My True Love Gave to Me: Twelve Holiday Stories(101)

“I thought Greenland was the one covered by ice,” Clint said.

“That too,” I said.

“Why does Santa look so scary?” One of the twins was eyeing the little red-clad man who sat right in front of her, staring at her like he might be an axe murderer.

“That’s a great question,” Ethan said. “Tell us, Hulda, why does Santa look so scary?”

“That’s not Santa,” Emily said. “He’s one of the Yule Lads.”

“Yule Lads!” I blurted, as if I’d come up with the answer all on my own. “That’s who that is. I guess they’re kind of like our Santa?”

“How many are there?” Clint asked.

“Nine,” I said, but Emily was already crinkling her brow.

“I thought there were twelve?” she asked.

“Well, maybe it varies in different parts of the country,” Ethan said. “Right, Hulda?”

“Right!” I agreed. “Some places there are twelve, but where I live there are nine because … the other three died because they forgot their shoes.”

Everyone at the table nodded as if that made perfect sense.

“Isn’t that exciting? We have our own traditions, you know,” Aunt Mary said. “Nothing fancy, but you can’t live in a community called Bethlehem and not have a few Christmas traditions.” She laughed. “We all meet at the church on Christmas Eve. There’s a live nativity.”

“That means real goats, and lots of small children dressed like wise men,” Ethan clarified as his aunt talked on.

“And we sing carols and read the Christmas story. And everyone gets a sack of candy.”

“That sounds nice,” I said. But something about it made me feel sick. Like I was going to contaminate them all with my presence. With my lies.

“I…” I pushed away from the table. I had to get out of there. I had to get away. “I have a headache. I’m so sorry. I just…”

“Ethan,” Clint said, “take her home.”

*

Outside, the cold air burned my lungs. The sky was so clear and bright—too bright for three hours after sundown. No matter how long I stayed there, I would never get used to seeing so many stars.

“You okay?” Ethan asked, but I couldn’t breathe, much less speak.

“I’ve got to tell them,” I finally choked out. “They’re so nice. They’re going to hate me. They’re going to hate you! I have to tell them. Right now. Tonight. I’ll—”

“No.” Ethan shook his head, firm in his resolve. “Tell them now and you’ll break Aunt Mary’s heart right before Christmas.”

“She won’t care about that. Her husband and daughter will be home soon and—”

But the look in Ethan’s eyes cut me off. It wasn’t shock. It was absolute sorrow.

“Gosh, Lydia. I thought you knew.”

“Knew what?”

“They died,” he said. “About a year and a half ago. Car accident.”

I heard Aunt Mary’s words: I don’t drive much anymore.

“This is only her second Christmas without them,” Ethan finished, and I felt like someone hit me in the gut. I thought of Aunt Mary’s hugs, her empty house. Of the tree and Hulda’s handmade stocking.

“It was one of the reasons why I thought Hulda coming was such a good idea,” Ethan told me. “Aunt Mary doesn’t like to be alone, and the holidays are so hard.…”

“Yeah. Of course. I wish I’d realized. I would have—”

“No! Don’t change anything, okay? She gets enough sympathy from everybody else. It’s nice having someone who doesn’t treat her like she’s fragile. She hasn’t been this happy since the accident. If you tell her now … it’ll crush her.”

“She’s going to find out eventually, Ethan. It’s not like I can stay here. Eventually, I’m gonna have to leave.”

“We don’t want you to leave, okay?” He ran his hand through his hair again. “I don’t want you to leave.”

I didn’t realize how close we were standing or how warm his hands were on my arms. I didn’t see the way our breath mingled in the cold air. I didn’t realize I was falling until it was too late, probably because I never hit the ground. It was a fall of faith, of hope, of … if you want to be technical about it, love. Or something like it.

And then Ethan’s lips were on mine and I pressed against the warmth of his strong chest, his arms around me, holding me tight. And I wasn’t running away anymore. I was running toward. This moment. This place. This boy.

“Just wait until after Christmas, okay?” Ethan pulled away and stared into my eyes. “Everything will look different after Christmas.”

And I nodded, perfectly content to go on living with the lie.

*

On Christmas Eve, Ethan picked me up to take me to the church that sat between a wheat field and a pasture. It was tiny and white with a steeple climbing up into the sky. By the time Ethan parked the truck, the church bells were already chiming.

“Come on.” He took my hand. “We’re late.”

Together we ran laughing toward the doors, but as soon as we stepped inside I straightened and stopped. Ethan’s hand was still in mine, though, as we stood at the back of the crowded room.