This Christmas

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“There it is,” Will says as he turns the wheel.

“There what is?” I ask, trying to see what he sees. A small rectangular wooden sign sticks up about a foot from the ground, half of it covered by snow. I can faintly make out the tops of letters etched on the sign, but I’m more focused on the narrow path Will’s truck has to fit through.

“Are you sure—?”

“Yeah, we’ll be fine.”

I pull my arms close to me as if it helps to make the truck smaller. The vehicle rocks back and forth, creating its own path in the snow. Branches thwack against the truck and I catch Will cringing with each one. It’s as if he feels each dent and scratch being made by the trees. As old as the truck is, he keeps it in good shape.

I check his phone again but the progress hasn’t changed since I last looked. It appears to be frozen, but the ‘No Service’ at the top of the screen suggests otherwise. I turn my attention back to the road. His mouth is pursed with concentration and I strain to keep my eyes open, wanting to close them and cover my face with my hands at the nail-biting journey through the woods.

After only a few minutes the road starts to widen. Will’s shoulders relax as he presses the accelerator. I sit back in my seat, letting out a relieved sigh.

The corner of Will’s mouth lifts and I hope this is the start of a more positive attitude change.

The trees on either side of the truck push back further from the road and surround what looks like a large meadow. Or might possibly be a meadow if it wasn’t covered with snow. A wooden gazebo sits in the middle of it. I imagine it might be a nice place to sit during the long days of summer. I scoot to the edge of my seat, scanning the rest of the land for what brought us here to begin with. The cabin.

Will keeps to the trees, the truck making a path towards the cabin. I vaguely remember Becky saying the cabin isn’t too far away from the gazebo.

I sit up in my seat, not caring that the Christmas music isn’t playing and trying to ignore how quiet and moody Will has been on this journey. We are here. I have the strong sense Will might have been protecting himself all these years, pretending not to care that he missed out on Christmas, but I will make this one of the most memorable for both of us.

Step one is right in front of us.

Will turns the truck around a copse of trees jutting out from the rest and just beyond is the cabin inside a nook of trees.

The sun reflects off the snow covering the roof and ground around the cabin. A stone chimney climbs the side of the house closest to us, reaching up to the second floor. I imagine us sitting in front of the fire already. A porch wraps around the front of the cabin, offering shelter above the front door.

It’s even more perfect in person.

My fingers tap along my legs as we get closer. Will parks the truck to the side of the house and I don’t wait for him to turn it off before I’m out of there. I zip my coat up around my neck; the wind is stronger than it was in town. I shade my eyes with my hands to admire the place I’m actually going to be staying in for the next week.

“It’s beautiful,” I say.

Paper bags crinkle behind me. Will is already unpacking the bed of the truck. I inhale deeply, taking in the fresh air surrounding us, before helping him with the bags.

The few snowfalls in the City this year turned to a brackish slush before I had the chance to enjoy it. Here the snow is untouched and pristine, with only our boots making the first marks. I lag behind, taking in the expanse of land the cabin looks out upon.

I hurry to catch up with Will just as he opens the front door. A blast of warm air heats my cheeks and I remember Becky saying that someone cares for the house when they aren’t here.

Will moves out of the way, giving us both the full view of the place. Against the right wall is a wooden staircase with the same rustic feel as the rest of the cabin. The rest of the floor is open. The doorway spills into a living room with numerous chairs and a plush couch that has seen better days. The corner of the room is a perfect spot for a Christmas tree and my mind whirs with possibility.