She flicked on the TV and surfed the channels but found she didn’t have the heart for a Christmas movie after all. She turned it off, staring blankly at the dark gray screen.
How can I bear to say good-bye? To live with excitement and attraction and the possibility of love one day only to have it ripped away the next? The possibility of love. She couldn’t possibly be falling in love with Sam—she had barely known him for more than a day. The possibility of love, though, was real and felt imminent and far safer than love itself.
How will I bear it? She swallowed, running her hand absentmindedly over Casey’s soft fur, deep in thought. And then she knew. Without flowery words or comforting explanations she heard the words in her head: I will bear it. I will. Because the alternative—not making the most of these precious days with Sam—is impossible.
“I will say good-bye, and I will bear it,” she whispered.
Throwing caution to the wind wasn’t a familiar path for Jenny, though, and in spite of her determination to enjoy every minute until they parted on the steps of the old Livingston Courthouse, a creeping melancholy began its assault on her unprotected heart.
***
Sam wasn’t ready to go inside. His body was revved up and humming, and he needed to clear his head before he was trapped in that tiny hotel room for the night. He parked his car and walked around the hotel grounds. There wasn’t much to see: a covered swimming pool and basketball courts, surrounded by a few well-worn picnic tables. He sat up on top of one of the ice-covered picnic tables, buttoning up his coat and hugging himself against the cold.
He’d never get used to winter night skies in Montana and never stop longing for them when he was far away from them. They were as much a part of him as being half Swedish or half Irish or having two sisters, simply but irrevocably a part of who he was. He found Cassiopeia easily, remembering Jenny pointing it out to him earlier. What had she called it? “The Vain Queen.” He ruefully wondered why they hadn’t named it Pepper instead.
Pepper. Chicago. He breathed in deeply, the cold air stinging the inside of his nose and making his eyes water. He thought about his description of Christmas in Chicago and closed his eyes against the shame of the plastic fakeness he had illustrated for her. A custom-designed silver and turquoise Christmas tree in his building’s lobby? Parties with models dressed in skimpy elf outfits offering high-end vodka shots? He hadn’t really given it much thought over the years, but it was awful when he considered it now, juxtaposed against Jenny’s heartwarming traditions. Sam’s Christmas season was mostly about wild parties, an excuse to let loose and get drunk, annoying crowds of bustling people on the streets making his commute fifteen minutes longer. The real meaning of Christmas—the real reason—was totally forgotten by him until Christmas Eve, when he gave the Christmas story his brief and patronizing attention. What a charming children’s story. What’s for dinner, Mom?
He was ashamed, even scared, to return to the cold, materialistic life he’d created for himself. Desperately, he wished Jenny could be there with him, to ground him with her no-nonsense reason, to bring her warmth and homespun goodness, to give significance to a place fast losing all meaning to him. I need Jenny in Chicago.
He thought of her face before they had parted tonight. She had no idea she had been looking at him with the most mind-blowing bedroom eyes he had ever seen, and it had made every cell in his body fight against his decision to leave. He had never been with anyone so unpracticed and genuine; she was just Jenny opening herself to romantic love, he believed, for the first time in her life. That she chose to open herself to Sam was intoxicating and humbling at once, and he couldn’t let go of her now. I want Jenny in Chicago.
Suddenly, he had an idea. It burst into his mind fully formed, and he jumped off the picnic table and strode quickly into the main lobby. He approached the girl at the front desk. “Hey, if I needed to print something out, could you do that for me?”
“Of course, sir. Business?” she asked.
“Airline tickets,” he responded and ran to his room to grab his iPad.
***
He had set his alarm for eight o’clock just to be safe. He knew good and well how Jenny felt about tardiness, and with only one more day together, he wanted it to be perfect. He walked to the little church, a little less than two miles from his hotel; past Jenny’s apartment, over the bridge and down the street near the park to Grace Church. He was amazed by how good it felt, after years of eschewing church for partying, to shower, shave, put on his suit and coat and walk to church. No hangover, no bimbo to awkwardly get rid of, no long meaningless weekend day to fill. Maybe Jenny—and his folks, every Sunday of his childhood—were on to something.