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Their first Christmas in Vermont had been a beautifully picturesque, but emotionally exhausting affair. They'd arrived in time for it, as Jamie had predicted, a few days before, and settled into a cosy bed and breakfast. A young woman had checked them in and handed Jamie their room key, and they'd hauled the bags that carried every last thing they owned up to the small, nicely decorated room that boasted two twin beds and a tiny fireplace.
Jamie had taken Dani's bag off her shoulder and pushed the beds together, then they'd laid down fully clothed on top of the covers, wrapped themselves up in one another, and slept for a few hours.
Dani had been exhausted. She'd been exhausted ever since they left Bly. It wasn't necessarily a tiredness, more a bone-deep weariness that she couldn't really explain. It was as though she'd spent eighteen hours on her feet, even if their day had been a lazy one, and even though there were moments where the exhaustion ebbed, it never faded completely. It loomed.
Like She did.
It was the worry, Jamie had said, tracing patterns along Dani's bare back one night with the tip of her index finger. The worry and the fear, and the waiting for it. Dani wasn't letting herself rest, not really. She was keeping herself on guard at all times, ever vigilant, watching for The Lady.
"Look, I know it's easier said than done," Jamie had said, drawing hearts across Dani's shoulder blades, "but what if we ask your brain if you can have Christmas off? If we put in the request now, it might get approved in time." And Dani had laughed because Jamie had somehow figured out exactly what to say and how to say it in a shockingly short amount of time, and here she was doing it again.
Dani had turned under the sheets, rolling into Jamie's embrace, and tucked her head under the other woman's chin.
"I'd like that," she'd told her.
And so they'd tried. They'd made up a list of things to focus on over Christmas Day, things to do, things to eat, and they'd marked off every show they wanted to watch in the TV Guide Dani had picked up from the corner store.
They spent a snowy Christmas morning walking the trails of the local park-turned into a winter wonderland and Dani had found herself unable to worry or think about anything other than how pretty the trees were covered in hoarfrost or how beautiful Jamie looked with snow-speckled curls and a pink nose.
They ended the day with, as luck would have it, a TV showing of White Christmas and had gone to bed full and happy, and Dani had the best night sleep she'd had in weeks.
And that's when she'd decided they should stay.
Now, a year on, Dani can happily say she's never once regretted that decision. Now, a year on, Dani has come to realise that a life spent looking over your shoulder isn't any kind of life at all. That a life spent waiting for death isn't one being lived at all. That you risk missing all the wonders around you if you're too worried about what might be around the next corner.
Jamie has taught her all of these things, and more, and Dani - even with all of everything bubbling under the surface - can safely say she's never been this happy before. And that happiness grows every day, each one blossoming like a moonflower, brilliant and beautiful.
And worth the effort.
"Owen wants us to send him a Christmas card," Jamie says, as Dani enters the apartment. She's sprawled across the couch with the bulky base of the landline balanced on her stomach and the receiver on the floor as she tries to untwist the cord. Her brow is furrowed in concentration and Dani looks her over fondly before disturbing the moment by closing the door with her hip. Jamie looks up, sees Dani laden down with carrier bags, and sets the telephone aside to hop to her feet. She crosses the space between them quickly and Dani offloads two of her four bags with a grateful smile.
"Oh?" They move to the kitchen and set the bags down on the island.
"Yeah," Jamie huffs a laugh as she starts unpacking things. "Said he wants to put it on his fridge, so he can remind himself he had friends once." She flashes Dani a look of mild concern. "I think he's lonely."
Dani stops with her hand on the door of their own refrigerator and knits her eyebrows together.
"Maybe we can invite him here in the new year?" She offers, sadness tugging at her.
"Not sure he can afford it," Jamie sighs, but then she looks at Dani and her expression shifts, and she smiles, suddenly reassuring. "But yeah, wouldn't hurt to ask. Idea of it might be enough to lift his spirits."
They finish putting the rest of the groceries and other minor essentials away, chatting about what they want to do to celebrate their second Christmas together. They start preparing dinner, moving easily around one another while Dani does most of the cooking and Jamie sticks to handing her ingredients and cutting up the vegetables. And it's warm and wonderful, but Dani finds herself distracted by a thought as the evening wears on.
"What's up?" Jamie finally asks, lifting the potato she'd just skewered onto the end of her fork and twirling the end of it in Dani's direction. "You've had thought-face all night."
"I've had what?" Dani balks, leaning forward to put the glass she'd just taken a drink from back onto the coffee table in front of the couch. When she sits back, she turns her head to look at Jamie with wide eyes.
"Thought-face," Jamie repeats, popping the potato into her mouth and tucking it into her cheek as she explains. "A face that betrays its owner's thinking."
"I have a face?" Dani's eyebrows quirk towards her hairline with her query and Jamie chews the food in her mouth, nodding.
"Oh yeah," she says, very serious, very matter of fact, until her mouth slides into a smirk. "It's, uh, a pretty nice one, too."
Dani feels herself blush, a rush of playful annoyance rising in her at being caught in such an obvious set up, but the desire to reprimand Jamie dies with little more than a whisper when she looks at her and finds her grinning.
Jamie's eyes crinkle at the corners when she smiles like this, wide and truly happy, and it takes Dani's breath away every single time.
So she doesn't say anything for a moment, just looks back down at her place with a smile of her own, shaking her head.
"I um," she pokes at a carrot on her plate, "I was thinking about what you said. About sending Owen a card?" She pauses, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth for a second before looking up at Jamie. "Do you… do you think we could send ones to the kids, too? And Henry?"
"Yeah, Poppins. 'Course." Jamie reaches across and rests her hand on Dani's wrist, rubbing her thumb over her skin. "Reckon they'd love that. Well, the kids would. Henry'll just smile awkwardly and say somethin' about it being a lovely gesture." Jamie raises her eyebrows with a shake of her head as she sits back. "Dunno how he talks like that. You know," she plucks another potato off the end of her fork with her teeth, "Domanic never talked like that. Always wondered if it was a bit of an act. A way to sound more Oxford than he actually is." Dani chuckles but there's something more and Jamie can sense it. "Go on, what else?"
"Eddie's mom." Dani says the words delicately, like she's afraid to speak them. She isn't worried about Jamie's reaction, that she'll be somehow jealous of a lingering connection to her dead ex-fiance, but there's an underlying note of trepidation there that Dani can't quite explain.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. I know it's silly but…" And that's it, Dani realises. She feels self-conscious. "I miss her." She feels stupid for missing someone she willingly left behind. Like it was her choice and she should have moved on by now. "Especially at Christmas."
"It's not silly, Poppins." Jamie tells her, so earnest and serious, like she means it and as easily as that, Dani believes her. "She was like your second mum, yeah?"
"Yeah," Dani agrees with a sad smile, adding, "often better than my first.I want her to know that… that I'm okay. And I want her to hear it from me. Not whatever version of things my mom is telling her."
Jamie reaches over and rests her hand on Dani's knee, giving it a reassuring squeeze. She smiles in that soft way that makes Dani's heart feel like it's melting behind her ribs.
"Right then. Cards it is."
Judy O'Mara doesn't recognise the postmark on the envelope, but she'd know the handwriting anywhere. The hundred-plus wedding invitations she'd helped Dani pack and seal would have been enough to make her familiar with it if she hadn't been already. So, when she retrieves the mail after returning home from work one dark evening in December and drops the stack onto the kitchen island, that script sticks out right away.
Her chest constricts painfully and she takes a few deep breaths, staring, before she plucks the envelope from the top of the pile.
Judy
I'm sorry. I'm so sorry for leaving the way I did and for not writing before now. I've been so ashamed and afraid, and maybe writing to you now is selfish. But I want you to know I miss you. I miss you and Mike, the boys. I miss Eddie. Everything has been so hard and I know it's been hard for you too, and I shouldn't have walked away. But I didn't know how to be there anymore.
I know you've been worried. But I'm okay. So much has happened since I saw you last. I'm not sure what my mom has told you but if you ever want to hear it from me, I know I'd love to hear your voice. I'll leave my number at the bottom of the card. I hope you like it. I always think of you when I see robins.
Merry Christmas.
Love,
Dani
Judy reads the card through three times, vision blurring and swimming worse with each go around, before she picks up the phone and dials the number.