Discolored pine needles dusted
an older blanket of snow.
Light white flakes accumulated
yesterday, and the weatherman
called for the ground to swell
with inches more of the same to
come morning in this Yakima forest.
The other day, I cut down
and erected a tree in the living room.
I adorned strands of silver
and gold above the fireplace.
I finished a Redhook
and opened the shed and retrieved a box
of decorations, wrapping strings
of lights around the tree.
On my way, the brisk air bit through my shirt.
I plugged the extension cord into the wall
and grinned as though memories
of happier times flooded my mind.
90s country and soft Christmas
music hummed through the stereo.
I fit a photo of Cailin, my late daughter, on top of the tree.
She died in a forest fire
three years ago.
Cailin would tell me,
she’d say, Dad, she’d
say, I’m going to be a firefighter
like my grandfather.
And by God, she did just that.
And, like him, she died fighting a forest fire.
I find solace in the woods.
Cailin and Dad were so much alike.
Cailin never knew that I had never met
her grandfather, but the stories I told
warmed her face.
For a time, I was in shambles
over what could have been.
Maybe I hoped a fire would consume me
because God knows grief has drained me.
Cailin’s mother and I drifted
apart after her death.
Her mother, my ex-wife,
took her own life six months
after the day that we buried Cailin.
God guided me through the stages
of introspection and forgiveness.
Being able to forgive.
I had my life in order.
But I wanted someone to share
the days ahead.
I fixed lights around the deck.
Just like Cailin and I used to do.
I finished a Redhook,
and prayed before drifting
to sleep.
A rapping on the door startled
me awake.
I shifted upright.
No one ever comes here.
I reached under my bed for my pistol.
I climbed out of bed, clenching
the gun in my left hand and creeping
through the house.
“Who is it?” I said.
“Santa Claus.”
“No, really,” I said.
“Look, dude, I hate to bother you,” she said.
I opened the door.
She dropped her gaze.
“Woah…” She lifted her palms. “No need for a gun, dude.”
My eyes softened. “How can I help you?”
She jerked her thumb behind her. “I ran out of gas.”
“What’s your name?”
“Emily.” She gave me a sheepish grin and moved a strand of her long, blonde hair behind her ear.
I extended my arm and embraced her hand with a firm grip. “I’m Trouble.”
Emily’s eyes danced as she laughed.
My face remained stone, not blinking.
“Oh,” Emily said. “You’re serious.”
“Gotcha,” I said, giving her an engaging smile and a cocky wink. “I’m Ryan.”
“It’s nice to finally…” Emily paused, closed her eyes, and shook her head. “It’s nice to meet you.”
Emily raised, then lowered her arms. “Do you have any gas?”
“I haven’t eaten beans today,” I joked.
“Haha.” Emily rolled her eyes.
“The freeway is closed, and I don’t.”
Emily hugged herself. “Do you mind if I come in and warm up?” Emily said through a frosted breath.
I snapped out of my floating
in her mesmerizing gaze.
I stepped back, opened the door, and motioned her inside.
She made her way through.
Emily held her hands near the tall,
crackling fireplace.
I crinkled my eyes. “Do I know you?”
“I like the decorations,” Emily said, playing with her hands.
“Really?” I said, arching a brow.
“Got anything to drink, dude?”
I slapped my hands together and rubbed them. “What do you want?”
“Non-alcoholic beer?” Emily’s eye drew to mine before she cracked a smile. “Relax.”
I gave her an amused glance.
“Anything without alcohol,” Emily said.
I arched a brow. “A glass of bleach?”
“Ha ha,” Emily said, looping her arms around herself and snooping through the living room.
I moved to the kitchen to grab her some good-ole vitamin water.
“You live here?” I heard from the kitchen.
“I come here a few times a year,” I said. “I’m from Seattle.” My eyes shot wide.
I grabbed the water and made my way to hand it to her.
“I know you,” I said, waving my finger. “Not sure where from, but I know you.”
“So, I might have lied,” Emily said in a please don’t be so hard on me tone.
I hugged myself and narrowed one eye. “You work with my mother.”
Emily shrugged and tilted her head. “Surprise.”
“You’re not out of gas, are you?”
Emily stepped closer to me
and my heart quickened.
She straightened my flannel collar.
“Your mom told me all about you.”
“She put you up to this?” I said, blushing.
“She told me you’d go on about how gorgeous I was in our company’s Christmas pictures.”
“She told you that?” I studied her eyes.
Emily folded her lips under her teeth and nodded.
She gripped my shoulders. “No one should be alone on Christmas,” she said. “No one.”
Shadows suffocated the day’s weak rays,
extending their reach until nightfall had arrived.
“Make yourself at home.” I broke free before a tear could reach my cheek.
I entered the kitchen and returned with two wine glasses and a bottle of cider.
I held the glasses in the air. “Shall me?”
Emily wore stockings and a Santa Claus hat.
I dropped the glasses but not the wine bottle.
My mouth dropped, not opening.
“You said make yourself at home.” Emily gave me a cocky wink and a confident smile.
“Yeah,” I said, swallowing hard.
I kept my eyes above her neckline until temptation turned to a curious lust. “I…”
“You can look,” Emily said. “I’m sure you like what you see.” She bit her bottom lip.
I noticed a birthmark on her pelvis. “You’re…” I waved as her name danced on my tongue.
“Beth Emily Tainor?”
She raised her hands and then trailed to her lower half. “In the flesh.”
“My…” I ran my fingers through my hair. “My crush.”
“My hair is different, and braces fixed my teeth.” Emily’s lips stretched over her teeth as her smile swung free.
“I always had a crush on you,” she said, pacing through the living room, admiring the tree and pictures on the coffee table.
“Your mother said you were ready to move on, and I wanted to be there when you did.” Emily approached me and threw her arms around my neck.
We kiss under a midsole with a passion that could set this forest ablaze.
We made love and loved forever.