by Kelli Warner
“I’m not afraid,” I say, shifting in my seat.
Mrs. Hopkins’s shoulders deflate just a smidgen, but enough that I can see her disappointment. However, as always, she will not be derailed. She flips through the pages of that familiar folder on the desk in front of her. One of these days, I’m going to get my hands on that folder and find out just what it is she knows about me. “Okay, let’s talk about something else.”
Yes, please.
“How old were you when you started dancing?”
I choke on my gum, and Mrs. Hopkins wastes no time retrieving a bottle of water from the mini fridge behind her desk. I sputter a couple more coughs, then grab for the water and down a few swallows.
“Are you all right?”
I nod, putting the cap back on the bottle and place it on the desk. Our eyes lock once more in their familiar standoff. Mrs. Hopkins is itching to call checkmate, and I’m determined that I will destroy the playing board of whatever twisted game this is before I will ever let that happen.
“I’m guessing that you started dancing when you were quite young. Is that right?”
“I’m guessing that the answer to that question is in my file,” I counter.
Sympathy lays claim to the fine lines around Mrs. Hopkins’s eyes. She closes the folder and sits back in her chair. “You’re right. I know quite a bit about you, Paige. On paper anyway. But I’d like to hear it from you.”
“Why?”
“Because I think it will help.”
“I disagree.”
“And why’s that?”
“Because talking about my life doesn’t change it,” I say.
“Doesn’t change what exactly?” she asks. I shake my head, forcing her to switch tactics again. “Can you at least tell me why it’s so important for you to keep everything inside?”
“Why is it so important to you that I put everything out there?” I keep waiting for Mrs. Hopkins to throw up her hands and declare defeat, to finally admit that even with the fancy diplomas framed on her walls, my mind is no match for her mad skills.
Mrs. Hopkins returns her pen to her desk drawer, then clasps her hands together on the desktop. “Grief is a natural reaction to loss, Paige. But it doesn’t feel natural, does it? It probably feels overwhelming, like everything is out of your control.”
I stare down at my watch.
“Grief can also be frightening, and it may seem like the best way to handle it is to bottle it up inside where you can control it,” Mrs. Hopkins says. “But I’m here to tell you, Paige, that holding in your grief doesn’t make it better. It makes it dangerous. And when it does finally break free, because it will eventually, you won’t be able to control it. I don’t want that for you. Please let me help you. Talking about it is the first step.”
“Fine. You want to know something about me that’s not in your file? I started dancing when I was four. I love it because it makes me feel free. Because I’m good at it and it’s—” I can’t finish. My insides feel like they are on fire, like someone lit a match inside me and the powder keg buried deep is about to blow at any minute. And if it does, there will be no survivors.
“It’s what?” Mrs. Hopkins asks.
I twist my watchband harder, the leather creating slow-burning friction against my skin, mirroring the heat inside me. “It’s all I’ve ever known, okay? It’s the one true connection I have to my mother, and I can’t bring myself to do it anymore.”
“Tell me why.” Her words are soft, but they hit just the right pressure points.
Nope, not happening. I shake my head, refusing her question and trying desperately to hold in my next words, where they can’t be heard—where they can’t hurt me.
“I’ve seen some videos of you online. You’re a magnificent dancer, Paige, and you clearly love it. Why would you choose to give that up?”
I shrug. “Because.”
“Because why?”
Those two words are the tipping point, and without warning, my resolve splinters, propelling me out of my chair. “Because it’s not fair for me to feel that kind of happiness when my mom can’t!” Something invisible squeezes my throat and I can’t breathe. I collapse forward, my clenched fists digging into my thighs and my face hot with shame. Well, look at that—Mrs. Hopkins got her checkmate after all. Guess her crowbar finally worked.
Unable to retrieve my confession, I pull my sweater tightly around myself and eye the door. Mrs. Hopkins immediately stands. “Paige, please stay.”
I lunge for the knob, throwing open the door. I fly past Karen, who glances up from her computer, and rush into the hallway before either she or Mrs. Hopkins can utter a word to stop me.
I feel jittery, like I’m drowning in a thousand cups of coffee and there’s nowhere to hide. As I rush down the hallway, I bump into two students. One drops her books, and I apologize, but I don’t stop. I have no destination; all I can think about is Mrs. Hopkins at her desk, scribbling my revelations into that damn folder. I round the corner and nearly slam into Cade.
“Hey, hey, hey.” He places his hands firmly on my shoulders. “What’s going on?”
I press the back of my wrist to my mouth, preventing myself from blurting out something ridiculously embarrassing. Instead, I wrap my arms around Cade and exhale my relief when he pulls me in tight and cradles me in his arms. I don’t bother looking around to see who’s watching. Because I don’t care anymore. “What happened?”
I shake my head violently against his chest. I can’t tell him the truth, that I am precisely what Mrs. Hopkins thinks I am—more frightened than I can ever allow myself to admit. And I can’t tell him that what terrifies me more than anything is that I’m falling for him in a big way. I’m risking everything for a guy who has the power to break my heart just by changing his mind and deciding that I’m not what he wants, that maybe I’m too broken to be worth the trouble. Forget spiders and pop quizzes and cringeworthy visions of the boys’ swim team. Losing Cade is my worst fear of all. Because he just might be the only thing that’s holding me together.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Paige
On Friday night, it seems as if the entire population of Mystic Shores stops what it’s doing to take part in the town’s annual holiday festival, and Connie is practically bursting with excitement to show it to me.
Downtown looks like Christmas on steroids and could easily be the backdrop for a Norman Rockwell painting—if you don’t count the McDonald’s on the corner, decked out in thousands of white twinkle lights, or the coffeehouse across the street, advertising peppermint mochas and eggnog lattes on its very modern reader board. At McGrath’s Pharmacy, Kris Kringle and his reindeer are the focus of the window display, each figurine perfectly placed to create a winter wonderland. And all the mannequins in the front display case at Myna’s Fashion House are clad in red and white Santa hats to accent their festive party dresses and elegant suits.
Pop-up tents staffed by various civic groups line one block of the main drag, each selling holiday wares to support their various causes. Quinn, Zoey and Sam are working the dance team’s booth, selling poinsettias, wreaths and garland. We stop to say hello, and with the skills of a slick used car salesman, Quinn works her powers of persuasion on Connie. In no time at all, Connie has her checkbook in hand and is placing a large order before Jay manages to pull her away. I hug Quinn and promise to call her later.
“So, what do you think?” Jay asks as we stroll the bayfront, weaving in and out of people on the crowded sidewalk. A group of carolers joyously sings from the street corner. Everywhere I look, I spy the wonders of the season and feel the thick holiday cheer like an extra layer of clothing. It’s all very peace on earth, good will toward men, and—I can’t help but think how much my mom would love it. With that one simple thought, the familiar sadness that’s undeniably become a permanent part of me, like another limb on my body, squeezes me tight.
Connie loops an arm through mine as we stroll along. “What do you say we get some
hot chocolate?” I still haven’t figured out if Connie is so attentive to me because she really wants me to feel comfortable here, or if she’s merely doing it for Jay’s benefit.
There’s a tug on my sleeve, and I look down into Lily’s big blue eyes. “Paige, let’s go see Santa. I have a lot to tell him.” The little girl has definitely been swallowed up by the magic. Jay, Connie and Tanner head off in the direction of Java Joe’s, in search of hot chocolate, while Lily and I walk half a block to stand in line at Santa’s Village. As we wait our turn, we have a perfect vantage point to see the big guy. He’s sitting in a large, ornate chair, trying to wrestle his beard away from a screaming toddler who doesn’t seem to care one bit if she lands on the naughty list. Not to mention, she’s completely uninterested in the photographer, one of Santa’s elves who’s waving frantically and trying so hard to get the little girl to look at the camera that he appears to be trying to land a jetliner.
I can identify, almost with certainty, which kids are here past their bedtimes. There are several full-on tantrums in progress, and I’m not sure who’s crankier, the children or their mothers, whose hopes for the perfect holiday photo are quickly fading.
Unlike the other children, Lily stands patiently at my side holding my hand. As we make our way forward in the line, I ask, “What are you gonna ask Santa for this year?”
“I can’t tell you,” she says, smiling so big I can see where she lost a bottom tooth last week. “It’s a secret.”
“I don’t even get a hint?” I ask, feigning disappointment. She giggles, tightening her hold on my hand.
Five minutes later, Lily is on Santa’s lap, and I’m standing close enough to see that she is giving him an earful. I can also see that the guy in the Santa suit looks like he’s been through the wringer. If someone has to pay the price to keep the magic of Christmas alive, it’s this poor dude.
Lily’s small hands gesture wildly at the dimensions of the toy she’s describing. If I had to guess, I’d say it has something to do with Barbies. Everything in her world usually does. Maybe a swimming pool to go along with her new dreamhouse.
“He’s a fraud.”
I turn, and I’m pleasantly surprised to see Cade. “Hey!”
“That’s the same guy who plays the Easter bunny at the community center every spring. Don’t be fooled by the beard.”
I laugh. “Noted.”
He reaches out and takes my hand. “Aren’t you a little too old to be sitting on Santa’s lap? I’m sure you’ll make his day but—”
“That’s my little sister up there,” I say, nudging him in the ribs. I glance back at Lily, who is still talking, while the worn-down Santa continues to nod. “And by the looks of it, her list is pretty long.” The smile he gives me melts my insides like a marshmallow over an open flame. “What are you doing here? Is Macy with you?”
“She’s at the bookstore. I spent the last two hours helping her hang Christmas lights. Not high on my list of what constitutes a good time, by the way. But I think it turned out okay.”
“I’m sure it looks awesome.” I lean my head on Cade’s shoulder and squeeze his hand a little tighter.
Lily hops down from Santa’s lap and gives him a wave before she prances over to where we stand. “I hope he was listening,” she says, her forehead creased with tiny lines of concern.
“Oh, I’m sure he was,” I assure her. “Santa has an excellent memory.”
Lily gazes up at Cade. “Hi.”
“Lil, this is Cade. I work for his sister at the bookstore.” I almost say this is my boyfriend, Cade, but quickly stop myself. There are some things a five-year-old doesn’t need to know.
“Are you going to see Santa?” Lily asks. Amused, I wait for his response.
“Already did,” he says.
“Whaddya ask for?” she prods.
“Can’t tell you. It’s a secret.”
Lily smiles and nods with understanding.
“There you are!” I turn at Connie’s voice, and I release Cade’s hand as if a bolt of electricity just zapped my palm. Connie offers me a white cardboard cup with a lid before leaning down and wrapping one arm around Lily. “Did you see Santa, sweet pea?”
“I sure did!” Lily gushes.
“They had quite the conversation,” I say, folding my hands around the warmth of the cup.
“And who’s this?” Connie eyes Cade curiously.
“This is Cade.” Right on cue, he reaches out and shakes her hand.
“Nice to meet you, Cade, I’m Connie Chapman. How do you two know each other?”
Oh, please, no. “This is Macy’s brother,” I blurt out. “And she needs to see me at the bookstore right now, so can I catch up with you guys later?”
Connie tosses me a knowing look, but she plays it cool. “Sure thing. We’re going to watch the tree lighting. Don’t be too long; you don’t want to miss it.”
“I’ll be there soon.” When Connie and Lily head off down the sidewalk, I sigh.
“Sooo—I’m just Macy’s brother? What’s with the lying? Santa frowns on that this time of year.”
“That was an evasive maneuver to save you, actually,” I lie again and start walking toward the bookstore. Cade falls into step beside me. “She was about to launch into a million questions. I thought I’d save you the interrogation.”
“Wait.” Cade reaches for my hand and pulls me to a stop. “She doesn’t know about us?” I stare intently at a crack in the sidewalk. “I thought you said you told your dad.”
“I said I will,” I assure him. “It just hasn’t been the right time—”
“When?” he presses. He has every reason to be upset with me, but he delivers that one simple word with unwavering patience.
“This weekend, I promise,” I say, and I pull him along down the street.
We stop on the corner across from Macy’s shop. Red and white lights frame the windows and door. “Nice job,” I say, gesturing grandly at his work.
“What can I say? I’m gifted.” He leans down and presses his lips to mine in a lingering, toe-curling kiss. Yes, he most certainly is.
Once inside, we visit with Macy while Shawn rings up customers’ merchandise, looking the part of a jolly old elf with a jingle-bell hat and pointy ears. I offer to help, but Macy dismisses me with a wave of her hand, followed by a quick hug, and she tells me to go have fun. Cade walks me out and kisses me goodnight under the mistletoe hanging above the doorway, and I’m all but floating on air as I head back toward the big Christmas tree in the square to find Connie, Jay and the kids. They’re right where she said they’d be. The lights on the tree in the center of the plaza are aglow, and colorful ornaments are hanging all over it, all the way to the top, where a giant star twinkles against the black, marbled sky.
“Paige is back!” Lily squeals, and she skips to my side.
“Oh, Paige, you missed it!” Connie exclaims.
“Sorry,” I say, fishing quickly for an excuse. “I was helping Macy at the shop. She’s busier than she expected.”
Jay studies me, his brow furrowed. “Connie said you were with a kid named Cade. Was that Cade Matthews?”
Just be honest. “Yeah,” I say. “Is there a problem?”
“Paige, I don’t want you hanging around him,” Jay says flatly.
Defensiveness inches it’s way over my skin, tightening the muscles in my shoulders. “He’s a nice guy,” I say. “And I work for his sister.”
“And I appreciate that she gave you a job, but her brother runs with a different kind of crowd,” Jay says, an edge of sternness to his words. “I don’t want you getting mixed up with them.”
I should tell Jay I know all about it. That I’ve met this different crowd that Cade hangs out with, and that Jared, Zeke and Ash are nice people, too, and I like them. I could also tell him that he doesn’t have the right to dictate who I can and cannot hang out with, and that I will make that decision. But the words die on the tip of my tongue and, as usual, I say nothing.
>
“Are you hearing me? That kid’s been in some serious trouble.”
“People change,” I say.
“And some people don’t.” Jay shakes his head. “This isn’t open for discussion. Stay away from Cade.”
“Please, don’t ask me to do that.”
“I’m not asking.”
“So—that’s an order?” I demand, waiting for him to admit that he’s overstepped and to back down. He doesn’t. Jay doesn’t even blink.
“Yes, it’s an order, but for your own good,” he says. “And I expect you to follow it.”
I glance down the street in the direction of the bookstore. I should have known better than to tell Jay the truth. When I turn back to him, I nod. Liar, liar, pants on fire. Again.
To no one’s surprise, Lily talks the entire ride home. I’ve never heard a kid rattle on so intently about their discussion with Santa without revealing any specifics about the conversation. And I can see Connie is trying hard to extract the details, so she’ll know what to buy for Lily to unwrap on Christmas morning.
“How do you even know you’re on the good list?” Tanner asks her, his devious and calculated line thrown into the conversation at just the right time to horrify his little sister. “You broke my video game controller.”
“It wasn’t my fault! You left it on the floor.”
“And you stepped on it!”
“I’m sure Santa knows it was an accident,” Connie says.
“I don’t know,” Tanner says with a skeptical sigh. “I just know he’s got people to write those things down.”
“Moooom!” Lily wails.
“All right, enough,” Jay says as he turns the SUV onto the highway.
“I’m sure your sister is not on the naughty list. But you, mister—” Connie points her finger over her shoulder. “You might want to be careful.” Tanner laughs.