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And yet part of her felt lost. Part of her felt horribly empty.
Didn’t she also deserve happiness?
But it seemed her vision for her life didn’t have room for both. Or maybe she’d thought her goals would fulfill, making her happy.
She stared blindly at her computer screen, not seeing the spreadsheet, but Atticus.
She remembered how he’d wander into her bookstore in the mornings with a cup of coffee and his crooked, sexy smile.
She remembered his confidence and the way he’d look at her, eyebrow arched, blue eyes warm, silently challenging her. He’d loved to provoke her, and she’d secretly adored it. No one had ever looked at her that way, or teased her, or made her feel so important and so alive.
Shaking her head she reached up and brushed the dampness from her lashes. She had to stop this. It was time to settle and move on.
But she would miss him. She’d miss him terribly.
*
Thankfully the second week back was busy, with everyone preparing for the holidays and Novak & Bartley’s Holiday Classic on Saturday, which featured a day of golf with key clients, followed by a VIP client dinner. All the other managers and directors attending were bringing dates to the dinner, but Rachel RSVPed just for herself.
It crossed her mind after she sent off the email that Atticus would have been a perfect date, but she’d burned bridges with him. Remembering that last conversation with Atticus made her cringe. She’d been so silly, and so dramatic, and ten days later it was still embarrassing to think about.
So she wouldn’t think about it. She’d think about the tournament on Saturday and what she’d wear to the dinner Saturday night. This was one of the events she’d always wanted to attend and now she was. There was no room for regrets. She was accomplishing her goals, and doing the things she’d dreamed about.
*
The golf tournament was fine. She played fine. At least she hadn’t been a disaster. She hadn’t gotten drunk—like some of the managers and directors. She hadn’t held the game up too much. She hadn’t been too friendly or too formal. She’d held her own. And she was glad she played, even if it was a little bit of a letdown. She’d imagined golfing with the VIPs would have been somewhat more… fun. She’d imagined more camaraderie, or pleasure, or something. Instead, it’d been almost like work…
Well, worse than work. At least when she was working she wasn’t obligated to maintain a conversation for four hours. That had been an eye opener.
The dinner dance in the clubhouse was somewhat better. She’d always been curious about the semiformal event, and it was pretty, the food was good, the band played their cover hits well. Again, conversation wasn’t exactly scintillating, but she’d been polite and pleasant and stayed on until halfway through the dancing, sneaking out only when some of the clients began to leave, using their exit to make her own.
Monday at the office was quiet as most of the senior managers and directors had already begun their holidays with their families. A number had gone to Hawaii, while others were traveling to Vail or Jackson Hole.
The talk in the office about a white Christmas made her anxious. Her chest kept squeezing tight, and the air constricted in her throat, and she sat at her desk dizzy and light-headed. She looked up the symptoms on the internet. No, that wasn’t right. She wasn’t having a panic attack. She hadn’t had one of those since, well, her mom had died and her dad forced her to go to counseling because he was concerned about her grades and listless attitude.
But why would she be having a panic attack now?
She should be happy. She’d gotten what she wanted. The promotion, the raise, the invitation to golf and party with the senior team.
She had everything, didn’t she?
And that was when her heart would pound too fast, and she’d get that dizzy, I’m-going-to-faint feeling again.
She didn’t want to even consider she’d made a mistake leaving Marietta… and Atticus. But whenever she turned on the TV there was another Hallmark movie about snow and falling in love in an adorable snow-dusted small town.
But small towns weren’t necessarily adorable. Small towns were a place where people knew her—and knew maybe too much about her. It was a place where she couldn’t be invisible for long. She remembered her dismal open house, but then she remembered how everyone rallied to support her the next night, during the stroll. She’d been overwhelmed by the gifts and support, but at the same time, it had also been nice to feel like she belonged somewhere. Even with her recent promotion she didn’t feel like she belonged at Novak & Bartley. She’d worked at the company for eight years, and yet just last week someone—admittedly a new person—asked if she was a temp.
Thinking of Marietta, she thought of all the things happening there. With Christmas approaching it must be fun. She found herself longing for fun.
Monday afternoon, Alicia said goodbye to Rachel as she was flying to Vancouver with her boyfriend who she was hoping planned to propose during their ski trip to Whistler.
Rachel wished Alicia a happy holiday and told herself not to be envious. Rachel had had the opportunity for more but she’d turned her back on romance.
But driving home, Rachel tapped her steering wheel restlessly, trying to distract herself from thinking of Atticus and Montana.
When she was little, she’d gone to Montana for Christmas a few times, driving to see her mother’s family in Hamilton, nestled in the famed Bitterroot Valley. Rachel didn’t remember much of those trips other than the drive was long.
Rachel wished she remembered more. She wished she hadn’t tried so hard to block out memories of her mom. She wished she’d insisted she and her dad had kept up the family traditions after Mom had died.
What had some of those traditions been?
Definitely a tree, and the boxes of decorations that would come out each year—the white felt snowman wreath for the front door, the quilted stockings for the mantel, crimson candles, and a pair of angels singing.
Where were the angels? Were they in the boxes buried in the attic?
Impulsively she called her father. “Dad, why did we stop decorating for Christmas?” she blurted when he answered.
“What?”
“We stopped putting up the Christmas tree and decorations. Why?”
“I think we agreed that first year we weren’t in the holiday mood.”
“And yet we put them up when Mom was alive going through chemo.”
“She liked to lie on the couch, near the tree. It made her feel good.”
“So we did it for her,” Rachel said.
“Yes.”
She felt a painful ache in her chest. “I liked the tree, too. And the angels.”
“You and I talked about it and we thought it wasn’t practical to do all that without your mom. She really was the spirit of Christmas.”
And then she was gone.
Rachel’s eyes burned and she swallowed around the lump filling her throat. Silence stretched across the line.
Her father cleared his throat. “I just didn’t enjoy any of it without her,” he said. “And you said you didn’t, either.”
“Dad, I was just seventeen when she died.”
“We had to make some changes,” he said.
“But maybe we shouldn’t have stopped doing everything. Maybe we should have done it in her memory? You know, tried to keep her memory alive?”
He sighed. “But you were so devastated by her death. Two years of counseling—”
“She was my mom.”
“You didn’t need to be constantly reminded of what you’d lost. I was trying to protect you, trying to help you move forward. You didn’t want to be going to therapy forever.”
Rachel felt something wet on her cheek and brushed it away. A tear. And another. “I probably should have continued the therapy.” Her voice was husky. “Because I haven’t been living, Dad—”
“You’re just tired, Rachel,” he said patiently. “You work hard. You always w
ork so hard.”
“I think I work hard because I’m not happy.”
“You work hard because you enjoy being successful.”
“I’m lonely.”
“There have been plenty of smart, successful men interested in you. Greg, for example. I liked him.”
“He was boring.”
“You’re a little bit boring.”
“Dad.”
“I’m just saying you don’t have to be alone. It’s your choice.”
She couldn’t argue with him on that. “So what are you doing for Christmas? Are we getting together? Doing Chinese again?”
He hesitated. “I’ve been invited to Palm Desert by a friend of mine. Would you mind if I went?”
“Not at all, Dad. That sounds like fun.” And then she added, “Is it a woman friend? Possibly a girlfriend?”
“I’m too old to have a girlfriend. She is a lady friend.”
Rachel smiled crookedly. “Good for you, Dad.”
