My Kind of Christmas

“You’re not yourself at all right now. It’s obvious the accident has affected your personality more than you realize, Angie. Once you get back to school, you’ll be yourself again.”
    Personality change? Angie didn’t agree, except that she’d grown surprisingly stubborn. “Actually, I think I’ve finally found my personality. And you know what, Mom? I think it’s remarkably like yours.”
    If the accident had any affect at all, it had been through a close-up view of how unpredictable and tenuous life could be. One minute you’re buzzing along the freeway, singing along to the radio, the next you’re looking down on yourself, watching as medical staff frantically work to save your life and you see your dead grandmother across a chasm of light.
    Once she realized she had barely survived, every day dawned brighter, the air drawn into her lungs more precious, the beat of her heart lighter despite the colossal importance of what had happened. She was filled with a sense of gratitude and became contemplative, viewing the smallest detail of living with huge significance. Things she had previously taken for granted now took on a greater significance. There was no detail she was willing to miss: she stopped to have long conversations with grocery-store bag boys, corner flower peddlers, librarians, booksellers and school crossing guards. In short, life was different now for Angie, and she was enjoying every minute of it.
    She’d also looked back at the life she’d lived so far and had some regrets—specifically about dedicating so much time to study that she had few friends. Many study partners, but only a few friends. She’d said no to far too many parties and dances for the sake of grades. For God’s sake, she was already twenty-three and she’d had only two boyfriends! Both pretty inadequate, come to think of it. Was life all about books? Didn’t well-rounded adults know how to play? While her few girlfriends were dating, traveling, exploring, getting engaged, what was Angie doing? Making Mama proud.
    She was going to fix that if she could. “Mom, I love you, but I’ve made my decision. Medical school can wait. I’m going to Virgin River.”
    * * *
    Angela LaCroix pulled up to Jack’s Bar on the day after Thanksgiving and parked right next to her aunt Brie’s car. She gave a double toot of her horn before she jumped out and dashed up the steps and into the bar. There they were, waiting for her—Jack, Mel and Brie. Angie’s smile was so big she thought her face might crack.
    “You made it,” Jack said. He rushed around the bar and picked her up in his embrace. Then he put her on her feet and said, “I thought you might be bound, gagged and held prisoner in Sacramento.”
    “It didn’t get physical,” she said with a laugh. “However, Mom isn’t speaking to any of you.”
    “That’s a relief,” Jack said. “Then she won’t be calling five times a day.”
    “Come here, kitten,” Brie said, edging Jack out of the way to hug Angie. Then Mel jumped off her stool and joined the hug. “It’s so good to have you here,” Brie said. “Your mom will come around.”
    “Fat chance,” Jack said. “I don’t know anyone who can hold a grudge longer than Donna.”
    “I hope I didn’t cause a rift in the whole family,” Angie said.
    Jack walked back around behind the bar. “Sheridans,” he grumbled. “We hang together pretty well in tough times, but we’ve been known to have a lot of differences of opinion. Bottom line is, you’re welcome here anytime. You always have a place at my house.”
    “And mine,” Brie said.
    Angie chewed her lower lip for a moment. “Okay, here’s the thing. I appreciate it, I do, and I plan to spend a lot of time with you, but I was wondering, hoping, that you wouldn’t mind letting me use that little cabin in the woods.” She took a breath. “I need some space. Honest to God.”
    Silence hung in the air. “Is that a fact?” Jack finally said.
    Angie took a stool and her two aunts automatically framed her on their own stools. “That is a fact. Space…and I wouldn’t mind a beer. And maybe some takeout. It was a long drive.”
    Jack served up a beer, very slowly. “There’s no TV out there,” he said.
    “Good. But there’s an internet connection, right?”
    “It’s slow, Ange,” Mel pointed out. “Not as slow as dial-up was, but it’s finicky. The internet connection in our guesthouse is much—”
    “I think it’s an outstanding