My Kind of Christmas. Робин Карр
not to spend too much time with, he thought. Lonely wasn’t his problem; as a Navy aviator he was constantly around a lot of Navy personnel—pilots, rios, mechanics, et cetera. On an aircraft carrier the only place to get a little privacy was in the head or up in the sky and little was the operative word—there was always someone in the next stall or in the rear seat of the aircraft.
But like an old married couple, he and Jake had never gotten bored with each other.
When they got back to Charleston, Jake was always with his wife and Patrick was usually with Leigh when she was in town and their schedules meshed. Jake and Leigh, his two closest friends. But then Leigh broke it off after four years and, not long after that, Jake had been killed. Next thing he knew he was spending his time in port with the Navy shrink, working it out. Or not working it out—he didn’t have much to say to the doc and had never mentioned the breakup.
The shrink told his commander to give Patrick six weeks. Getting six weeks out of the Navy was pretty rare unless you’d had some horrible catastrophe like your wife dying of cancer.
Paddy was facing reassignment and he could just turn it down and walk away but his boss wanted him back; he wanted him to take a squadron. But doing that with nothing to look forward to, and without his two best friends—his girl and his buddy—was hard to imagine. He just didn’t know if he was up to it.
He still had a hard time believing they’d left him.
Two
The snow fell heavily on the Friday night after Thanksgiving and Angie was enthralled. Although she had done a little skiing in her time, she lived in a city that had to look up to the Sierras to see snow. The porch at the A-frame cottage was covered and for a little while she put on her heavy down jacket and sat out there just to watch it fall. So silent. So delicate. It was like being on the inside of a snow globe.
The fireplace in Mel and Jack’s little cabin was large and warm and there was no need for any additional heat. She fed it logs and cozied up on the couch under the down comforter that had been on the bed. The sofa was soft and deep and she couldn’t remember when she’d had a better night’s sleep. They got a good six inches that night, and the morning dawned bright and clear with a thick, white blanket of snow on the ground and a delicious dusting on the pine boughs. It was like being on another planet—so far from that L.A. freeway where her life had been forever changed, so far from the house in Sacramento where she’d grown up, the place where she had revisited her childhood so many times during her recovery.
Yes, this was what she’d been looking for. A respite—some old-fashioned peace and quiet.
No one really understood how difficult it was to wake up from a bad dream, determined to change your life. She’d had partial memory loss for a few weeks after the accident, though she knew what she’d been doing, who her friends were, what her plans had been. This whole idea of being a doctor—she knew she could do it and do it well. She’d been groomed for this since her intellectual parents discovered her interest in science. But it was more like getting a plaque or trophy than about what it would bring to her life. After striving toward this goal for years, what was she to do with that feeling that it just wasn’t enough? Perhaps after she watched falling snow, the orange sunsets, the explosion of autumn color and possibly a world-class geyser or waterfall she’d feel that enthusiasm return.
She still had the same friends, even if she hadn’t seen much of them. They were busy in med school and she had a rigorous rehab schedule, plus the relocation from L.A. to her parents’ Sacramento home. One friend was still missing, though—her boyfriend. Alex. They’d been together for several months before the accident—he was a med student, as well. It happened all the time. Students tended to date one another more out of convenience than anything else, because it seemed to fit well with the intensity of med school. Alex left her at some point during her rehab—after the coma, before she remembered everything and could walk again. Strangely, his actions had remarkably little effect on her except to make her think, Wow! Who does that? Leaves a girlfriend while she’s recovering from catastrophic injuries? That thought occurred every now and then.
The phone in the cabin rang, jarring her thoughts, bringing her back to the present. She tried to ignore it. It was still quite early, but she hadn’t brewed coffee and didn’t feel like cooking breakfast, so she pulled her scuffed-up cowboy boots over her torn jeans and grabbed her jacket. The phone was relentless, so with a heavy sigh she picked it up. “Hello.”
“You’re not staying with Jack,” her mother said.
“Hi, Mom. No, I’m staying in his cabin.”
“But I thought we understood each other—you would stay with Jack or Brie.”
“Nope. That was your expectation. I’m very interested in seeing them but not living with them. I was hoping for the cabin or, at the least, Jack’s guesthouse. I want a little time and space to myself.”
“This is exactly what I’ve been talking about. You’re not yourself at all. I’ve made an appointment with a neuropsychiatrist,” she said. “We should get to the bottom of this.”
Angie laughed. “Listen, Mom, do yourself a favor. Cancel it. You don’t need much more than an everyday counselor to figure out that my brain is fine. The problem isn’t me. I’m not doing things your way and it’s making you crazy. I have to go. I don’t want to be late for the raising of the tree.”
“Angie…!”
“Bye,” she said, disconnecting.
Neuropsychiatrist? Never gonna happen. Besides, she’d already seen at least one of those and no one, no matter how many degrees they had, could convince her that rejecting her mother’s plan for her life automatically signaled a personality disorder.
The phone rang again, but Angie zipped her jacket and headed out the door. She stopped on the porch to indulge in a moment of remorse. Sadness. There was bound to be friction between a firstborn daughter and her strong-willed mother. Angie had always known how to please her parents and, in fact, usually had. Her mother proclaimed her a handful to raise, and yet, she’d managed to be Donna’s pride and joy. Angie had never rebelled so thoroughly before.
Donna didn’t seem to push back on Angie’s younger sisters with the same kind of determination. When Jenna or Beth resisted their mother’s plans, Donna seemed to let go faster. Easier.
“Dr. Temple, do you think my personality has changed?”
“It’s possible. And there’s always PTSD. Catastrophic accidents and long recoveries can have that effect.”
“Do I have a disorder?”
“Disorder? I’m no expert, but I don’t get the sense of a disorder. Do you think you have a disorder?”
“You know, I just feel like I finally woke up. I feel as if I should change things. It’s filling me with a sense of relief, of second chances, but it’s upsetting my family. They’re worried and angry, especially my mother. I’m battling with her over things like school. Battling like never before.”
“Hmm. Well, have you asked yourself—do you like the new you?”
“I do. I want to be more independent. But I hate disappointing my mother. She’s had it in her head I should be a doctor for a long time.”
“I think, Angie, that you have to act on what’s in your head, not your mother’s. You’re an adult, not her little girl anymore. Maybe you two need a little space to figure things out.”
Not long after Angie had that conversation with Dr. Temple, Uncle Jack and Brie had stepped in. Jack called Donna and said, “The two of you are fighting like a couple of cats in a sack. You’re not going to get better this way. Send Angie up here for a while. A few weeks. Let her get some perspective and take a breather. This is ridiculous.”
It took a follow-up phone call from Brie, but Donna finally came around. She was persuaded to put off the head butting at least until after the first