Second Chance Christmas. Tanya Michaels
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It had been a long time since he’d visited. Colin refused to come here, and Arden had been so busy with the pregnancy and the new baby.
Jamming his gloved hands in the pockets of his coat, Justin crunched across the layer of snow frosting the walkway. There was a stark beauty in how the rising sun illuminated the headstones. Parts of the cemetery were still in shadow, but other patches, beginning to catch the dawn, shone brilliantly. He tried to appreciate the sight rather than think about how row after row symbolized people who had once been loved and were now gone.
A grandfather he’d never known had purchased family plots here, but Justin had no intention of being buried. He’d told Arden that when the time came, he wanted to be cremated, his ashes scattered on the wind. She’d made morbid jokes. “So even after you die, you refuse to settle down? Sounds about right.”
As he reached his parents’ joint marker, he suddenly felt sheepish, as if he’d tracked mud into his mother’s clean kitchen. “I should have brought flowers.” Something seasonal, like poinsettias. “I know you loved Christmas, Mom, but it hasn’t been the same since you died.”
That first year, his father had been too devastated to remember the holiday. If it weren’t for the gentle interference of their aunts, the Cade children wouldn’t have had anything to unwrap Christmas morning. Then they lost their dad, too. Throughout Justin’s adolescence, they’d occasionally accepted invitations to join well-meaning families in the community, but it was awkward, being the gloomy thundercloud that hung over someone else’s festivities. They got in the habit of staying home, where Colin microwaved dinner and the two brothers taught Arden how to play cards. That’s what the holiday season had become for Justin—rubbery lasagna and explaining blackjack to his sister.
Now, he survived November to January by hoping for good ski conditions and ignoring the hectic whirl of shopping, decorating and televised specials.
His mind slipped to the Donnellys. While he’d never been inside their house around Christmas, he imagined it was thoroughly decorated. After all, Mrs. Donnelly had gone to great efforts simply for his birthday—streamers and humorous miniposters, balloons on the mailbox and an elaborate home-cooked meal. They were a close-knit family who liked to celebrate together.
Yet Elisabeth was choosing to move away. Brushing his hand over the smooth, cold edge of his parents’ gravestone, he couldn’t help but wonder, did she have any idea what she was giving up?
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