The Christmas Blanket

Which meant it must have killed him when Cole passed.

And then to have Dawn go just as quickly…

My stomach was sour all day at the thought of it, and I couldn’t release the thought of it. All I could think about were the memories of the times we’d all shared together, the stories River had told me about his childhood, the way Dawn and Cole had helped us as newlyweds just as much as they could manage. I thought about how fiercely they loved their son, and me by proxy.

And I thought about our last conversation, a phone call that was quick and shallow and cut short by me needing to catch a train.

I didn’t know that would be my last memory of them.

I didn’t know those would be the last words we ever spoke.

The cabin felt heavy and dark all day long, regardless of the Christmas cheer I’d tried to bring in with the decorations the night before. Even when I stared at that tree and hummed Christmas music to myself, I couldn’t shake it.

It felt like a funeral years too late.

Maybe that’s why I was exhausted by the time the sun set, and I wondered if I should just go to bed and get this day over with so I could wake up on a new one. I was just about to concede to that notion when a low hum reverberated through the cabin, and the lights flickered before cutting out altogether.

The kind of silence that engulfed us was all-encompassing.

It was almost like a blanket, the way it fell on us, heavy and thick. It lasted for a split second that seemed to stretch on for hours before Moose’s nails clicked and clacked on the wood. He barked for good measure, as if we didn’t already realize there was something going on.

“Shit,” River mumbled under his breath. He’d been reading at the table, and thanks to the little bit of light the fire was still giving off, I could see his frown as he closed his book.

“Power’s out?”

“Seems like it.” He let out a long sigh. “Can’t say I’m surprised. If anything, I’m shocked we didn’t lose it last night with the wind. I’ve got some candles and flashlights… just have to find them—AH, SHIT!”

There was a loud thump preceding his curse, and I shot upright from where I’d been reclining on the couch, looking over my shoulder where he was by the bed now. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” he grumbled. “Just took a few centimeters off my big toe.”

I tried not to laugh, thankful that my smile was at least covered by the semi-darkness.

A few seconds later, the cabin came more into view, thanks to a little ray of light coming from a small flashlight in River’s hands. He handed me one, too, and then he started pulling out candles, setting them up in various corners of the cabin and sparking them to life.

Once they were all lit, he turned out his flashlight, and I did the same.

“Well, this is kind of cozy,” I said with a smile.

River chuckled. “Always finding the silver lining.”

“More of a golden glow this time.”

He returned my smile for a split second before making his way back to the table, and he opened his book where he’d left off, positioning himself near a candle for more light.

I watched him reading for a while, the light and shadows playing over his face the way they had the night before. Only this time, they did a sort of dance, the flickering flames waltzing with the darkness.

I’d been so ready to pass out before. But now, with a fresh shot of adrenaline, I found my boredom suffocating and my need to do something, anything, growing too much to bear.

“It’s Christmas Eve,” I said, popping up onto my knees and draping my arms over the back of the couch. “We should do something.”

“Like what?”

I frowned, because we couldn’t watch a Christmas movie since he didn’t have a TV, and he didn’t have any games other than the ones we could play with a deck of cards. “How about we turn on the radio?” I suggested. “Find a station that’s playing Christmas music. And we can bake cookies!”

“We can’t bake anything,” River corrected, eyes still on his book. “Power’s out, dum-dum.”

I threw the little pillow on the couch at him. “Hey!”

He chuckled, catching the pillow with ease and tucking it under his arm before he shut his book and looked at me with a sigh. “Just pointing out the facts. Plus, I don’t have the ingredients to make cookies.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Fine. No cookies.” I paused. “What do you have that we could make good use of?”

River let out another long breath, but then something of a glint found his eyes, and he smirked. “I have eggnog,” he said. “And rum.”