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Before the non-date with Rick, Lucille had texted Jill about having a big Christmas Eve breakfast the next morning. But Jill knew she couldn’t possibly tell Lucille her news—I’m leaving today—then endure a long, sit-down breakfast with the two of them. She would rather slip out of town, get on the road, and move along before she lost all her nerve. Her car was completely packed, and the apartment was back to its pristine condition, the same as the day she’d first entered, ready for Lucille’s future permanent border.
Jill used the house key Lucille had given her and unlocked the kitchen door. She said a quiet hello to the corgis then placed the key onto the kitchen island, listening for movement in the house but hearing none.
“Wanna help me out?” she asked the dogs. She tiptoed down the hallway to tuck presents underneath Lucille’s tree.
As George and Gracie watched, Jill wedged Rick’s gift into an empty spot beneath a branch then tucked in a special gift for the dogs, filled with all their favorite treats and toys. Finally, she set down Lucille’s bag of kitchen goodies, along with a check for the remaining amount for Jill’s stay at the apartment. She knew Lucille might wave it away if she offered it in person.
When she rose and swiveled around, Jill noticed an item sprawled over the back of the sofa—Rick’s dark jacket, the one he’d worn the night before. She touched its collar then pressed the fabric between her thumb and finger.
“What’s all this?” Lucille asked, walking down the last step to approach Jill.
“I’m spreading a little Christmas cheer.” Jill could also hear Rick moving around upstairs.
Lucille noticed the purse slung over Jill’s arm. “Are you going somewhere? The shops are probably closed for Christmas Eve.”
This is the hard part. Jill took a couple of steps toward Lucille, held eye contact, then paused. “I actually need to get going back home, to Colorado. I’m sorry.”
“Right now?” Lucille’s frown deepened in the creases of her forehead. “I don’t understand. You were going to stay through tomorrow, at least, and spend Christmas day with us.”
“I wanted to. But I—”
The corgis woofed at a commotion in the hallway then sprinted in Rick’s direction as he came down the stairs, wearing a T-shirt and sweatpants, his hair rumpled from sleep.
He scratched at his unshaven chin and came to stand near his grandmother.
“Jill’s leaving,” Lucille whispered, peering up toward Rick.
“Today?” Rick’s confusion matched his grandmother’s, and Jill nearly lost her nerve. She wanted to drop her purse down, remove her coat, and stay put.
“Well, there’s another big storm headed to Colorado,” Jill explained, realizing her words were tumbling out faster than she’d intended, “and I can’t get snowed in again. I’m speaking at a big writing conference after the holidays.”
“I remember you mentioning that.” Lucille nodded.
“And also, my agent wants to have a chat with me about a new book, so things are looking up. Seems like I’ll be staying pretty busy in the new year.” Jill had rehearsed the explanation a couple of times that morning, but as she spoke, her thin reasons for leaving sounded incredibly hollow.
Jill could see Lucille turning over the new developments in her mind. Finally, she spoke. “Well, isn’t that wonderful news? I’m happy for you.”
After a beat, Jill managed a glance in Rick’s direction, but he gave nothing away, gazing at the air between them and blinking, expressionless.
“Well,” Lucille finally said, breaking the silence. “If I can’t convince you to stay, maybe I can at least send you off with a big breakfast. French toast and bacon? Or a quick plate of scrambled eggs? I know the way you like them best—not runny and topped with a hint of cheese and a dash of salt. You can’t leave on an empty stomach.”
Jill almost said yes, merely to appease Lucille and accept her hospitality, but as she stood there with Rick, who still had no noticeable reaction to Jill’s news, she knew she couldn’t possibly endure much more. It was time to go.
“I’m sorry,” Jill told her. “I snacked on a granola bar earlier. I’m just... I need to get on the road.” Jill rubbed the amethyst between her fingers and realized she’d been clutching it since Rick had come down the stairs.
“Well, then, I guess this is it.” Lucille stepped closer, and Jill was reminded of the first time they’d met on the porch, weeks before, when Lucille had offered that same warm and welcoming tone. She’d had no idea, that day, what Lucille and Morgan’s Grove would come to mean.
“Do you have enough cash, some bottled water? And a full tank of gas?” Lucille wondered.
“Yes, thanks. Plenty of everything. I’m all ready.”
Lucille grasped Jill’s arm. “I’m afraid I’m not ready. I can’t believe how time has flown and that you’re leaving us on Christmas Eve, of all days!”
“I know the timing is unexpected, but it feels like we’ve celebrated Christmas—all week, really—and it’s been lovely.” Jill felt a lump forming at the back of her throat. It was what she’d hoped to avoid at the breakfast table, but it was happening anyway. “I’ll miss this place. All of you. Everything.”
“Well, I was selfishly hoping you would change your mind,” Lucille spouted with a half grin. “And that you’d decide to stay here in Morgan’s Grove permanently and become the manager of my little bakery.”
“It’s very tempting. But I—”
“Need to leave for Denver,” Lucille finished for her. “You have to do what’s best for you, and I respect that. But it doesn’t mean we can’t stay in touch through technology. That video-chat thing. Rick can show me how it works, can’t you, dear?”
Rick gave a small nod of acknowledgment, his dark eyes brooding.
“We can talk long-distance,” Lucille told Jill, patting her hand. “It’ll seem like you’re still right here in my own living room.”
Jill only wished that were true, but she knew how long-distance friendships generally worked. Rick was right: the best of intentions kept people active in each other’s lives for a few weeks. But after that, real life would intervene, and the texts and calls would trail off until they dropped away to nothing. It was inevitable.
“Oh, I have something for you.” Lucille pivoted to search the outer edges of the Christmas tree then produced a thick tote bag, covered in cartoon corgis and filled to the brim with presents. “Merry Christmas from all of us, even George and Gracie.”
“You didn’t have to do this,” Jill protested, but she still accepted the bulging bag.
“Oh! And your stocking. Can’t forget that...”
While Lucille turned her back and threaded through the sofas toward the fireplace, Rick grasped Jill’s hand and moved his eyes toward her. He whispered, “Are you sure? About leaving now?”
Before she could respond, he had released her hand, and Lucille had placed a thick stocking into Jill’s arms. “For you to open tomorrow morning.”
“Thank you,” Jill managed to whisper.
“Rick, let’s help Jill with her luggage. I’m sure it’s heavy down those apartment stairs.”
“I’ve already loaded the car.” Jill clutched the stocking and the tote.
“Well, then”—Lucille clasped her hands together—“I guess there’s nothing more to do. This really is goodbye. Let us at least walk you to the door.”
It took everything inside Jill to brush past Rick, then to patter through the corgis toward the kitchen. At the back door, Lucille turned squarely to Jill and brushed a curl gently away from her shoulder.
“You drive safe, okay? Let us know when you arrive in Denver. You need someone looking out for you.” Then she reached up to hold both sides of Jill’s face gently. “You are always welcome here.”
Jill bent forward for a tight hug. “Thank you,” she whispered into Lucille’s shoulder, “for everything.”
When they parted, Lucille stepped out of the way, shooing the corgis into the kitchen and giving Rick his space.
He turned to Jill, searching her face. “Do you need anything? I mean, do you have what you need for the trip? I can check your tires, your oil...”
Jill shook her head. “I had a maintenance check yesterday at the garage outside the square.” She locked eyes with him. “Thank you for always taking care of people. That’s your quiet gift, I think.”
Rick shrugged, and before he could swat her compliment away, she had leaned up into his arms for a tight embrace.
“Stay safe,” he whispered as she pulled out of the hug.
Rick twisted the doorknob to let her outside, and a blast of frigid air hit Jill’s face.
“Merry Christmas,” she told them weakly as she exited the kitchen and walked toward her car, packed and waiting.
Jill climbed inside the driver’s seat, clicked her seat belt, and started the engine, aware she was being watched through the window. She couldn’t manage another smile or wave, so she pulled out into the drizzly, melancholy morning with only the quickest glance at the house in her rearview mirror before she rounded the corner for good.
* * *
THE MAIN ADVANTAGE of driving on Christmas Eve was that Jill only had to share the highway with a handful of other cars. At first, the ride was a soothing one. The glow of the dashboard lights punctuated an overcast day, and the talk radio quietly droned in the background. She had the oddly adventurous sensation that she was going somewhere, while most people were stagnant and hunkered down in their homes.
But after four hours of driving, Jill found solace in none of those things. The dashboard glow seemed eerie, the radio voices became irritating, and the empty road only felt isolating.
Up ahead, she saw a Texas-sized gas station with an enormous storefront, called Luckee’s, providing the perfect excuse to stretch her legs and abandon her car for a few minutes. After filling her gas tank at one of the dozens of pumps, Jill wandered inside the fluorescent mega store, where twangy banjo music played overhead and shelves were decorated with cheap lights and colored tinsel, filled with every possible “I Love Texas” souvenir—hats, stuffed toys, mugs, stickers, candy bags. Jill shook her head and remembered the stereotypes that had filled her mind on her first journey into Texas, weeks before. But as she touched a stuffed toy armadillo wearing a cowboy hat, she knew it was a caricature, a false representation of a genuine and down-to-earth collection of good-hearted people. At least, that’s what Morgan’s Grove had taught her about Texas.
After a restroom break, Jill grabbed a chilled bottled water and a bag of chips then headed to the register, feeling a tug of empathy for the youthful worker behind the counter, who would probably rather be with her family on Christmas Eve. Instead, she was ringing up Jill’s items, one by one.
“On your way home for Christmas?” the girl inquired cheerily.
Home. When she asked, the girl probably had images dancing in her head of cordial greetings from family members, a shared meal of turkey and dressing, and wrapped presents beside a Christmas tree. But that was certainly not the description of where Jill was headed. Actually, it was what she was leaving behind.
“Headed back to Colorado,” Jill responded, hoping that would be enough to satisfy the girl’s question.
“That’s a long way from here. Well, have a safe drive.” She handed over a plastic bag stamped with Luckee’s colorful emblem.
The temperatures had plummeted since Jill had left Morgan’s Grove. Perhaps Texas would actually see a white Christmas. Back inside the car, she started the engine and uncapped the bottled water, bracing herself for the second leg of her journey. The plan was to drive for another four hours, find a hotel to stay the night, and drive into Denver on Christmas day.
As she replaced the bottle’s cap, Jill’s gaze settled on the seat beside her, which contained the corgi tote bag she’d plonked there hours ago, before pulling out of Lucille’s driveway. A wrapped box peeked out at her, and she noticed the gift tag: “From Rick.”
She shifted to reach for the palm-sized box and pulled it from the tote. The paper was a shiny silver, the sides fastened with tape that still showed through, with an uncentered bow stuck on top. He must’ve wrapped this himself.
She removed the wrapping and tossed it onto the floor then wedged her thumb into the cardboard slit to open the box. As she lifted the lid, she saw something dome-shaped, made of glass. She reached deep inside the box with her fingers then let out a small gasp as she lifted out the gift—a snow globe almost exactly like the one she had described to Rick weeks before, the one her father had given to her as a little girl. Jill clutched the base and dipped the globe downward then up again, watching the snow swirl around inside. Mesmerized, her eyes followed the flakes as they drifted down, down, down, until they settled inside the base once more.
“Rick,” she whispered as the snow globe turned wavy through her tears.
She clutched the gift to her chest and let the tears fall. She was tired of holding everything in, tired of pretending and being strong. Besides, she was in the middle of Texas at some ghastly tourist trap on Christmas Eve. It didn’t matter if she cried. No one was watching, anyway...
The release felt cathartic, a rush of bottled-up confusion and frustration flowing outward instead of churning inward. As her breathing finally started to calm and the sobs softened, Jill wiped her tears and found her phone, tapping out a number robotically. She didn’t even know if Lindsey would answer, since she was likely busy with her soon-to-be in-laws in Utah. But Jill had to talk to someone, even if she wasn’t sure what to say.
“Jill? Hey! Merry Christmas!” Lindsey’s familiar voice lilted through the speaker, soothing Jill’s ears. “I got your text this morning.”
“Am I interrupting? I didn’t know what you were doing right now.”
Jill could hear a clatter through the phone then a sound like a door sliding shut in the background.
“No, it’s fine,” Lindsey replied. “I’m at Charlie’s parents’ ranch. They’re making dinner, but I have a few minutes for my best friend! I’m stepping onto the porch. I’m glad you called!”
“I had to talk to someone.” Jill sniffed and wiped her cheek again.
“Hey. You’ve been crying?”
“A little bit,” she admitted. “Okay, a lot.”
“You’re not usually a crier. Tell me what’s wrong.”
“I don’t even know where to start... I guess I’m feeling lost.” Jill gazed through the misty windshield at the flashing neon convenience-store sign. “Not literally, but just... I feel like I don’t belong anywhere.”
“Where are you right now?”
“A gas station in the middle of Texas.”
“You’ve left Morgan’s Grove? I thought you were staying through tomorrow.”
“I wanted to, but it would’ve been too hard, knowing I’d have to leave anyway. So I packed the car this morning, said goodbye to everyone, and started driving. I’m sitting in my car, and I noticed this present that Rick had snuck into my bag... Lindsey, it’s a snow globe like the one that Daddy gave me.” She brought it forward again and dipped it down, watched the snow fall, reflected in the dashboard lights. “It’s magical.”
“What a wonderful gift.”
“It is. He’s wonderful. They’re all wonderful. I just... don’t know what I’m doing anymore. I don’t know where I’m going or why.” She felt tears forming again.
“Jill, listen to me.” Lindsey’s voice suddenly took on that serious-teacher tone she used whenever she wanted to hold someone’s attention. “I have a theory about why you’re crying. Do you want to hear this? ’Cause it might sound a bit harsh.”
“I need the truth.” Jill’s pulse throbbed at her temples. She knew how important her friend’s advice might be, and she was ready to listen. “Tell me.”
“I think you’re running away, just like your mom did for your whole life.”
Jill frowned, feeling her defenses rise. “Lindsey, that makes no sense. I’m doing the exact opposite.” She carefully lowered the globe into her lap. “I’m in my car, on my way to Denver to fulfill my commitments... A writing conference, a new book. How on earth is that running away? I mean, if this were three years ago, I would probably agree with you. I was like my mom.”
Jill flipped through the pages of memory and recalled specific reasons for certain moves her mother had put them through: a breakup with a boyfriend, difficulties at a new job, dissatisfaction with the city itself—they were all the same reasons Jill had used as an adult to move from city to city when she felt that itch of dissatisfaction. “But I’ve matured, learned my lesson. I’ve changed. Denver is security for me—it’s the longest place I’ve ever lived. You know that. I’m proud of that. And things actually seem to be turning around for me with my writing.”
“Jill, you’re missing my point. You’re running away from Morgan’s Grove. From Rick and Lucille and all the people there. How many times over the past few weeks have you told me how welcome you felt? How comfortable and happy you were?”
“Well, sure. But Texas was only for research and my own curiosity about my heritage. I can’t just stay there. That’s crazy. I mean—”
“Why is it crazy? Jill, you adore that place. They’ve accepted you, almost like family. Don’t you see? Morgan’s Grove has become your home, and you’re running away from it, back to Colorado. That’s why you’re crying. That’s why you’re so lost and sad. Your heart is someplace else.”
Jill squeezed the phone tighter and tried to process what Lindsey was telling her. The new theory toppled Jill’s entire viewpoint of things, and she wanted to reject it. But as she pondered it, as she balanced her choices on a mental scale, Jill knew that Lindsey was exactly right. Over the past few weeks, Morgan’s Grove had become a sanctuary, a familiar, comforting, welcoming place. It had become home.
“I can’t believe I didn’t see it,” she whispered, not even knowing if Lindsey was still on the other end. She had no idea how long she’d stayed silent. “But what about Rick?” she heard herself ask. “He barely said anything when I told him goodbye.”
“You caught him off guard. Maybe he didn’t know what to say. Isn’t it worth the risk to find out?”
In one heartbeat, Jill knew the answer, and her entire purpose changed. Her confused frown had curled into a small, hopeful smile through tear-stained cheeks. “Thank you,” she told Lindsey. “You have no idea what you’ve done for me. I needed to hear it spoken out loud, all the things I already knew but was too afraid to face. I know what I need to do now.”
“Tell me how it all turns out. Merry Christmas, my friend. I love you!”
“Love you too!”
After they signed off, Jill gingerly tucked the snow globe back inside its box then into the tote bag for safekeeping. Her smile grew wider and brighter as she clicked her seat belt and pulled away from the gas station.
She was headed home.