A Christmas to remember

CHAPTER FIVE

With his face obscured by the flickering light, Ethan sat by the fire in silence, gazing into the flames. Aside from the crackling of burning wood, the room seemed unnaturally silent. Sophie was huddled up behind a heap of blankets on the sofa, her little figure just barely visible. The fire's warmth did nothing to relieve the tension that lingered in the air as I sat across from Ethan and watched him intently.

I said, "You've been quiet all night," in an attempt to speak to him.

He didn't raise his head. His knuckles were white and his fists were clenched. "Just thinking," he said to himself.

"About what?" I leaned forward and pushed. "Maybe it’ll help to talk about it."

With a tiny shake of his head, he continued to stare into the flames. "It’s not that simple."

"Nothing ever is," I said, attempting to reassure him. "But keeping it bottled up doesn’t help either."

His shoulders slumped as he sighed deeply. "It’s about Claire," he eventually murmured, his voice almost audible above a whisper. "And the day everything fell apart."

I remained quiet, awaiting his next move. Every syllable was laden with passion, and his voice sounded strained.

He said, "Three years ago, just before Christmas," with his eyes averted. "Claire cherished this season. She would go all out with baking, decorating, and everything else. She want for Sophie to have the type of enchanted Christmas memories she had always imagined. We made the decision to go upstate that year in order to celebrate the holidays with her folks.

He stopped and swallowed forcefully, his throat straining. "I assured her that we would be OK even if the roads were ice. I believed I had everything under control. However, I didn't. A patch of black ice struck us. The vehicle veered out of control. And then it ceased..."

His voice broke as he drifted off. My heart ached for him, and a knot started to develop in my throat. "Ethan..."

He murmured, "She didn’t make it," his words piercing the quiet like a dagger. "She vanished without warning. And I was to blame.

"No," I responded sharply and swiftly. "You weren't at fault. An accident occurred.

With agonized eyes, he turned to face me. Emma, it was me who was driving. I assured her that everything will work out. I let her down.

I put a hand on his arm and extended out. You can't handle this by yourself, Ethan. You wouldn't want to, Claire. Additionally, Sophie doesn't hold you responsible.

He questioned sourly, "How can you be so sure?" "I can see it in her eyes, even if she doesn't say it. All I see when she looks at me is disappointment.

I softly said, "Sophie’s grieving too," She is a little girl trying to make sense of something that nobody should have to experience. However, Ethan, she adores you. She needs you.

His jaw tensed as he averted his gaze. "I don’t know how to be what she needs."

"You’re already doing it," I added quietly. "By being present. by making an effort. That's what counts.

He was silent for a while. Then he said, almost grudgingly, "How about you? What is your story?

I was taken aback and hesitated. "It’s not as tragic as yours."

"That doesn’t mean it’s not important," he remarked softly. "We all have our burdens."

I decided to open up after taking a big breath. "When I was fourteen, my father passed away. He served as both my safety net and my anchor. Everything changed when he passed away. Despite her best efforts, my mother never seemed to be the same. I had to mature quickly.

Ethan's eyes softened as he observed me. "That explains why you get along so well with Sophie. You are aware of what it's like to be lost.

"Maybe," I went to say. "But it doesn’t make it easier."

The weight of our collective anguish filled the room as we sat in quiet. We felt for the first time that we weren't the only ones suffering.

The lodge was quiet the next morning. Ethan had gone outdoors to get some fresh air as Sophie slept in. With the Christmas lights providing a little solace, I used the opportunity to clean the living room.

I was folding the blankets on the sofa when I was startled by a tap at the door. A beat skipped in my chest. In the midst of nothing, who might be here?

With caution, I opened the door as the freezing wind nipped at my face. A guy wearing a bulky coat and scarf stood on the doorstep. His face was inscrutable as he grasped an envelope in his gloved hand.

His voice was sharp as he said, "Ethan Sinclair?"

Confused, I nodded. "He is really present. However—"

The guy pushed the packet in my direction. "This is for him. It's urgent.

I stood holding the envelope when he turned and vanished into the snow before I could ask him any more questions. As if it contained more than just words, the paper seemed heavier than it should have.

Ethan came up behind me, looking at the envelope with a furrowed expression. "What’s that?"

With a knot in my gut, I gave it to him. It's for you. According to the guy, it was urgent.

He seized it and tore it open, his face deepening. His face was becoming whiter by the second as his eyes searched the contents.

"Ethan?" I asked, hardly raising my voice above a whisper. "What is it?"

He didn't respond. Rather, with his mouth clenched, he folded the note and stuffed it into his pocket. He remarked, "I need some air," and walked right by me without saying anything more.

The moment's weight was bearing down on me as I stood there. It was obvious that whatever was in that letter had just altered everything.