by Olivia Miles
Tess had always loved Christmas.
Carrie frowned and went back to her room. Things changed, she told herself. And not always for the better.
With her teeth brushed, she pulled her hair back, managed the faintest bit of lipstick, and, knowing she looked as hungover as she felt, decided to go into town for coffee rather than risk a conversation about why she was drinking so much the night before—she’d easily had two for each of Jules’s rounds. Drowning her troubles, that’s what she had been doing. And it had worked—at first. By the third candy cane cocktail she had stopped looking at her phone, and by the fourth, she had stopped thinking of scarf girl. And by the fifth, she had done the unthinkable and removed her relationship status on Facebook—something that had to be done and that she couldn’t bring herself to do sober.
And there it was. Status: single. Age: thirty-three. Future: bleak.
Maybe she’d slap that on a dating profile, she thought, managing a wry grin as she made her way down the stairs on shaky legs, trying to hold onto the banister without messing up the garland. See, there was humor to be found in her pathetic turn of events. She’d get back to New York and downplay the entire thing, or build it up in a truly self-deprecating way, right down to the detail about her fresh manicure and the girl that Lucas was spotted with only days later.
Only something told her that no one else would be laughing.
And really, neither was she. In fact, she realized with horror, she was crying.
She brushed a hand to her cheek and quickly pulled her sunglasses from her bag. The room darkened around her, even though it hadn’t been lit at all, even though Tess hadn’t turned on the lights on the tree or the banister or on the garland on the mantle.
It made Carrie sad. It made her think of their mother, and her childhood, and she didn’t like to think about those days anymore. When she’d left Winter Lake, she’d vowed not to think about any of it again, to move forward, and to have a different life.
So much for keeping that promise.
From outside, Carrie heard a squeal, and she walked to the kitchen window to see Jules and Phoebe playing in the backyard, having a snowball fight. Her eyes scanned the rest of the snow-covered space, nervously looking for Tess, but there was no sign of her. The door to her room had been open, the bed made and the space empty, when Carrie had passed by it just a few moments ago.
Errands, Carrie supposed, deciding to stay clear of the grocery store when she was in town, not that she had any appetite at the moment.
Carrie went back to the front of the house where her coat was hanging on a hook. She pulled it on and stuffed her hat and gloves into her bag. She didn’t even bother to button up—she needed fresh air before she did something really unforgiveable and vomited into Tess’s neatly trimmed boxwoods.
She gulped in the cold air, which was so much fresher than the air in the city, walking slowly, wondering if the café had outdoor tables this time of year or if she might find a bench that wasn’t piled in three feet of snow.
The Juniper Café was at the edge of downtown, an old institution where she used to hang out after school with Tess, but which lately seemed to appeal to the young mom crowd. She had noticed this last time she was in town, when she still held the hope of someday being one of them. She briefly considered avoiding it today, but her brain felt fuzzy and she couldn’t think of another option, not unless she wanted to try the diner, which was known for its watery coffee, especially when Bernie Adams was working—his vision had been bad even when she was in high school.
She walked slowly, past the shops, until she finally saw the dark green awning. She pushed inside, only after a quick self-evaluation that she was not going to be sick all over the wood floor, her eyes sweeping over the rustic room with the wrought-iron tables and chairs and big, paned windows looking out on the snow-covered town. She kept her sunglasses on to cover her bloodshot eyes and scanned the offerings in the bakery case. Normally she would have loved an oversized cranberry muffin or a chocolate croissant, even if she probably wouldn’t have eaten the entire thing (women in New York were so thin, and she didn’t need Lucas to get a wandering eye) but today she had no appetite. Still, something was probably needed. She opted for a plain bagel.
“And a large coffee,” she managed, her voice barely a whisper. She cleared her throat. This was why she didn’t drink, at least, not excessively. That and because she and Lucas liked to go to movies or restaurants on their weekends, where they might share a bottle of wine at most. Now, she supposed she’d have to increase her tolerance level, prepare for the bar scene again. Unless she wanted to try online dating.
She closed her eyes against the tears that prickled the back of her eyes, happy again that she was wearing her sunglasses. She may as well just wear a sign around her neck: Dumped. Desperate. Rapidly approaching forty.
“Cream and sugar are near the door,” the girl behind the counter said.
Carrie nodded and took her coffee and the bag containing her bagel, no butter, no cream cheese. Just a bag of carbs that she saw no reason in avoiding at the moment. She walked to the stand and considered her options as her stomach heaved in the most unsettling way. Skim. Cream. She reached for the cream. Her hand shook. Now was not the time to worry about putting on a few pounds. No one was going to see her in that dress she’d bought for Lucas’s holiday party. At best, she’d find a reason to wear it next season.
She tried to picture her life a year from now and came up blank.
And by the way things were going, chances were low she’d be invited back to Winter Lake next year either. She sighed as she splashed too much cream into her paper cup, and then spilled some onto the counter.
Maybe she’d get a pet for her classroom. Take it home with her for weekends and breaks. A hamster. She would be the lonely lady with a hamster. She grabbed a few napkins and wiped up her mess. She had just popped the lid back onto the cup when she thought she heard someone saying her name.
“Carrie? Carrie Campbell?”
Oh dear God. Carrie turned with dread at the sound of her name, trying in vain to summon up the enthusiasm needed to greet an old high school friend. Melissa Smythe. Under any other circumstances, she would have reached out to Melissa, told her she was coming back to town, arranged to meet for drinks so they could catch up. But she hadn’t had time to think about any of that. And the last thing she wanted to do was share her disappointment.
“Melissa!” Her eyes dropped to the stroller in front of Melissa, where a baby was drooling all over a plastic toy. She felt her forced smile slip, and she quickly pulled it back into place. Her head was starting to pound, and she now assumed it was from more than the vodka in those drinks. “Who is this?”
Surely, it couldn’t be hers. She would have heard. Tess would have told her. Except that she and Tess weren’t very close anymore.
Still. She didn’t even know that Melissa was married. She’d been dating Stephen Manning since high school, but when Carrie was back in town for her mother’s funeral, they’d already broken up. That was only three and a half years ago. Surely she couldn’t already have moved on, married, and had a child in less time than Carrie and Lucas had only dated?
Melissa had an older sister. Janie. Carrie felt better remembering that. Surely this was Janie’s baby. Considering that Janie was already coming up on forty, she couldn’t really feel too jealous of that.
“This is William,” Melissa said, beaming. “My son.”
Again, Carrie was grateful for the oversized sunglasses which hid the pop of her eyes. Her mouth felt dry as she stared at the baby, who sure enough had the same big blue eyes as Melissa.
“And another this summer,” Melissa continued, patting her stomach, which sure enough boasted a hint of a baby bump.
Two children? Melissa had remained in Winter Lake, population next to zero, male offerings slim to none, and she had managed to have more to show for it than Carrie?
“I didn’t realize you and Stephen—”
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“Oh. Not Stephen.” Melissa started to laugh, as if the mere idea that someone she had dated for years could have been the father of her children. “No, my husband is named Mike. He works in real estate like me. We met at a work thing a few years ago and he popped the question six months later. And the rest as they say is history!”
Carrie nodded slowly, trying to wrap her head around this. Six months. He had proposed after six months. And now she was going to have two children. And Carrie didn’t even have one.
How did she not know this? She and Melissa were connected on social media, but she supposed she’d never thought to check in on her. She’d been too busy with Lucas. Planning their weekends. Planning their future. Too wrapped up to think about her old friends back here in town.
Or her family, she thought, shame replacing the nausea when she considered Tess’s words last year.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m rarely on social media, and I haven’t been back in so long.”
“Not since your mom,” Melissa said, giving her a look of pity that Carrie didn’t quite know how to react to. She and her mother had never been close. They couldn’t be under the circumstances. Her mother was too distant, too unavailable to be the caregiver that Carrie was looking for. But she was still her mother. The only mother she’d ever had and ever would. And now she was gone.
And she didn’t like thinking about that.
“You didn’t come back to town for Andrew’s funeral, did you? Or did I miss you?”
Carrie felt her defenses heighten, but she could see no malice in Melissa’s eyes as she reached down to pick up a toy that her son (her son!) had tossed on the floor.
“I wasn’t able to make it back,” Carrie said regretfully.
“Life gets busy!” Melissa opened her eyes knowingly. The baby started to fuss, reaching for his toy, and she jostled the stroller, nearly hitting Carrie in the knee. Carrie eyed the toy, wondering if Melissa was the kind of mom who would hand it back or disinfect it first. “And what’s new with you?” Melissa asked cheerfully. She tucked the toy into the front pocket of her oversized shoulder bag. The baby howled. “How’s your fabulous New York life?”
Carrie felt her lids droop but she forced a wider smile. Last time she and Melissa had met up had been just six months after meeting Lucas. She was in love. She hadn’t been shy about it. Moving to New York had never felt more right. Staying there felt permanent.
“Just…fabulous.” Here, she, too, laughed, even though it wasn’t funny, and even though her life was far from fabulous at the moment. She was single, she was hungover, and she wasn’t on speaking terms with her sister.
And she’d never have a baby. And she wanted one. Even one like William, who was now crying so hard that Carrie could feel the pulse of her headache in her eyeballs.
Melissa checked her watch and pulled a face. “Shoot. I’m late for story time at the library. But let’s catch up. You’re in town all week?”
Carrie nodded. “Yep.” At least, that was the plan. Tess may have a different one.
“Great. We’ll get coffee. Decaf for me, of course.” Melissa grinned happily. The baby gurgled as the stroller began moving. “Just message me a time that works for you.”
Carrie managed to nod, but her mind was spinning. She took a long sip of her coffee, thinking that right now, she’d rather have coffee with Tess than with Melissa. At least with Tess, she didn’t have to talk about herself. And she certainly wouldn’t have to talk about Lucas. They could just sit in silence. But Melissa was perky. Too perky. Perky enough to make Carrie suspect that she was still drinking caffeine after all.
As she watched Melissa bounce away, Carrie instantly regretted changing her relationship status on Facebook last night. It made her feel vulnerable and alone. And she hated both those feelings. Did her best to avoid them at all costs.
But then, she supposed it was better to change the status before Lucas did. After all, she had some pride.
Carrie walked outside and scanned the sidewalk, careful to avoid anyone she knew, anyone who wanted to stop and chat and catch up. She didn’t want to catch up. She didn’t want to talk about how “fabulous” her life in New York was any more than she wanted to be reminded of her mother. She’d died at the age of fifty-five, of a heart attack. High blood pressure. It might have been the stress. Or it might have been a broken heart.
Secretly, Carrie had blamed herself, for leaving town, for staying away, for not calling or visiting often enough. But Jules had just shaken her head firmly.
“Blame Dad, if you can even call him that,” she’d said angrily. “Blame our father.”
Their mother had never gotten over Carrie’s father leaving them. None of them had, Carrie supposed. They’d all just learned to survive, in their own strange ways.
Only now Carrie couldn’t help but wonder if running to New York had been the best choice. And if life might have been better for her right here in Winter Lake, after all.
Chapter Fourteen
Tess
Tess finished wrapping the last of Phoebe’s Christmas gifts and carried them to her bedroom closet. She flicked on the light, the rush of seeing Andrew’s clothes hanging neatly still surprised her, as if they were waiting for him to come home and wear them again.
She knew what her sisters would say if they saw the clothes. That he wasn’t coming back. That there was no need to hold onto these things, just like there was no need to hold onto Andrew’s toothbrush or shaving kit or anything else mundane and unsentimental. But they didn’t understand. How could they? It was all sentimental, because it was all a part of the life they’d shared.
The life she’d loved.
Her life with Andrew was so different from the one she’d had growing up that at times it had felt like a fairytale. Like a dream. And now, that’s exactly what it had been. And she was back to living in reality. With loneliness. And fear.
And bills. And so much uncertainty.
She pulled her phone from her pocket and scrolled through her contacts list until she came to Andrew’s name. She pressed the button at the bottom of the screen and held the device to her ear, closing her eyes as it went straight to voicemail, and his voice came on, strong and clear, warm and reassuring. Leave a message. He’d call back.
Oh, how she wished that he would.
She hung up the phone without leaving a message. What was there to say? I didn’t get the job, Andrew? I’m scared, Andrew? I don’t know what to do, Andrew? I’m trying to be strong, Andrew?
Come back, Andrew. That’s what she wanted to say.
She stood in the closet for several minutes, feeling the weight of the phone in her hand, before slipping it back in her pocket. The moment had passed. She could still hear his voice if she closed her eyes. It was all that was left to hold onto anymore. The last piece of him that still felt alive in this world.
She tossed a blanket over the stack of presents and went downstairs, where her sisters and daughter were waiting for her in their warmest winter gear, one of the pot pies from Trudy Flannigan half-eaten and still resting on the stove top, finally put to good use, that she couldn’t take credit for. There would be heat lamps and bonfires at the lake tonight, and the wind had died down, but still, Tess rolled up Phoebe’s sweater sleeve to make sure she was wearing her long underwear.
“Mo-om,” Phoebe protested.
“Yeah, Mo-om,” Jules chimed in, grinning in that mischievous way of hers.
“That’s my name,” Tess simply replied, giving Phoebe a wink. She glanced at Jules, shaking her head, resisting the urge to roll her eyes, to fight back the exasperation that was building in her chest. The irritability she felt that Jules was still a kid in so many ways, still not grown or mature, still not an adult. In many ways, she felt like Jules’s mom. Still felt the need to set her straight, make sure her life was on track. But how could she do that when her own life was crumbling around her? She’d been responsible for Jules from a young age, making sure that she had he
r breakfast and something for lunch, that her hair was brushed and that the sheets on her bed were fresh. Tess didn’t mind it too much. Jules was cute and fun, whereas Carrie had been more serious, like her. And whereas Carrie was sensitive, Jules didn’t let things bother her. She could fight her own battles, stick up for herself when kids on the playground got mean, and eventually, as Tess started to build her own life, she assumed that Jules would be just fine on her own.
Now, she pushed back the guilty feeling she often had that she hadn’t been there enough for Jules over the years. That she hadn’t guided her enough, hadn’t encouraged her enough, that she was too busy with her new family, spending time with Andrew, raising Phoebe. How many phone calls had gone unanswered because Phoebe needed to be rocked to sleep or taken to the park, how many conversations cut short because Phoebe needed to be taken somewhere or Tess was trying to get dinner on the table?
Jules had only been in her mid-twenties when their mother had died. And unlike Tess and Carrie, she didn’t even remember their father. Sometimes Tess thought she was better off that way. Carrie had cried herself to sleep for nearly six months after he’d left, after all, while Jules was oblivious. And Tess…Well, Tess hadn’t cried. Tess had only tightened her resolve that someday her life would be different. And better.
She gave Jules a grin as she put on her coat and zippered it to the top, and Jules’s eyes lit the way they did when she was a little girl and Tess handed her one of the beaters from her cupcake batter.
Tess felt a tightening in her chest. Jules loved her. And she loved Jules. She didn’t say it often enough, but she should. Life was too short to not say what you meant.
She spared a glance in Carrie’s direction. Carrie had been particularly quiet on this visit, not even mentioning Lucas, and usually that was all she could talk about. Did she love her sister anymore? She didn’t answer that question. It would require too much thought. Too much stirring up of the past, and she had made a promise to herself a long time ago to put the past behind her.