Page 84 of Merry Mended Hearts

But was that fair to my wife?

I didn’t want to forget Amy. The way she smiled. The way she smelled. The way she’d looked at me like I was her reason for existence. How could I move forward and act like losing her on Christmas Eve didn’t affect me anymore?

It seemed like a violation of my love for her. Celebrating with others meant I’d accepted that she was gone. And that was something I could never do.

I knew pushing Grace away had hurt and confused her, but loving someone else just wasn’t a possibility. That was another reason I needed to stay away until she left.

Ugh. If only I could skip the next two days.

I tried it every year. And every year, those days passed with painful slowness. This was when I usually readied my home with necessary repairs that I didn’t take the time for otherwise.

I hesitated only a moment before clicking my teeth. Hazelnut’s ears pricked.

“On, on,” I said, giving the horse her usual cues.

Hazelnut responded, carrying me away from Junie and through the back woods.

The cottage looked the way it always had, with its familiar, multi-colored stacked stones held together by mortar. Ravaging winds often wore on the exterior, and considering how the place was built sometime in the late eighteen hundreds, it’d had its fair share of wear and tear.

Every year, I had to fix the cracks in the mortar and the walls, along with the roof repairs. I’d had the roof replaced shortly after moving in here, but the passing years had chipped away here and there—not to mention the mice and other small creatures often burrowing in whatever cracks they could find.

Christmas was the perfect time to deal with these repairs. I thrived on the sense of purpose and the distraction it brought. I poured every ounce of energy I could into these jobs, doing my best to avoid looking at the fireplace.

Or the couch.

Or my bed.

Or the scorch marks on the rug.

Or anywhere else Grace had brightened by her presence alone.

But my attempts were ineffective, since she penetrated every aspect of my brain. Everywhere I looked—there she was.

Huffing, I retrieved my tool belt and spent the afternoon in the bathroom, mending the leaky pipes beneath the sink. I worked with purpose, drowning in my non-Christmas rock music with its heavy beats and angry tones.

I lost myself in the work, allowing my mind to get caught up in the lyrics and pushing aside thoughts of Grace, Amy, and Christmas altogether.

Kneeling on the floor, I rested a hand against the sink and checked the newly installed u-shaped p-trap pipe. At least the rancid sewer smell I’d dealt with last year hadn’t made an appearance while Grace was here.

Wait. I wasn’t supposed to be thinking of her.

Shaking my head, I returned the cleaners and sponges to their places beneath the sink. I cleaned up the mess I’d made, returned my tools to their spots in the closet, and took a restless shower.

Time crawled by. Once I finished dressing, it wasn’t even sunset.

I shuffled through my living room, deciding to cook some dinner—even though it wasn’t anywhere near dinnertime—when something caught my eye.

On the table in my kitchen, Grace’s notebook lay splayed open.

Hm. That wasn’t there when I’d eaten a few hours ago.

I frowned and fought the chills speckling along my arms. Veering for the table, I glanced around for a sign of her bright blue, floppy knitted bag. Did she leave her bag here? I could have sworn I saw her with it when I’d dropped her off.

“How did this get left here?” I mused aloud.

I’d been curious about her writing since the sleigh ride, and her outright refusal to let me read anything only piqued my curiosity that much more.

I really had no intention of reading it, but when I reached to close the book, the words in her delicate cursive scrawl jumped off the page, catching my attention. Or rather, one word stood out, leaping from all the rest as surely as if someone highlighted it.

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