Page 110 of Run, Run Rudolph
I spun in a small circle, on the lookout for Haden.
There were no burned sleigh remains on the driveway, meaning it had either been cleaned up or covered with fresh fallen snow.
I sprinted to the barn, yanking open the door. Familiar smells enveloped me. Dolly snickered a hello, and I murmured to her as I walked further inside, seeing my warm breath come out in clouds.
It was cold. Silent.
I stopped, taking in the building. There was no damaged sleigh. No night vision goggle boxes littering the barn floor. No reindeer. No Santa. No elves. No Christmas tree. I jogged to Rudolph’s stall, swinging my way through its entrance. No reindeer. No melted ice packs.
Shaking, I took a few steps, my boots shifting the straw and dirt at my feet. It was like they’d never been here. My yukaflux cooler stood upright, lid closed. I opened it. It was full.
Everything was back to normal.
I flew to the barn door and looked outside. There were no ruts in the fresh snow from us coming and going last night. I stumbled back inside and fell to my knees in the straw, sniffing away my tears.
I was wearing my winter coat again, and I found my phone, typing out a text to Haden.
Me
Did you get home okay?
I scrunched my eyes closed, my cold fingers cramping as they gripped my phone, waiting for a reply. He had to reply. He kept his phone on him, 24/7, because he was always on call.
Gripping my phone, I stared at the screen, willing a reply from Haden.
“Please, please, please,” I whispered. Please let him remember us.
Bubbles appeared on my screen to show he was typing, and I held my breath, anticipatory tears welling in my eyes.
“Come on, come on.”
Haden’s message popped up.
Haden
Yeah. Some storm, huh? Merry Christmas Eve.
I frowned at the message, trying to decipher what it meant. The longer I stared at it, the more the letters blurred into nonsense, and the more my chest tightened with an inkling that felt more and more true by the moment. One I didn’t want to accept.
I got up and made it as far as a square bale of straw before collapsing onto it in a defeated, heartbroken heap. A chickadee landed near my feet, then another, ready for their morning treat of sunflower seeds. I filled my palm from the nearby container of seeds and held it out for the chickadees. They landed lightly with their chilly, claw-like feet, taking turns, one after another, like a well-coordinated airport. Grab a seed and fly off. Grab a seed and fly off.
Haden had forgotten last night. We were back to avoiding each other. Back to the layers of misunderstandings that had added up over the years.
My phone vibrated with another message, and I peered at it.
Haden
I hope my mom didn’t pester you while I was out working in last night’s storm. If she did—sorry.
I let out a strangled squeak and dropped my phone, pressing the heels of my hands against my eye sockets. I focused on my jagged breathing, trying to settle it.
No, no, no.
He was gone. My wish had undone everything.
I sniffed, then again, aware tears were streaking down my cheeks.
The door opened to the barn, and I stood so fast, I got woozy. “Haden?”
