Chapter One
Editchick: So I made it through day 497 with
relative ease.
RunningMan: You know, at some point, you may
want to consider not counting the days anymore.
Editchick: Why?
RunningMan: I think it has something to do
with that healing process everybody talks about so much.
Editchick: How many days for you?
RunningMan: 752.
Editchick: Jeez. Practice what you
preach.
RunningMan: Yeah, I know. What are you doing
now?
Editchick: About to go to bed. Long day at
work. Must be a full moon tonight—the other editors in the office
were bouncing off the walls. I’m beat. You?
RunningMan: Got a few things to take care of
before I can sleep.
Editchick: You work too hard.
RunningMan: Wondered when you were going to
work that comment in. You say the same thing every night.
Editchick: Gotta stop and smell the roses,
Tom. What are you doing for the holidays?
RunningMan: Same thing as always. Flying
around the entire world spreading the joy and magic of the season
to millions of children in a single night.
Editchick: LOL! The man of mystery finally
revealed!
RunningMan: That’s me. Jolly old St. Nick.
What about you?
Editchick: Same as last year I suppose. Just
getting through the day.
RunningMan: How about getting through the day
with me?
Editchick: With you?
RunningMan: I’d like to spend Christmas with
you.
Editchick: You would?
RunningMan: What do you say, Noelle? After a
year of phone calls and IMs, don’t you think it’s time we finally
meet face to face?
Editchick: What about all those poor kids
waiting for Santa Claus? Won’t you be missed?
RunningMan: Even Santa deserves a day off. Is
that a yes?
Editchick: When and where?
RunningMan: I’ll make the plans, book us a
hotel somewhere nice. Leave it all to me. You won’t have to do
anything except pack.
Editchick: Sounds wonderful. I guess I’d
better call it a night. I’ve got work tomorrow and it’s getting
late.
RunningMan: Goodnight, Noelle.
Editchick: Goodnight, Tom
Noelle stared at the computer screen,
wondering what exactly she’d just done and trying to still the
initial panic she felt at agreeing to spend Christmas with a
virtual stranger.
He’s not a stranger, she muttered to herself.
He’s Tom.
She logged off her computer and unplugged the
Christmas tree lights in her living room before starting her
nightly routine. She checked the downstairs windows and doors,
making sure they were locked, and then headed upstairs to her
bedroom. The hardest thing after Troy’s death had been learning to
sleep in their old house alone. The second hardest thing had been
celebrating the holidays—any holiday—alone, although Christmas
certainly seemed to top the list.
She wondered if she’d ever have survived her
husband’s untimely death at all without Tom’s companionship. Her
grief counselor had hooked them up shortly after Troy passed
away—their common bond the fact that they’d both lost someone
they’d loved—a spouse—to cancer. Tom had become her anchor this
past year, never failing to contact her, whether by IM or email or
phone call.
Although he seemed to be on the road
constantly and he kept some erratic work hours, she was impressed
and amazed by his devotion to their long-distance relationship. If
anyone asked her who her best friend was, she would say Tom without
hesitation, despite never having seen his face. Hell, she didn’t
even know his last name.
Now she was going to be spending Christmas
with him. It didn’t seem possible that at last she would be meeting
the man who’d come to mean so much to her. She worried briefly that
perhaps the real man wouldn’t meet her expectations, especially
given that she was certain she’d fallen more than a little bit in
love with him.
She picked up her cell phone as she climbed
the stairs and checked the clock. It was past eleven. Julia would
probably kill her for calling so late, but she really needed to
talk to someone.
“Hello,” Julia’s drowsy voice
Editchick: So I made it through day 497 with
relative ease.
RunningMan: You know, at some point, you may
want to consider not counting the days anymore.
Editchick: Why?
RunningMan: I think it has something to do
with that healing process everybody talks about so much.
Editchick: How many days for you?
RunningMan: 752.
Editchick: Jeez. Practice what you
preach.
RunningMan: Yeah, I know. What are you doing
now?
Editchick: About to go to bed. Long day at
work. Must be a full moon tonight—the other editors in the office
were bouncing off the walls. I’m beat. You?
RunningMan: Got a few things to take care of
before I can sleep.
Editchick: You work too hard.
RunningMan: Wondered when you were going to
work that comment in. You say the same thing every night.
Editchick: Gotta stop and smell the roses,
Tom. What are you doing for the holidays?
RunningMan: Same thing as always. Flying
around the entire world spreading the joy and magic of the season
to millions of children in a single night.
Editchick: LOL! The man of mystery finally
revealed!
RunningMan: That’s me. Jolly old St. Nick.
What about you?
Editchick: Same as last year I suppose. Just
getting through the day.
RunningMan: How about getting through the day
with me?
Editchick: With you?
RunningMan: I’d like to spend Christmas with
you.
Editchick: You would?
RunningMan: What do you say, Noelle? After a
year of phone calls and IMs, don’t you think it’s time we finally
meet face to face?
Editchick: What about all those poor kids
waiting for Santa Claus? Won’t you be missed?
RunningMan: Even Santa deserves a day off. Is
that a yes?
Editchick: When and where?
RunningMan: I’ll make the plans, book us a
hotel somewhere nice. Leave it all to me. You won’t have to do
anything except pack.
Editchick: Sounds wonderful. I guess I’d
better call it a night. I’ve got work tomorrow and it’s getting
late.
RunningMan: Goodnight, Noelle.
Editchick: Goodnight, Tom
Noelle stared at the computer screen,
wondering what exactly she’d just done and trying to still the
initial panic she felt at agreeing to spend Christmas with a
virtual stranger.
He’s not a stranger, she muttered to herself.
He’s Tom.
She logged off her computer and unplugged the
Christmas tree lights in her living room before starting her
nightly routine. She checked the downstairs windows and doors,
making sure they were locked, and then headed upstairs to her
bedroom. The hardest thing after Troy’s death had been learning to
sleep in their old house alone. The second hardest thing had been
celebrating the holidays—any holiday—alone, although Christmas
certainly seemed to top the list.
She wondered if she’d ever have survived her
husband’s untimely death at all without Tom’s companionship. Her
grief counselor had hooked them up shortly after Troy passed
away—their common bond the fact that they’d both lost someone
they’d loved—a spouse—to cancer. Tom had become her anchor this
past year, never failing to contact her, whether by IM or email or
phone call.
Although he seemed to be on the road
constantly and he kept some erratic work hours, she was impressed
and amazed by his devotion to their long-distance relationship. If
anyone asked her who her best friend was, she would say Tom without
hesitation, despite never having seen his face. Hell, she didn’t
even know his last name.
Now she was going to be spending Christmas
with him. It didn’t seem possible that at last she would be meeting
the man who’d come to mean so much to her. She worried briefly that
perhaps the real man wouldn’t meet her expectations, especially
given that she was certain she’d fallen more than a little bit in
love with him.
She picked up her cell phone as she climbed
the stairs and checked the clock. It was past eleven. Julia would
probably kill her for calling so late, but she really needed to
talk to someone.
“Hello,” Julia’s drowsy voice
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