Chapter Nine

Graham

"Bubba Ray's?" I asked. "Is that a person or a place?"

"How am I supposed to know that?" Holly asked.

We stepped into the motel room and I noticed the bed had been brought back down and remade with fresh linens. I was sore from my night among the fake plants and I dropped down on the bed.

"What do you think you're doing?" she asked.

I sighed and got up.

"You are mean as hell, has anyone ever told you that?"

She glared at the question that I mirrored from her own snap at me.

"Yes," she said.

"Good to know."

I grabbed onto the bag of letters and dumped them out on the floor.

"You're just going to make a mess like that all over my room?"

I picked up one of the letters and showed the picture that some small child had painstakingly drawn on the back of the envelope.

"How can you look at this and think that it's a mess?" I asked.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I just don't have much holiday spirit."

"All because people think that your name sounds like you should have been born in December?" I asked.

She glared at me, as I was becoming quite accustomed to, but I could see sadness in her eyes behind the expression.

"No, it's not because of my name," she snapped. "Not that that helps a lot. I just don't like the holidays. I don't have any good memories of them."

"Not even from when you were little?"

She shook her head.

"Not really. I'm sure if I thought back hard enough I could find some, but I don't have a lot of memories from before I was about nine, and most of the ones that I do have are of being passed back and forth to visit each of my parents. There were times when I seriously felt like they should just cut to the chase, put me in a box, and slap a shipping label on me. It would have been a lot less hassle trying to get through security at the airports, I can tell you that."

"That's a pretty good reason for you to think that being afraid to fly is stupid," I said.

She looked regretful and shook her head.

"I don't think it's stupid," she said. "It's just --- never mind."

"What?" I asked.

She looked at me like she was trying to formulate what she wanted to say in a way that wasn't going to come across the wrong way. Finally, she let out a short breath and looked directly at me again.

"When I was little, I didn't want to fly. The first time that I had to fly by myself, at least the first time that I remember flying by myself, I was terrified. All I wanted was for my mother to go with me. I didn't understand why she wouldn't. My parents forced me to fly and I felt so out of control. I didn't know what was going to happen. That's what scared me. Then I kept doing it. I figured out how to handle it. I wasn't scared anymore. You're an adult. You are obviously in control of things all the time. But you choose to be afraid."

"I don't choose to be afraid," I argued.

"Yes, you do. At any time, you could get on a plane, see what it's all about, and get over it. But you don't. I didn't have a choice. You do. And that drives me insane."

"Exactly. I have a choice. I choose not to do something that makes uncomfortable. I think that's what makes you mad. I have a choice and I use it."

The sadness was still in her eyes, along with a vulnerability that softened her.

"So, when you think about Christmas, you think about traveling?"

"When I think about Christmas, I think about my parents arguing over which one of them would have me. Not because they wanted me, but because they wanted to do anything but take care of me during the holidays. They wanted to have parties and go out drinking, not put a child to bed and deal with stories of Santa. I can't even remember when I believed in Santa because my parents didn't want to go to the trouble of keeping it up."

"No Santa? Not even when you were really little?"

She drew in a breath and shook her head.

"Then when I got older, they stopped the effort at all. I didn't go to see my father much anymore, and my mother worked or traveled all the time. As soon as I graduated high school, I left, and I haven't looked back. I haven’t seen either one of them in seven years."

I felt an ache in my chest and felt the compulsion to guard her, to protect her in some way, though I didn't know how.

"That's not the way that Christmas is supposed to be," I said.

"It's what I know," she said. "My friends usually celebrate with their families or their partners. Sometimes we do a little party or something, and I spent a couple of Christmases at Ben's parents' house. But it's never something I looked forward to. This year just put the sugar plum on the sundae." She walked over to her luggage and pulled out a handful of clothes. "I'm going to take a shower, so I can dry before Rue gets here."

She went into the bathroom and shut the door, and a few seconds later I heard the water running. I turned my attention to the letters in front of me. I read through some of them, feeling a nostalgic blend of joy and sadness as I read the hopeful notes from the little children whose hearts still believed so much in magic. I wondered which of them was going to be hurt this year. Which of them was going to stop believing because their letter didn't bring the answer that they so desperately wanted? I put down the letter in my hand and walked over to the bathroom door. I used one knuckle to knock on the door.

"Yes?" Holly called from inside.

I tried the knob and found it unlocked, so I pushed the door open a few inches.

"I am going to help you find your Christmas spirit," I said. "I promise."

I walked out of the bathroom and back into the room. I changed my clothes and went back to reading the letters. A thought occurred to me and I grabbed my phone, speaking notes into it as I read each letter. I had finished the last letter just as the door to the bathroom opened and Holly stepped out. She had changed into a pair of black jeans that clung tight to her body and a red tank top that revealed just the top swells of her full breasts. She looked more feminine than she had and the combination of that and the abandon with which she had eaten at the movie was making the pull that I was starting to feel for her even more obvious. I didn't want to think about it. She was just there. I had to tell myself that. She was there and she was different, but soon she would be gone and all that would be left would be my real life. That was what I had to keep focusing on."

Holly took a black sweater from her bag and slipped it on, buttoning it up to the top two buttons. She let out a breath as she looked at the bag that was now sitting by the end of the bed, filled again with all of the letters.

"Did you find anything interesting in there?" she asked, her tone light again as though she had used her time in the shower to reset her emotions.

"A few things," I said. "Are you ready?"

"Yeah," she said.

I stood, and we stepped outside. The truck was already sitting outside, and we climbed inside. Rue was sitting in the passenger seat and a man was behind the wheel. He looked back at us and I felt like I vaguely recognized him. It wasn't a personal connection, but something in the back of my mind, a faint memory as though we had walked past each other at an event or seen each other through the screen of a satellite conference.

"Hi, I'm Richard."

"Graham," I said.

"Holly."

"Nice to meet you both. I hope you're hungry. Bubba Ray's is a quintessential Whiskey Hollow experience."

"I hear it might be even more special tonight," Rue said, a hint of teasing in her voice.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Holly asked.

"Well, Bubba Ray is doing some of the food for the wedding and his wife Marge was at the motel this morning. I heard her mention to Day that Bubba Ray is seeing all these extra people being in town as an opportunity to boost his business even more."

"Proud of him," Richard said as he started driving away from the motel. "He's been listening to me."

"Maybe," Rue said. "Marge said that he's decided to try theme nights."

"Theme nights?" I asked.

"Apparently he wants to create a buzz about the restaurant by having themed events once a week. The first one is tonight."

"What's the theme?" Holly asked.

"I don't know," Rue said. "Marge didn't say."

"Probably Christmas," Richard said.

Well, this is not Christmas.

"Wow," I said.

The four of us were stopped at the doorway of Bubba Ray's restaurant, firmly stuck in place by the scene that was unfolding in front of us. Blue and white lights were strewn across the ceiling and down the walls, combining with strands of plastic pearls and green crepe paper streamers. A huge net hung on one wall, decorated with starfish and gold coins. Each table held a small box that appeared to be filled with sand and tiny drink umbrellas.

"Richard! Rue!"

I looked toward the voice.

"Oh, wow."

A skinny man with a fairly thick covering of dark body hair was coming toward us in a movement that was somewhere between swimming and hula dancing. This was only made more impressive by the fact that he was wearing a shimmering green tail over his jeans and a purple shell bra over his narrow chest.

"Hi, Bubba Ray," Rue said.

"How do you like my Enchantment Under the Sea theme night?" he asked.

"It sure is something," Richard said. "I like your sparkles there."

Bubba Ray ran his fingers back through short, nearly black hair that appeared to have been spackled with glitter gel.

"Thank you. I'm a mermaid. Have to be authentic, you know."

"A mermaid?" I asked.

He looked at me sternly.

"Yes. A mermaid."

"Why aren't you a merman?" I asked.

“A merman? The hell is that? There ain’t no such damned thing as a merman. Merman." Bubba Ray gave a derisive snort. "Tell me something. What in the hell is the difference between a mermaid and a merman? They both got fins. Fins from the waist all the way down." He put his hands at his ribs and shot them down his sides, then straightened them down the front of his legs and waved his hands back and forth like a fin. "No danglies. Just fin. Now you tell me, who in their right mind could look at a big ass four-foot fin and say 'well, hell, that’s a guy.' Nobody. Its mermaids, everybody knows that. Sailors at sea used to see them all the time, and I don’t ever remember hearing anything about no mermen. Hell, Old Man Festus, he was in the Navy back during the Second World War, he said he saw one, one time. Said he was patrolling one night out near Holland on a big old battleship and there was the loveliest redheaded woman down in the water below him. He said he was about to holler out ‘man overboard’ like you see them do in the movies and all, but then she came up to the top of the water, and Festus said she smiled up at him as pretty as you please.

And he just stood there slack jawed on account of him not having seen a real live woman in a good little bit and this one here was not only smiling up at him in the middle of the danged ocean, but she didn’t even have any top on. Now, I chose to have on shells. That is just my own personal expression and I do believe that the more cultured of the mermaids would fashion tops out of the best shells and some pearls and string them together with seaweed and fish guts. But not this one. Nope. Her boobies were just a-floating in the water with her, dangling on out for Jesus and the stars to see. So, he just stared at her for a bit, wondering how in the hell some topless lady got in the water by their ship, and whether there was a dignified way for him to save her considering he would have to grab her and all. Then he got to thinking she might be a German spy, so he grabbed for his pistol, and that’s when he said she done swam off, flipping her fin at him as she went. Her FIN. Did he mention that some big burly be-finned man came swimming up with her, all date-aquatic style? Did he say that there was a guy with her that was all 'come on, honey, it's time to get supper started'? No. No he did not.

Now, I know Old Man Festus is crazier than a coot in heat these days, but he was sober as a bullet and a bit younger back when he told me that story, and I believe every dang bit of it. Mermen, yeesh. Never heard of such nonsense. Now, mermaids is a whole other story. Those are as real as you and me. They are in the Bible, aren’t they? Didn’t Jonah see some mermaids or something? I bet he did. Even if they didn’t write it in there, on account of her boobs being out, I bet that whale had eaten a mermaid or two before he got to Jonah. There was bound to be millions of them back then. But mermen? I don’t believe it."

"But why didn't you do Christmas as your theme?"

Bubba Ray scoffed.

"That's for little ones."

Says the grown man wearing a seashell bra.

I stared at Bubba Ray for a beat, waiting to make sure that he was finished. When I was sure that he was, I threw my arm around his shoulders.

"You know what, Bubba Ray? You're right. And I think you look great. I love your shells."

Bubba Ray grinned at me and wrapped his arm around my waist.

"Well, thank you. What's your name?"

"I'm Graham. And this is Holly."

"Holly," Bubba Ray said. "Were you born in ---"

"No," Holly said. "I was not born in December. I was born in July. My mother was canoeing when she went into labor with me and I was born under a holly bush. That's why my name is Holly."

Bubba Ray blinked a couple of times, then grinned.

"I was going to ask if you were born in Everton because you look right like the Finnegan family, but that story was much better. Born under a holly bush. You sure you're not from the hollow?"

I waited for her reaction, worried that she was going to get angry, but suddenly her face softened into a smile and we all laughed. Suddenly Bubba patted me on the belly.

"Do you want me to get you authentic, too? Marge made a few extra tails. I don't think that we're going to be able to find shells that are big enough for you, but I might be able to crack open a coconut. Come on." He started guiding me across the restaurant toward a corner that had been set up with precariously stacked tables and chairs draped with heavy gray tarp to look like an underwater cave. "Say, you want one of my specialty drinks? There's a pretty potent blue one over there I call Ariel. On account of the mermaid, you see.”

"I am never going to be able to get this glitter out of my hair," I said as we walked up to the motel room door a few hours later.

"I can't believe you let him turn you into a mermaid," Holly said.

"Why not?" I asked. "His logic was pretty unshakable. I wouldn't want to be non-authentic."

"You have glitter in your chest hair."

"I am secure enough in my masculinity to be a mermaid."

Holly laughed.

"Well, that's good."

"I note that you didn't let him turn you into a mermaid."

"I don't think that his enchanted ocean is ready to see me as a mermaid."

We stepped into the motel room and I gave her a quizzical look.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Let's just say that I feel I may have a bit too much Ursula in me to really pull that off."

I shook my head.

"That's not true."

There was a strand of her silky red hair across one cold-flushed cheek and I reached up to move it gently aside. I thought of the way that she had laughed that night at the restaurant, seeming to forget everything that had been weighing on her. Our eyes met and for a second all I could hear was our breath. I pulled away from her and reached down for my bag.

"I should probably get out to the lobby before Day locks me out," I said. "Have a good night."

I had taken a few steps back out into the snow when I heard her call after me.

"Graham?"

I turned around.

"Hmm?"

She made a frustrated sound like she was in conflict with herself, dropping her head briefly to the door and then looking at me again.

"If you want to, you can share the room. If," she held out a finger in warning, "If you agree not to make a mess and to stay on your side of the room."

I smiled and walked back to the room, stepping past her.

"It's my side of the room and I'll make a mess if I want to."

She sighed and shut the door.

"There are extra blankets and pillows in the closet," Holly said. "You can make a bed on the floor."

She disappeared into the bathroom and came out several minutes later in stretchy pants and a sweatshirt similar to what she had worn on the train. She tucked into the bed and looked at me expectantly.

"Aren't you going to put on pajamas?" she asked.

"No need," I said.

I pulled off my shirt and put it aside, kicked off my shoes, and unhooked my belt. I saw her swallow hard as I unbuttoned my pants and color came to her cheeks. She rolled over onto her side and buried her head into the pillow to avoid looking at me. Down to my trunks, I laid out the blankets that I had found in the closet and settled onto the pillow.

"Ready?" she asked.

"Yep."

She reached over and turned off the lamp, sending the room into darkness. I heard her exhale softly as she relaxed, slipping closer to sleep.

"Why Hollister?" I asked.

"What?"

"When you filled out the registration card, you put down that your name is Hollister."

"It's a name that I sometimes pretended I had when I was younger."

"Why?"

"You heard my explanation about why my name is Holly," she said. "Would you want to go through life with that as your name?"

"I think that Holly sounds cute," I said. "What do you think it's like going through life being named after a cinnamon-sugar cracker?"

There was a brief pause before Holly spoke in a soft, unsure voice.

"I think Graham sounds delicious."