Christmas 2011 Trio A. Кейт Хьюит

he could do as he pleased.

      Only nothing pleased him.

      “What did you do in other years?” he asked himself out loud.

      Work had dominated his life for so long that he had no idea how to relax. Christmas Eve should be special in some way, except it wasn’t. If he was with Julie, it would be … He refused to think about Julie. She was out of his life and he was out of hers. Good. That was exactly how he wanted it.

      With nothing on television to intrigue him, Roy sat down at his computer. Because he felt he should know what was going on in the world, he left the local news channel playing in the background. He decided to surf the Internet. Maybe he’d get so absorbed investigating Web sites that the evening would vanish without his realizing where all those hours had gone; it had happened often enough before. Then he could forget that it was Christmas Eve, forget he was alone.

      That didn’t seem to work, either.

      No Web site interested him for more than a few minutes.

      “A Christmas story of generosity that’s guaranteed to touch everyone’s heart,” the newscaster said from behind him. “Details after a word from our sponsors.”

      Roy was in no mood to be cheered by anyone’s generosity. He turned around to reach for the remote so he could switch off the TV. Love and goodwill were not in keeping with his current mood.

      The remote was missing.

      It had been on the coffee table just a moment ago and now it was nowhere in sight. He started lifting papers and cushions in his search, but he always kept it in the same place on the coffee table. It was gone.

      A sentimental commercial about a college student arriving home on Christmas Eve began to play. It was a sappy ad, meant to tug at the heartstrings. Roy had never liked it. He groaned and renewed his search for the remote.

      Then the female newscaster was back. “Tonight we have the story of a single gift of twenty-five thousand dollars donated anonymously at a Salvation Army bell station.”

      The scene changed to one outside a local shopping mall. Cars whizzed past as the camera zoomed toward a lone figure standing in front of a big red pot. Dressed in his overcoat and muffler, a scarf tied around his neck, the volunteer diligently rang his bell, reminding everyone that there were others less fortunate this Christmas.

      Roy continued his search with one eye on the television screen. He knew he should simply lean over and hit the power switch, but for some reason, he didn’t.

      “An anonymous donor came up to Gary Wilson yesterday afternoon and slipped a cashier’s check for twenty-five thousand dollars into his collection canister. This is the largest single donation a Salvation Army bell ringer has ever received in our area.”

      Roy froze, rooted to the spot, his quest for the TV remote forgotten.

      “Gary, can you tell us anything about the person who gave you that check?” the reporter asked, shoving a microphone in front of the volunteer’s face.

      The poor man looked like a deer caught on the freeway, lights coming at him from every direction. “No,” he finally blurted. “I didn’t notice anyone who seemed rich enough to give away that kind of money.”

      The reporter spoke into the microphone again. “That money will go a long way toward making this Christmas a happy one for a lot of community families, won’t it?” Once more she thrust the microphone at the Salvation Army volunteer.

      “I think it was a woman,” Gary Wilson said. “It was about the middle of my shift, I’d say. Things were moving pretty briskly and then this tall gal came up.” He paused. “She said Merry Christmas, and she smiled. But I don’t know if it was her or not. It could’ve been.” He punctuated his comments with a shrug. “Or maybe not. Could’ve been that short fellow who wouldn’t look me in the eye. Real short, he was.”

      “Elf-size?” the reporter asked with a grin.

      Gary nodded. “Yup, elf-size.”

      “Well, it looks like Santa won’t have to work nearly as hard in the Seattle area this year. Back to you, Jean.”

      “Thank you, Tracy,” the female announcer said.

      Roy sank onto the edge of his plush leather sofa. It was Julie; she had to be the “tall gal” the volunteer had mentioned. This was a calculated move on her part. She’d …

      His thoughts ground to a halt. Julie hadn’t done it for the publicity. With a cashier’s check, she wasn’t expecting to be honored for the donation. The truth was, Roy couldn’t prove it’d been her. But it seemed more than a coincidence that the donation was the same amount as the check he’d given her.

      Leaning back, he rubbed his face, then glanced at the coffee table. To his utter astonishment, there sat the remote control. He looked again, harder. Nah, couldn’t be. He leaned forward again. It hadn’t been there a moment ago. That wasn’t the only thing on the coffee table, either.

      Julie’s letter lay there, right in front of him.

      This was the envelope he’d recently discarded. The envelope with his name carefully written on the front in Julie’s smooth and even cursive hand.

      Roy gasped, leaped up and quickly looked around. Something very strange was happening.

      He’d been working too hard, he decided, brushing the hair away from his forehead. He left his hand there as he tried to reason this out in his troubled mind.

      The pressure had become too much for him. That was it. What hadn’t made sense a few minutes ago now seemed perfectly logical.

      The envelope almost glowed, daring him to open it. When he’d originally received the letter, the temptation to read it had been almost overwhelming. But instead, Roy had tossed it in the garbage as soon as he got home. Then, because he couldn’t get it out of his mind, he’d carried the garbage from his kitchen to the chute in the utility room. The chute deposited all garbage in a Dumpster in the basement.

      Yet here was the letter, back in his possession.

      “Obviously I should read it,” he muttered to himself, wondering if he should look for the phone number of a psychiatrist first. This couldn’t be happening. But it was.

      Sinking back onto the couch, he picked up the letter. He didn’t want to read it, yet from the first word on, he felt compelled to continue. His cynicism gradually eroded as he recognized her sincerity with every sentence. He understood her exasperation with him and respected the honesty and integrity that underlined her actions, her beliefs. The most powerful of all the emotions that flowed through him as he read her letter was love. Her love.

      Earlier, she’d told him she hadn’t written that she loved him, but he felt it in every word.

      After reading the letter once, he set it aside and tried to take in everything she’d said. Then he read it again, more slowly this time, sometimes rereading a sentence twice.

      “She’s right,” he whispered. “She’s so right.” He’d been given this chance. The most wonderful gift of his life was within his grasp and he was rejecting it. He could allow what Aimee had done to taint the rest of his days, or he could move forward.

      Christmas Eve, and he was alone. But he didn’t have to be.

      He could spend Christmas with Julie.

      Christmas and every other day.

      A surge of joy rushed through him. He wasn’t waiting a moment longer.

       Twenty-Five

      For her father’s sake, Julie was trying to make this first Christmas without her mother as cheerful as she could. For dinner on Christmas Eve, she served the meal Darlene had always prepared. A big pot of homemade clam chowder simmered on the stove and a loaf of freshly baked bread waited on the counter. Although she didn’t have