Page 40 of Decking the Halls
“Yeah.” I climb in. “Everything’s cool.”
She starts the engine a few seconds later. “Good. Then let’s go home.”
As we drive back toward town, the fog thickens again. The truck crawls along the wet road, the wipers keeping time with the classic rock music on the radio.
Outside, the sea fades behind us, but the sound of it stays in my ears. Steady. Endless.
Exactly what I want to carry into the new year. With Wren.
Chapter 10
Wren
Despite her protestations, I drop Edie off at her apartment just as the clouds gather again. I don’t like how thick and gray they are, full of that splattering Oregon drizzle that never stops at this time of year.
She kisses me, a hand on my cheek, her face shining in the lights from my dashboard.
“Text me when you’re home,” she says.
“I will.”
I watch her climb the stairs, her sweater bright against the wet concrete and one flickering outdoor light, before I pull away. The roads are quiet. It’s that strange hour between afternoon and evening on Christmas when everything is suspended. It’s too late to go to Grandma’s house and too early to head home. Everyone else has never left their homes today.
The closer I get to the river, the heavier my chest feels.
Nick’s rental isn’t far. One of those short-term furnished places people use when they’re between jobs or waiting for escrow to close. (Or, in his case, staying in town for a few days and wanting to play the big boy.) One story, wood siding, a tree of heaven bursting from the ground, and begging me to light it on fire for the homeowner. The porch light is on, although it’s barely five. Nick appears behind the window, pacing.
He knows I’m coming.
I sit in the truck for a minute, letting the engine idle, the wipers brushing away a steady rhythm of drizzle. Part of me wants to leave things as they are. We’ve already had our battles. But the other part… the one that’s tired of all the years between us filled with bullshit—knows this has to happen.
I kill the engine and step out. The air is damp enough that it sticks to my skin instantly, soaking through the shoulders of my jacket. The air is somehow saltier here than it was at the beach, and seagulls squawk above my head. A chill seeps into my bones before I reach the porch.
Nick opens the door before I can knock.
He looks… almost human. Not like the polished campaign version of himself that showed up at brunch in his perfect blazer. His tie’s gone, shirt sleeves rolled up, hair damp like he’s been standing out on the back porch, watching the fast winter river water crash by. I suddenly hope that this newer house is far enough away from the bank. The river is known to flood if it rains long enough.
“Hey,” I say.
He steps aside, and that’s as close to an invitation as I’ll get.
Inside, the place is small but clean. One couch, one lamp, a table covered in folders. The smell of coffee lingers… burnt and too strong. Like he keeps ruining one pot and starting another. He’s been thinking in circles all afternoon.
I hang my jacket on the back of a chair. “You been hiding out here long?”
“A few days.” He leans against the counter, arms folded. “Came down as soon as our office closed for the rest of the year. Don’t know why. Guess I don’t have much of a life in Salem. God knows nobody else in my office went home so quickly.”
“What do they do? The ones without families, I assume.”
He shrugs. “Have parties with their friends. Get ready to host their guests coming into town. Go to the holiday bazaars and pick up girls at the college, I guess.”
“At Willamette?” I ask, referring to the university he attended.
“Yeah. Remember? You visited me there a couple of times.”
“Yeah. Drove up from Eugene.” He’s got me laughing, which I wasn’t expecting. “Had to fight off all your pervy friends in Boney. They thought I was fair game or something.”
“Doney.”
