Page 27 of Wishing for Christmas
On second thought, it was better than that. Being with Clara today felt as if he had finally come home again after a long journey. Which made sense since that’s exactly what he’d done. Strolling through the tree farm with her was all the assurance Brent needed that everything in their relationship was back under control—an assurance he had been desperate to have.
Clara stopped in front of a fluffy Douglas fir. “This is the one.”
“You sure?” He loved how quickly she could make a decision. It was a refreshing change from his—at times—paralysis by overanalysis. “You don’t want to take your time? Look around a little more?”
“Nope, this is the one.”
“Well, that was easy.”
She looked at him. “What doyouthink of it?”
He looked at the tree, walking around it to get a view from all angles. Brent could imagine it with the perfect addition perched right on top. That reminded him, the tree topper was probably still at his parents’ house. He’d need to get that back.
He pretended to be sizing it up, but he already knew the truth—if she loved it, he loved it. He looked right into her eyes and said exactly what he was thinking, although it wasn’t about the tree. “This is the one.”
“I knew it.” Clara clapped her hands together. “See, we’re perfectly in sync. Just like an engaged couple should be.”
Brent couldn’t help but wince at her words. Were they in sync? He worried for a moment that she was trying to convince herself—or him, for that matter—that they were. And there was something about the way she had said “should be” that made him feel a slight sting of judgment. He brushed off the comment and squatted down to the trunk of the tree, his saw in hand.
He decided to lighten the mood a little. “Don’t worry. Once I get this tree cut down, I’ll shake it out.” Brent laughed. “And I’ll make sure to give it a full inspection before we bring it inside.” He looked up at her to see her reaction.
She was quiet, holding onto the tree to keep it upright while he cut. Maybe she hadn’t heard him.
Brent tried again. “I’ll make sure we get anything out of here that you don’t want—if you know what I mean.” He looked up at her with a wink.
Clara stood over him with a blank stare. “Like what?”
His eyes widened at her, still waiting for her to catch on. The confusion was written all over her face. She didn’t know what he was talking about. He let out a nervous laugh as he continued to saw.
“Timber.”
He was out of breath by the time he’d sawed his way through the thick trunk. The tree was slow to tip over and they watchedtogether as it fell with a thump to the snowy ground. Brent looked over at Clara with a proud grin. He decided to go for another attempt now they were standing on the same level.
“Crickets?” Brent nudged her arm.
“Crickets in a Christmas tree?” She laughed. “Is that a thing we should be worried about?”
His mouth opened in surprise. He wasn’t sure if she was playing around. He gave an anxious chuckle and shook his head. “Come on, let’s get this tree in the truck, and then we’ll go get some cider.”
She nodded, looking at the ground. Brent still couldn’t tell if she was kidding or not. He wasn’t exactly surewhatwas going on with her.
He grabbed the trunk of the tree and dragged it through the snow, heading toward the truck. Clara, beside him, was quiet. Brent knew he should probably let it go, but he couldn’t seem to do it.
“So, I guess you really were traumatized by those bugs last year if you’ve already blocked it from your memory.” He smiled at her, hoping to keep the mood airy.
“Oh! Last year. Of course.” Her eyes got wide. “It must have slipped my mind for a moment. Of course, I remember the bugs.” An awkward laugh escaped her throat. “Crickets, right?”
Brent could feel his face fall. It slipped her mind? They had talked about that Christmas-tree incident forweekslast year. He’d thought it was hilarious when she’d first told him what had happened.
It wasthe week before Christmas. Clara had been at home sitting by the fireplace, watching a movie, when she heard theloud chirp of crickets. Assuming she’d left a window open, she walked over to close it, only to have one jump out of her tree and right onto her head. She had screamed so loudly that her next-door neighbor had called to check on her. Once she’d calmed down, she went to inspect the tree with a flashlight and found a whole nest of baby crickets setting up home right there in the branches of her tree.
Brent hadn’t been able to stop laughing when she’d told him the story. He could just imagine her surprise, and terror, to find this Christmas bonus. He’d especially loved the part when she opened the door to her backyard and tossed the tree outside, fully decorated, stand and all. She hadn’t thought about anything other than getting those bugs out of her house.
His favorite part of the story, though, had been when her neighbor offered to take the tree to the dump for her. Clara had declined, stating that the babies needed a nice home to spend Christmas in. She had left that tree there in her tiny backyard for the rest of the season. She said they would stay there until they could grow up and venture out on their own. He loved this about her. As panicked as she was over those bugs, she still had a caring heart that showed itself at every turn.
Brent remembered how she would update him daily as she checked in on her cricket family. At first, she’d felt bad taking up so much of their precious phone-call time to burden him with her trivial problems, like insects in a tree. But he had soon convinced her that hearing about life—and Christmas—at home was the best way to keep his spirits up. Besides, he loved that story.
He frowned,his worry about Clara—and their relationship—back at the forefront of his thoughts. Why did it seem as if she didn’t want to talk about it?In fact, it didn’t even seem like she remembered the incident at all. How could a memory that was so important to him be so easily forgotten by her?
