The Speed of Light: A Novel(7)

“Of course.” I glance over, and Connor is staring ahead. I’m confused by the family dynamics they’ve described, but even my purse barrier isn’t giving me enough courage to ask. “Well, that sounds fun.”

Connor turns up the radio, and Ella starts singing again. His eyes dart to mine. “She’s my brother’s daughter. He died. Six months ago.”

Perspective hits me like a brick. “I’m so sorry,” I whisper.

“Thanks. Just trying to make her Christmas as normal as possible.”

We stare ahead again, but a wave of melancholy has fallen over the truck, a dull ache settling in my gut. We reach Aberdeen and pass through streets I grew up around—my old elementary school, the local ice cream shop I worked in every summer—all coated with a fresh layer of white. I find myself mesmerized by the falling flakes again. A snowfall is like a fresh start, or a cover for past problems. Sometimes both.

“Payton told me Santa isn’t real,” Ella blurts from the back.

Connor frowns. “Who’s Payton?”

“From school.” Ella says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Is that true, Uncle Connor?”

I glance over and see his panicked grimace. “Uh . . .”

Maybe it’s the snow trance, but I suddenly know just how to distract her. “Hey, Ella, have you ever stared out at the snow and pretended you’re flying at light speed?”

She leans forward. “Huh?”

“You know, like if you stare out the front of the vehicle, the snow hitting the windshield makes it look like you’re riding in the Millennium Falcon.” I look over, and Connor is staring at me. My voice trails off. “I mean, if you like Star Wars?”

“My dad loves Star Wars,” Ella says quietly.

My hand flies to my mouth. I keep making things worse.

“And who were you for Halloween this year, El?” Connor’s voice is bright, forced, but it works.

She grins. “Rey!”

“Hey, I was, too!” It’s the truth and my enthusiasm is real, but I’m playing it up out of guilt over my misstep.

Ella starts naming off ideas for next year’s Halloween costume, and Connor and I lapse into silence.

“There it is,” I say at last. My parents’ house is aglow with light from inside as well as twinkling Christmas lights strung across the entire front—a festive sea of red and green popping through the storm of white.

Connor pulls into the driveway. The snow isn’t as deep here because Dad has already been out with the snowblower once—he’s meticulous about his driveway and his yard all year-round.

I turn to Ella first. “It was nice to meet you, Ella. I hope Santa leaves you a lot of presents.”

She beams. “Me too!”

I face Connor, and any trace of sadness from my Star Wars comment is gone. “Enjoy your party,” he says with a smile.

“Thanks. And thank you so much for the ride.”

“No problem. Ella’s house is only a few blocks over, actually.”

I glance outside at the snowfall, which is dangerously close to blizzard status now. “So are you staying there tonight?”

“Nah, I’m headed back up to my parents’ house in Fargo.” I frown and he winks. “This old truck has been through worse.”

I step out, knees aching in the cold, eyes downward as I walk cautiously on the slippery ground—though I’m able to walk confidently again, my balance still isn’t what it used be.

Behind me, a throat clears. I look up, blinking as fat snowflakes tickle my eyelashes, and Connor is walking toward me, my overnight bag slung over one shoulder. “Everything okay? Do you need any help with this?”

I force a smile to hide my embarrassment. “No, that’s okay. But thanks again.”

He hands me the bag and graces me with his wide smile one last time. “Merry Christmas, Simone.”

“Merry Christmas, Connor.” I shiver at the chill in the air and the thrill of saying his name out loud.

I wave as he drives away, this handsome stranger I’ll never see again. Just as well. I stand out for a long time in the snowfall, no more distractions, only the thickening snow falling on this wintry night and the sadness settling back in.

Then I turn to face the house, absorbing all its warmth and holiday cheer, hoping they can give me the courage to face the questions, the comments, the prying about an illness I’m not even sure I have and don’t even know how to describe.

Hoping they can give me the courage to face my future.





CHAPTER THREE

Stepping into my parents’ house is like traveling back in time. The rush of warm, heated air reminds me of those exquisite moments when I’d come in after playing in the cold—red cheeked, hair matted with sweat, peeling off the outer layer of snow-caked clothing, waiting to slide a toasty coating of cocoa down my throat.

“You’re here!” Mom carries a mug toward me now as she rushes across the entryway. “Bob, she’s here!”

Her hug is one armed but comforting, and I inhale a spicy-sweet scent. “Mint hot chocolate?”

Mom beams. “Your favorite.”

I shrug out of my jacket and drop it with my purse onto the pile of coats on the sturdy wooden bench next to the front door. My hands wrap around the warm red mug, and I smile as I survey the room. Mom has gone all out this year. White Christmas lights line the tops of the walls and continue their festive path down the hallways and around the rest of the first floor.