Two days before Christmas, Nate leaned against the glass-topped display counter and pointed. “Let me take a look at those, please.”
The man nodded, his head perched on a crisply starched collar. “Yes, sir. Fine choice.” He pulled out a velvet-lined tray and set it before Nate. “These brilliant-cut diamond bracelets have clarity and color qualities of the highest nature, sir.”
Nate reached for one and admired how the large stones sparkled as the halogen lighting above the counter caught the facets. “Yes, these are really nice.”
Inside, he could almost hear his mother’s voice. A bracelet? What’s the matter with you, Son? It’s time for a ring.
In many ways, she would be right. Tiffany was every man’s dream. She was beautiful, accomplished, and incredibly intelligent.
The first time they’d met he’d been sitting in a conference room. He’d gone for legal counsel regarding a grant program he wanted to establish for the institute. She walked in with the senior partner, confident and well-spoken.
During the entire meeting, she’d sat silent, taking in the discussion before articulating her thoughts. “That strategy is viable. But there’s a better approach. One that will make you less obligated and will free you to call the shots.” She went on to remind everyone in the room how often researchers ended up beholden to their financial benefactors—how restrictive and politically motivated that environment could be. “I suggest an alternative. Private funding by benefactors who are not profit-oriented will provide far more flexibility in terms of direction and will allow for adjustments in focus as you weigh research findings and what that means to your project.”
Tiffany Shea made a compelling argument that day—one the institute ultimately followed with great success.
The time they’d spent first in strategy meetings and later in group social environments had led to more intimate settings—dinners at nice restaurants, time at the gym, Sunday afternoons sipping French-pressed coffee and eating croissants at a little shop downtown.
It seemed they had much in common, and an easy friendship formed.
While it was not intentional, he woke up one day and realized the friendship had extended past casual, and by everyone else’s standards they were dating.
He was the first to voice the revelation. Tiffany just smiled. “It was inevitable, don’t you think? We’re perfectly matched. That, and I think you’re extremely attracted to me.”
He laughed. “Oh, you think so?”
She ran her manicured finger up his sleeve, traced his jawline. “Yes, I know so.”
And he had been. Only a blind man would not be attracted to Tiffany Shea. She was the whole package, and as his mother so often reminded him, a perfect wife for a rising political star.
“So? What do you think about the bracelet?” The clerk’s voice brought his mind back to the present. “Would you like me to box it up?”
He handed the bracelet back. “This is a stunning piece, but before I decide, maybe I should look at some rings.”
No expression registered on the man’s face. “Certainly, sir. Right over here.”
The diamond solitaires in the case caught the light and sparkled. But that was not what caught Nate’s attention.
Outside the store window, he glimpsed a familiar figure.
“Uh, I’ll be right back.” He apologized to the man behind the counter and hurried out to the sidewalk. Several yards ahead, the girl from the grocery store walked with multiple packages tucked under her arms. The girl with the mother who had dementia.
Despite a couple of trips to Central Market, their paths had failed to cross. He’d wondered about her often over the course of the past weeks.
“Hey,” he hollered. Why hadn’t he been smart enough to get her name? “Excuse me.” He waved his arm, feeling a bit foolish but determined to catch her attention.
She turned.
He picked up his pace and jogged in her direction. Breathless, he smiled when he finally reached her. “Hey, I saw you and I . . . well, I just wanted to say hello.”
Great, he was a Texas state senator who had just come off sounding like a kid at a junior high lunch table.
Nate grinned. “Let me start over. I saw you walk by and just wanted to say hello.”
Thankfully, she smiled. “Hello back.”
“Looks like you’ve been shopping.”
She lifted the packages. “These? Well, yeah. Kind of last minute, but I’m playing Santa this morning.”
“Every year I vow to get my shopping obligations done early. Every year I’m in the stores frantically hoping to find gifts at the last minute. So I get where you’re coming from.” He held out his hands. “You look like you could use some help.”
The corners of her mouth lifted into a shy smile, and she shifted the bulkiest of the packages into his waiting hands. “Hey, thanks. I appreciate it.”
“Listen, I could sure use something hot to drink. You up for a cappuccino?” He nodded toward a storefront ahead of them.
She hesitated slightly, then gave a hearty nod. “Sure, why not?”
As they started walking, he told himself the elation he felt could simply be explained as . . . well, as what? No label would be entirely accurate. All he knew was that he was glad to run into her again and that she agreed to go have coffee.
He held the door open to the bright red entrance to LavAzza, a trendy little Italian coffee shop blocks from the capitol.
She stepped inside. “Mmm. Why do these places always smell so enticing?”
He followed, nodding in agreement. “I know. I love that aroma.” They chose a table over by a wall painted bright yellow. “Wait here and I’ll go get our drinks. What do you like?”
“Anything hot and with frothy milk.” She grinned up at him. “Surprise me.”
“You got it.”
As he moved to get in line, an overweight woman in yoga gear cut in front of him. Her frizzy hair smelled heavily of patchouli and was pulled back by some clip-like thing, revealing a tattoo on her neck: Bite Me!
He stepped back, allowing her ample room.
She turned. “Hey, aren’t you that guy I see on television sometimes? You’re in government or something.”
He patiently folded his hands in front of him and nodded.
“Well, listen—I’ve got a problem I need help with. My neighbor’s got one of them yappy dogs. A Chihuahua or something like that.” She shrugged. “Anyway, the stupid thing barks all the time. Keeps me and my husband up at night. You know?”
Inside, he couldn’t help but groan. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Well, maybe you can do something about that?” She looked at him hopefully.
He took a deep breath and smiled back at her, then slipped his iPhone from his pocket and thumbed the face until the information he was looking for appeared. He grabbed a napkin from a nearby table and wrote down a number and handed it to her. “Here, this is the name of the city manager—the person who issues and upholds the ordinances in your area. Call him and make a report. That should take care of the issue.” He forced another smile. “I hope that helps.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Well, thanks. I’ll do that.” She turned back around and stepped up to the counter to place her order.
Nate glanced back over at the table, realizing he had yet to get Market Girl’s name. She smiled at him and raised her eyebrows, seeming to also appreciate the unique nature of the woman in front of him.
Minutes later, he returned carrying steaming cups of cappuccino. “Somehow I think this is going to be the better part of my entire day.” He nodded back in the direction of the tattooed lady, who was busy shoving a pastry in her mouth as she walked out the door.
She laughed and slid the cup and saucer closer. “One of your constituents?”
He sat and leaned back in his chair, enjoying the way her cheeks dimpled when she smiled. “Ha—one who probably voted against me in the last election. But give me time and I might be able to win her over.” He handed her a long-handled spoon, enjoying their easy banter. “Look, I’m embarrassed to admit this, but I don’t even know your name.”
Something inside him revved as she looked over at him.
“I’m Leta Breckenridge,” she said after positioning the spoon on the side of her saucer.
“Well, it’s nice to formally meet you, Leta Breckenridge.” Nice name. It fit her. “You were hauling around quite a load.” He glanced at the floor near her feet where she’d tucked her packages. “So, I’m assuming you enjoy this Christmas shopping thing?”
“Gifts for my mom. She loves chocolates and pastries and music boxes.”
“Ah yes.” He nodded. “Appreciation for food and music are often the last senses to diminish in the dementia patient.” The minute the words were out of his mouth, he wanted to take them back. It was a stupid thing to say, something a researcher would utter. Not a friend. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“Oh, please—it’s fine. I find it strangely comforting that you get it.” She sipped her steaming drink, leaving a hint of white foam at the corners of her mouth. He wished he knew her better. He’d reach and wipe it away.
She must’ve noticed him looking. “What?”
He grinned and pointed.
“Oh.” Her cheeks blushed slightly as she wiped the foam off with her napkin. She shook her head and laughed. “I’ve never figured out how to drink these without—”
“Every time I’m around you, I like you more,” he blurted, surprised he’d so freely admitted his . . . his what? Attraction?
How could he possibly be so easily attracted to this girl when he was securely in a relationship with a woman who everyone knew was remarkable and, frankly, perfectly suited to him?
“So, you appreciate me because I’m a slob?” She laughed again. “Or is it because I backed into your really nice car? I mean, people like me . . . we’re hard to find.”
They laughed and drank their cappuccinos, talking through a refill. He learned she loved the Christmas season. Poinsettias and decorated pine trees, even though trees in Texas were nearly always fake. The way entire houses and neighborhoods were blanketed with lights.
He told her that thickly frosted sugar cookies topped with tiny silver beads were his favorite. “When I was a kid, my mom used to help me roll out the dough and cut out shapes. The minute she’d look the other way, I’d swipe frosting out of the bowl with my finger and tuck it in my mouth.”
“Me too! Only I’d get caught when Mom noticed some at the corners of my mouth, and it’d give me away. Some things never change.” As if to punctuate her anecdote, she dipped the tip of her finger into the frothy white foam in her cup and brought it to her mouth, letting some carelessly collect at the corner of her mouth, causing them both to chuckle.
He really liked that about her. She didn’t take herself too seriously.
Their discussion turned more poignant then, as she described how hard her mother had worked to establish family traditions during the holidays, despite the fact it was only the two of them—and how heartbreaking it had been when her mother turned ill and everything changed.
The sadness in her eyes as she described the first Christmas Eve she’d had to leave her mother at the nursing center and return home to an empty house created a surge of sympathy deep inside him.
“In the early stages of her decline, I begged God to heal her. Pleaded and screamed. I didn’t understand. I knew he could—heal her, I mean. And maybe he still will.” She shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Maybe that healing manifests most in our courage and strength to go on—and still trust things will work out,” he said softly. While true, the statement sounded a bit hollow. He wished he had the power to erase that pain and make Leta’s situation better.
Her features shadowed, and she looked down at her cup. “You know, I’ve never really confided how lost I feel sometimes without her.”
Nate took a deep breath. “Yeah, I get that. My dad died when I was thirteen. He drowned in our pool.” The confession seemed to spring out of a mouth not his own. He could barely remember a time he’d discussed that sensitive topic with anyone—let alone a girl he’d barely met. Living with his tight-lipped mother and then entering a life of politics had trained him to never put personal information out there that could become fodder for the gossip mill.
Her hand seemed to instinctively reach across the table, and he felt her fingers on his own. “Oh, Nate. I didn’t know. I’m so very sorry.”
Her touch somehow punctured his soul, and he began to spill out everywhere. As did the details.
“Rumors flew, of course. He was a senator as well, and media outlets hinted at suicide.”
She looked at him, their eye contact potent, palpable. “How hurtful. I can’t even imagine what that must’ve been like,” she muttered.
“I was promised it wasn’t true,” he quickly assured her. “But then, rumors never have to be true to do damage.” He slowly slid his hand from hers. “Once the notion was planted inside my head, I could never fully camp on my mother’s assurances. Know what I mean?”
She nodded.
“I asked myself if there was something maybe I had done—or not done. At night, images of my dad knowingly downing a bunch of alcohol and then walking down the pool steps with purpose haunted me for years.” He couldn’t help the tears that pooled. He knuckled them away, embarrassed. “Still does.”
Faint strains of “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” drifted from the ceiling speakers. Nate and Leta both sat in silence with their cups on the table, strangers oddly connected over the dim outline of shared pain.
Later, when they’d finished their drinks and realized it was time to go, Nate risked a brief hug before they headed toward the door. “Thank you for agreeing to have coffee,” he said. “I really enjoyed getting to know you more. And I hope you have a merry Christmas, Leta.”
Her face told him she was as reluctant as he to part ways. “You too, Nate.”
It wasn’t until Nate was on his way home that the full impact of those hours spent talking over coffee, the gift of opening up and sharing his soul with another human being who understood, fully registered. How easily they’d formed a community of two, knit by shared loss and the scars that remained.
The freedom with which he’d shared such private matters with Leta Breckenridge startled him.
Why, he wasn’t certain, but he’d never expressed those feelings before. Not to his mother, or Porter, or any of his frat brothers at school. Not with friends or his pastor. He hadn’t even confided in Tiffany, the girl he’d recently contemplated making his wife.
At that moment, another realization startled him even more.
He’d never returned to the jewelry store.