Page 3 of No Room in the Inn

Willow

Iwas right: Woodfield is a good fifteen degrees colder than St. Louis, and if I know Vermont, it will stay this way for the next couple of months. Just what I need.

It takes me about an hour to drive my rental car from the airport in Burlington to Woodfield. I spend roughly forty minutes of that hour thinking of how I’m going to handle my parents. The other twenty minutes is me being excited to see my cat.

I’m excited to see Sarah too, though, because it’s been years. We talk on a regular basis, but we haven’t actually been in the same place since we graduated high school. I haven’t even met her daughter, Flora, although we’ve FaceTimed quite a bit. I’ve watched the pixelated version of Flora grow up over the past two years, but I’m excited to see her in person.

Sarah’s rocking the whole single mom thing. I can’t imagine raising a child on my own—although Sarah would be the first to tell you that being a single mom is better than having her ex around. We have a strict non-discussion policy about him. He’s the scummiest of the scummy. Not worthy to be gum on the bottom of her shoes.

I pass the officialWelcome to Woodfieldsign and prepare myself for the absolute bombardment of Christmas decorations I’m about to be hit with. This town has a total of five thousand people at most, and every one of them seems to be the kind of person who stares at the clock on Thanksgiving day, counting down until midnight so they can begin decorating for Christmas. There’s a fresh layer of snow on the ground, which will only have excited Woodfield more. And while it is beautiful, I don’t love driving in it. It always makes me nervous, even though I’m used to driving in the snow.

I slip my headphones in and call Sarah’s number. It only rings once before she answers.

“Are you here?” she says, sounding excited.

“I’m here,” I say, and just like that, a smile is splitting over my face, letting me forget for a moment the reason I’m here. Sarah’s enthusiasm has always been contagious.

“Where?” she says.

“Passing the nativity on Main,” I say, glancing out the window to look at the life-sized nativity Woodfield sets up each year at the only church in town. I went with my parents every Sunday. Mary and Joseph used to glow when I was younger, but now they just sort of flicker feebly, because no one has replaced them in all of my twenty-six years; I’m surprised they still light up at all.

“How’s Joseph doing?” Sarah says. “They put it up yesterday.”

I squint my eyes, looking more closely at the life-sized plastic figurine. “He’s caked with some snow so it’s hard to tell, but I think he’s lost a little more paint on his face.”

“Poor Joseph,” Sarah says, sounding sympathetic.

“Poor Joseph,” I agree, but I’m still smiling. Mary has fared better, probably because her head is bowed more than Joseph’s and it helps keep the elements off her face. “Well, I’ll be to you in three minutes. Is Flora awake?”

“She’s awake and dressed in her prettiest princess dress she wants to show you. I, on the other hand, have applesauce in my hair.”

I laugh. “You can shower when I get there. See you in a minute.”

“‘Kay. I’m so excited!” And with that Sarah hangs up.

I look around again, noting the familiar sights of my childhood—town hall, the barber shop, Jones’s General Store. Rolling down the window slightly, I’m hit with the crisp blast of clear, cold air that always accompanies snow in Woodfield, and I feel a sort of pang of longing in my gut. It’s not a common feeling or one that I encourage, but even I have to admit that Woodfield’s got the whole Currier and Ives vibe going on. It’s hard not to appreciate, especially coming from someplace like downtown St. Louis where the air feels dirty and gray.

I turn off of Main and onto Third, turning then into Woodland Acres where Sarah lives. I’ve never been to her current place, but I know she lives just down the street from the house she grew up in, and I practically lived in that house. I just look for what she described, and thirty seconds later I’m pulling to a stop in front of a small, white house with a cheery blue door and white lights lining the roof.

I get out of the car quickly, grabbing my clothes and luggage from the back seat and hurrying up the front steps. I raise my fist to the door, but it flies open before I can even knock once.

“Hi!” Sarah squeals, throwing her arms around me and squeezing me tightly.

I feel my throat tighten as I hug her too, burying my face in her shoulder as her blonde pixie cut tickles my skin. I’ve missed her like crazy. I don’t have any friends like her in St. Louis. I had college friends before I graduated, but no one particularly close. There were a few people I knew from church, I guess. But my social life basically consisted of Chauncey.

“Come in!” she says when we’ve stopped hugging each other. “Come on.” She drags me in by the hand and shuts the door behind me, calling over her shoulder, “Flora! Come see who’s here!”

My smile widens as I hear a thud followed by the swift pitter-patter of tiny little feet.

“She climbs on the couch in the living room whenever someone comes to the door,” Sarah explains as Flora runs up behind her, wrapping chubby arms around Sarah’s legs. “She likes to look out the window and see.”

I crouch down so I’m on Flora’s level. “Hi, sweet girl,” I say softly, smiling at the little sliver of her eyes I can see peeking at me from between Sarah’s thighs.

Flora just giggles, and my smile widens. I can see her poofy dress sticking out from around Sarah’s legs, and I say,

“Are you a princess?”

There’s a second of silence before Flora’s little voice says, “I’m a pin-press.”

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