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"Peter?"
"I'm sorry," he says. "I'm not angry with you. I'm angry with myself."
I shake my head and look at him, confused. "I don't understand."
He rakes a hand through his neatly trimmed hair. "I know what everyone says I should want. What is supposed to make me happy. You know, a job at Dad's firm, a beautiful wife," he smiles at me, "a big house."
"But what do you really want, Peter?"
He looks me straight in the eye. "I want to be a writer. In a cabin far away from all of this. There’s one in Maine I’ve got my eye on."
I smile. "This is the most honest conversation we've ever had."
He chuckles. "I know. But, what about you, Kit? Do you want the big house and the handsome husband?"
"I-I do," I say, "but the house is in Montana. So is the man."
* * *
ADAM
"Well, now that's one hell of a story," Phyllis, my new friend, says after I fill her in on everything from the elevator (I gave her the short version of that, though she chuckled and blushed) to the blow up at the Fourth of July barbecue.
"It sure is," I reply.
"And you think she's going to get engaged? Tonight?"
My heart plummets. "Yeah, that's why I have to get to her as fast as I can. I just hope I can rent a car. I left in a rush and wasn't sure how this was going to go."
"What's her address?" Phyllis asks.
I pull out the slip of paper Boone gave me with Kit's name and address on it. Phyllis glances at it and a big smile spreads over her face. "Well, that's really close to where I'm headed. I can give you a lift."
"Oh ma'am," I say, "I couldn't trouble you, especially not on Christmas Eve."
"Oh believe me," she says, "it'll be no trouble at all. I think I'll enjoy seeing how this story ends." She squeezes my arm. "I'm rooting for you, Adam."
The plane lands and someone brings Phyllis's wheelchair. I help her into it and we exit the plane first, her purse clutched in her lap.
"Well, if we weren't in such a hurry to get your girl’s house before it's too late, I'd tell you to walk slow so everyone in the airport can see I have such a handsome man pushing my wheelchair."
I laugh. I like Phyllis. She’s funny but she’s no fool. And she’s done me an incredible kindness with the first class seat and now a ride to Kit’s house. I’ll figure the rest out when I get there.
Christmas music is playing as we roll through the airport. "All I Want for Christmas Is You" comes from the hidden speakers. Maybe, just maybe, this will work out.
We pick up Phyllis's luggage, thankfully the first class suitcases come out before the others, and head out to the curb. "There's my ride," she says, pointing to a Lincoln Town Car with a uniformed driver standing next to it. He sees her and comes rushing over.
"It's so nice to see you, Mrs. d—"
"Hello, Mel," she cuts him off. "This is Adam and he's in a hurry. We need to get him to," she gestures my way and I show him the address. He gives her a curious look and she says, "Let's go, Mel. This man needs to stop a proposal."
"Yes, ma'am," he says.
I help Phyllis into the car while Mel takes care of the luggage and her wheelchair. He jumps into the driver's seat, buckles up, says, "Hold on," over his shoulder and we take off into the Christmas Eve traffic on streets covered with several inches of snow and a multitude of insane drivers.
Mel weaves in and out of cars, uses some curse words, apologizes to Phyllis, and keeps moving.
"We ought to be there in a few minutes," Phyllis says, eyes bright. "And I thought this was going to be another boring Christmas with my stodgy daughter-in-law."
