On the way back to the inn, Andrew and Beth cut through the nearly deserted downtown. The moonlight reflecting off the snow gave the night a hauntingly bluish tint. Andrew looked up at a winter night sky thick with stars. “Wow,” he said. “Would you look at that?” Beth followed his gaze.
“Yeah. God’s masterpiece,” she said. She stole a look at her husband. “I really like this version of Andy Farmer.”
Andrew smiled. “Andy Farmer 2.0.”
Beth squeezed his arm. “I should have upgraded years ago.”
As they rounded a corner, the sound of music drifted across the tranquil square. “Listen,” Andrew said. “Hear it?”
“Hear what?” Beth said.
Andrew pulled her along with him. “C’mon!”
“Wait! Where are we—?”
Andrew pulled Beth over to the lighted storefront of Antoine’s Italian Restaurant. Through the picture frame window, Beth and Andrew watched young newlyweds slowly shuffle cheek to cheek across a makeshift dance floor to the music of a wedding band. The bride wore a tastefully old-fashioned wedding dress, and the groom was in tails. The dancing couple gazed lovingly into each other’s eyes as family and friends looked on.
Beth smiled. “It’s their first dance.”
Andrew looked at his wife. “Beth, would you do it all over again?”
“Do what over again?”
“Marry me?”
Beth looked into his eyes, and Andrew wasn’t sure what her answer would be. He wished he could reach out and snatch the question back. What if she said—
“Of course I would,” Beth said. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.” Andrew smiled, and for a moment all his cares and fears faded into the background of the frosty winter night. The female lead singer’s voice was rich and sweet as it carried out into the vacant square.
It could have been the steeple bell
That wrapped us up in its spell.
It only took one kiss to know
It must have been the mistletoe.
“Remember our first dance?” Beth said.
“It was to ‘Unforgettable,’ ” Andrew said. He took Beth’s hand in his, slipped his other hand down around her waist, and they started to slowly move to the music. They swayed back and forth in the cold night air, dancing in rhythm with the newlyweds, lost in each other’s arms, as the singer continued her soulful song:
On Christmas Eve our wish came true
That I would fall in love with you.
It only took one kiss to know
It must have been the mistletoe.
Back at the River Falls Inn, Andrew sat on the edge of the bed staring at Beth as she waged a losing battle with sleep. He marveled at how utterly beautiful she looked, kissed by the soft moonlight that spilled through the hotel room window. He wanted her to stay awake, to keep talking to him, but as her words grew more and more slurred, he knew he’d soon be alone again with his thoughts.
Andrew glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand: 11:51.
“What were you saying?” she said. She could no longer keep her eyes open.
“I was remembering the time you went out with Duffy Waldrop just to make me jealous,” Andrew said.
Beth mumbled, “No, I didn’t. I actually liked Duffy. Sort of, anyway.” She patted the mattress. “Now, come to bed, Duffy.”
“Ha-ha,” Andrew said. “I will soon. I just want to stare at you a little while longer.”
Beth mumbled, her words swallowed in sleep, “Weirdo.”
Andrew chuckled. He’d never felt so alive in his life. He just wanted to drink her in, to savor every moment of her existence. A tear rolled down his cheek, and he quickly wiped it away with his sleeve. No time for tears. He had to hold it together.
Beth had fallen silent; she was breathing in the soft rhythms of sleep. Andrew sensed something—a strange tingling, some sort of magical tug that drew him to the room window. He pulled back the curtain and looked out. Down below, beneath a streetlamp, Lionel waited for him.
“What do you want?” Andrew didn’t even attempt to hide his irritation. He pulled his overcoat snugly around his pajamas.
“Nice to see you too, Andrew,” Lionel said. “Notice the time?”
“Yeah, I know. Eleven fifty-eight.”
“On the dot,” Lionel said. “Exactly twenty-four hours to go.”
“Think again,” Andrew said. “I don’t care who you are or who sent you. There’s no way I let Beth anywhere near that street tomorrow night!”
“Now, Andrew, I told you—”
“I won’t let her die! Understand? Banish me to hell, turn me into a zombie. I really don’t care anymore!”
Lionel chuckled. “A zombie? C’mon, Andrew. We have a deal.”
“Well, the deal’s off!” Andrew said.
“Sorry, Andrew. It’s not your call.”
“Then let’s renegotiate,” Andrew said.
“The terms are final.”
“Oh yeah?” Andrew said. “Says who?”
Lionel glanced up at the sky. “A much bigger power than either you or me.”
Andrew jabbed a finger at Lionel’s chest. “I thought angels were supposed to help people, not kill them.”
“Andrew, don’t do this. Accept what’s to come. It’s her time.”
“No! I won’t accept it! Change her time! Change her fate! Don’t angels have powers?”
“Andrew, we’ve been over this. We have an agreement.”
“I never signed anything.”
“A binding verbal agreement,” Lionel said. “Now, your energies would be better spent looking for Beth’s last Christmas gift.”
“I don’t care about a stupid gift! I want my wife.”
“If Beth skips her date with destiny, the cosmic balance will be thrown out of whack. My boss won’t let that happen.”
Andrew looked Lionel in the eye. His bravado was gone. He was just plain scared. “Please, Lionel. There’s got to be a loophole. There’s always a loophole.”
Lionel considered this for several seconds.
“Andrew, if you truly love her, you’ll figure it out.” He turned and strolled off down the sidewalk.
Andrew breathed a desperate sigh as the church bell began to toll midnight and the locksmith angel gradually faded away into the bitter night air.
“No peeking, Mr. Farmer!” Christmas Eve morning, the last day of Beth’s life, found Andrew and Beth standing in front of the big Fraser fir tree in River Falls Town Square. They each held an inscribed metallic Christmas ornament. Her green one said “Beth,” his red one said “Andrew.”
Andrew teased her. “Now, why do we have to close our eyes again?”
“Because I say so,” Beth said. “We can’t just plunk our ornaments on any old branch. We have to feel it. Feel the tree.”
Andrew reached out and rubbed a branch. Beth gave him a playful punch in the arm. “No! I don’t mean literally. You have to feel it in your heart. Then you’ll know just the right spot for your ornament.”
Andrew grinned. “Oh. Got it.”
“All right,” Beth said. “Close your eyes.” Andrew obeyed. “Now concentrate, and let all the stress flow out of you. Think of the tree, only the tree. Be the tree. Then, when you’re ready, find the perfect spot for your ornament.”
Andrew cracked one eyelid and spied on Beth; she had her eyes dutifully clenched shut as she reached out, blindly searching for the perfect branch. Once he saw where she placed her green ornament, he placed his red one right next to it.
“Okay,” Beth said. “Now you can open your eyes.”
They opened their eyes and saw their two matching ornaments dangling side by side. “Perfect,” she said. “Even though I know you peeked.” She gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “Okay, let’s go home!” She grabbed Andrew’s arm, started pulling him along with her.
“Home? Beth, no!” Andrew dug in his heels and stopped her in her tracks.
She gave him a puzzled look. “No?” she said.
“I mean, I think we should stay awhile longer,” Andrew said. “Don’t you like being here? I love being here. Let’s spend Christmas in River Falls.”
“What?” Beth said. “I thought you didn’t like River Falls. ‘A trip to the library’s bigger than this.’ Remember?”
“Well, I’ve changed my mind,” Andrew said. “We can hang out with Mitch, Megan, and the kids. Maybe you can save Katie’s life again.”
“Andrew . . .”
“Beth, please say yes! It’ll feel like a real family Christmas.”
Beth smiled, pulled him in close, and whispered, “Uh-uh. I want to spend Christmas in Manhattan with you. Just the two of us, snuggled up by the fire in our cozy apartment in front of the Christmas tree. Which we still have to get, by the way.”
“But—”
Beth silenced him with a kiss. “No argument. You said it was my choice. Remember? And I choose home for Christmas.”
Andrew could scarcely concentrate as he paid the hotel bill. He was barely conscious of Mr. Gibbons behind the counter. The innkeeper was talking about the weather and holiday traffic, his aching feet. To Andrew, it was all just background clatter. His mind was on the wall clock behind the desk. Each tick sounded like a crashing cymbal.
“Your wife not going with you?” Mr. Gibbons said.
Andrew looked up at him. He was vaguely aware the man had aimed a question in his direction. Old Gibbons was happy to repeat it. “I said, your wife not going with you? I was being funny. I’m quick with the jokes.”
“I wish she weren’t,” Andrew said.
Gibbons cocked his ear at him. “What’s that you say?”
Andrew raised his voice a few decibels. “She’s still packing.” He noticed the time on the wall clock: 9:58 a.m.
Gibbons noticed Andrew’s clock watching. “Clock’s a few minutes slow,” he said. Andrew shot him a scathing look, and the innkeeper smiled. “Wouldn’t want you to miss your train.” Gibbons handed Andrew his credit card receipt. “If you’ll just give me your John Hancock.” Andrew hurriedly signed his name as the squeaky front door opened.
“Good morning, Mr. Whitman,” Gibbons said. “How was your walk?”
“Fine,” a man’s voice said from behind Andrew.
Andrew wheeled about to see his most famous literary client standing just inside the door, kicking the snow from his boots. Alistair Whitman was a barrel of a man with a thick grayish beard and a shock of frazzled white hair. His voice was commanding, and his words came out as if each syllable were gold. The renowned writer had a look of amusement on his face when he saw his agent.
“Well, if it isn’t Andrew Farmer.”
“Alistair?”
“Oh, so you two know each other,” Gibbons said.
Whitman and Andrew ignored the innkeeper and shook hands. “And here I thought you hated this place,” Whitman said.
Andrew gaped at him. “Alistair, what are you doing here?”
“What am I doing here? What do you think? Working on the sequel. Andrew, it was your idea, remember?” Whitman looked at the innkeeper. “Go back to River Falls and get inspired, he tells me.”
Andrew couldn’t remember the first thing about any such conversation, but then, he was a mite preoccupied. “Oh, right,” he said. “Sorry. I’ve been a bit scatterbrained lately.”
Whitman smiled. “So I hear congratulations are in order.”
Andrew gave him a puzzled look. “Congratulations?”
“I hear old man Townsend’s dispatching you to the left coast to launch the new LA office.” Whitman looked at Gibbons. “People just can’t seem to get enough of those frightful celebrity tell-all books. Andrew, you should fit right in out there with those Hollywood sharks. Just don’t forget about your favorite client.”
Andrew wanted to turn and run out the door. This was the last conversation on earth he wanted to be having at that moment.
“Nothing’s set in stone yet . . . ,” Andrew said.
“Oh?” Whitman said. “That’s not what I heard. I heard it was a done deal. Be sure to take plenty of sunscreen.”
Andrew noticed that the author was no longer looking at him. His eyes were now locked on the top of the lobby staircase. Andrew followed his gaze, and his heart stopped. Beth was looking down at him, her hang-up bag slung over her shoulder. For a brief moment, he wasn’t sure she’d overheard their conversation, and then he saw it in her eyes—a mixture of shock and pain. She’d heard, all right. She’d heard everything.
“Beth . . . ?”
Beth hurried down the stairs without a word, shoved off Andrew’s attempt to restrain her, and was out the lobby door in a flash. Andrew froze, stared from Whitman to Gibbons and back again, and then bolted after her.
“Beth, wait!” Andrew hit a patch of ice on the front walk as he tried to catch up to his fleeing wife. He lost his balance, and his feet went flying out from beneath him. He landed hard on his back, the cold cement punching the breath out of him. He lay on the ground for a moment, gasping for air. By the time he was able to suck in enough oxygen to get up, Beth was already in the backseat of Larry’s cab. Andrew grabbed the door before she could close it. “Beth, please! I was going to tell you just as soon—”
Beth glared up at him from the backseat. “When, Andrew? When the moving van arrived?”
“Beth, I’m sorry. I should have—”
“Andrew, how could you do this? We’re a couple. We’re supposed to plan our lives together.”
“Beth, I know. I just wanted to surprise you . . .”
“Surprise me? Well, you succeeded. I’m surprised. Tell me, Andrew, what were you thinking?”
“I don’t know. That it was an amazing opportunity, maybe a full partnership at double the salary, a share of the profits, and no more New York winters.”
“I love those winters, Andrew. And I love our life in New York. Did you ever for one second—when you were dreaming about your big salary and share of the profits—think about your wife? What I might want? Did you, Andrew? Even for a moment?”
Andrew slowly shook his head. He couldn’t lie to her. Not now. He had only thought of himself, his career, his status. His wife had been an afterthought.
“No,” he said. “I didn’t.”
Beth’s face changed. The anger was gone. There was only pain. He had broken the heart of his best friend, the love of his life. He’d lost her. The game was over.
Beth pulled the car door out of his grip and slammed it shut. “Train station, Larry,” she said.
Andrew watched as the taxi pulled away, stunned and confused and out of ideas. As he stood there in the cold, a light snow began to fall.
What had he done? Was this the last time he’d ever see her alive? He had thrown away the best gift God had ever given him. He had taken Beth for granted, and the bill had come due. He was going to lose her, and he knew he was getting exactly what he deserved.
In a flash, his life with Beth flickered through his mind like a movie trailer. He saw them as children splashing in a backyard kiddie pool, sharing an awkward first kiss at a friend’s birthday party. Then a foggy memory of Beth by his dying mother’s bedside, holding Emma’s frail, quivering hand, whispering words of comfort. He saw his young bride’s joyous tearstained face as he lifted her veil on their wedding day.
The scenes whisked by on fast-forward, moving so quickly he could barely make them out. Then there she was again, standing in the window of their apartment, solemnly decorating the tree as Andrew waited for the cab that would take him away from her. Only this time, she turned and looked down at him, a wounded expression on her face. She mouthed words that were easy to read. “Good-bye, Andrew. I’ll miss you.”
Last of all, he flashed back to the snow-laden New York street on that terrible night. The relentless taxi bearing down on Beth, kicking up a spray of soft white powder in its wake. He saw himself watching, helpless and hopeless and terrified, unable to move, unable to save her. He closed his eyes as if to shut out the awful scene, but try as he might, he couldn’t look away. He had to watch.
The whistle of an approaching train stirred him from his fatalistic thoughts. The visions vanished. He glanced around, refocused as the whistle sounded again. The train was arriving at River Falls Station.
Beth’s train.
Andrew felt a sudden surge of adrenaline. It was the fourth quarter, and he was far behind, but the game wasn’t over yet. Maybe he would fail at Lionel’s assignment; maybe he was about to lose his wife. But he hadn’t yet. He still had more than thirteen hours to go.
Andrew cupped his hands and shouted at the top of his lungs, “Lionel! Where are you? Show yourself!” He turned to see old Gibbons watching him from the inn porch.
“I need a ride!” Andrew yelled. “Now!”
The cold engine of Gibbons’s old pickup sputtered and coughed as he tried to crank it to life. “C’mon, Bessie, you can do it.”
“Please hurry!” Andrew said. He checked his watch.
Gibbons tried the key again. “The old girl can be a bit ornery at times,” he said. The engine clicked and thumped. “Nope. She’s not ready yet.”
Andrew had waited long enough. “Forget it!” he said. He shoved open the truck door and made a run for it.