Some Things Never Change

In my files, I have a number of holiday oriented stories, all of which have a dark or depressing theme. I'm not sure what that's all about, but this is one I wrote in December 2008.

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Some Things Never Change

It was the Christmas party that everyone looked forward to attending. Cindy Warren was a hostess in the truest sense, not because she wanted accolades for her beautiful home or amazing buffet, but because she loved to give their friends the opportunity to leave behind them, just for one night, the troubles of their lives, to spend a few hours being treated as the most important people in the world. Thanks to her husband’s successful business ventures, Cindy needed to spare no expense in order to perform this annual holiday miracle for those she loved.

This year was no different. It was nearing ten o'clock, and the party was in full swing. An ornately decorated Christmas tree towered under the vaulted ceiling of the Warrens’ spacious foyer, tonight turned into a miniature ballroom. Cindy wove through the party to spent time with each of their guests, her smile bright, her long, golden hair wound elegantly behind her, pinned low at her neck, and her silver dress shimmering as it clung to her svelte form, its iridescent beads reflecting the soft lights around her.

In the corner opposite the tree, a three-piece ensemble began to play a dreamy version of Silent Night. Cindy smiled. It was her favorite Christmas carol. She glanced around the room, taking it all in...the lights, the sounds of the music and the people. Everything hummed, content and perfect. Cindy loved this night. 

From behind, she felt Robert wrap his arms around her. He softly kissed her neck before turning her toward him, embracing her again and leading her into a slow sway.

"I think this may be the best one yet," he said, kissing the top of her head.

She nestled her cheek against his and closed her eyes. "You say that every year," she teased.

"Well, that's because it's true," he kissed her again. "Some things will never change."

Cindy looked up into her husband’s eyes. "I love you," she smiled.

Suddenly, from seemingly nowhere, a cold wisp of air touched Cindy’s bare shoulders. She shivered. Pulling back from Robert a little, she looked to the front door, but it was shut. No one appeared to have entered or left. She felt the cold air again. She looked around quickly to see if the guests noticed it, but everyone continued their dancing and talking and conversations, seemingly unaffected.

Cindy looked back to Robert, but his smile from a moment ago was gone. In its place, there was a pained look. "Sweetheart?” she asked, “What's wrong?"

"Mr. Warren?" a woman's voice said. "It's ten o'clock."

Confused, Cindy looked around, trying to identify the woman who was telling her husband the time. She saw no one.

"Robert? Honey?" she said again, now with a hint of panic in her voice. But Robert didn’t answer.

Cindy stood rooted to her place on the dance floor while her guests continued to glide around her, almost in a blur. The music sounded different now. Tinny, artificial. The lights appeared to dim and Robert, her love, was moving slowly away from her. She wanted to go after him, to cry out, but she couldn't move, and no words would come. So she simply stood there, as the party whirled around her, a mawkish parody of what it had been just moments before.

"Mr. Warren?" the woman said again.

Robert took his eyes from his wife and glanced at the familiar face of the gray haired woman dressed in white. Today she was wearing a small Christmas wreath pin on her sweater. 

He nodded.

"We'll call you…if there's any change," she offered softly, trying to ease the man's pain.

"I know,” Robert sighed. “Thank you." As he bent over to kiss what seemed only the shell of his beautiful, beloved Cindy, he knew he would not get that call. In all these months, it had never come. "Merry Christmas, Marie," he said, giving her shoulders a small hug, "But some things will never change."

As Robert left the room, Marie wiped a tear from her eye before it fell. Thirty years as a nurse hadn't managed to harden her from things like this. She needlessly tidied the blankets of Cindy's bed.

"Merry Christmas, dear," she said to Cindy, and then turned to leave so she could check on her next patient.

And so no one was there to see the tears as they began to stream from Cindy's closed eyes.