Free Comfort & Joy by Kristin Hannah

nice.”

    “I’ve not talked to women well in a long time. It doesn’t come so easily anymore.”

    “It’s okay,” I say, feeling oddly connected to him. We are survivors of divorce, both of us; victims of a common war. Though I’ve been divorced for months, I hardly feel single. I feel . . . halved, or broken perhaps, and Daniel is right: conversation no longer comes as easily as it once did.

    That’s all it takes—the word, divorce—and I’m plunged back into reality. Suddenly I’m thinking of Stacey and Thom, of who we all used to be, then I’m thinking of the tree strapped to my Volvo, dying in the blackness of long-term parking.

    “Joy, are you okay?”

    Bobby’s voice pulls me back. I smile at him, hoping it looks real. “I’m fine.”

    “Of course she’s okay,” Daniel says, “it’s Christmastime. And now, as much as I’d love to chat with you and Joy, it’s time for your doctor’s appointment.”

    “Aw, nuts, ” Bobby whines. “I don’t wanna go.”

    “I know, boyo.”

    “Can Joy come? Please?” he pleads, looking from his father to me. “I’m scared.”

    “But I’ll be with you, Bobby,” he says.

    “I need Joy.”

    I see how hurt Daniel is by that.

    “I don’t think it’s a good idea,” I say, studying Daniel’s profile.

    “Pleeease, Joy?” Bobby whines. Tears glaze his eyes.

    I can’t disappoint him. “Okay, but I’ll stay in the waiting room.”

    Bobby wiggles out of his dad’s arms and slides to the floor. “I gotta get Freddy.”

    As Bobby runs up the stairs, I stand there, staring at Daniel, who is looking now at the Christmas tree with an unvarnished sadness. I can see how much it has wounded him, this decorating of ours, and perhaps, his absence from it. I should say something, do something, but any word from me will be an intrusion.

    And then my chance is gone. Daniel is moving past me, going up the stairs. Fifteen minutes later, he is back in the lobby, dressed in worn jeans and a forest green sweater. We leave the lodge and head for the truck. Bobby opens the door and climbs up into the cab, settling into the middle section of the bench seat. He is clutching a battered, well-loved stuffed lamb. I slide into place beside him. Daniel shuts the door and goes around to the driver’s side.

    The drive to town takes no time at all, but even in the mile and a half or so between there and here, I am blown away by the beauty of this place. Giant evergreen trees grow everywhere—along the roadsides, in great, dark forests that block the path to the snow-covered mountains in the distance.

    “It’s beautiful out here,” I say, seeing the ghostly image of my own face in the window glass; behind it, all around me, are the green and black blur of the trees we pass.

    The town is exactly as I remember it: a few blocks of quaint storefronts, draped in holiday garb. Traffic is stopped here by signs and pedestrians; there are no traffic lights. On this bright blue afternoon the sidewalks are busy. Everywhere I look, pods of people are gathered to talk. It looks like a Hallmark card until we turn a corner.

    Here, the street is overrun with people and vans.

    “Damn it,” Daniel says, slamming on the brakes. “This is getting old.”

    I am just about to ask what’s going on when I see the letters painted on the side of the van beside me.

    KING TV.

    It’s the media.

    The crash.

    Of course. I turn my face away from the window instinctively. I know they aren’t looking for me—can’t be—but, it’s better to be safe than sorry. Still, I catch a glimpse of the police station and the crowd clamoring at the door.

    Daniel turns onto another road and we are in the clear. He maneuvers the old truck into a parking spot and kills the engine, which slowly sputters and dies.

    In the silence that follows, Bobby looks up at his dad. “How come I gotta see the doctor again?”

    Daniel unhooks Bobby’s seat belt. “You’ve had some hard knocks,