A Carol for Christmas by Robin Lee Hatcher

Plenty of careers have started decades after musicians got married and had fami- lies. You keep that in mind. It’s never too late.”
    It felt too late. Here she was, standing beside a huge country star, a man only about ten years older than she was, a man whose face and voice were known by thousands upon thousands of people. Would she have been in his posi- tion ten years from now if she’d chosen differently?
    From the corner of her eye, she saw Arlen and Ruth weaving a path through their guests. When she looked in their direction, her mother-in-law made a subtle but defi- nite motion with her head, indicating Carol should join them. She didn’t want to follow. She wanted to stay right where she was and let herself pretend that her dreams could still take wing.
    But she didn’t stay. “Excuse me a moment, Travis.” She turned from him and followed her in-laws out of the living room and through the dining room.
    Swinging the kitchen door open before her, she opened her mouth to inquire what was wrong. Then she saw Jona- than, leaning against the refrigerator, and the question lodged in her throat. His hair was disheveled. His face and clothes were smudged with what looked like soot, and his left hand, which he held against his chest, was wrapped in gauze.
    “How bad is it?” his father asked.
    “Not bad. That one storeroom is ruined, but there wasn’t much merchandise in it. We got out everything we could.
    No real smoke or water damage inside the store itself, just in the storage area. It could’ve been worse. Much worse.”
    “No customers injured?” “No.”
    “You should have sent for me.”
    “I took care of it, Dad. That’s what I’m there for, isn’t it?”
    Carol stepped forward, drawing her husband’s gaze. “Johnny, what happened?” The anger she’d felt a short time ago had dissipated like mist. “Were you in an accident?”
    “There was a fire at the store. It’s out. Everything’s okay.”
    A fire? Her heart tripped. “What happened to your
    hand?”
    “I cut it on something. It needed a few stitches. It hurts, but it’s nothing serious.” He gave her a reassuring smile. “Honest.” He looked down at his dirty suit. “But I don’t think I’m in any condition to mingle with Mom’s guests. Would you mind if I went on home and skipped the party?”
    Carol stepped closer. “Are you sure you’re all right?” “I’m sure.” He leaned forward and kissed her lightly on
    the lips. “I’m okay. Just badly in need of a shower. You stay here and have fun, and I’ll see you when you get home.”
    Everything in her wanted to stay. Jonathan was all right. He’d said so himself. Carol wanted to return to stand beside Travis and hear him tell her again that she had the talent to make it as a country singer. She wanted to talk about his agent and ask him questions about Nashville and men-
    tion her attempts at songwriting. She wanted to know more about going on the road. She even wanted to know why he’d never married. She wanted to pretend for an evening that things were different.
    Guilt washed over her, shame that she thought of her own enjoyment when her husband was hurt. He could have been killed. “No. I’ll go with you, Johnny.” She turned her head. “Ruth, will you — ”
    “I’ll make your excuses to everyone. You take Jona- than home, in your car. We’ll drive his over tomorrow afternoon.”
    Wordlessly, Carol nodded as she reached to take hold of Jonathan’s arm, then walked beside him toward the back entrance of the house. For her, the party was over.
    Q

    Carol came awake with a jolt, the nightmare linger- ing at the edges of her consciousness. Fear lingered too. She turned her head on the pillow and listened. Jonathan’s breathing was deep and steady.
    She slipped from the bed and padded on bare feet to the window, grabbing the down comforter from the foot of the bed as she passed. The air in the bedroom was chilly. Jona- than turned the heat down to sixty