"Might make it a lot less special," Dot said, thinking.
"I've never really believed that sharing something lessens it," I said.
She bumped my shoulder with her own and looked up at me, her light eyes crinkling at the corners. "Pretty wise for such a handsome young man," she said. "You're going to take good care of my Annie, aren't you?"
Shock trickled through me. "Annie?" We hadn't been talking about her, though she'd certainly been on my mind.
"I see the way you look at each other. I figure it's inevitable."
"I think Annie has her hands full," I said, thinking about the way Johnny had looked at me.
"Annie's a big girl, she'll make her own decisions. She just needs to know you're there." She squinted at me. "And I think you are. Am I wrong?"
I shook my head, surprising myself with my honesty. "You're not wrong, Dot."
"Good." She handed me the last cookie and scooped up the Tupperware. "Hit the lights as we go out, will you?"
I saw Dot to her car and drove home, making a slow detour past Annie's house for no reason I could explain.
When I got home, Zappy and Yoga Pants lost their minds as usual, and I took them out for a trot around the house. Then we all settled down in front of the wood stove. It was definitely getting colder, and I hoped for a white Christmas—I'd never seen one, and I had a feeling it would make Annie happy.
"Let's see what we got, girls," I said, plugging the camera I'd toted all night into the television and starting the footage I'd captured.
In almost every shot, Annie was dead center. As I let the film progress, I realized I hadn't captured the event—not objectively at least. What I'd captured was a montage, a tribute to Dr. Annie Gish, whose beautiful face, bright smile, and glowing eyes were in almost every minute of footage I'd recorded. What I'd captured was a message from my heart to my mind. I was falling for Annie.
10
Annie
Johnny disappeared into his room before I could confront him about the things he'd said to Tuck and to me. But I talked to my father for a while, and it helped a bit.
"You need to live your life for you, Annie. Johnny's not your responsibility."
"It doesn't feel that way," I said. "It's just . . ."
"I know," Dad said, and he pulled me into a warm hug before heading upstairs to bed.
I sat for a long time with Hattie by the fire. It was nice to have my family here for the holiday—in some ways at least. But I also missed the quiet assurance of my solitary life. When it was just me and my dog, there was never much in the way of surprise—I always knew what to expect, at least at home.
Mostly I stared into the flames and thought about Tuck. He'd said he wanted to keep his life uncomplicated—hadn't he? But then there'd been that moment at the end of the night when I'd been sure he was going to kiss me. I wondered what he thought about all this. Did he see me as an opportunity for a fling?
That didn't seem right. It wasn't the feeling I'd gotten from him, but maybe that was just wishful thinking. It had been a long time since I'd had a relationship of any kind, and I was probably not the best at interpreting a man's intentions.
I didn't know what Tuck wanted, but I knew one thing with absolute certainty. I wanted to kiss him. Badly.
I didn't sleep well, between worrying over my brother's mental state and my thoughts wrapping themselves around Tuck, no matter how much I tried to stop them. Thursday morning, I poured my coffee in a daze, hoping it would work some kind of caffeine magic and allow me to get through the workday.
"Sis," Johnny said, joining me at the table.
I didn't want to talk to him. Or more specifically, I didn't want to argue with him. "Good morning."
"Dad thinks I owe you an apology."
I stared into the dark swirl of coffee in my cup. "What do you think?"
Johnny sighed and leaned forward on his forearms. "Sometimes I don't know what to think. I’m all over the place, emotionally."
I didn't want to feel sorry for him. My brother had problems, problems worthy of sympathy. And I'd spent years offering every bit of support I could muster. And while I loved him, and I knew it wasn't always his fault, I wanted the freedom to live, too. So much of my life had been about him. "Yeah."
"I don't like it when I feel like I'm going to lose you."
That got my attention. I looked up into my brother's eyes, so much like my own. "Why would you ever think you might lose me?" I'd stuck around this long, hadn't I?
"I don't have anyone else, Annie. Not really. And I know it's because of . . . of how I am." Johnny's voice was low, sincere, and sad. "And even though it's hard for me to say it most of the time, I know how lucky I am that you and Dad . . . that you're still here. That you don't give up."
I reached across the table and covered his hand with mine. "Of course not."
"But I always worry one day you might. That you'll realize how much I need you and decide you can't do it anymore. That you can't always be here for me."
I shook my head. "No," I said in a whisper. "I'll always be wherever you need me to be."
His eyes bored into my own, and something passed between us, words neither of us could say. After a moment, he pulled his hand free and said lightly, "I'm sorry for what I said last night. Your friend is probably a very nice guy."
I laughed, knowing that was the best Johnny could do. "He is," I said. “But Johnny?”
He waited for my next words.
“I’m worried about you. You can’t go around letting your emotions drive you. I thought your medication was supposed to help with that. Have you been taking it?”
He didn’t answer, but his face darkened, and I could tell he was thinking about it. Johnny had never liked discussing the specifics of his condition with me, and today was no different, it seemed. I left him sitting there, staring into his coffee cup.
* * *
Work was quiet that day and the next, with most people staying in with family and enjoying the sudden change in the weather. I didn't want to put too much faith in the forecast, but it was beginning to look like Kings Grove might actually get a white Christmas for once. I hoped so. The last one I remembered had been years ago, when my mom was still here. Before everything became difficult.
Tuck stopped by Friday for lunch and brought chili from the diner for Dot and me.
"This is nice," I said as we all sat down at the round table in the lounge. "Very unexpected."
Dot raised her eyebrows and looked between us.
"Thought you might need a warm up," Tuck said. "I can't believe how cold it's gotten out there."
"We're going to freeze at the tree lighting," I said, thinking about standing out in the cold tonight.
Tuck looked thoughtful for a moment and then stood. "I should get going," he said. "Can I give you a ride tonight, doc?"
"I'd like that, actually," I told him.
"See you at five-thirty then," he said. "See you tonight, Dot?"
"Wouldn't miss it," she sang, grinning. She shot me a knowing look as he left, but I jumped up and made myself look busy before she could ask too many questions.
* * *
At five thirty, Tuck's jeep pulled up outside my house. I'd already talked to Dad and Johnny about meeting them there, and I called goodbye to Dad as I ran out to meet Tuck. Johnny had slipped out earlier, getting in his car and saying that he’d be back. He had been quiet since we’d spoken about his meds, but the house felt more settled, more calm lately, like something in him had shifted.
"Thanks for the ride," I told Tuck, climbing into the car as he held the door open for me.
He grinned. "Any time."
"How are the girls?" I asked. "I'm sorry we haven't gotten a chance to train again. Have you been practicing?"
"We have," he said, and the constancy of his smile made me feel calmer, quieter inside. There was something so sure about Tuck, so solid and competent. Being near him always made me feel like I could let go a little bit.
We parked a ways away from the inn, which was already bustling with activity, and walked across the long parking lot. I'd bundled into my warmest parka and gloves, and had a scarf wrapped around my neck and earmuffs, but my breath came out in white puffs, and little wisps of freezing air managed to find their way through every crack in my clothing.
"Wow," I said, as we got nearer. The tree lighting was usually a very informal event where the village stood around for the half hour it generally lasted. But this year, someone had brought out cut-log benches and arranged them in a circle around the big tree. The heat lamps that usually stood on the inn’s deck were dotted throughout the seating area, and a pile of plaid wool blankets sat at the end of each row. "Who did all this?"
Tuck was grinning, but he didn't say anything, and I spun to face him.
"Did you do this?"
His grin widened. "That depends," he said. "Are you happy?"
"This is incredible!"
"Then yes, I did this. With some help, of course." Tuck looked bashful, but I could see a glint of pride in his eyes, and between the cold air and the excitement hanging around us, I couldn't help but feel giddy and spontaneous. I threw my arms around his neck, laughing.
"It's amazing. Thank you so much! It's perfect."
Tuck's arms went around my waist, and he pulled me nearer, looking down into my eyes. "It is perfect," he said, his voice lower. "Because you deserve it to be."
The sound of cars in the parking lot and people bustling around in preparation for the ceremony, the distant chorus of Christmas carols ringing out from the eaves of the inn’s deck behind us—it all died away. I stared up into the deep, dark blue of Tuck's eyes and felt myself losing my footing. I was being swept away, and I loved it. I loved how being near Tuck made me laugh and smile. How it made me feel like I could let go of the responsibilities I held so tightly most of the time—like I could trust him to carry things for me for a while.
Tuck made me feel vulnerable and strong all at once—I was taken care of and still capable of taking care of myself. As I stood in his embrace, losing myself in his eyes, I realized there was no choice to be made here. I wasn't going to choose whether or not to foist my complicated and difficult life on this man—I'd already done it, and maybe he'd already accepted all of it.
He dipped his head slightly, and his lips brushed mine with the lightest feather touch. Not a kiss, really—though it sent sparks flying through my nerves—more like a promise.
I felt his arms loosen around my waist, and slowly the rest of the world reappeared around us. We were in the midst of organized chaos as people arrived for the ceremony and found their seats. There was a concession stand set up at the back next to the inn, and Tuck took my hand and pulled me toward it. "Can I buy you a cider or hot chocolate?" he asked.
I felt sixteen again, in the midst of my first real crush, giddy with excitement and possibility. I smiled up at him, squeezing his hand. "Cider please," I said.
Tuck paid for our drinks and then set his down, pulling his camera from a deep pocket in his coat. "A cameraman's job is never done," he said.
I'd forgotten that I'd asked him to film, and I was almost sorry to let his hand go, to release him to the job I'd asked him to do.
"Save me a seat?" he said, and I nodded happily, making my way toward one of the low benches toward the front.
Excitement filled the air as my friends and neighbors took seats around me, all of us commenting on the cold and holding steaming cups in front of our faces as we grinned up at the huge tree and at each other. It felt like Christmas—both in weather and spirit—and my heart felt full of possibility and hope.
I chatted and mingled, looking around now and then to find Tuck with his camera, seemingly always looking at me. As the ceremony drew near, I wondered where my father and brother could be—they'd definitely said they would come, and I'd saved them spots, but as the emcee—Frank from the diner—stepped up to the microphone on the small stage at the foot of the tree, they still hadn't arrived.
Tuck slid in beside me, holding the camera aimed up the aisle to capture the ceremony.
"I'm worried about my dad," I said.
Tuck looked around, his expression mirroring the worry I felt. "I'm sure they're here somewhere."
But they weren't. And as Frank began to speak about what Christmas meant in Kings Grove, about the family we had here, related by shared experience and tradition if not by blood, I tried to put my worry aside.
"My first Christmas up here was a tough one," Frank told the crowd. "Adele and I hadn't been married long, but we'd already been through a lot together. We came to Kings Grove looking for something true, something simple. Something that made sense to us. You see, not many of you know this, but we had a son. And we lost him very young—and that's a hard thing to make sense of, losing a child.”
Murmured sympathy rustled through the crowd, and the still night seemed to blanket us as a few folks wiped at their eyes.
“We were suffering,” Frank went on. “Maybe growing apart from one another in our grief. We needed some kind of bond to bring us close again, something to focus on. The Kings Grove diner was for sale, so we came up to take a look. It was Christmas time, almost forty years ago now, and we arrived just in time for the tree lighting. It wasn't quite as grand as all this, but it was special. And what we found here, what we saw happening between the folks who stood out in the freezing cold that night, was the same thing I see here now. Friends, neighbors . . . family.”
Frank smiled out at the crowd, his eyes shining. “This place is magic, and I think most of you know it. Let's light this tree and let it be a glowing representation of the love we share for our family, for one another, and for our lives here in Kings Grove. It's like no other place in the world."
Frank flipped the switch, and the tree came to life in glowing, sparkling glory. The lights twinkled and flickered, and every ornament glimmered and glinted in the lights, casting a warm celebratory aura over every upturned face.
I felt my heart swell, and I couldn't help leaning into Tuck's shoulder as he slipped his arm around me.
This. This was everything I wanted. This simple joy, this certainty.
Contentment warmed me despite the frigid air and the worry nagging at the back of my mind, and when Tuck kissed the top of my head and whispered something against my temple, my heart stuttered.
People started to stand up and circulate, greeting one another again with hugs and kisses, and eventually Tuck and I stood up too. I scanned the crowd for my family, certain they must have just arrived late, but I couldn't find them anywhere.
We worked our way out to the edge of the crowd, and I finally spotted my father on the steps to the inn.
"Dad," I said, laughing and smiling. "I was worried you'd missed it."
Dad didn't return my smile. "Annie, have you seen your brother?"
Every bit of cheer sifted through me and landed in a pile at my feet. The more familiar sensations of worry and responsibility rose up to replace it, and I dropped Tuck's hand. "I have to go," I told him. "I have to find my brother."
Tuck looked at me for a long minute, and then shook his head, leaning down to take my hand again. "I'll help you. We'll find him."
11
Tuck
I'd never been all that big on Christmas, if you want the truth. Something to do with the fact that it's usually pretty stinking hot around December 25th where I'm from. It was hard to get into the holiday spirit sometimes, unless the holiday spirit meant a cookout and a caravan. But the décor we had around the house showed snow and reindeer. It was all a bit confusing when I was tiny, and once I was big enough to understand, things at home had already disintegrated, and family holidays were not a major priority.
But the Kings Grove tree lighting was something else. It was freezing, first off, so it just seemed Christmasy. And I'm not going to pretend that having Annie snuggled up next to me didn't make my day—my entire year, maybe. There was something about sittin
g with everyone I'd met up here, all the friends and neighbors that made Kings Grove what it was, that lit a little flame in my heart.
I wanted this. I wanted it every Christmas—really, I wanted it every day. Annie in my arms, and the two of us surrounded by friends and family.
The only thing that would have made it better would have been her father and brother being there too. Instead, they were absent, and I knew Annie couldn't fully enjoy the ceremony when she was worried.
And when her father appeared at the end, telling us Johnny was missing, it was as if a glass ornament had shattered into dangerous shards around me.
I wanted to reassure Annie, so I told her we'd find her brother and that I would help. But in the next moment, she turned and looked at me with the saddest eyes I'd ever seen.
"Tuck, no." She pulled her hand from mine. "You don't need to."
"I want to help."
She shook her head, and a gritty realization began to swirl inside me, replacing the joy I'd felt just moments before. She was going to walk away.
"This is not your problem."
"Annie, I—"
Her eyes widened, her shoulders slumped, and I saw the fatigue from the last week accumulate in seconds, weighing her down. I would've done anything to take that load. But she wouldn't let me.
"You don't need all this. You even told me, and I should have respected your words more." She stepped back, increasing the distance between us. "This is my family. My issues. Go home, go enjoy your simple life. I'm so sorry I dragged you into this. I know it's probably not the way you wanted to spend your holidays."
When I didn't move to go, she huffed out a frustrated sigh. "You told me yourself, Tuck. You said you were a loner, that you preferred it that way. I get it—trust me, I'd rather not have all the burdens that come with my family most of the time, but I do. And so this"—she waved back and forth between us—"would never have worked out."
Christmas in Kings Grove: Kings Grove, Book 5 Page 6