Page 48 of One Vow

“In that case, maybe the memory of kissing you is better than actually kissing you.” She shrugged. “Anyway, we’re at the airport, and we both know that there’s nowhere else you’d rather be than letting the little wife untie your bow for Christmas. So, go. Or don’t go and be miserable for the rest of your life. But now it’s on you. Not me.”

She reached into her bag and pulled out the divorce papers she had in her hand.

I smiled because for the first time in ten long years, I could see the possibility of a light, a happiness. “It would have been so much better if we’d figured this out about six hours ago.”

But I kissed her cheek. I’d been given my fair share of chances in life. Seconds. Thirds. Some I’d wasted. Some I’d made the most of. But none was ever so important to me as this one. And no way in hell was I going to let it pass me by.

16

Felicity

Christmas in Glouster was straight out of one of those romantic movies with carolers and warm, mulled cider, carriage rides, stores aglow with lights and sparkling ornaments made of glitter and glass that made this whole place look like Santa was a year-round resident. We had a live nativity, a nightly reenactment of the twelve days of Christmas as sung and acted by members of each class at the elementary school. The librarian, Mrs. O’Toole, sat in a heated tent and read “The Night Before Christmas” on Monday, Wednesday and Friday, then directed the Glouster players in an abridged version of A Christmas Carole. If there was a holiday tradition Glouster missed, I could never imagine what it was.

And we handed out gifts to all the kids, snapped photos with our Santa, we had two, one modern, one a vintage version with a long robe and holly berries twined around his head like a Christmas wreath. Old fashioned Santa, Marty, my lawyer, was normally more popular with the older folks, and yeah, they all still posed for photos with him, but this year, some of the younger families were in line for him, too.

We sold the cider, sang the carols, with ho-ho-hos abounding along with cheek kisses, wishes for a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year, and visions of the requisite sugar plum, blah blah blah. Glouster took its celebrations seriously.

And tonight, because I’d avoided it all week in favor of spending time with Finn, it was my turn to man the Santa hut and the Polaroid camera while I wrangled kids on and off Modern Santa’s lap and handed out candy canes to the tiny tots who, for this one night of the year, couldn’t wait to get home to bed so they could get up in the morning and open their gifts.

At least it kept me away from the cider stand and Sofia who was selling two shots of vodka for every cup of cider she handed across the counter to whichever mom or dad was in charge of beverages.

In the Snapshots with Santa hut, we’d whittled the line of kids down to none, so Santa and I took a break. He headed for the bathroom in the hardware store, and I walked to the cider stand.

“Hand me one of those.” I nodded to the steaming mug with the quaint hand-drawn picture of a hometown Glouster Christmas glazed into the side.

She held up an airline-sized bottle of Smirnoff. “You want some lead in it?”

The last thing I needed was alcohol to enhance or adversely influence the emotions I could barely keep at bay now. In the happiest place on the east coast. On Christmas Eve. “Nah. This is fine.”

She shrugged and pocketed the vodka. “He left?”

I nodded then held out my hand. Instead of pouring the vodka into my drink, I gripped it and stared. It was going to take a lot more than this tiny thing to stop the breaking of my heart. I shoved it into the bell-bedazzled pocket of my elf suit.

“Bastard.”

“It’s fine.” Really.

It was.

Not.

Fine at all. Nothing was fine.

But since there wasn’t anything I could do short of calling him, begging him to come back to me, forgiving him for lying to me, I already had but he was going to have to work for it before I ever said the words, forgiving myself for driving him away.

The arrogance to think I would get or that I deserved a second chance was something hardwired into my DNA, but I knew he wouldn’t come back now. He’d done it already and I sent him away. Besides, any minute, he was about to pledge his life, and probably his soul, to Beth. Even if they couldn’t make it official until the day after Christmas.

“What time are you off tonight?”

She always came to Dad’s with me for Christmas Eve. We ate and watched It’s a Wonderful Life then we went to bed. In the morning we opened the gift cards Dad always bought for us for book stores and spa treatments and he opened the new ties, shirts, and whatever classic book we managed to find for him. This year I’d found a first edition Dickens. Last year, a Bronte. He loved all the classics. But Sofia was going to be with Dakota this year. Tomorrow, they would celebrate with me and Dad. Everything was changing.

“Seven.” She cleared her throat. “You know, you could fly out there and stand up when the preacher asks if anyone objects.”

I chuckled. Because I’d considered it. “The wedding was this afternoon. I think.”

Or maybe it was this evening. But this evening California time. Which was practically the middle of the night my time. The moment I decided not to do the math to see if I could make it before the I do’s were done was the moment I gave up on even the hope of me and Finn being anything more than history.

Sofia shook her head, and I could’ve sworn her eyes went dark with disappointment. “You’re such a quitter.”