My Kind of Christmas

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
    T he 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