Page 160 of The Blessings of Christmas
Hadn't they already had this conversation? When he thought of the people at Derek’s clinic and their obvious need, it made him sick to think of money being spent on frivolous stuff for him. He didn't need one more shirt or golden engraved cufflinks that he'd never wear.
“Darcy, I thought we already went over this.” Maybe calling her today was a bad idea. “I really don't want you to spend a lot of money on me this Christmas.”
“But it's Christmas, silly.” Her voice had an edge. Maybe she was just stressed out. Planning the wedding alone might be a bummer. Feeling guilty, he decided not to ask about that either.
“I think there are people who are in greater need.” Malcolm chose his words carefully. He told her about some of the people who visited the clinic, including the families. “So we're getting together a pile of Christmas books to take over for the children.”
She gasped. “What if they get food all over them? What if they have covid and the books go back to the library and carry the virus?”
Did she realize how ridiculous she sounded? He would try again. “Darcy. I don't think the kids can get covid from books. I haven't seen any data on that.”
“Data,” she said with disgust. “Books for a clinic. So you're still bound and determined to stay at that library. Sounds like you're becoming firmly entrenched there.”
What was she talking about? “Of course I am. I thought we agreed that we would build a life here.”
Her silence made him nervous.
“And I thought you were going back to try it out,” she finally said. What had happened to the sweet girl who’d been so eager to share his life after he’d come home last summer?
“I didn't have to ‘try it out,’ Darcy. I loved being here before and I still love being here. Sweetwater Creek is a much better place for me. For us. I think you'd love it too, if you would just give it a chance.” But as he said the words, he wondered if that was true. Had it ever been true? Picturing Darcy washing dishes Open Hearth was a stretch.
“But your mother assured me that once you saw your little town, you’d understand that it doesn't suit you anymore.” She sounded peevish. And what she was saying horrified him.
Malcolm’s stomach heaved. “My mother said that? Maybe those were her dreams, Darcy. Granted, she would love to have us live closer to her. But I thought she realized that New York isn't home for me. Not anymore. And it hasn't been for a long time. I thought you understood that.”
The silence stretched between them. He was so disgusted but he didn't want to hurt her feelings. If his mother had led Darcy to believe that at some point he would come back to New York, then she’d accepted his proposal under false pretenses. And then there was his whole medical situation. Was that a factor in her change of attitude?
“Look, Darcy. Maybe we should think about this whole thing.”
“Maybe we should.” Was she sniffling?
“Please don't cry.” Why had he rushed into this? She had seemed so right for him last summer. A girl from his past. But maybe not for his future since the coming year held some uncertainties. Of course the Hightowers would expect them to produce a family to extend the dynasty. “We were great friends in high school and I hope we’ll still be friends. I'm so sorry about this.”
“You never did give me an engagement ring.” More sniffles.
That was a low blow, but she was right. His mother had offered him her grandmother’s ring. He’d thought maybe he would give it to Darcy when she was here for the holiday. The ring had an old-fashioned setting with the square stone. Maybe not Darcy's taste. Was that why he’d dragged his feet?
They hung up shortly after that. Malcolm sank onto the ridiculous sofa. Now what was he going to do? Well he didn't want to just sit here. Jumping up, he walked to the back door. Taking the steps down, Malcolm burst into the alley outside. His lungs felt tight and he sucked in the cool night air. Thank goodness no one was around. No one to ask him what was wrong.
Right now, so much had gone wrong. Malcolm felt like an idiot.
His steps took him around the building and toward the square. Fired up with lights and looped with garlands, the square looked ready for the holiday. But he felt like a failure. Carols blasted through the night air from somewhere. He imagined that some tech genius had suspended speakers from those trees. The song “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” flowed over him. The cheerful voices mocked him. Malcolm took a seat on the nearest bench.
A Merry Christmas indeed. Ever since last summer he’d felt as if he was careening from one thing to another. First the doctors. Then Darcy. He'd been looking. He realized that now. He'd been looking for something. A solution to solidify his future. And all he’d done was make himself more uncertain. And doggone it, his mother might have figured that out. She had probably suggested Darcy as an answer.
But she hadn't been an answer. Instead, she'd been a problem.
People slowly passed by as he sat hunched over like that famous figure by Rodin. What was it called? Thinking Man? Thank goodness he didn't know any of these folks. They merely nodded and said, “Merry Christmas.”
Yes, well he hoped they’d have a Merry Christmas. But he doubted that he would.
When the path had cleared, he pushed himself to his feet and wandered the trails that crisscrossed the square. An owl hooted somewhere up in the trees and he found that soothing. His breathing returned to normal. Soon he found himself near the gazebo. The smell of hay alerted him to the nativity set. The roughhewn boards of the structure and manger, plus the stacks of hay were so simple that he loved it.
If New York ever tried to stage something like this, the empty manger would be the first thing to be stolen. Then the donkey and after that the lambs. The figures of Mary and Joseph would be next, because of course they wouldn't have real people playing those iconic figures. They would be made of plastic or paper-mâché and they'd be gone the first night. The young man and woman taking the roles of Mary and Joseph tonight merely nodded to him. They probably wondered who this nut was.
Who was Malcolm Sutter? Looking at the empty manger, he felt his own heart echo with a similar emptiness. Had comingback to Sweetwater Creek been a mistake? But he knew that wasn't true. Turning, he walked home. No more quick decisions, he decided. The answers to his questions? He had to find those for himself.
CHAPTER 10
