accept defeat.
No, he would figure this out. He would make a plan and work through the problem.
He banged the edge of his truck with an open palm and raised his chin. Yes, that’s what he would do.
Perhaps this was the reminder he needed that relationships take work, not only during the tough times, but on a daily basis. Perhaps all he needed was to work harder to make new memories for them this Christmas.