“Be careful, they’re hot.”
She poked at her dinner with a fork. “I can see that.”
Macy speared a carrot, blew on it then ate it. She smiled. Then she tried the meat. “That’s really good. I’ve never cooked over a campfire before,” Macy said, “or under it.”
“I used to go camping with my friend and his dad. There’s nothing better than food cooked over a campfire.”
“Did your own dad ever take you camping?”
“There are two kinds of families in this world: those who camp and those who don’t. We were a don’t.”
“The Hummels were a don’t too. Dick—Mr. Hummel—took us once. It was also our last family outing.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing in particular. It’s just—some people make life harder than it needs to be. Everything in that home was a drama.” She sighed. “I’m so glad I never have to see them again.”
When we finished eating, I went back to my car and brought back two hangers I had unbent for roasting marshmallows. I reached into the sack and brought out a package of graham crackers, a bag of marshmallows and two Hershey chocolate bars. “S’mores,” I said.
“I love s’mores.”
“Of course you do. They’re made with chocolate.”
“You haven’t known me for two weeks, and you already know all you need to know to get along with me.”
Macy’s marshmallows kept igniting like a torch until I taught her how to carefully rotate them above the coals. After we finished eating, I said, “I have one more surprise.” I went back to my car and retrieved my guitar. She clapped when she saw it.
“I was hoping you’d play for me.”
“I was hoping you’d say that.”
We sat on the picnic bench facing the fire, and I played for nearly an hour. Being with Macy was wonderful. The moon was bright above us, illuminating the campground in a solemn blue hue beneath the trees’ skeletal canopy. The snow dampened the sound of my guitar and the notes fell deep and stirring. Macy became very reflective and the flames from the fire danced in her eyes. After seven or eight songs I lay the guitar flat on the picnic table.
“I could listen to you for hours,” Macy said softly.
“I love the guitar. There’s no pretense to it. It is what it is.”
“Sounds like you’re talking about yourself,” Macy said.
I didn’t say anything.
“So why did you tell me to bring a swimsuit?”
I grinned. “Oh, that was just to throw you off the trail. You didn’t bring it, did you?”
“I’m wearing it under my clothes.”
“Sorry,” I laughed.
She just shook her head. “So tell me something about Mark Smart that no one else in the whole world knows.”
“Just about anything would fit that criteria.”
“Then tell me something that no one would guess. Like, what’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever done?”
I thought about it. “Okay. When I was seventeen, some buddies and I borrowed a mannequin from a thrift shop…”
She stopped me. “How do you borrow a mannequin?”
“Okay, we stole a mannequin. But we intended to return it.”
“Go on.”
“We borrowed a mannequin, then we carried it up the back of the drive-in movie theater, and then during the show we threw it off in front of the screen so it looked like someone jumped.”
“That’s pretty funny. Weird, maybe even a little twisted, but funny.”
“Yeah, people were honking and stuff. We climbed down pretty fast and got out of there.”
“With or without the mannequin?”
I had to think about it. “Without.”
“So you really did steal it.”
“Why are you so concerned about the mannequin?”
“I’m not. I just wanted to know if you’re a thief.”
“I was a mannequin thief. But now I’m reformed. I haven’t stolen a single mannequin since then. In fact, I can walk through the entire menswear section at J. C. Penney’s and never even touch one.”
“Okay. Reformed mannequin thief. So what’s your biggest dream?”
“Biggest dream would be to hear a song I wrote playing on the radio.”
“That would be cool.”
I nodded. “Yeah, it would be. But I would also be happy to just open up a little guitar shop somewhere and teach and sell guitars.”
She smiled at this. “That sounds nice. Simple.”
“Simple’s good.”
“Yeah, simple’s good.”
“So how about you? What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever done?”
Her mouth pursed a little. “Nothing I’d want to share.”
“Hold on, I just shared with you my criminal activities…”
“Trust me on this.”
I looked at her quizzically. I couldn’t believe that she was capable of anything more criminal than tearing a DO NOT REMOVE label off a mattress.
“Okay, then what’s your biggest dream?”
Her lips curved in a gentle smile. “My biggest dream is to have a family. Like the kind on TV reruns where there’s a mother and a father and a couple kids and we eat dinner together at night and go on summer vacations to Yellowstone. I don’t know if anyone does that anymore, but it’s what I want.”
I smiled at her fantasy. “Okay, so tell me a secret about you. It doesn’t have to be criminal,” I added.
She thought a moment. “Okay, there are two things. One is a little weird.”
“Go on,” I coaxed.
“I write poems.”
“Poems?”
“I have a whole notebook of them.”
“That’s not weird.”
“No, that’s the other thing.”
“Then we’ll get to that later. Let’s hear a poem.”
“If I can remember one. I know, about a week ago I wrote a Christmas poem for Jo.” Macy sat up straight as if delivering a formal recitation. “I should tell you that Jo just loves Christmas and she has all these traditions. One of them is we always read in Second Luke before we share gifts. My poem is called ‘What Christmas Asks,’ by Macy Wood.” She cleared her throat. I smiled at her introduction.
“Our family gathers ’round open script,
A Yule observance yearly kept,
And reads the lines of Bible writ,
The story that all year has slept.
A Mother Mary in travail
In search of place that she might birth,
That sin and heartbreak not prevail,
A son to bring into the earth.
And as she crossed from door to door,
A stranger in unwelcome place,
Rejection met with each implore,
This small request from heaven’s face.
And yet, we too must make this choice,
As Christmas moves from inn to inn,
If we will hear its gentle voice
And open up and let it in.
We read of shepherds who, in kind,
On darkened night watched o’er their sheep,
Then, beckoned once, left all behind
To find that holy child in sleep.
At Christmas we too are called,
To leave our troubled lives of care,
To set aside our burdened minds,
With God and man our hearts to share.
We read of wise men, traveled far,
Their gaze set on a bright new light
And lifted to exalted star,
Inspired by that celestial sight.
And Christmas too does ask of us,
To raise our eyes to higher spheres,
Believe the best in life and man,
Embrace new hope, release our fears.
And so this scripture, read anew,
Was not just penned for days all past.
With each new year our hearts renew
And this, of us, each Christmas asks.”
/> She looked at me expectantly. “What do you think?”
I applauded. “Bravo. That was great.”
“Thank you. Thank you very much,” she replied theatrically. “Jo really liked it. She made me recite it, like, a dozen times.”
“It’s a good poem.”
“Like I said, Jo’s a real Christmasphile.” The corners of her mouth rose. “I’m not sure that’s a word.”
“Sounds like one to me.”
“You can tell by how our home was decorated. Jo gets the decorations out before Halloween.”
“I saw them. How about you? You a fan of Christmas?”
She paused. “I’m warming to it. I had a long string of pretty bad Christmases.”
“With your parents?”
“No, those were okay. At least what I can remember of them. But Christmas at the Hummels’ isn’t something I like to think about.”
“What was it like—Scrooge?”
“No, actually, Irene bought a lot of gifts. Even for me. But gifts are easy. I just remember lining up with the other kids to say thank you and kiss her, and she would never let me. It was her way of reminding me I was different.”
I frowned at this. “So what’s the other thing you were thinking about telling me but thought was too weird?”
“I don’t think I should tell you. You might think I’m… spooky. Or crazy.”
“Spooky or crazy? Now you have to tell me.”
“No, I don’t.”
“You can’t set me up like that and then hold out.”
“Of course I can. It’s what girls do best.”
I grinned. “Please.”
“Okay. But don’t think I’m weird. Promise me.”
“I don’t know what I’m promising, but I promise.”
“Life Scout honor?”
“I’d go Eagle if I could.”
“Okay then.” She paused as if she were standing on the edge of a high dive unsure whether to jump or not. “Okay.” She took a deep breath. “I have dreams that come true.”
I nodded as if I knew what she meant. “What do you mean?”
“I dream about things and then they happen.”
“What sort of things?”
“All sorts of things.”
“Like what?”
“Well, for one, I dreamt you. The night before you came to the Hut, I had this dream that I was about to lock up the coffee shop when a snowman came to the door.”
“A snowman?”
“You were covered in snow when I first saw you.”
“Okay, it’s a stretch, but I’ll go with it. So what did this snowman want?”
“There’s more. He wanted to use the phone because his sled was broken.”
I raised one brow. “Okay, not bad.”
“Then I gave him a ride home. So he wouldn’t melt.”
“Alright, that’s eerie.”
“I know. It happens a lot.”
“How often?”
“Every few months. It usually happens before there’s some big change, or before… before I meet someone who is going to be important in my life. I dreamt of Jo just before I met her. At the time I was living in a homeless shelter. I dreamt that this crying angel came and took me to her home.”
“I think that’s amazing.”
“I don’t know what to think of it. Not all my dreams are special. Most of them are just like everyone else’s, but I can tell when a dream is more than just a dream. It feels different.”
“In what way?”
“It’s hard to explain. It feels more like a memory. Sometimes I’ll have the same dream more than once.”
“Have you had any more dreams about me?”
“No. But I did have one last night that bothered me.”
“What was it?”
“I was looking for Noel, and for some reason I had to go back to the Hummels’ to find her. Noel was hiding in Mrs. Hummel’s bedroom, and I had to beg her to let her out.”
“Did she?”
“Yes. But I still didn’t see her. I don’t remember why.”
“What do you think it means?”
She gestured with both hands. “That’s the thing. I don’t know. I never know. That’s what I hate about it. What good is a dream when you can’t understand it until after it comes true?” She shivered.
“It’s getting really cold. Do you want to go back?”
“Not really. But maybe we could get closer. You know, to warm up?”
“I’ve just the thing.” I took my guitar back to the car and brought back a thick wool blanket. I sat down next to her and threw the blanket over both of us.
“You had this all planned out,” she said.
“Of course I did. This is the perfect place to bring a date. It’s romantic, secluded and very cold.”
“So this whole thing, the guitar, the blanket, the full moon, it was all just a setup?”
“I didn’t have much to do with the moon, but besides that—yes.”
She smiled. “Good.”
We looked into each other’s eyes, then simultaneously leaned forward and kissed for the first time. I don’t remember the sequence of events after that, but it was all a pleasant blur. The softness and warmth of her body against mine, the happy sighs. The feeling of perfect contentment. An hour later our fire was dead and the temperatures had fallen well below freezing, too cold even for our body heat. So I started the car, and while Macy warmed up inside, I shoveled snow onto the fire pit. Then we drove back down to the valley. On the drive back I said, “Salt Lake has such great canyons. You and Joette must come up here all the time.”
“No, we never come. Jo had something terrible happen up here.”
“In Big Cottonwood Canyon?”
“Her little girl fell into the creek and drowned.”
I turned and looked at her. “Where we just were?”
“No, it’s a campsite a little ways up.”
“How long ago was that?”
“About five years ago. Just before I met her.”
“I’m sorry. I should have asked before I took you there.”
“No, it’s okay. I’ve been up there before. I just don’t come up with Jo, and I won’t tell her about us coming here tonight. It’s not like she’d be mad or anything, it would just remind her.” She turned to me. “So if she asks, tell her we went to Liberty Park.”
“Liberty Park,” I repeated. “Will she ask where we went?”
“Most definitely. You should know she’s very protective of me. She’ll be waiting up. That’s just the way she is.”
“That’s nice,” I decided.
“Yeah. It is.” She turned to me. “I’ve been meaning to ask you—what are you doing for Thanksgiving?”
“Watching TV. Probably eating a TV dinner.”
“That’s pathetic. Come have dinner with us. It’s going to be great this year. This is the first year in ten years Joette has the holiday off.”
“People eat at Denny’s on Thanksgiving Day?” I asked.
“Thanksgiving’s a big day at Denny’s. They have a turkey, mashed potatoes and dressing special with a piece of pumpkin pie for just $7.99. It’s not bad.”
I thought Macy sounded a little like an advertisement. In spite of her glowing review, I found the idea of eating Thanksgiving dinner there a little depressing. Of course someone who was planning on spending Thanksgiving at home with a Hungry-Man turkey dinner shouldn’t cast stones. Or, at least, cranberry sauce.
“Will Joette mind if I crash your dinner?” I asked.
“Of course not. She likes you.”
“She doesn’t know me.”
“Better than you think. I tell her everything.”
It was past midnight when I pulled in to Macy’s driveway. The lights were still on inside the house. I killed the engine.
“Thank you for taking me out,” she said. “It was fun.”
“Thank you for going. It was fun. Especially the kissing part,” I added.
She smiled. “That was fun.” She looked into my eyes. “May I ask you something personal?”
“Sure.”
“When we first met, you told me your girlfriend had just dropped you. Were you serious about her?”
“I don’t know.” I looked at Macy and smiled. “I guess that’s the answer. If you don’t know if you’re serious, you’re not. She wanted to get married.”
“And you?”
“We talked about it. We’d dated forever, like four years. I just didn’t know if she was the one. You’d think after four years you’d know.”
“I think after four years you would have left if she wasn’t. So what was she like?”
“Tennys was…” I hesitated. “Tennys is the kind of girl you describe in stereotypes.”
“What do you mean?”
“She was popular. Homecoming queen, head cheerleader, you know.”
Macy stifled a laugh.
“What?”
“It’s just…I don’t see you dating the homecoming queen.”
I didn’t tell her that I was voted homecoming king. “Why?”
“You’re much… deeper.”
“No, we’re both pretty shallow. Between the two of us we couldn’t make a decent wading pool.”
Macy laughed. “What was her personality like? Typical snob?”
“No, Tennys was nice.”
“Nice?”
“Yeah. She was really pleasant.”
“What does that mean?”
“She just kind of went along with everything. No drama, no problems. The joy of the unexamined life.”
“Just like me,” Macy said, then burst out laughing. “You should have married her when you had the chance.”
I smiled and pulled Macy closer. “Yeah, I probably should have.”
“So are you still planning on coming to dinner tomorrow at Bonnie’s?”
I had forgotten about it. “Of course. Do you want me to drive?”
“If you don’t mind. I don’t like driving that much.”
“That’s because you’re bad at it.”
She hit me. “I am not bad at it.”
“Yes, you are. You almost hit a light post the night we met.”
“It was a blizzard. I should have let you walk home like you were going to.”
“You should have. Now you’re stuck with me.”
“Yeah. I hope so.”