Page 19 of This Christmas

I laugh. “There are no ride shares here.”

“Ugh, so annoying. Don’t wake me when you come back. I’m very tired after my fall.”

Tired, but not sore.

“Okay.”

I dress quickly and as quietly as possible, grab my keys from the dresser, and creep down the stairs.During the night, it started snowing. I’m sad I missed it. When I was a kid, I would sleep with my curtains open during the winter so I could see when the snow would start to fall.

The first snowfall of the season has always been magical. You stop and take it in. I’ve lost count of how many times Eve and I were together when it happened. We’d stop what we were doing and twirl around with our heads back and tongues out, trying to catch a snowflake. As we got older, we’d dance under the moonlight until our noses turned red.

According to Caryn, snow’s a nuisance. Even though she’s here, she’s not a fan. She isn’t one of those socialite types you’d find on the slopes. Sure, she’ll dress up and go to the mountain, but she’ll be in the lodge having a spa treatment or sitting by the roaring fire.

My tires crunch on the snow, packing it down into a solid strip. With no destination in mind, I turn down roads, most of them leading to nowhere and forcing me to turn around. Turn after turn, I drive until I find myself on the road leading to the farm. My car slows when the house I know so well comes into sight.

White lights twinkle, casting a glow on the red bows attached to the posts on the porch. A large wreath hangs from the second floor of their barn, with a spotlight shining on it. Every year, at least when I was around, Mrs. Holcomb would start making this wreath in early November because it always took the longest. When Eve and I were younger and tasked with pruning or shaping the trees, we’d bring the boughs intothe cold storage room and watch Evangeline’s mom work her magic.

Out back are acres and acres of trees. People from town love coming over in the spring when the plantings happen. It used to be a community event, and I hope it still is. Everyone’s always welcome at Reindeer Ridge Farm, and while I know this, I can’t imagine bringing Caryn here for Christmas day festivities.

Nor will I ask my dad to skip it on account of us being in town. Caryn and I will fend for ourselves or go home after exchanging presents in the morning. I’m sure by then, my welcome will be rescinded, anyway.

When the porch light comes on, I continue driving down the road. Mr. Holcomb is already mad at me, and if it’s Evangeline walking onto the porch, she’s liable to shoot me or something. It’s better to just leave her alone.

Except, I have this yearning to talk to her. To see her. It’s not so much that I need her forgiveness, although I desperately want it. It’s that I need her to hear, to understand why I did . . . my thoughts give me pause.

I think back to when I started, how Serena almost ended my relationship with Evangeline on Christmas, how she was over aggressive with her texts. When I arrived, she wasn’t much different, and I had to tell her I had a girlfriend. Her words to me were “But she’s not here.”

Then, I thought nothing of it. Mr. Bamford was being a gracious host. Boss. He made sure I was well taken care of and had everything I needed. “No need totake the train to Boston when the stores are right here,” he said. “Serena will take care of everything.”

Now, it’s a different story. Did Bamford orchestrate all of this for his daughter?

If he did, why?

I find myself on Main Street. It’s quiet. All the stores are closed for the day, even Alma’s Bakery, although she’ll be opening soon. Once those ovens turn on and the first batch of rolls go in, the rest of the town wakes because the scent of her famous cinnamon rolls travel far and wide.

I park across the street from my dad’s store. A store he expected me to take over one day. I suppose if I lived here, I would. My leaving town has ensured the store will close once my dad can no longer care for it. Which, by the looks of things, will be soon. I’m pleasantly surprised by the amount of people I saw coming in and out earlier today, and shockingly, that he sold a lot of trees.

Whitaker’s General Store has one light over the door on, and a couple inside, toward the back. There’s a security alarm, or there was the last I knew, but crime in Deer Ridge is nonexistent. Most of it is petty or traffic violations, and my parents never thought they needed bars on the windows and door.

My mom was the one who added baskets to the front of the store. My dad hated carrying them in and out for each opening and closing but did so because they made my mom happy. In the spring and summer, she’d fill them with flowers, and fruits and vegetables from local gardens. In the fall, it was pumpkins. And inthe winter, kindling for fires and other winter necessities. She loved the store and worked every day until she passed away.

I turn off my car and get out, pulling my coat tighter near my neck to keep the snow from falling inside, and head toward the old fire station where I found Evangeline earlier. I’m not trying to interrupt her night or even spy on her. I just . . .

I don’t even know.

She’s here in this space daily. This is where she built her practice, along Main Street in a converted firehouse, near where the people she would serve could find her easily. She’s following through with her plan, one we shared a long time ago, and being true to herself.

I used to think I was being true to who I wanted to be, but now I’m not so sure. What if I was meant to only be in New York for six months, as planned?

Why did Mr. Bamford intervene so much?

I suppose I should’ve known something was amiss when transferring my class was as easy as a phone call.

But why me?

I’m nothing special. I’m an ordinary Joe who did well in law school.

Leaning against the light pole across from the firehouse, I look at the building. A spotlight shines on the name of the station house, while Evangeline’s name is on the door in white vinyl. Ev’s grandfather used to volunteer for this department and when we were kids, we’d play in the hydrant during the summer. Someone would always open the valve if the temps were in thenineties and none of the older kids were around to watch us at the lake.