“Victory,” he says, and I can’t help but laugh. “I’m getting you that penguin, Myra Jean. Here goes nothing.” This time, he aims for a spot on the bottom row, shooting the dart at a downward angle. A loud pop causes me to jump, and the remnants of the balloon sag.
“You won!” I throw my arms around him. The gesture comes as easy as breathing, shocking us both.
“I told you I was gonna get you that penguin,” he says into my hair.
When we pull apart, the teen barely glances up, reaching for the stuffed animal behind him.
“Here,” the kid says, shoving it in Ron’s direction.
“Thank you, young man.” Ron is unfazed as he turns the penguin in his hands and grins. “Cute little fella, isn’t he?”
My cheeks ache from smiling so much. “Yes, he is.”
“For you, Myra Jean. I think you might be my lucky charm.”
Ron presents me with the stuffed toy, and I hug it close.
“Thank you,” I say. “I love it.”
I look down at the penguin, my own little talisman of hope that I might be lucky enough to have years of good memories still ahead of me.
“You want to take a walk while the kids are finishing up?” he asks.
He offers me his arm, and I take it. Despite the excited atmosphere, I’m at peace. My limbs are loose, and my mind is still.
“Would you believe that as long as I’ve lived here, I’ve never been to Mistletoe Fest?” he asks. “I’m glad I came. It’s nice.”
“We came every year before Henry died. Nothing could keep us away. Henry looked forward to it every year. We all did.”
“Was it just too painful after losing him?”
I nod. “I thought the bad memories would be too overwhelming, because the last time we came five years ago was the night my world got turned upside down.” I laugh to myself. “Henry was teasing me because I’d taken forever deciding which sweater to wear. I remember how he held my hand when we got out of the car, and the way the air smelled. Like pine. It was a perfect day.”
Ron studies my face as we walk, his forehead scrunched into little worried lines.
I blow out a breath. “Later in the day, Henry started feeling sick. Said his stomach hurt and that he was going to head home and lie down. I told him I’d go with him, but he insisted I stay. The kids were having such a good time, and so was I. He didn’t want to rain on our parade. Ben and Ellie said they’d take me home, and Henry said ‘it’s settled, then.’ He kissed my cheek and left. I didn’t even watch him go. Instead, I got swept up in the fun and moved on to the next thing. I think I stopped at a booth selling homemade snow globes.”
We slow to a stop a few yards away from the entrance to the light show, out of the way of passersby.
“We had such a good night,” I say, Ron’s figure blurring in my watery eyes. “The lights were so beautiful, we went through the display twice, and we stopped for a cup of coffee after because we were cold. Ben and Ellie drove me back to the house.They wanted to walk me to the door but I waved them off. It was late. They needed to get home.”
I sniffle. “I went inside, and I could hear the TV. The end ofA Christmas Carolwas playing. I was hungry, so I stopped in the kitchen to get some crackers.” My voice broke, and Ron placed his hand on my arm. “I shouted to Henry and asked if he wanted anything, but he didn’t answer. I went into the living room. It was dark except for the glow of the television, and he was so still, I thought he was asleep. So, I said his name once. When he didn’t answer, I said it again, louder this time. But he didn’t move, and that’s when I realized something was wrong.”
Ron’s hand covers his mouth as he waits for me to speak, to tell my story in my own time.
“I called 911. The paramedics did everything they could. They tried all the way to the hospital, but he was gone. It was a heart attack,” I say. “While I was looking at Christmas lights and having the time of my life, my husband was dying.”
“Myra Jean, I’m so sorry.”
“This festival became a shadow lurking in my mind, like a monster under the bed,” I say. “I was so afraid if I looked, I’d find nothing but my worst moments.”
He touches my arm. “Is that what happened when you came here tonight? Did it bring it all back?”
I shake my head. “Not at all. The monster turned out to be a shoebox full of some of the happiest memories of my life.” I remove my glasses and wipe beneath my eyes with the sleeve of my coat. “This is the first time I’ve been able to talk about what happened without feeling bitter and sad. Coming here has been…cathartic.”
He gives me an earnest smile.
“I’m sorry,” I add quickly. “That was a lot to unload on you. I don’t know why I did that.”
