Angels in the Snow (16 page)

“Hello?” said a pretty, dark-haired woman, thirty-something, petite, and wearing an oversized charcoal gray sweater—probably one of Garret’s.

“Hello.” Claire smiled, but not too big. “I’m sorry to intrude like this, but this is for Anna—”

“Oh, my goodness!” The woman stared at the painting. “Why that’s absolutely beautiful!” She looked back at Claire, astonishment written all over her face. “Oh, excuse my terrible manners; I’m Louise; I’m—”

“Can you give it to her, please?”

“But won’t you come inside and—”

“No.” Claire firmly shook her head. “I mean, I would, but my dog’s in the car, and we’ve got to be on our way; we’re going back to San Francisco and—”

“But Anna’s not here right now. They went sledding just a bit ago—Garret had been promising her and—”

“Oh, that’s okay.” Claire waved her hand. “Just tell them Merry Christmas for me and—”

“But, please, can’t you come in and just visit for a few minutes?”

In desperation, Claire shoved the portrait toward this disturbingly friendly woman. Why couldn’t she have been someone a little less likable? Claire felt her chin trembling now, a sure sign that she was about to lose it. “No,” she said firmly. “No, I can’t. I’m sorry, but I’ve really got to get going now.”

Louise took the painting and shook her head. “This is such a wonderful present. I just wish you could stay a bit and—”

“Sorry.” Claire turned and hurried back to her car, not even pausing to look as the woman called out to thank her and say good-bye.

Claire started her engine, pretending to intently study her rearview mirror as she backed out of the driveway, but mostly she was trying to see past the blurry curtain that was slipping over her eyes.

“Just relax,” she said aloud as she drove back down the road and eventually past her cabin—rather, Jeannie’s cabin. She took in several deep, calming breaths, then continued driving deliberately on—not too fast and not too slow. That really hadn’t gone so badly, all things considered. She hadn’t made a complete fool of herself. And Louise really did seem like a nice person—good mother and wife material. That was something, really it was. And before long, this would all be just a distant memory—perhaps she and Jeannie would even laugh about it, in time. “Remember the time I dared you, and you took off over the mountains hoping to find your true love,” Jeannie would chortle, “only to discover that the poor man was already happily married?” And then they would throw back their heads and laugh.

But not today. There would be no laughing today. She slipped a CD into the player, careful to pick an upbeat one, turning the volume up just slightly. Then she reached over and patted Michael’s head. “Hey, I still have you, boy.” She tried to make her voice sound light and cheerful. Then more apologetically, “But I’m sorry you have to go back to the city now. I didn’t mean for this to be such a quick trip. We’ll figure out something better than that old apartment for you. I promise, we’ll find something that has room for you to run around. It won’t be so bad, really, it won’t.”

Before heading onto the highway, Claire decided to stop by the little store. It would be her last chance to say good-bye to Lucy and get a cup of coffee. Not the best coffee, to be sure, since Lucy was of the old school and believed the best coffee came from a great big red can labeled “mountain grown.” No freshly ground Starbucks would ever be found in her little store, no-sir-ee, not as long as she still ruled behind the counter.

Claire parked her Jeep in the deserted parking area in front of the little store. Christmas Eve was obviously not Lucy’s busiest time. In fact, Claire had wondered if she’d even be open today. “Want to get out and stretch your legs once more before we hit the road?” she asked Michael, holding the passenger door open while he jumped down. “I’ll just be a minute.”

Claire tried to smile as she opened the door, tried to appreciate the irony of the cheesy artificial wreath—a sharp contrast to the real, live evergreens growing in abundance all about the place. “Merry Christmas!” she called when she spied Lucy stooped over a cardboard carton in the rear of the store.

“Is that you, Claire?” Lucy stood up slowly, rubbing her back. “What on earth are you doing up here the day before Christmas?”

Claire considered her answer. “Well, I just had an errand that brought me this way again.”

Lucy frowned. “So, you’re just passing through then?”

Claire nodded. “Yep. But I thought I should stop by to say hello before I head back to the city. And I’ll take a cup of your coffee for the road.”

“You got some big plans for the holidays?” Lucy reached for the stained coffee carafe and started to fill a large-sized Styrofoam cup with what looked like very black and thicker than usual coffee.

“I’ll probably just be with friends.”

Lucy held out the cup. “This one’s on the house, Claire. Merry Christmas.”

“Thanks. How about you, Lucy? Do you have any plans for Christmas?”

The old woman laughed. “Ha. Not hardly. I’ll probably just take home some old movies and park my tired body in front of the television.”

Knowing that Lucy was a widow, Claire wondered if she had any family nearby but knew better than to ask, especially considering Lucy’s obvious lackluster plans for the holidays. No sense in forcing the old woman to
explain what could very well be painful to talk about. Besides, Claire knew as well as anyone how it felt to answer those kinds of questions. Who liked to admit they would be alone for the holidays? It sounded so pathetic. Besides that, such pitiful admissions only served to make the asking party feel bad, guilty even, as though it were somehow their fault that they hadn’t been as unfortunate.

“Well, I better be on my way now. Thanks for the coffee, Lucy.”

“You drive careful. And come see me again—next time you’re in this neck of the woods, that is.”

Claire went back outside, expecting to find Michael sitting patiently on the porch, just like he always did when she came to the store. But he didn’t seem to be around. “Michael?” she called. She went over to the Jeep, thinking he could be waiting over there, but still no sign of the dog. Now she whistled, expecting him to shoot around the corner, but still he didn’t come. Worried, she set her coffee cup on the hood of her car and began to look around, calling his name. Where could he have gone? It wasn’t like him to take off like this.

She heard the bell tinkle on the door and turned to see Lucy peering out at her. “Something wrong?” called the old woman.

“It’s my dog,” explained Claire. “He seems to have taken off.”

“He didn’t head to the highway, did he?” Lucy looked toward the main road where a big semi was streaking by, its chained tires clinking in rhythm to the wheels.

Claire felt a jolt of fear run through her at the thought of Michael venturing onto the highway. “Oh, surely he wouldn’t.”

Then Lucy nodded toward a stand of pines behind the store. “Hey, there’s some tracks going that way.”

“Yes!” Claire followed them with her eyes. “And they look like dog tracks. I’ll go see if that isn’t him. But if you see him around, could you keep him on the porch until I get back?”

“You bet.”

Claire hurriedly followed the tracks into the trees, not completely sure they belonged to Michael, but not convinced they didn’t either. She continued calling his name and whistling. But the tracks just seemed to go deeper and deeper into the woods, and the more she looked at them, the more she wondered if they actually belonged to her dog at all. Finally, she bent down and felt of a paw print, but the impacted snow had a crusty edge to it, as if this trail was from the previous day. She turned around and began to jog back to the store, fearing the worst—why hadn’t she gone up to check the highway first? Maybe he was trying to go back home. She felt tears sting her eyes as she started to run. What if he’d been hit? Oh, how could she possibly endure another loss right now? How much could one person take? With each step she prayed, silently begging God to spare her dog. It didn’t seem too much to ask. This morning had been hard, but to possibly lose Michael too—that would surely push her over the edge.

She emerged from the woods to spot another vehicle now parked in front of the store. A dark blue Ford
Explorer—and it looked a lot like the one Garret drove. And, yes, to complicate matters further, there stood Garret and Anna along with a couple of other people she had never seen before.

“Claire!” cried Anna, waving wildly. “We’ve got your dog here.”

Claire sighed in relief and hurried toward them. Perhaps seeing them wouldn’t be so bad after all, as long as Michael was okay.

“Lucy said you’d lost him,” said Anna, as she and the dog ran over to join Claire. Michael looked perfectly fine, if not somewhat pleased with himself as his tail wagged happily behind him.

“What got into you, boy?” Claire asked as she knelt down and stroked the dog’s head. “You had me really worried.”

“We saw him walking by the road,” explained Anna breathlessly. “I told Dad that I knew it was your dog, but he didn’t believe me at first. Then I made him stop, and we picked up Michael and brought him over here. And then we saw Lucy, and she told us that you’d lost him.”

“Thank you,” said Claire, standing. “Once again, you came to my rescue.” She tried to keep her eyes from glancing over to where she knew Garret was standing.

“Claire!” he called out, waving.

She looked his way and waved weakly. She longed for a quick and easy escape, some way to avoid what promised to hurt, but knew she must do the mature thing. “Hi, Garret,” she called, mustering a bravado she didn’t feel. “Thanks for picking up my dog. I really don’t know what got into him.”

He was walking toward her now, a big smile on his face. “Anna’s the one who first saw him. And even then I thought it was simply hopeful imagining on her part.” He laughed. “But she was right. And here you are.”

“See, Dad!” She poked him in the arm. “I
knew
it was Michael.”

“What are you doing here?” he asked, his eyes peering into hers with an intensity that threatened to undo her.

She felt a tightness in her chest as she averted her eyes and pretended to adjust her leather gloves. “I—I needed to take care of something—at the cabin.” Then she remembered the portrait. “And, well, I had something to leave for Anna—”

“For
me?
” Anna’s eyes lit up. “What? What is it?”

“Actually, I already dropped it by your cabin.” Claire fumbled in her coat pocket for sunglasses, a good cover-up, just in case.

“Then you met Louise?” he asked.

“Yes.” She slipped on the dark glasses and returned his gaze now. He was still smiling, that same slightly crooked smile, and his eyes shone mostly blue in the bright sunlight, or maybe they were simply reflecting the blue of his parka.

“So, how long are you staying?” he asked.

“Oh, I’m on my way home.”

“Already?” Anna’s disappointment was plain in her voice.

“Yes, it’s Christmas Eve, you know.” Claire pressed her lips together. “I really should be going now.”

“I’m sorry,” said Garret, as he noticed the man and little boy now coming over to join them. “I guess I
should’ve introduced you to my brother-in-law Doug and my nephew Hayden. We were all out sledding this morning.”

“You must be the famous artist.” Doug grinned as he shook her hand. “Anna’s been going on and on about you. And my wife’s been literally praying to meet you.”

“Well, her prayers have been answered,” said Garret. “Claire dropped something by the cabin just this morning.”

“You’re kidding! Man, I’ll bet she was totally beside herself when you showed up!” Doug slapped her on the back. “Wow, I’m surprised she actually let you get away so easily.”

Claire narrowed her eyes, studying him closely, unsure as to whether she’d heard him correctly or not. “You mean
Louise?
Louise is your wife?”

“Yeah, we came up here to spend Christmas with the family.” He pretended to punch Garret. “We’d heard this guy was turning into a hermit, so we all decided it was time to come on up to the mountains and stir him up a little. The folks are coming too.”

Anna grabbed Claire’s arm, whispering urgently, “Please, can you tell me what it is?”

“What?” asked Claire, feeling slightly dizzy. She suddenly felt the need to sit down and put her head between her knees, or perhaps drink a cool glass of water or just breathe or something.

“What it is that you brought me,” explained Anna, her eyes wide with anticipation.

“Oh.” Claire remembered the painting. “But it’s for Christmas. It should be a surprise.”

“But can’t you come back to the cabin for a little while?” begged Anna, gently tugging on her arm. “Aunt Louise is making chicken enchiladas for lunch.”

Claire looked helplessly toward Garret, then over to her Jeep—her escape from all this. Of course, she
was
relieved to learn that Louise wasn’t his wife, but did that really change anything?
Really?
Her strong reaction to meeting Louise this morning had both shocked and frightened her—she’d been unaware that she cared that much. And even now, she had no guarantees that there wasn’t a wife—hiding away somewhere—ready to pop out at any given moment. And even if there were no wife, why on earth should she stick around and risk more pain? “I . . . I really should go,” she said weakly.