A Mrs. Miracle Christmas(16)

    “You’ve given me so much more than children, Laurel. I’m sorry, forgive me. I know how painful this is for you…It’s just that I was thinking about those nights. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

Laurel didn’t want to do or say anything that would put a damper on their evening out, so she kept quiet. Maybe she was being oversensitive, but she couldn’t help feeling like she’d let her husband down.

“Let’s enjoy tonight. We don’t get many of these anymore,” he said.

“You’re right. No more talk about things that weren’t meant to be. This evening is about the here and now. About us.”

They stopped at the lot selling trees and Laurel must have looked at two dozen, making Zach stand each one up so she could get the full view. She marveled at her husband’s patience as he stamped each tree on the ground several times and held it for her inspection, until she found the perfect one. It was full, freshly cut, and it smelled of pine and of Christmas—the way the trees were from her early childhood, from the precious times she’d chosen them with her mom and dad.

    Zach paid for the tree, and one of the teens from the scout troop helped him mount it on the roof of his car.

“I don’t know about you, but I could use something to chase away the chill,” Zach said.

Starbucks was directly across from the lot, and they headed in that direction. Within a few minutes, they each had a hot drink in their hands and had found a small table where they could sit and talk. Laurel’s thoughts went to Christmases past.

“The year before my mom died, she and I made our own ornaments. Dad mailed them to Nana the first Christmas after I went to live with them. They were ugly—especially the ones I made—but to me, they were perfect.”

“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, right?”

“We used molds and filled them with plaster of paris, then painted them. Nana and I placed them on the tree every year until they finally had all crumbled into chunks.” Laurel hadn’t thought about those ornaments in years. How she wished she could put her hands on one of them again. To see one, to touch one—it would be a small way of having her mother with her again at Christmas. Memories of that final Christmas with her mother warmed Laurel as much or more than the peppermint latte in her hands.

    “An old ornament like that I could have used for the white-elephant exchange at work again this year,” Zach mentioned, looking comfortable and relaxed, leaning back against his chair. “Any idea what I can bring?”

Zach had no idea what the plaster-of-paris ornament meant to her.

Rather than explain, she said, “What about that horrible gray sweater you got last year with the pink polka dots?”

“Hey—I like that sweater!” Zach teased.

“Sure you do. And how many times have you worn it?”

“Never,” he said, cringing at the thought. “Putting it back in the exchange is the perfect way to be rid of it.”

Drinking the last of her latte, she tossed her cup into the garbage.

“You ready for dinner?” Zach asked, discarding his own cup.

“Sure. What are you in the mood for?”

“Food.”

“How about Mexican?” Laurel knew that was Zach’s go-to favorite, and it was also one of her own.

    “There’s a place on the waterfront that I’ve been wanting to try. We could leave the car here and hop on the bus over. You up for that?”

That sounded perfect to Laurel. She loved walking along the Seattle waterfront at night, with the trees along the street glowing with white lights and the fully lit ferryboats steering through the dark waters of Puget Sound. The Ferris wheel’s huge orb illuminated the sky, while the salty scent coming from the water hung in the air.

“I’ll ask the attendant if he can keep an eye on the tree for us,” Zach said. They walked back to the tree lot and Zach spoke to the teen, who readily agreed to look after their car and tree if they returned before ten when the lot closed.

A city bus pulled up within minutes and they hopped on, quickly finding seats. They rode through the busy downtown streets until they reached the waterfront. Stepping off the bus, Laurel paused and closed her eyes, taking in the smells of the night. The aroma of steamed clams, oysters, salmon, and clam chowder from the nearby restaurants filled the air.

Zach led her to the Mexican restaurant, which had dozens of artificial poinsettias lining the dock railing. The outside seating area was closed for the winter. In summer, there was always a waiting list for outside dining.

    “I’ve walked past Moctezuma’s dozens of times and it always seems to be busy, so I have to assume the food is good,” Zach commented.

Because it was almost seven-thirty by the time they’d arrived, they were seated right away. The menu, along with a bowl of chips and salsa, was immediately delivered to the table. The chips were hot and salty, exactly the way she liked them.

Zach always ordered the same thing—enchiladas—so he barely perused the menu. Laurel took her time, bouncing from one page to the next, reading the details of each dish, until she finally decided on the tortilla soup.

They were served within a few minutes and ate and talked, each having a margarita. They lingered at the table with their earlier, painful conversation put behind them. The evening was perfect until Laurel noticed that Zach was avoiding eye contact. She wondered if there was something bothering him. Something he was reluctant to mention.