Those words echo in Rowan’s head when she arrives at her own classroom to find another gift bag hanging on the doorknob.
This time, she doesn’t hesitate to look inside.
Today’s Secret Santa gift is jewelry: a strikingly unusual brooch, shaped like a snowflake and intricately woven in delicate strands of red silken thread.
What a difference a day makes, Bob Belinke thinks, once again at JFK airport.
Unlike yesterday morning at this time, the sun is shining beyond the windows of the plane, and air traffic is moving briskly.
As briskly as it can at one of the world’s busiest airports, anyway. The boarding process for his flight to Tampa was delayed by only ten minutes. They pushed back nearly forty--five minutes ago and haven’t taken off yet, but the plane is creeping along the runway lineup and should be airborne soon. A -couple of hours from now, he’ll have traded cold sunshine for warm.
In his window seat, he holds his cell phone. Ordinarily, he turns it off and stows it when he boards a JetBlue flight, happy to let the seatback television entertain him for the duration. But today, having texted Rick when he was waiting at the gate, he’s keeping an eye out for a reply.
At least he knows it wasn’t Rick who jumped in front of a subway train last night. Not long after the horrific possibility entered Bob’s mind, he was relieved when Rick texted an apology for missing their dinner and attributed it to “subway problems.”
Bob was still in Union Square Park when it came through, and texted back that it wasn’t too late—-he could meet him anyway.
That’s okay, Rick wrote. It’s been a long day. Headed home. See you next trip.
That should have been the end of it, but the situation just isn’t sitting right with Bob. He slept restlessly and woke to find that his old friend was still on his mind. Their last verbal conversation and Rick’s avoidance of another has left him concerned. No, not concerned enough to put off his flight home—-but when he gets there, he’s going to invite Rick to come to Florida over the holidays. God knows a change of scenery would be good for him.
If Rick had just responded to that last text, Bob would feel a hell of a lot better about leaving New York.
Maybe I should call instead.
About to dial, he’s interrupted by the captain’s announcement. “Ladies and gentlemen, we’ve been cleared for takeoff.”
Too late for phone calls.
Bob turns off the phone, puts it into his pocket, and leans back in his seat, staring out the window as New York City falls away below.
Operation Secret Santa isn’t going very well.
Last night at the restaurant, Mick had anticipated that he’d be able to tell whether Brianna had received the gift he’d left at her house. He didn’t expect her to come in wearing the single Trinkettes bead on a chain around her neck or anything, but he thought she might at least give off some kind of . . . vibe. Like maybe she’d be wearing a mysterious smile and daydreaming, something like that.
Instead, she was her regular old self, polite and attentive to the customers, polite but inattentive to Mick.
Zach wasn’t his regular old self at all. He cold--shouldered Mick, who instantly regretted the way he’d treated him. He’d tried to apologize, blaming his moodiness on being tired, and Zach said it was okay, but he didn’t act like it was.
Meanwhile, Mick really was tired, having lost sleep over Brianna. Just before he drifted off last night he came up with a new twist on Operation Secret Santa. It’s complicated, but more efficient than following her around all day, and definitely preferable to cutting out of basketball practice to lurk around her house.
So this morning, he waited until his mother was in the shower to tell his father he had to be at school early. Unlike Mom, Dad doesn’t ask questions or check to make sure he really does have a ride.