Page 4 of Christmas in Watch Hill
“Are you looking forward to it?”
“Y-yes.”
Last Christmas had just been depressing—everyone sitting around the table, not wanting to talk about the gaping hole in the room—the place where my wife should have been. Moping in front of my mother’s famous Cornish game hens, mashed potatoes, green bean casserole, and cranberry spread. Finally, I’d broken the tension by admitting it was hard, then asked my family to share their favorite memories of my wife. The night had ended with all of them crying as we sliced into our dinner and opened a third bottle of wine.
I didn’t want that to happen again.
“Maybe between now and then, you make some new holiday memories,” Gary said.
“Like what?”
“Help someone who needs it, volunteer at the homeless shelter, or . . . or something.” Gary shrugged. “Just think about it.”
My therapist didn’t say much more, but his final words echoed.Just think about it.After finishing that meeting, I seriously considered getting a beer at Sam’s Deli. I got about ten feet away from the front door before I thought better of it. Drinking alone was never the best idea, and I knew that. Too bad I didn’t have someone to join me. Someone like maybe . . .
Nora Shaw.
I’d never been inside The Pink Box, but the unmistakable pink front door made it hard to miss the store when visiting the shopping center or driving on the state route. I guessed the decor was quirky and interesting inside, and probably fit with the other boutiques and small businesses that made Watch Hill one of the most unique communities in the Cincinnati area. Nora herself, though—Nora was beautiful.
Not in a conventional way.
She was pointy and reedy where most women would have been round, and her thick tuft of brown hair tangled in the December breeze and framed a pale face with wide eyes that seemed skittish and frustrated, as if something was on her mind that she couldn’t share with anyone.
But she was beautiful.
Different than Monica, and that was good. Monica had been bright and airy, almost angelic in the way she danced through life. Always an optimist, even as the cancer jumped to stage four and the doctors admitted they didn’t have many options for treatment. I liked light and airy, but I liked the opposite, too.
Nora Shaw. The opposite.Interesting.
Sighing, I drove the short distance from the shopping center to the Cape Cod house I’d purchased two months earlier, after a weekend spent looking at about a half dozen properties across Cincinnati and the surrounding area. Watch Hill was one of the better neighborhoods in the hills around the city—home to quaint architecture in a town square designed to mimic Germany. A few planned gardens, a slew of Tudor revival homes, and a movie theater playing independent films and art house selections. I walked through the three-bedroom place one time and told my real estate agent I would take it. Starting fresh, even if just in a new part of the county, had been a good idea.
No, agreatidea.
Maybe starting over meant more than just a new place to live. Maybe it meant new people in my life, too. I was still thinking about that as I made my way into the house.
THREE
