Page 60 of Winter Wishlist
Anyone heard from Reid or Henri?
Ford:
They’ve got a sweet little Christmas gift to devour. No prizes for guessing why they can’t come to the phone right now.
Our final stop is the farthest out of Mistwood Falls. This year is no different from others, in that we load up my truck and spend a couple of hours in the afternoon dropping off deliveries of ready-to-eat meals.
Well, no different in some ways. Entirely different in others. Mia sits between us in the front of my pickup, while Henri shows her photos and videos of his metalwork commissions on his phone.
We reach the gravel turn-off, and as we bump down the winding access route, I rest one elbow on the door and can’t help but hide a smile beneath my palm. This feels so goddamn right, so natural, a connection extending between the three of us that I refuse to ignore.
When you know, you justknow.
Pulling up at the riverbank, the hundred-year-old single-span bridge is still blocked by the same rusty chain that’s been in place for three winters now.
Emma’s smile and wave greet us from the other side of her horse. Her white hair is in the usual long white braid down her back, and the same weatherproof coat you can always guarantee she’ll be wearing swamps her wiry frame. But it used to belong to her husband, and I know she’d rather eat her own foot than stop wearing the damn thing. It means a lot to be able to offer her some kind of help, even though I know it pains her to accept it. This woman was built with steel in her veins.
“We’re not driving right up to her house?” Mia says in a hushed tone, even though we’re still sealed inside the truck as I put it into park.
“Floods washed away the only access bridge a few years back, and it hasn’t been replaced. So Emma has to ride in or out on horseback for any supplies she needs.”
“Are you… Are you joking?” Those big emerald eyes pop wide.
“I wish I were. It’s not deemed important enough or a high-priority project because this road only provides access to her land. The other folks who live out here all reside on this side of the washout.” Sliding out my door, I turn to hold it open for Mia. “Between Henri and me, we make sure to drop her groceries and meals as often as possible. On more than just Christmas, y’know?”
Mia’s mouth drops open, but no words are forthcoming.
“Joyeux Noël, Emma,” Henri calls out as he slams his door closed. “What the fuck have you done to poor Mr. Socks?”
“Screw you, Frenchie.” Emma jokes. “He wanted to dress as Rudolph. I indulged him.”
She leads her chestnut gelding toward us, with his namesake white socks peeking above his hooves, a large white rump, anddappled coat along his back. He’s sporting a pair of fake antlers and bright red tinsel wrapped around his reins. Some horses would bolt at the first sight of something shiny waving in the breeze, but not this guy; he’s as cool as you like. He and Emma are a pair like that. Nothing phases him. In fact, he’s probably thrilled he has to make his way through that creek on the regular. The horse is as comfortable in water as a fish.
“This is Mia.” I shoot a look that saysBehave yourself, or I’m leaving here without forking over your Christmas pudding.
Emma blows out a whistle, followed by a light chuckle. “Well, isn’t it a pleasure to meet you, Mia.” Her pale blue eyes look a little milkier this year, with time continuing to march on, but they’re no less full of twinkling mischief. “These two assholes have never looked happier. What magic have you brought with you, honey?”
“It’s nice to meet you, too.” Our girl chews the inside of her cheek, shyness grabbing hold of her all of a sudden. “Your horse looks fabulous, by the way. His Christmas spirit is definitely showing,” she adds.
I reach into the tray of my truck to lift out the pre-packaged meals. “Mia’s a librarian… and has much the same taste in books as you.”
Our girl looks at me aghast, as if I just confessed that she reversed over this woman’s favorite garden gnome.
“I knew I liked the cut of the meat on your bones. In that case, you’d better be working at the bookstore next time I come into town. This place needs a book club run by someone with immaculate taste.” Emma nudges me with her elbow and gives me an exaggerated wink before turning back to Mia. “You boys can put your feet up and take a load off in that truck of yours. Honey, you come help me load these into the saddle bags, and while we’re at it, you can tell me all about what books I need to add to my Christmas reading list.”
And with that, Emma steals our girl away, grinning from ear to ear as she does so.
Is there a way to extend time? To press pause somehow? I don’t want this day to ever end.
Normally, Christmas feels like just another day, but this year I couldn’t care less that I’ve been awake since well before dawn. I don’t feel one ounce of weariness in my bones; all I want to do is pretend tomorrow isn’t just around the corner.
We haven’t spoken about it, but I get the sense Mia is counting down the hours all the same.
Now we’re headed back to the only bar in Mistwood Falls, where the local rugby club is well into the swing of their Christmas festivities. Colorful festoon lights hang over the beer garden and terrace, and music drifts through the night air.
At my side, Mia adjusts the brim of my hat resting on her head, casting a wary glance between the two of us.
“Isn’t there some rule about wearing a cowboy’s hat?” She narrows those pretty green eyes on me.
