Home Alone

It was clear that Carrie’s unexpected guests didn’t understand her aversion to all things festive

- Alison Carter

Carrie Mason liked Christmas in her coffee shop precisely because it was guaranteed to be quiet. Really quiet.

Sure, she liked it at other times of year, too, busy with customers, a cappuccino sliding over the counter every minute. But there was satisfaction in surveying her domain when it was scrubbed and silent and everything was in its place and set to stay that way. Carrie liked the solitude, and she especially liked it, because the rest of the country was crammed into stuffy dining rooms, fighting, eating too much, wasting their money and fighting some more.

The door opened and an older woman stood in the doorway and shook heavy snow from her clothes, careful to make it land outside. A chilly, metallic scent drifted in with her. It spoke to Carrie of worse weather ahead.

‘Gosh, open on Christmas Eve,’ the woman said.

Carrie smiled. ‘What can I get you?’ Some people did still go out on the day before Christmas; not everyone was wrapping pointless gifts.

‘Hot chocolate, if you have it,’ said the woman.

She was smiling but Carrie sensed sadness. She had a knack for judging mood.

‘I sure do.’

The Carrie Coffee Emporium was a successful enterprise on the outskirts of a rural town 50 miles west of Chicago. Carrie lived above the shop. The highway brought plenty of passing custom and a loyal clientele walked or drove from town to enjoy her superior brews and gorgeous cakes.

The scenery helped, too, though winters had been worse lately. Snow had fallen for days, and it was starting to bank up in the dip where the coffee shop stood alone, except for a kitchen showroom, closed for Christmas.

‘Last day’s work before a break?’ the woman asked as Carrie laid the cup down.

‘Actually, I’m open tomorrow,’ Carrie said.

‘Really? You’re not going to family?’