I slid down in my chair until only the crook of my neck kept me from falling to the floor.
Kevin O’Malley was the man I was supposed to hitch my career wagon to? I had nothing but bad will for the guy. And that was putting it mildly. I’d day-dreamed about Kevin being run over by a bus, getting lost in a snowstorm and freezing to death, being eaten by a pack of feral chickens.
Perhaps I should point out that I’d also dreamed of him crawling back to me and professing his undying love (mature, right?). Now, I don’t own a gun and have never been in a cat fight. Heck, I want world peace. It was just…I also wanted a world without Kevin O’Malley in it. He’d grown up with a silver teething ring and since earning his degree at Duke, he’d been golfing professionally, but somehow always missed the cut for the PGA tour with the elite golfers. His performance had been almost mediocre this year, sad and yet completely satisfying.
It was pathetic that I always checked his golf scores. But hey, I had an excuse. Keeping up with sports was one way for a woman to ensure she always had conversation when working in a man’s world. It had nothing to do with our shared past.
I stared at the high ceiling, not seeing the single strand of cobweb or the texture near the light fixture that looked like Mr. Magoo’s face. Instead, I saw Kevin’s handsome teenage mug drawing closer, felt his breath waft over my cheek and his lips press gently to mine.
I made a sound much like Arnold Schwarzenegger did when a villain stabbed him unexpectedly on screen.Arugu-ah-ahr.
I slapped a hand over my mouth, eyes darting to-and-fro to see if anyone had witnessed my meltdown. But no one was in the sea of cubicles this late before the holiday.
Kevin O’Malley drove me crazy. If I took this assignment, everyone would know the man was my kryptonite. And the key to surviving in politics was to hide your weakness as long as possible.
There was no hiding in Christmas Mountain. The Montana town was too small.
I stared at my computer screen and the screensaver of the White House blanketed in snow.Chief of Staff?I blew out a breath. I’d never get more than a tour of the White House arranged by my congressman now.
The envelopes John delivered beckoned. I could postpone planning a trip home on the hopes of better news in the daily mail. A surprise inheritance from a long lost uncle? An offer of marriage from a Saudi prince? Heck, I’d welcome a chance to win a million from Publishers Clearing House.
The top envelope had been sliced opened neatly. It contained a signed faxed contract from Kevin. His signature was as big and bold as his personality.
I dropped it to the farthest corner of my desk.
The second envelope was a promotional piece, an invitation to a conference on political strategy at Columbia chaired by Professor Zimbra. I tossed it in the trash, hoping my career wouldn’t soon follow.
And the final envelope…
I recognized the carefully printed letters before it registered who’d penned the note–Miss Melody King, Christmas Mountain’s choir teacher and one of my favorite people in the whole wide world. I hadn’t heard from her in years. I quickly ripped into the letter.
Dear Lexi,
I’ve been thinking about you and your wonderful friends of late. That’s what old people do, you know. We think about the past, wishing we could relive the good times and somehow react differently to the bad.
I stopped reading and checked the postmark on Ms. King’s letter. It was dated before Kevin had signed his contract. If it had been after, I’d suspect her of prepping me for working with Kevin. She knew the truth about the night he’d humiliated me, and it would be just like her to voice her support.
The past tried to wrap me in its chilly embrace, but I shrugged it off and returned to the letter.
Things have changed here in Christmas Mountain, but you know better than anyone that change can happen in a blink or at a snail’s pace. I don’t like change.
God’s truth. Ms. King wanted everything just the way it had been, from the white gardenias blooming in her garden every spring to the peppermint pie she made every Christmas.
I need to talk to you. In person. Please come to Christmas Mountain before Christmas. I’m ill, you see. And although I don’t want to be maudlin, I may not have much time left.
My body went lost-in-a-snowstorm cold.
Come see me, Lexi. I always believed in you, my dear. And now, I need someone to believe in me.
Sincerely,
Miss Melody King
Her letter drifted out of my hands. I hadn’t planned on going home for Thanksgiving. And I’d bought Mama a plane ticket to come visit me at Christmas. I’d avoided going back to Christmas Mountain for eight years because people there believed the worst of me.
But Ms. King needed me.
I glanced at the White House on my screensaver once more.
Maybe this was a sign that I was meant to face my past.
Maybe this was a sign that I needed to be patient a little bit longer.