Christmas Catch

  Christmas Catch (The 12 NAs of Christmas)

  Copyright © 2013 Chelsea M. Cameron

  www.chelseamcameron.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are use fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, business establishments or locales is entirely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. All rights reserved.

  Edited by Jen Henricks

  Cover Copyright © Sarah Hansen at Okay Creations

  Interior Design by Novel Ninjutsu

  As soon as I drive past the “Welcome to Saltwater, Maine, The Prettiest Fishing Village”, I start cursing my mother out under my breath. Prettiest Fishing Village my ass. It’s just like all the other fishing villages, populated by people who never change, with backward ideas that never change.

  As soon as I got accepted to Columbia, I’d driven away in my 1967 Chevy Impala (no, I’ve never seen Supernatural, thank you very much, and I’m really tired of screaming girls taking pictures while leaning on it and asking where the Winchesters are) and hadn’t looked back. I was done with the backwater town and backwater ideas and whenever anyone asks where I’m from, I say “Maine” and leave it at that.

  My phone rings, but I ignore it. Just mom (for the third time) asking me when I’m going to be home. I fiddle with the radio until I find a station that plays classic rock. Only Aerosmith understands my pain.

  I drive past the microscopic high school I’d gone to. I’d been the valedictorian of my class of ten, which was harder than it sounds. I’d had competition from one other student, and he’d given me a run for my money.

  Sawyer. I can’t think his name without bringing up all kinds of memories, most of them good, but all tinged with regret and sadness. Ugh, I do NOT want to think about Sawyer. He’s off at Georgetown doing his undergrad before going to med school to be a cardiothoracic surgeon.

  I slow down to the required 25 mph as I go through what passes for “downtown” Saltwater. A tiny grocery store, a hair salon, a pizza place and a gas station with one pump that doesn’t take credit cards. Big shock, it’s exactly the same as the last time I saw it. All the buildings are coated with the remnants of the last snow storm. It might be December, but the weather has decided to be warmer than usual. The snow would be back though. It always is.

  I turn off the main road and start heading to my house, my dread increasing. I swore I was never coming back here, but my mother had laid such a guilt trip on me for missing last Christmas that I didn’t have a choice. Something about wanting to have all her children under one roof. My brother and sister will both be there because, unlike me, they had never left Saltwater. My brother is a sternman on a lobster boat and my sister married young, started producing babies and became a CNA. They’ve both married and divorced, once for my brother and twice for my sister.

  I’m pondering just turning around and driving all the way back to Columbia when a deer darts out in front of my car, causing me to swerve on the narrow road and go into the ditch to avoid massacring Bambi.

  “Shit!” I slam my hands on the steering wheel. My car is fine, but when I try to reverse out of the ditch, nothing happens. The soggy ground has latched onto my tires and isn’t letting go.

  I let out a whole string of curses and get out of my car to survey the damage. Fuck my life.

  I look up and down the road. I’m not that far from home, so I could just walk and then come back with my brother. He’s got a tow truck and he can get me out. One of his toys that he bought himself. Great. That will mean I owe him a favor and he’ll never let me forget it. I try to avoid looking as a car drives by and slows down. Yeah, yeah. Come and gawk at the damage. I hear an automatic window roll down and then a voice I never thought I would hear again speaks.

  “Need some help?” This is not happening.

  I turn around slowly. The first thing I see is a truck I haven’t seen since high school. The second is the guy I haven’t seen since high school.

  “Ivy?” His hair’s a little longer, and his face is a little leaner. He looks . . . older. But his eyes. They’re still the same.

  “Sawyer,” I whisper, because I can’t believe it’s him. What the hell is he doing here?

  A car drives behind Sawyer, honks, and he waves them on. The two of us are frozen, unable to move. At least I am. He recovers first.

  “I have a chain in the back. I can get you out of there.”

  “Okay,” I say as he pulls in front of my car and then gets out. He seems taller, but that can’t be. He’s wearing a thick blue Carhartt jacket, torn jeans and work boots. He moves to the back of the truck and gets a chain out, which he hooks to the tow hook on the back of my car and then to his truck. He hasn’t said a word.

  “Okay, get in,” he says and I get back in my car. With a minimum of revving of his engine and mine, we get my car out of the ditch. I get out to thank him.

  Instead, I say, “What are you doing back here?” He wraps up the chain and doesn’t meet my eyes.

  “My dad died,” he says as he tosses the chain in the bed of the truck. “Bye, Ivy.” And as quickly as he appeared, he’s gone, and the only remnant of is being here is the cloud of exhaust from his truck.

  I slump against my car and raise my head. Snow is just starting to fall, melting as soon as it hits the pavement.

  This goddamn town.

  “What took you so long? I was about to send out a search party,” my mother says as I walk in the door, enveloping me in a huge hug. I hug her back and I have to admit, I don’t mind this part.

  “Well, it looks like at least the food has been good to you at Columbia. You’re a bit puffier than you were last time you were here.” And there it is. Not even five minutes in and there’s the criticism. I move away from her and drag my suitcase back to my tiny room.

  Our house is similar to most of the others in Saltwater: small and damp. My brother Drew is on the couch watching a sporting event (I can’t be bothered to keep track of which one) with a beer in one hand, and he waves at me as I walk by. Mom yells at him to get his feet off the coffee table. God, it’s like I never left.

  My room is exactly the same. Just enough room for a bed and a dresser, with a tiny window that looks out on the backyard that hasn’t been raked or mowed in however long. My bed is made with one of my grandmother’s quilts and I smooth it out before I sit down and lay back on the pillows. Dad must be at work. He owns a tree service and does odd jobs. Mom manages the books and does substitute teaching when she can.

  Mom and Drew are busy arguing (their favorite pastime) about something and I let my mind drift back to the moment with Sawyer. His father died? No one told me. Granted, I don’t keep in contact with anyone from here besides my parents, but you’d think they might have mentioned it. The yelling increases and then the door bangs and another loud voice announces my sister Stacy’s arrival, with at least two of her children. I pull the pillow over my head and wait for it.

  I count to ten, and then my door bangs open and a tiny human jumps on my stomach and screams my name.

  Welcome home, Ivy.

  Two hours later we’re all crammed around the tiny dining table as Christmas music drones in the background and my mother glares at what I’m eating. Drew keeps glancing over his shoulder at the game (along with Dad) and Stacy is trying to keep her children at the table. They’re not bad kids, they’re just . . . hyper. And attention-starved. Listen, I don’t have kids, but I know a plea for attention when I see one. Stacy’s way of dealing with it is to either ignore them or scream at them.

  This is my own special hell.

>   “What happened to your car?” Dad says out of the blue. “It’s covered in mud. You get stuck in the ditch?” He laughs as if it’s the funniest thing ever.

  “Not exactly,” I respond. I’m not going into the Sawyer story. Not if you paid me a million dollars.

  Mom sighs loudly and we all look at her. I swear, she’s got tears in her eyes.

  “It’s just so good to have all of you here,” she says, blotting her eyes with the paper towels we use as napkins. We’re also eating off Styrofoam because Mom got a “deal” on them at the big box discount store. Screw the environment. She got a DEAL.

  I look at my brother and sister and we’re all sort of embarrassed by Mom’s display.

  “Get a grip, Mary,” Dad says, patting her on the shoulder. “No one’s going anywhere right now.” He shoots a look at me. Yeah, yeah. They were pissed when I left for college. It was NOT pretty when I told them there was no way in hell I was staying in this effing town. They couldn’t imagine what was out in the world that you couldn’t get here.

  And that’s just it. That’s the reason I had to leave. I want more. I want more than having babies with a guy who never has a steady paycheck, who spends every Friday night at the bar. That’s fine for some people, but it wasn’t for me. And they can’t understand why.

  “Well, I have some news,” Stacy says, changing the subject. “Bucky and I are expecting!” Bucky is her third husband, and she doesn’t have any kids with him. Well, yet. Mom shrieks with joy and rushes over to hug Stacy and Drew keeps looking at the game and Dad gets out more beer to toast to his next grandchild.

  “Congratulations,” I say. I do mean it. Babies are pretty awesome news, but I think she’s got her hands full with three already. She can barely manage them. I get up from the table and go to toss my plate.

  The Christmas tree is set up in the living room already, but it’s naked. Mom wants us all to decorate it together, even though Christmas is less than a week away. It’s a little scraggly, since it’s one that Dad cut from our backyard. They think it’s sacrilege to buy a tree when there are a bazillion in our backyard.

  I go outside without my coat, even though it’s cold enough now to need one. That’s Maine weather for you. Completely bipolar. The Christmas lights on our porch are half burned out because my parents leave them strung all year long. We are THOSE people. I lean against the porch and inhale.

  There is only one thing I miss about Saltwater and it’s the smell. Ocean and trees and fresh earth. It’s rich and alive and it makes me feel better no matter what. I inhale as much as I can, letting the coldness burn a little in my lungs. Hurts so good.

  Mom and Drew are back to fighting, judging by the noise coming from the house. I pull out my phone and text my best friend, Allison.

  I am in hell. PLEASE COME GET ME.

  My phone rings seconds later.

  “Not going well?” she says without a greeting.

  “There are reasons I got out when I did, and I’m being reintroduced to all of those reasons right now. BTW, my sister is knocked up with number four. I don’t think she understands how birth control is supposed to work.”

  “Well that’s what you get in a hicktown.” I can’t even be offended, because she’s right. Allison was born and raised in NYC and can’t understand why anyone would live anywhere else. I kind of agree with her.

  “So, something else happened, too,” I say, because she’s the only one I can talk to about this.

  “Ooohhh, do tell.”

  “I ran into Sawyer.”

  “Shut up. I thought he moved away.”

  “So did I.” I launch into the deer story and she listens with rapt attention. Allison knows all about Sawyer and my history. She’s really the only one who knows, because she’s just about the only person in this world that I completely trust, and it’s been that way since I met her in our freshman English comp class.

  “You have to come get me,” I beg after I finish the Sawyer story.

  “I can’t, babe. I’m in Manhattan and there is no way I’m leaving to come to Hicksville. I’d probably hit a deer. Oh, too soon?”

  “I hate you.”

  “No you don’t. Listen, I have to go shopping with my bubbe. I’ll call you later, okay? Just . . . stay away from the deer.” Aw, I miss her grandmother. It took me a week to figure out that was who Allison was talking about. For a minute when she’d say “bubbe” I thought she was talking about Michael Buble and mispronouncing his name.

  “I will.” I sigh and we hang up. I hear my name being yelled inside the house and I take one last breath of fresh air before diving back into the chaos.

  The next morning my mother sends me to the store for more flour. She’s making cookies with Stacy’s brood and they’ve already ruined one bag. She watches them now when Stacy is at work, and also Drew’s daughter and stepson when they get out of school. If there’s one thing I know about my mother, it’s that she can do just about anything that normal people would shy away from.

  I try to hurry through the grocery store as quick as I can, because I know every single person who works here, and I really don’t want to do the small talk thing right now. Get in and get the hell out is my motto for this trip. I grab the only bag of flour left and turn to dash to the register, but I’m blocked by a cart being pushed by Sawyer.

  Not again.

  “I’m sorry,” he says, trying to maneuver the cart in the narrow aisle. There’s no way I can get past it.

  “No, it’s fine.” I back up and go around and come out the next aisle. But he’s there as well.

  “Sorry,” he says again as I dodge the cart. All I wanted was to get some flour. But the universe just couldn’t let me have that.

  “Ivy, wait,” he says as I start to walk toward the register. His voice makes me stop, as if he’d pushed a button in my brain.

  “What? What do you want?” It comes out meaner than I intend it.

  “Nothing. I don’t want anything from you. Why would I want something from you? You were the one who broke up with me, if I remember.” He’s angry. I’d even go so far as to say he’s pissed. He’s right. I was the one who ended it, but he didn’t fight me on it.

  “I’m sorry.” It’s all I can think to say.

  He just shakes his head and whips the cart around, crashing right into a display of stuffing, scattering boxes everywhere.

  “Fucking perfect,” he mutters under his breath as he leans down to pick the boxes up. I have two choices: help, or run.

  I pick the former.

  Setting down the flour, I start picking up the boxes and stacking them the way they were. Sawyer is doing the same and then our hands bump as we both reach for the same box.

  “Sorry,” we both say at the same time. He pulls back as if I’ve slapped him. Awesome, he’s even afraid to touch me.

  We finish clearing up the stuffing boxes and then there’s a moment.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. I mean for breaking up with him and for a lot of things. About his dad. He and Sawyer were never close, which was one of the reasons we got along so well. He was really close with his mom, though.

  “What are you sorry for, Ivy?” Ah, the old Sawyer is back. He never let me get away with vague statements. He always made me explain them. Big fan of honesty, that boy.

  “I’m sorry for a lot of things.” I look down at my shoes. Our toes are almost touching.

  “Maybe . . . maybe we can sit down and talk about some of them. It’s . . . it’s really good to see you.” I look up from his feet and see that he’s serious. God, it’s good to see him. I didn’t know how much I missed him until he popped up in my life again.

  “It’s good to see you, too. I have to get home, but maybe later? Where are you living now?”

  “I’m back at home, but they built me a place over the garage. Come around five and we’ll talk. I’ll make sure I have plenty of vanilla Coke and Red Vines.” The mention of the Coke and Red Vines makes my heart stutter for a moment.
r />   “You still remember that?”

  “I couldn’t forget if I wanted to. See you at five.” With that he backs the cart up and vanishes down another aisle.

  I take the “scenic” route back home because I need some time to think. My car is still messed up from its fling with the ditch, but there’s no car wash around here, so I’ll have to deal with it for now.

  I park by a little cove, get out, wrap myself in the blanket I keep in my trunk, and sit on the hood of my car and stare at the ocean for a bit.

  I used to do this all the time, and sometimes I wasn’t alone. The roar of an engine sounds behind me and I turn around to see a familiar truck pulling in. He gets out and shakes his head.

  “How did I know you would be here?”

  “Because this was where I always came when I needed to think about something,” I say as he walks over to my car and stands next to the hood, looking at the ocean and not me.

  “It’s been a while,” he says.

  “Yeah.”

  He leans against the hood and I pat the spot next to me. It’s weird that he’s standing. Sawyer gives me a look to ask if it’s really okay, and then hops up. I unfold the blanket from my shoulder and he ducks under it.

  Places are like time capsules, I think. Right now I’m transported to two years ago when Sawyer and I used to sit here under this blanket and watch the ocean and talk. Or sometimes we wouldn’t. He’s the only person I’ve ever met that I can be completely silent with and it’s not awkward. Well, except for Allison, but that’s different.

  “I’m sorry about your dad,” I say as he moves closer to me under the blanket until our shoulders are touching. I’m used to having his arms around me, but I don’t think that’s going to happen. There’s too much history and heartbreak for that to happen. “What happened?”

  “Heart attack. Just this past summer. I was away at school, and I didn’t make it home in time. Mom took it hard and she was going to lose the business. So I dropped out of school. That’s why I’m here.” I figured as much. Sawyer’s father (and his father before him and his father before him) owned the McCallister Lobster Pound, the only such establishment in Saltwater. Basically, they were the biggest business in this tiny town. There’s a lot of money in selling lobsters, let me tell you.