Winter Song

  A Holiday Short Story

  to benefit Alex’s Lemonade Stand & Wounded Warrior Project

  Table of Contents

  Title

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  Winter Song

  Also by Sydney Logan

  About the Author

  Copyright © 2016 Sydney Logan

  Published by Enchanted Publications

  Cover design by T.M. Franklin

  Cover image by kichigin19/Adobe Stock

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without permission in writing from the author.

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

  All trademark references mentioned in this book are the property of the respective copyright holders and trademark owners. No copyright infringement is intended.

  Lyrics from River by Joni Mitchell - Copyright ©1971 Reprise Records

  100% of the proceeds from this book will benefit Alex’s Lemonade Stand and Wounded Warrior Project.

  The mission of Alex’s Lemonade Stand is to raise money and awareness of childhood cancer causes, primarily for research into new treatments and cures, and to encourage and empower others, especially children, to get involved and make a difference for children with cancer.

  The mission of Wounded Warrior Project is to honor and empower Wounded Warriors, to raise awareness for the needs of injured service members, to help injured service members help each other, and to provide unique, direct programs and services to meet the needs of injured service members.

  Please visit Alex’s Lemonade Stand and Wounded Warrior Project to learn more about these two wonderful organizations.

  Snow blankets the earth in a cascade of white that shimmers in the sunlight. I gaze out the frosty window, watching in fascination as my breath creates a pale fog along the glass.

  You love the snow.

  You love the holidays.

  You especially love Christmas morning.

  I think about you all the time, but never so much as I have the past few days. December is always hard because everything reminds me of you. The frozen river where we like to skate. The hot chocolate we love to drink. The glittering lights on the tree that you can't wait to decorate.

  I see you everywhere.

  It's the sweetest torture.

  They say the holidays are the hardest for military families, and maybe that's true. I certainly see the pain on your dad's face. I've tried my best to decorate the house the way you like it, but I'm not you, and it's obvious in the way the tree leans to the left and the tinsel doesn't drape as it should.

  I tried.

  It was futile, really. You have this miraculous way of turning everything you touch into something beautiful and perfect.

  That power is not within me, no matter how hard I try.

  Ava sits under the tree, carefully trailing her fingers along the wrapped packages. She's a mirror image of you, with those deep green eyes that break my heart every time I look into them because they remind me that you're gone. I've tried to be excited about Christmas because Ava loves it so much. We've even made a few snowmen, with big top hats and everything. But she's smart, and she knows when Daddy's unhappy. I try to fake it, but she's too much like her mother. She knows when I'm forcing it, and that's when our five year old climbs into my lap, wraps her arms around my neck, and tells me that Mommy loves us even though she's so far away.

  It's the same thing I say to her, on the days when I'm a little less depressed and trying to be strong for her.

  Your dad has been a little distant the past few weeks. It's not surprising. He misses you almost as much as I do. But he's been particularly absent lately. When he is here, he's constantly whispering into the phone.

  It's annoying, but I don't ask.

  “Daddy?”

  Ava's voice washes over me, bringing me back to reality.

  “Tell me about skating with Mommy.”

  I smile wistfully as I continue to gaze out the frozen window.

  “You know the story, Ava.”

  “Tell it anyway.”

  I chuckle.

  “Okay, I'll tell it anyway.”

  The pretty packages forgotten, she walks over to the bay window and climbs into my lap. We Eskimo kiss, and she giggles your giggle and I want to drown in it.

  “It was your first date,” Ava offers helpfully.

  “Yes, our very first. We were both sixteen.”

  “And she was wearing a white sweater.”

  It was white and clung to you in the very best of ways. I leave that particular detail out of the story, though.

  “And she was the prettiest girl you'd ever seen.”

  Emotion bubbles in my chest, but I swallow it down and tell her about the lake and how you were never less coordinated than when you were wearing ice skates. She laughs when I tell her how you kept falling, landing on your bottom and swearing you'd never skate again.

  “But you always go back.” Ava grins.

  “Every year.”

  It was one of the reasons we bought this house, because there was a pond just over the hill that always freezes during the winter months. It's the perfect place for ice skating.

  Ava yawns, and I carry her up the stairs. She says her prayers, thanking God for our blessings and asking for a safe return home for all the troops, and especially for Mommy. She asks God to remind Santa to not forget the soldiers because they need gifts, too, and I blink back tears as I kiss her forehead and tuck her into bed. I close the door behind me and sigh heavily before making my way down the hallway.

  I hate bedtime.

  Our bedroom is the coldest room in the house, but it's not because of lack of heat. It's a deep, aching, punishing absence of warmth that will only be replaced once you're lying under the blanket with me. There are nights the loneliness is suffocating, threatening to swallow me whole. The silence is always deafening, and the night is always too long.

  I'm proud of you. Insanely proud. And I was fine with sharing you.

  We could handle anything for a year, right?

  Twelve months passed, and you came home, but then you were deployed again.

  And again.

  I wasn't prepared.

  I'm a selfish bastard. I accepted this long ago.

  Our daughter misses her mother.

  Your father misses his daughter.

  And there is a gaping hole in my chest where my heart used to be.

  I bury my face in my pillow.

  Tomorrow is Christmas morning, and I've got to get it together.

  Ava will be up before dawn, and I'll need to have hot chocolate steaming on the stove when she tiptoes her way down the stairs. With Grandpa John, we'll open presents and she'll play with the little nail polish and ignore the expensive dollhouse because that's what kids do.

  They love the big presents; they just love them later.

  My eyes never close, but morning arrives anyway. A quick glance out the window assures me that the weatherman got it right for a change, and six inches of new snow fell overnight. I hear muffled noise downstairs, and I know it's John making last minute additions to the gifts under the tree.

  Grandpa spoils her rotten.

  I don't mind at all.

  “Good morning, son!”

  John’s voice is unusually chipper as I make my way down the stairs. Ready to play my role, I force a smile.

  “Merry Christmas, John.”

  I head to the kitchen, ready to prepare Ava's hot chocolate. I stir patiently, and my eyes burn with
exhaustion as I try to not scorch the milk.

  “I need a favor,” John says as he walks into the kitchen. I watch in confusion as he turns off the stove. “It's early. Ava won't be up for a while.”

  Bewildered, I check my watch.

  He's right. It's not even six.

  “What do you need?”

  “I think we need another tree,” he says.

  I narrow my eyes in confusion.

  “John, we have a tree.”

  “We need one more. I saw it yesterday down by the pond. It would be perfect for Ava's room. You know, Kayla always had a tree in her room when she was a little girl . . .”

  “I know that.”

  “I made the mistake of telling my granddaughter that story. Now, she wants a tree.”

  Funny, Ava never mentioned a tree to me.

  “John, it's Christmas morning.”

  “Your daughter wants a tree,” he replies simply, as if the mere fact that Ava wants anything is enough incentive to brave the single digit temperatures.

  Which, of course, it is.

  I sigh heavily. “Fine, but you better hope Ava doesn't wake up before I get back. Where's this tree?”

  John’s already dumping my boots and jacket in a pool at my feet. “It's a small spruce next to the dock. You can't miss it.”

  ***

  The wind whistles in my ear as I trudge along the trail leading to the pond. The trees glisten with snow and ice, and it's truly one of the most beautiful mornings I've ever seen.

  I wish you could see it.

  Maybe I'll come back later with the camera.

  It's a short walk to the pond, and I stop abruptly at the dock to take a good look around.

  “I don't see any spruce,” I grumble.

  The sun is just rising, and its morning rays reflecting against the fresh snow threaten to blind me. Lifting my hand, I try to shield my eyes as I gaze across the frozen water.

  My heart starts to pound in my chest.

  You're there, with skates strapped to your feet, gliding across the icy pond.

  “Kayla.”

  It isn't the first time I've hallucinated. It happens quite a bit, actually, so I'm not truly shaken by the image of you.

  But when you come to an abrupt halt on the ice and actually say my name . . . that’s when I start to wonder if I’ve finally gone insane.

  Your sweet voice echoes in the winter air.

  “Jason.”

  My hallucinations rarely speak, and never so clearly.

  Your mirage begins to skate toward me, stopping just short of the dock. Your hands wrap around the wooden beams, and I see your wedding ring glittering on your left hand. For a moment, I wonder why you aren’t wearing gloves, but before I can ask, you say something else.

  “Merry Christmas, Jase,” you whisper, all breathy and soft.

  I swallow convulsively.

  After three years, it's finally happened.

  I’ve officially lost my mind.

  I know I've lost it, because you suddenly smile, and I feel compelled to smile in return.

  “You're beautiful,” I murmur.

  You smile again, and this time, your beautiful green eyes twinkle in the sunlight.

  “I must look terrible,” you mumble, suddenly shy. “The plane was delayed for a hundred years in Detroit. Once we arrived at base, I didn't take time to shower or change or even brush my hair. I just…”

  You're babbling adorably, and I can't help but be impressed. Never have my illusions been so heartbreakingly perfect.

  Suddenly, a violent shudder wracks my body, and I reach for the wooden beam for support.

  “Jason?”

  “Why are you doing this to me?” I whisper weakly. “You know how hard this day is for me. How hard every damn day is for me, and yet you give me this? Today?”

  You look shaken. Scared, even. And it’s so close to your real expression that I have to close my eyes.

  “I miss you so much, Kayla. I miss you every single day, and Ava misses you, and we're trying so hard to just get through every single day—”

  “Jason . . .”

  “But today is Christmas, and I'm trying so hard to hold it together before I completely lose my mind, and yet here you are, perfect and beautiful and a complete figment of my imagination on the one day out of the entire year that I absolutely have to hold it together for our daughter. I can be institutionalized tomorrow. But not today. Today I have to be a dad to our little —”

  “Jason, I'm not a figment of your imagination.”

  “You are.” My voice is nearly a whimper . . . gravelly and tired.

  “I'm real,” you say sweetly, and I swear you sound like an angel. “I'm here.”

  You reach for me, and I close my eyes, preparing my body for the quake of disappoint that will erupt when I don't feel the warmth of your touch.

  Then I do.

  It's a gentle touch. Soft and sweet and tender.

  I choke back a sob, and I hear you do the same.

  “Open your eyes, Jason.”

  I refuse, because I know when I open them, you’ll be gone, and I will surely take that last step into complete insanity.

  “I wish I had a river . . .” you sing softly.

  My eyes flash open. It’s your favorite Joni Mitchell song.

  “Sing it, Jason,” she coaxes softly. “I wish I had a river . . .”

  I force my mouth to open.

  “I could skate away on.”

  The air leaves my body as you point to a pair of ice skates. They’re black and lying on a section of the snowy bench. Brushing aside as much of the snow as I can, I sit down to unlace my boots and strap the ice skates onto my feet. It's been years—three to be exact—since I've skated, but what better way to finalize my descent into total madness than to skate with the love of my life on a frozen pond on Christmas morning.

  I skate to your side, and you offer me your hand. The burn is immediate, and I quickly pull my hand away.

  “It's okay,” you say gently. Your voice is soft and sweet as you take my hand again. I feel it again . . . the tingle that always accompanies your touch . . . and it's like a soothing balm to my heart and soul.

  Our eyes never leave each other's faces as we start to glide across the ice.

  “Look at us,” you say with a smile. “Just like riding a bike.”

  I'm unable to form words, because I'm beginning to believe that this just might be real.

  Your hair is glorious, whipping wild in the air as we skate along the pond. We skate faster, and faster, and your cheeks turn the most delicious shade of pink.

  And then you laugh, and it's as if the world stops spinning. Besides the warmth of your body and the gentleness of your touch, it's probably the one thing I've missed the most.

  I abruptly bring us to a stop, pulling you close to my chest. Your eyes go wide, but you're not afraid.

  You're excited.

  You're happy.

  “You're here,” I whisper.

  The eyes I love so much fill with tears.

  “I'm here.”

  I don't care that it's eight degrees. I don't care that we're standing on an icy pond. I don't even care that I was obviously setup because there's no spruce next to the dock.

  None of that matters.

  Nothing matters . . . because you're here.

  “For how long?”

  It's selfish to ask and ruin this perfect moment, but I have to prepare myself. I have to prepare my heart.

  “For always.”

  Our eyes glisten with tears as you trail your fingertips along my scratchy beard.

  “I’m home, Jason. For good.”

  “For good.”

  Truly the sweetest words ever.

  I pull her close, letting myself drown in her scent and warmth. Even now, she smells like my Kayla, and I bury my face in her hair as we hold each other tight. We don't kiss. I'm not sure why. Maybe it's because I know that once we start, we'll never want to stop. And
we have our family waiting for us.

  So we don't kiss.

  But we hold hands as we walk home.

  All the way back to the house your hand remains in mine as you talk excitedly. Just as I expected, John knew all about this little homecoming, putting to rest any suspicions I had about all those hushed phone calls over the past few weeks.

  Arrangements were being made; a surprise was being planned.

  I couldn't be mad.

  How can I possibly be upset when you're here?

  “What if she doesn't recognize me?”

  You're nervously biting your lip, and I can't help but smile.

  “She will. She looks at your picture every day.”

  I don't know what I expect as we approach the house, but I don't anticipate our daughter throwing open the door, wearing her reindeer pajamas and giant snow boots, and rushing through the snow toward your outstretched arms. You lift her into the air as she buries her face against your neck.

  “Mommy, Mommy, Mommy,” Ava chants sweetly and repeatedly, and I see John wipe his eyes from the front porch. You fall to your knees in the snow as our daughter clutches your neck urgently and desperately, and all I hear in the quiet air of Christmas morning is a chorus of I missed you and I love you between my girls, and it makes my heart soar.

  ***

  As predicted, Ava loves the glittery pink nail polish more than the dollhouse, but that could be because Mommy and her baby girl are sitting next to the fireplace, painting each other's nails. Your giggles are infectious, and I catch John's eye for just a moment before we focus on our girls once again.

  Watching you with your dad has been bittersweet. The two of you have never been particularly affectionate, but when your only daughter has been in Afghanistan, the emotion of the moment becomes more important than any vulnerability you might feel. Throughout the day, you share many hugs and a few whispered words. It’s hard to do much more than that, considering Ava was still clinging to your neck as if she was afraid you might disappear.

  You look my way often, and we always share a smile before you turn your attention back to our daughter.