Page 30 of Midnight Clear

“Beats the heck out of me,” Trent said. “It had a long way to fall. But they made things built to last back in the day. Your grandma told me the story once of where it came from, but I can’t remember.”

“The Soviet Union,” she said, still unable to take her eyes off the glass. “My great-grandfather was stationed there and made friends with one of the local glassmakers. It was a gift after the war was over.”

“I thought it was something like that,” Trent said. “Well, I’m glad it lasted.”

“Thank you,” she said, grabbing his hand before he could leave. “Truly. This means more than you could know.”

Trent nodded and said, “Remember to reach out if you need anything. We take care of our own here in Laurel Valley.”

“Yeah,” she said. “You do.” And she realized she meant it.

The last weeks had been eye opening in more ways than one. She had a community she belonged in. Where she was loved. Where her business was loved. Even now, she saw locals watching the ruins from the sidelines with tears in their eyes.

She looked up at Hank and couldn’t hold back the tears any longer. She couldn’t remember the last time she cried. Maybe sometime before her father died. But the tears came in a hot torrent down her cheeks and there was nothing she could do to keep the dam from breaking.

“There you go,” Hank said, pulling her into an embrace. “That’s the best thing you can do. Don’t try to stop it.”

She didn’t know how long they stood like that on the sidewalk. It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter if people stared or walked around them, and she’d later find it ironic that this was the same street where she and Hank had danced only a couple of days before. Now she was crying in his arms.

“I’m fine,” she said, hiccupping against his chest. “I’m okay.”

“I know you are,” he said. “But you’re going to have a heck of a crying hangover come morning.”

“Thanks for letting me cry on you,” she said, using the blanket to wipe her eyes.

“That’s what I’m here for,” he said. “There’s nothing more that can be done tonight. Why don’t we get out of here?”

She looked down at her clothes and said, “You sure you don’t want to stay for Christmas Eve dinner?”

“Wow,” Hank said. “You’ve made two jokes tonight. I’m speechless.”

“Apparently I’m one of those people who makes jokes at inappropriate times,” she said. “I hear the words coming out of my mouth, but I can’t seem to help myself.”

“We’ll chalk it up to the trauma,” he said, letting her go so he could pick up the stained-glass window. “My truck is across the street.”

“Good,” she said. “I’d like you to take me somewhere if you don’t mind. And I’d prefer not to go alone.”

“Sure,” he said, nodding. “Anywhere you want to go.”

“Take the mountain pass,” Sophie said once Hank had helped her into the truck.

He’d had a tarp in the back of the truck and had wrapped the window carefully before getting in beside her.

He didn’t say anything at her request. He just looked at her solemnly and nodded. There was only one reason to take the mountain pass.

“It should still be open,” he said. “The snow hasn’t gotten bad enough to shut it down yet.”

The roads were empty. The people who were up at the resorts were doing whatever families did on Christmas Eve and not out traversing mountain roads.

“Here,” Sophie said as they approached a steep S-curve. “There’s a turnout up ahead if you can pull off the road.”

“I see it,” he said, pulling the truck into the turnout.

It was a beautiful spot, Sophie thought. In the daylight the view would have been towering firs and the ruggedness of the mountains. But at night there was just darkness as the snow swirled in the beam of the headlights.

“When I left you on the park bench the other day, I went home and really tried to get some things in focus. I already told you about starting the process of forgiving my dad for driving off this mountain, in this very spot. I was so embarrassed. It wasn’t bad enough that everyone knew he was the town drunk. But him going out in such a way put a spotlight on it.

“There were people who used him as a warning for their own kids.You don’t want to end up like Mitch Jacobs.But while I was sitting on the couch, staring at the lights on the Christmas tree you’d put up for me, I realized it was so much more than that one singular event that shaped how I am now.

---