Chapter Forty-Three - Chella
I sit out on my back courtyard on New Year’s Eve, my hands tucked into my coat pockets, and watch the snow falling down. It’s so thick, it looks like a curtain.
I came home yesterday and found this here. Sitting out in the middle of the snow, covered in flakes, like it’s always been there.
The two ballet children from Matisse’s exhibit.
There was a note attached from Smith.
Dear Chella,
I think this is a better Christmas present for you. I never had the childhood I imagined either, but it was perfect compared to yours. So when you look at this sculpture, think of better times.
Think of us.
Love,
Smith
I’m not sure what to think about it, to be honest. I love the sculpture. A lot. I check my watch and it’s three minutes till midnight. Three minutes and another year is over. But the gift just isn’t enough for me anymore.
I have been considering my options all week and I finally called Bric last night to help me make a decision.
So I sent Smith a note back this morning.
I smile, thinking about my note.
And then I laugh.
“Hey,” Smith says from behind me.
I turn my head to find him standing in my patio doorway, half in, half out, of the house.
“Hey,” I say back.
“I got your note,” he says, holding up the linen napkin from the Club. “And I have to say, Marcella Walcott, you have made me very curious. Again.”
I nod, trying to stop my smile. But then why should I? He’s here and that makes me happy. “I figured out what I wanted to put in the box.”
He holds the napkin up. “I know. You said this in the note.” He steps out into the courtyard. He’s wearing a dark winter coat and a nice suit. His thousand-dollar shoes drop six inches into the snow, but he doesn’t seem to mind. “Is that it?” he asks, motioning to the blue Tiffany box I pick up off a table. “You only get one anything present, Chella. I hope it’s really what you want.”
“It is,” I say, waiting for him to join me on the bench.
I cleared off a spot for him when I came out here twenty minutes ago, but snow is already piling up. He doesn’t care about that either. He just sits down.
“Do you like it?” he asks, pointing to the sculpture.
“You know I do. But I like this present better,” I say, shaking the box.
“Are you going to tell me what it is?”
“Eventually,” I say. But then I pull another box out of my coat pocket. This one is long and thin, about the size of an envelope. “But I need to give you your present first. You gave me two already and I never even gave you one.”
“I don’t need presents,” he says, wrapping his warm hand around my cold one.
“Right. I know that. But I think you’re wrong. And I think you gave me a hint that very first night we became friends.”
“Friends?” He raises one eyebrow.
“Lovers?” I ask back.
“Both?” he says.
We laugh.
“Open it,” I say, handing him the box. His box is white with a black ribbon. I will never see black and white quite the same way after my experience at the Club. But it reminds me of happiness. Of all the things that made a difference to me. One month, that’s all I had with them. Just one month. And it was enough to change me forever.
“You know, people have been giving me daily presents for more than a decade. Shoes, and a place to crash. A car to drive me around.”
“Those are all good gifts, Smith,” I say, squeezing his hand. “But a present is something different. A present is something you don’t need, but want. So open it.”
I catch him grinning that one-sided dimpled smile as he reaches for the white ribbon and pulls the bow apart. He lifts the lid off the box and stares at what’s inside. “What?” He laughs.
“I took a big risk with this. Don’t laugh.”
“What is this?” he says, taking the papers out of the envelope to hold them up to the light. “We’re going to Finland?”
“I like the way you say we, Mr. Baldwin.”
He looks through the itinerary. “What did you do?” he asks, shaking his head.
“Your dream. Remember? That first night. A puppy and a trip to the Arctic to see the Northern Lights. We have to wait on the puppy. I didn’t think it was fair to choose your puppy for you.”
“We?”
I bite my lip and smile as I pick up my box and take the lid off. He looks inside and laughs. Loud. He holds up the linen napkin and reads it. “Us.”
“I put us in the box, Mr. Baldwin. So if you really want to be true to your word, you will get on that plane with me tomorrow afternoon and fifteen hours later we’ll be lounging on a big bed, in a glass igloo, somewhere near Helsinki, in a town I can’t pronounce or spell, looking up at the Northern Lights. Or… at least one of us will. I guess it depends on who takes the bottom.”
He shakes his head, smiling so big, I see a whole different person underneath.
“I already told Lucinda I’m not a missionary kind of girl, so—”
“Hey,” he says, his fingers coming up to take my face and turn it towards him. He kisses me, soft and sweet. “There’s always reverse cowgirl.”
“I missed you this week.” I whisper in his mouth.
“I won’t let it happen again. From now on, I get you every night. Every day and every night.”
“Which brings me back to the other thing I put in the box.”
“There’s more?” he asks. “Are you getting greedy, Miss Walcott?”
“Yes,” I say, kissing him again. “So very, very greedy. I think we need more greed in our lives, Smith Baldwin. I think we’re done giving to others for a little bit. Nine days and ten nights, to be exact. So let’s throw caution to the wind.” I reach in to the box, pull out a little notebook and hold it up.
“The Rules,” he says, reading the cover. “You have rules?”
“Mmm-hmm,” I say. “Open it up and read them.”
He opens it and chuckles. “There are no rules.”
“That’s right,” I say. “There are no rules.”