Chapter 1
Travis threw back the covers irritatedly and huffed a breath of frustration as he slammed his arms down at his sides. He pressed his eyes closed and shook his head in disbelief at another completely sleepless night. His body was drenched from hot flashes, courtesy of the chronic pain that wracked his body. He tried to force himself to relax, his hands gripped in the sheets he lay upon, as he waited for the ceiling fan he used even in early December to dry the perspiration from his body.
He could hear the soft hum of Scotty’s television on the other side of the house. He’d tried sleeping with the television on. He’d even put it on the Disney Channel, thinking how brutal could a Disney show get? It’d be easy to sleep through. But he’d been shocked into wakefulness anyway after only a few precious minutes of sleep. Seems one of the Disney channel actresses had a voice very much like a certain someone that was never, ever far from his thoughts. Hearing that voice had jerked him awake, and made him hurt all over again when he realized she wasn’t here, and he had no one to blame but himself.
“No more fucking Disney Channel at night,” he mumbled, sitting up and turning to place his foot on the floor. Travis looked down at the stump of his leg, which now consisted of from just below the knee joint and up. It never stopped throbbing. And there were times he could swear the limb was still there. The feelings of the skin burning, of the bones shattering, were as real as when the injury occurred. He reached for the prosthetic he wore each and every day, and began the process of attaching it securely to his leg. “May as well get something done,” he mumbled to himself as he rose from the bed to pull his pants on.
Travis walked into the kitchen and started his first pot of coffee. When he opened his cabinet to get a coffee cup, he grabbed the first one he saw. But, as he closed the cabinet door, his eyes fell on another sitting closer to the back of the shelf. He opened the cabinet again and slowly reached for the brightly colored mug. He set the first one back on the shelf and smiled as he looked down at the mug he now held. It was in the shape of portly Santa Claus, with a black beard and red eyes, though his red outfit was true to tradition. Emblazoned across his belt was the name ‘Satan Clause’ instead of Santa Claus.
Travis held the mug in two hands and brought it closer to his face. He sniffed the mug, knowing full well that there was no scent of the woman that had given it to him, but he tried anyway. Travis closed his eyes and was back in the living room of his home, on that first Christmas he was back from overseas. He could hear them laughing outside as they got out of the car. He could hear the click of the doorknob as Libby opened the door, and he could see the joy on her face as she stepped through the door, her arms loaded with packages, yet still looking over her shoulder to be sure that Scotty was right behind her.
“We’re back!” she singsonged.
“Weren’t gone long,” Travis grumbled.
“We’ve been gone about seven hours! That’s a long time to go Christmas shopping!” Libby answered.
“Told you before you left it wasn't necessary,” Travis answered. He noticed her smile falter briefly, and though somewhere deep inside it tugged at his guilt, it wasn’t enough to make him back off.
“It is necessary. We’ve waited a long time for you to be home with us at Christmas,” Libby said. “Once the tree is up and all the gifts are under it, you’ll feel more like yourself.”
Travis had turned to leave the living room, but when she spoke of a tree and feeling more like himself, he reached out and grabbed the recliner next to him to steady himself as he spun to answer her with a snarl. “What is going to make you understand? I will never be whoever it is you thought I was! I don’t want a goddamn tree, I don’t want to celebrate Christmas. I just want to be fucking left alone. You have no place here. Go!”
Libby had looked at him silently for long minutes, and he’d have sworn he could both hear and see her heart breaking. Slowly she’d nodded and stepped over to the couch to place the packages she held onto its cushions. “I understand,” she said quietly. She’d turned to walk out of the door and stopped beside Scotty who stood glaring at Travis with an angry expression. “Now, don’t open your gifts until Christmas, okay? Just because Travis doesn’t want to celebrate, doesn’t mean you can’t. Most of those are for you. Merry Christmas, Scotty.” Libby had hugged Scotty and kissed his cheek before walking out of their house and quietly closing the door behind herself.
Scotty had turned on him then. “What the hell is wrong with you? Libby didn’t deserve that!”
“It’s none of your business,” Travis answered, the Tiger that lived deep inside him going back and forth between threatening him and clawing at his insides to go after Libby and make things right.
“It is my business! She took care of me the whole time you were gone. The whole time! And she never once made me feel like I wasn’t welcome. She missed you as much as I did. She loves you. We both waited for you to come home! We prayed every single day and planned for when you’d get here. And for what? So that when you did finally get home you could treat us all like crap?!”
Travis stood there, so lost in his own misery that he had no idea if the man he used to be even existed anymore. “I am not the male she loved. I am not the male you remember. I never will be again. Better for you both to figure that out now,” he said without any emotion at all.
“You’re right. The Travis I looked up to all my life was a good male. You? You’re nothing,” Scotty said, snatching up the packages that Libby had left on the sofa and stalking toward his room.
Travis allowed his body to sink down into the recliner he’d been holding onto for support. He took a deep breath and sat there, looking around the lonely living room. His eyes fell on a small box that had tumbled off the sofa and onto the floor. Struggling to get to his feet, he finally walked over to the sofa and managed to pick up the box without falling on his face. He read the tag, handwritten in Libby’s loopy script. ‘For my favorite grumpy Santa.’
Travis opened the box and lifted out a Santa mug. Only Santa was Satan, dressed as Santa. One corner of his mouth lifted up, threatening to break into a smile. But then his face reflected the pain he felt at remembering how they’d gone out of their way to find the most inappropriate holiday gifts for each other when they were kids. He still had the Frankenstein Nutcracker she’d given him somewhere around here. Slowly, so to be sure that he didn’t lose his balance, he made his way to the kitchen and reverently placed the Satan Clause mug in the cabinet with the rest of the coffee mugs. Then he made his way to his bedroom and after flopping down on his bed, allowed himself to fall into the vat of self pity he’d lived in since returning home without his leg — since returning home less than a whole male.
Travis’s head shot up and he looked around the kitchen as the coffee pot signaled its completion of the pot he’d put on. He’d been so lost in the memory that he’d forgotten for a moment, exactly where and when he actually was. Examining the mug in his hand once more, he reached for the coffee pot, poured himself a cup, and lifted it into the air slightly. “Merry Christmas, Libby. May this one heal your heart.” Quietly he made his way out to the front porch and chose a rocking chair to rest in while he sipped his coffee and watched the moonglow on the fresh snowfall in the quiet predawn hours.