“Oh my gosh!” my mom said as she joined us. She was still crying, and now she was also hugging everyone in sight. “Isn’t this just amazing?” She pulled Nick and me into a hug. “Get in here, Don,” she told Dad. “Family hug. And where’s Jake? He’s disappeared again.”
Nick and I exchanged a glance while my dad extricated us from my mom’s grasp. Sue came to our further rescue and asked Mom to talk to a local reporter.
When we were alone again, I whispered to Nick, “When I saw Gabi and Jake flirting, I was really okay with it. But now I think my bestie is banging my brother and I don’t know how I feel about that.”
“I’m pretty sure your other bestie is banging my bestie, and?—”
“Summer and Mason, too?”
“Yes. And I think we should feel hopeful they’re half as happy as we are. After all, ‘tis the season.” He clinked my glass again. “Now, let’s talk about our happiness, and some thoughts I have about the next time I get you alone.”
“That won’t be for hours, but I have some thoughts of my own.”
“Really?” He leaned close and whispered in my ear, “Do tell.”
“To begin with, I’ve been thinking a lot about snow angels.”
NICK
My palms were sweating and my hands were shaking as we entered the church. I’d suggested this other big event of the day be scheduled before Cara’s celebration so hers would have top billing, but she’d insisted this should be in the evening, by candlelight. When we walked into the large concert hall festooned in seasonal greenery, red ribbons, and white candles in the windows pushing against the darkness outside, I had to admit it was a stunning setting for a choral concert.
Cara and I sat in the front row, ostensibly because we were the guests of honor, since she had the key to the city and I had helped arrange this performance. But there was another reason, too, one that would make my mother proud. I liked to think she knew what I was about to do and why, and it brought her joy.
Over the next ten minutes, the empty chairs in the hall filled as townspeople and visitors alike arrived. The ushers closed the doors at eight sharp, then the choir entered wearing white robes with green vestments. The conductor followed them and took a bow toward the clapping audience. He spent a few minutes welcoming us, thanking the church for opening its facility, and praising his choir. After that, he gave a brief explanation of the piece, then signaled to the organist, and some of the most familiar music of my childhood echoed in my ears.
Cara gripped my hand to offer support. I appreciated it, but after a few minutes, I realized I had relaxed and given in to the sheer beauty of the music. This wasn’t an ode to ghosts. It was a celebration of joy. My mother would have liked the conductor and she would have approved of the beautiful sound he drew from the all-volunteer choir as they sang the opening of Handel’sMessiah.
The intermission after Part I was a fifteen-minute gathering in the church basement where Mrs. Fern and the ladies I’d offended a year earlier served punch and cookies. They were all smiles, and I swore one of them even winked at Cara when she saw us. I took the punch she offered me, but I could have used a stiffer drink. It wouldn’t have been good for my vocal cords, but it would have steadied my nerves.
After a few minutes of mingling, I excused myself. I sneaked into the empty daycare room down the hall and ran through a series of vocal warm-ups. I caught up with Cara and her family as they were returning to their seats.
Part II of the piece began, and I lost myself in the music again. The choir sounded even better today than they had yesterday in our secret rehearsal, and I’d been impressed with them then. At the end of Part II, the conductor invited the audience to stand and join in singing of the “Hallelujah Chorus,” which gave me another opportunity to prepare my voice.
Partway through Part III of the oratorio, I leaned close to Cara and whispered, “This will be in the low end of my range, but it’s for you,” and kissed her cheek.
She shot me a confused look. Only the conductor, the choir, and the organist knew what was coming. As the telltale trumpet line of “The Trumpet Shall Sound” began, I stood and moved to a spot between the conductor and the first row of the choir. The conductor gave me my cue, and I sang the words I’d memorized decades earlier, taught to me by my mother. I had done this for Cara, but as I sang, I silently dedicated the performance to both my parents, knowing they would be happy I’d finally moved on from the pain of losing them.
I finished my solo, nodded to the conductor, and returned to my seat. Recognizing the surprise element of my guest performance, the audience applauded out of turn. My mother would not have approved of that, and I nearly cringed with embarrassment as I sat back down next to Cara. But the conductor kindly paused the music while the crowd showed me their appreciation, and then began the next song. Beside me, Cara, with her hands pressed to her cheeks, was crying.
“That was beautiful,” she mouthed.
I knew her tears were because she understood what it had taken for me to sing that piece, and she knew better than anyone the deep healing it signified.
“Thank you,” I mouthed back. I pressed my hand over my heart and added, “And thank you for this,” reminding her it was she who had helped me to make peace with the Christmas season by helping me repair my heart.
After our rousing performance ofBaby It’s Cold Outside, the 2018 version with updated lyrics, Cara and I only stayed at the karaoke show for another half hour. We slipped quietly out of the bar, leaving our drinking, laughing friends to their fun. We returned to our room where we dressed in snow gear and headed for the trees half a mile away. The minute we stepped into the forest, we started kiss-walking, pawing at each other, and behaving like horny teenagers. By the time we made it to our favorite hidden spot, we were both on fire.
I backed Cara against a tree, dropped my gloves in the snow, and slid one hand up under her coat and sweater and the other down into her snowpants and panties. She was always so wet and ready for me, which in turn made me desperately hard for her.
I didn’t want to take my attention off her body, even for the thirty seconds it would take to arrange ourselves in the snow. “We’re going to stay right here, aren’t we?”
“Oh, yeah,” she sighed against my mouth. She slid her hand into my pants and gripped my dick, which spasmed in response to her familiar but always thrilling touch.
I pulled away from her long enough to roll on a condom, then readjusted our clothes and slid into her slick, tight channel.
She giggled. “That bark is rough against my ass.”
“Should I put my coat behind you?”
