It was a few days after Thanksgiving when the Christmas music began. Traditional Christmas carols, jazzed up Christmas tunes and famous old Christmas songs. Each note seemed to taunt Claire, coming from shops in the mall, on the television channels, from radio stations, and even on cell phone ring tones. The once loved melodies now brought anger and rage to her, ripped into her troubled soul and caused her eyes to blur with tears.
How selfish to force this onto people, she thought angrily. The notion that Christmas was a merry time for everyone, that families would miraculously come together and that goodwill and cheer would prevail. She knew she would dread the holidays this year, Thanksgiving had been hard enough but somehow she had never imagined that the build up to Christmas would be so painful to endure. Thank God she had made the reservation to go to the mountains. A short vacation, somewhere far away from here was just what she needed, a place where there wouldn't be any Christmas music.
Seven months had passed since her son, Craig, had died in a Black Hawk Helicopter crash near Mosul, Iraq. He was 23, vibrant, filled with enthusiasm and a passion for flying. Her grief was profound, nothing and no-one could console her. Her anguished mind relived the dread of him leaving, the nights and days she had remained glued to the television where the war played out like some surreal movie and then the unspeakable horror of learning of his death. The loss of her only child had ripped open a chasm of pain that seemed unable to heal and which drove a wedge between her and her husband in their already faltering marriage. Stanley had been overcome with his own grief, but as always he managed to find solace in the arms of one of his mistresses.
A lone tear rolled down Claire's cheek as she stared out at the row of cars ahead of her. God, would she ever stop feeling sad? Would she ever feel normal again? She smiled desolately; if she was honest with herself she'd realize that some good had come out of this wretched year. She had finally taken the step to institute divorce proceedings against Stanley and end the years of his infidelity that she had always turned a blind eye towards.
She gripped the steering wheel with both hands and silently cursed the traffic that had ground to a halt in front of her. It was raining but that didn't deter the steady stream of shoppers who thronged the sidewalks. Yet another Santa clanged away with a shiny bell outside the cheese shop and despite Claire's attempts to turn the news on the radio up to almost full blast, the sounds of 'Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer' rattled from a hidden speaker above the sidewalk in front of Jessie's Toy Shack. Her eyes drifted idly to the cigar store window where the old Mexican who owned it was happily stringing lights across the glass, pipe stuck in the corner of his mouth, smoke drifting behind him. A fake tree was already in place complete with shiny adornments and sprayed with fake snow. The weather forecast predicted a possibility of real snow later in the evening and Claire hoped that she would make it to the Far Hills Country Resort before nightfall.
~ ~ ~
The resort was just as the brochure had promised. A country haven far away from the maddening crowd, built on a mountain surrounded by water features, birdlife and acres of indigenous bush. Pulling on a pair of jeans, boots and a thick sweater, Claire left her thatch stone cottage the next morning and followed one of the mountain paths. It was steeper than she had imagined and she pushed herself forward, the blood pumping in her veins as she sucked in the crisp thin air. By the time she reached the top of the steep hill her breathing was labored and raspy.
"Damn," she panted as she dropped onto a nearby bench. She had really become unfit since she stopped playing tennis. "And so much for tennis friends," she said bitterly. They had disappeared gradually after her trips to the country club dwindled. Somehow after losing Craig her zest and enthusiasm to socialize and get together with them had faded. Dashing across a court after a little ball seemed so pointless and just getting up to go to work each day seemed to be all that she could manage.
Her eyes flickered over the panoramic view. Below, in the valley the rooftops were still covered in light snow that had fallen during the night. It was achingly beautiful and Claire felt a sudden surge of power at being able to view all this serene tranquility from where she was sitting. No wonder Craig loved to fly; the world was his from that height stretching out for as far as he could see. She smiled gently at his memory and a strange sense of peace washed over her. He was okay, wherever he was – somehow, at this moment she knew that. And she sensed that he was higher than she was, smiling down on her with that crazy crooked smile of his. For the first time since his death, she was able to think of him without crying and an amazing feeling of lightness and relief came over her as she made her way back down the steep path.
Claire's body ached the following day. Muscles that had been neglected shrieked with pain and stiffness as she climbed from the warm soothing heat of the indoor jet pool and made her way gingerly towards the massage room. She glanced at herself in the floor to ceiling mirror as she toweled off and pulled on a pair of high legged blue panties. It was the first time in months that she had looked at herself in the nude and she surveyed her body critically.
"Definitely no swimsuit model," she said grimacing at the extra few pounds that had packed onto her hips from not eating properly and her lack of exercise. She cupped her breasts in her hands and evaluated them. They still felt firm without any significant droop and the nipples perked up beneath her palm. She groaned cynically at the thought of her self imposed celibacy as she lay face down on the padded massage table. Her sexual self had died a long time ago and it was a wonder that her nipples were still responsive.
"Daniel will be with you in a few minutes," a young female attendant said as she draped a warm fluffy towel over Claire's buttocks and thighs and pinned her thick hair up on her head.
"Thanks," she replied, resting her head on her arms and closing her eyes.
There was a slight movement of air in the room as he entered but she didn't look up.
"Hi Mrs Lewis, I'm Daniel," he said as he squirted a small stream of warmed oil onto her back.
Claire mumbled a noncommittal response. She was in no mood to talk.
His hands felt strong and warm as he firmly kneaded the back of her neck. The muscles were tight and hard and his first touch of them had her flinching slightly as they burned with the pain of built up stress.
"Just try and relax," he soothed in a voice that was rich and smooth like melting chocolate. His flattened hands had moved to her shoulders and she felt her muscles loosen up under the stimulus of his probing fingers. They moved slowly down each side of her spine towards the small of her back and she let out a small groan of pleasure as he worked the tension out of her.
Daniel smiled at the sound she emitted. He knew that his hands were skilled. They were instinctive hands, able to locate the knots and tensions in a body by pure intuition. He had once been told by his massage teacher that the hands of the best masseurs were the hands of an artist, part pianist and part sculptor. He manipulated the warm smooth flesh rhythmically, completely absorbed in his art when the woman beneath his palms suddenly stiffened.
"Get that music off," she snapped and then grudgingly added "Please," as an afterthought.
"What? You don't like music?" Daniel asked a little surprised by her sudden knee jerk reaction to the muted background sounds that were filtering in from the speakers. They had been there since he entered the room and now a gentle Christmas tune was being played on Japanese wind instruments.
"Fuck! What are you deaf? Didn't you hear me? I said get it off!"
Daniel shook his head and made his way over to the sound system. Shit, he had to work with weird types sometimes. He turned the volume dial off while he fumbled to eject the offending cassette.
"So you don't want any music playing at all?" His voice had become cold and hard. He always worked with music.
