“Ok, big man, let’s get you to bed.” I offered my hands to pull him up. I put my arm around his back, draping his arm across my shoulder, and walked him down the hallway to his bedroom.
“You smell beautiful,” he whispered as we walked, “and this sweater is something else,” he added, “so soft.”
I smiled but said nothing even though my heart was bursting.
I helped him climb into bed then raided his closet for more blankets. Back in the living room, I banked up the fire. “You got more wood outside?” I called.
“Yeah,” he replied weakly.
I pulled my coat and boots back on and headed out. His wood was covered with a blue tarp at one side of the house. I brought in several loads, enough to keep him for the next couple of days.
By the time I was done the house was toasty. I made a pot of broth in an old copper kettle and set it to keep warm by the fire. I was pretty sure I couldn’t mess up broth. I cleared the mess from his living room and bathroom, wiping down the entire place with anti-bacterial wipes, and then headed back to check on him. He was sleeping soundly. I pulled the covers up to his chin and checked his forehead. No fever. He did not wake, and he looked very peaceful. I went back to the front, grabbing more bottled water and his oil lamp, and set them at his bedside.
I cast an eye outside; it was almost dark, and I needed to get back. I didn’t want to wake him nor did I want to leave him. I sat, indecisive, at the side of his bed. I stared down at him and stroked his hair. The setting sun cast a soft pink glow on him. “See,” my grandmother had told me. “See everything.” I stared down at Jamie and in that moment I knew two things: first, I knew I loved Jamie, and second, I knew that knowing who I really loved was not the only thing my grandmother had wanted me to see. At last I decided I couldn’t stay any longer. It was now dark, which made it dangerous to be out, and I had to make sure that Santa came for the girls.
Before I left, I set a small package on the pillow beside him. For lack of better wrapping, I had placed my gift inside one of Fisherman’s Wharf’s dark blue napkins. I kissed Jamie on the forehead then went outside, locking the door firmly behind me.
I hopped on the snowmobile and headed back across town. I took a short-cut through a field near the Fletchers’ farm. As I crossed, I saw something strange in the middle of the field. In the dim light, I saw a figure standing waist deep in the snow. I turned the snowmobile toward it. The headlight of the snowmobile revealed it was one of the undead. I pulled to a stop as I approached him. It was bitterly cold, the temperature well below zero. The creature was frozen in the snow, but little by little, it was forcing itself to turn and face me. Its arms seemed to have been frozen into position. With great effort, it turned its head just slightly to look at me. I could hear it make a sound like a breath.
I recognized Clark, the boy who’d helped me at the grocery store the day I’d arrived, at once. His skin was frozen stiff, but I could still make out his face. Clark lived down by the lake. What was he doing out here?
I unzipped my jacket just enough to pull the gun from its holster. I shivered as the wind hit me and wished for a moment I still had on my old sweatshirt.
“Sorry, Clark,” I said, and taking aim, I shot him in the head, sending frozen chunks of blood and brains onto the snow. They fell like crimson colored petals on the pure white canvas. The body, though momentarily rocked by the gunshot, remained frozen in place.
I holstered the gun. I wondered if Santa was fighting his way through the undead this year as well. I turned the snowmobile and headed home.
Back at the cabin, I stashed the sweaters for Ian and Frenchie then handed my backpack full of gifts to Frenchie who smiled thankfully at me. The girls were excited to show me their Christmas tree ornaments. The small pine tree glimmered in the firelight. Their sweet, creative minds had made a masterpiece out of a trash pile.
“Beautiful, just beautiful,” I whispered to them, kissing each on the cheek.
“Ohh, this is nice,” Susan said, feeling the cashmere sweater.
“This too,” Kira said, running her hand across the smooth black satin camisole that stuck out of the back of my pants.
“Okay girls,” Frenchie said. She eyed me over. “Make-up too,” she observed, “and perfume. You do look nice. Now, question is, where did you go?” she asked with a grin.
“Where do you think?”
“If you’re using your head, then I know where you went.”
“Mommy, you’re funny. Layla always uses her head. It’s right here,” Kira said, patting me on the top of my head.
“There’s your answer,” I said with a laugh.
The next morning I woke to the best sound I had heard in months: the girl’s excited laugher. I stumbled out of bed to find the girls in a heap of gifts, tiaras on their heads.
“Santa came!” Susan yelled. The girls danced around excitedly. In that brief moment I saw something new: hope.
Chapter 17