by Mary Carter
Austin was almost out the door when a silver ornament dangling on a display tree caught his eye. Silver letters spelled out the word JOY. Neither he nor Yvette had celebrated Christmas in a long time. And she’d probably hate it. But maybe she wouldn’t. Maybe it would make her smile. He returned to the register to pay for the ornament, then tucked it into the bag and headed for his truck.
“Why did you buy those?” she asked, pointing to the apples the minute he returned to the truck.
“They’re good for you.”
“Don’t be a fool.” She shook her head. “It’s too late to keep the doctor away.”
“It’s never too late.”
“If I didn’t know better I’d say you’re hoping for a Christmas miracle.”
“Would that be so bad?” As Austin started the drive back home, he purposefully avoided her gaze. He needn’t have bothered. Yvette stared out the window.
“The real miracle is that I made it this far,” she said.
Me too, Austin thought, but he didn’t voice it. Would have sounded cruel coming from a thirty-two-year-old regardless of the fact that quite often that was exactly how he felt. Life could do a number on you if you let it. They fell into an uneasy silence as he took the curves and climbed higher up the mountain road to her sprawling property. He couldn’t help but wonder who would inherit her estate. The place had belonged to her late husband, Rupert Harris, who had run a sled and skating outfit in town in the winter and horseback riding all other times of year. Rupert Harris had come from money and his first wife died in a car accident. She passed young so there were no kids, and by the time he fell in love with Yvette, both of them were well into their sixties. Yvette had a son from her first marriage, but Austin had never met him, and the one time he pressed Yvette on it she simply said: He’s gone. The set of her mouth and the pain reflected in her eyes made him back off. Austin didn’t know whether that meant he had passed away or he had taken off. He never brought up the subject again.
If Yvette had any other family or friends, they didn’t come around. She had twenty acres and a gorgeous log home that resembled a mini ski lodge. He hoped whoever inherited or purchased it would love it and take care of it the way she had.
Leavenworth was such a charming place; he’d hate to see the house abandoned or torn down for God knows what a developer might come up with. A hotel, or actual lodge, he supposed. With its twenty pine-tree-filled acres, and skating pond, and hills to sled, surely someone would be thinking along those lines. He’d buy it himself if he could afford it, but he could barely afford his own three-room cabin and two acres next door. Not that he needed more room, it suited him perfectly fine. But he sure didn’t like the thought of having new neighbors. Not that this was any time to be thinking about himself. He had to find a way to cheer her up. They pulled up to the black iron gate that secured the entrance. Austin rolled down the window and punched the key code into the security system. A few seconds later the electronic gates slid open. He thought it was cool that Rupert had combined modern technology with the old-fashioned gates. Austin pulled in and took the half-moon drive up to the house where he put his truck in park. Then he grabbed the groceries with one hand and with the other he helped Yvette up the steps to the wraparound porch and into her house.
They entered into a mudroom. Austin put the groceries down and pulled off his boots, then hung his winter coat on the rack on the wall. Yvette had already slipped out of her coat and boots and had headed into the house. Austin followed.
The main floor reminded Austin of an expansive loft apartment. There was a fireplace with a stone chimney that took center stage on the main wall, towering at least fifteen feet up to the start of the second level. An arrangement of soft leather sofas faced the fireplace, and a bank of windows overlooked the expansive grounds. A few feet behind the sofas was a marble island with stools all around, delineating the chef’s kitchen behind it. With so many windows, the place definitely had an indoor-outdoor feel, and the natural light helped offset all the wood—from the thick planks in the floor to the logs in the walls. Had it been closed in, the effect might have been suffocating, but with all the space and cathedral ceilings, it transformed into something artistic and welcoming.
Yvette’s room was on the main floor down a hall to the right, and the second story housed at least five guest rooms, but Austin had never been beyond the main room and kitchen. Not that he felt any need to nose around, he certainly would never let anyone poke around in his little cabin.
He knelt down in front of the fireplace, added a few logs and kindling from the bin sitting next to it, and tossed some crumpled-up newspaper on top. Just as he had struck a match and lit the newspaper, a horrifying scream rang out. It had come from Yvette, who was in the kitchen area putting away the groceries. Austin dropped the match into the fire, then shot to his feet and hurried toward Yvette.
She was standing stock-still, mouth open like a rendition of The Scream. Dangling from her fingers was the ornament. JOY. He watched her stare at it like it was a snake ready to strike.
“What on earth is the matter?” Austin heard his own voice echoing back, sounding slightly hysterical. His heart was thumping in his chest. Yvette’s eyes flicked to the windows, and Austin turned around and looked. Roger was standing in the yard, staring into the windows. He was a tall man, with broad shoulders. He wore a cracked leather jacket and always had on a red cap. The way he silently appeared and stared always made Austin think he was an alien, sent here to observe human life but not participate in it. That was the nicest comparison Austin could make about the older man. He was younger than Yvette, probably in his fifties. Before Yvette passed away Austin was going to have to find out what the guy’s deal was. The last thing he’d stand for was somebody scamming her for an inheritance. “Did he scare you?” Austin said. “I told you that guy is creepy. I’ll go talk to him.” Austin headed for the door.
“It’s not him,” Yvette said. “It’s you.”
Austin turned back to Yvette. She wasn’t making any sense. “Me? What did I do?”
“What is the meaning of this?” Yvette was literally shaking as she bobbed the ornament up and down.
Why is she so worked up about a freaking Christmas ornament?
“Who are you?” she said. “Some kind of Ghost of Christmas Past?”
That stopped him in his tracks. “What?”
“What is this?” She flicked the ornament with her index finger and they both watched it swing for a second.
Austin shrugged. “I thought it might cheer you up.”
Yvette recoiled. “Why are you doing this to me?”
“I’m sorry it’s upsetting you so much.”
“What’s the third one?”
“Do you need me to get you something? Water? Your pills?”
“Just get it over with. Say her name.”
“Say whose name?”
Yvette shook her head, then removed a flask from one of the kitchen cabinets and took a long swig. How many of those did she have lying around? Maybe a bit of paranoia was a side effect of stopping chemo or being told you wouldn’t live much past the new year. Who did these doctors think they were, giving Yvette news like this at this time of year? He turned back to see if Roger was still skulking on the lawn. Not only was he still there, but he had edged closer to the windows.
“Don’t stare at him, it’s not polite,” Yvette said, coming up behind him.
“He’s the one standing out there just staring into the windows,” Austin said.
“He’s not hurting you.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Go on home now. I need my rest.”
Austin really wanted to know why she was so worked up about the ornament. Not only had he not cheered her up, she seemed even more upset than before. “Have a little faith,” he said. This time in addition to letting out another bloodcurdling scream, Yvette Garland lifted a rolling pin and charged him.
CHAPTER 3
Hope Garland
paced her tiny apartment, clutching her iPad and practicing her pitch. “It’s been five years since the three of us spent Christmas together.” She stopped. Could it be longer? Definitely longer since the three of them spent Christmas with their mother.
“Can you do that somewhere else?” Michael called from the sofa. She glanced at the top of his head, dark hair sticking up in the middle. He’d been glued to the television for the past hour, captivated by some kind of extreme fishing show. Bigger boats, more waves, hairier fish. Gawd. He hadn’t even taken her suggestion of watching It’s a Wonderful Life seriously. Another piece of evidence that he wasn’t the right guy for her, bagged and sealed and placed in the evidence locker. Truthfully, she’d known it after their first month together, when it became obvious that he wasn’t a dog lover, but she’d spent the next five months trying to talk herself into him. Every time she wanted to break up with him, she could hear her older sister, Faith, in her ear. “Not everyone is a dog fanatic, Hope. Must Love Dogs is one thing. Must Think Life Revolves Around Dogs is you being psychotic. Give people a break!”
Faith was never one to tiptoe in on little cat feet. So Hope tried. She’d given him multiple breaks. Maybe she was the one who was broken. Or maybe, she knew it all along. He just wasn’t the guy for her. Why did she think she had to turn him into a villain to admit it wasn’t working out? She hadn’t fostered a dog since they’d started dating, and she couldn’t wait to get to work every day just to be around those big eyes and wagging tails. She missed having a dog lying at the foot of the bed, snoring away. She missed the click of their nails on the wood floor, and the exuberant joy when it was time for a walk. Dogs taught people how to live in the moment. She felt bad that Faith couldn’t see that. But that wasn’t the only reason she wanted to end things with Michael. And maybe all her reasons were all little things, things other women would consider trifling—but the little things added up.
“Look at the size of that bass!” he said. “That’s a whopper.”
“Wow,” Hope said. “Size does matter.” She could see him nod. He didn’t register sarcasm. She felt mean. But seriously. Did he expect her to get excited over a fish? She didn’t understand the male brain. Slippery, and elusive. Like a fish? Just because one lived in the Pacific Northwest did not mean they loved freaking fish. Maybe, if he had ever tried to get excited about dogs, she would have tried to get excited about fish. At least dogs were incredible companions. And smart. So, so smart. Could you say the same about fish? Could you cuddle up on the sofa with a bass? Was it all about stringing it up and posing for the picture? Sometimes she thought men weren’t just from different planets, they were off in their own solar system.
Be nice, Hope. As soon as the holidays were over, she was going to end this relationship as neatly as possible. She would let him down gently. She would put it in a language he understood. As you know, Michael. There are plenty of fish in the sea. Holidays should not be about heartbreak. Would Michael be heartbroken? She doubted it. Hope tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and went back to silently begging her sisters to spend Christmas with her this year.
“As long as you’re pacing, would you get me a pilsner?” Michael called out. Hope rolled her eyes, knowing he’d never turn around to see it. She headed for the fridge. He was on his third beer within the hour. She shouldn’t be counting, it was Sunday, they weren’t going anywhere, but she knew by the end of the day the six-pack would be gone, and he might even rummage through her cupboards for some hard liquor, and he would fall asleep on the sofa and snore. She was twenty-eight. Not married, no kids. Was this really the life she wanted? He wasn’t a drunk now, but if he kept this up, what would he be like in ten years? It was too reminiscent of her parents. But she didn’t say a word. She didn’t want to fight. She handed him another beer and headed for the hall between the living room and her bedroom where she could pace in relative peace. She wished he’d just go home, but in order to get her wish, she’d actually have to have a conversation with him. One she didn’t want to face right now. Right now she had to focus on her sisters.
Christmas with their mother, or Carla as they’d been ordered to call her, hadn’t happened for at least six years. Maybe seven? And Carla was definitely out this year—she’d already announced she was going to Cuba with her latest boyfriend, but her sisters hadn’t made any such proclamations. Yet. Hope had a small window; if she wanted to nail down plans for Christmas, she was going to have to pounce.
Last year they told her she’d waited too late. “Sorry, Hope,” Faith said. “We’re going to visit Stephen’s mother. If only you had said something earlier.”
“Same here,” Joy said. “It’s too late to change my plans as well.”
“What plans?” Hope asked.
“Friends on the east coast,” Joy said, leaving it at that. Hope was convinced Joy had no such plans, but accusing your little sister of being a liar usually didn’t go over so well.
The year before, they said she’d asked too early. “I can’t even think about Christmas this early,” Faith said. “Let us get through the start of the school year, would you?”
“I don’t even know what I’m doing tomorrow let alone Christmas,” Joy said. Hope didn’t know when her sisters had morphed into Goldilocks—too hot, too cold, too porridge-y!—but if they didn’t start celebrating with her, they were going to turn her into the Grinch. This time she was asking at exactly the right time. Just a few days after Thanksgiving. Not too early, but still plenty of time to arrange travel and plan exactly where they would spend Christmas.
She took a deep breath and imagined they were in the room. Faith, tall and leggy, would no doubt be looking sexy in designer jeans and some kind of trendy top with lace, or shimmery material, something practical but uber-feminine. Long brown hair flowing past her breasts. A slightly superior look on her face. At thirty-two Faith was the oldest, but she still sported a flawless complexion, no doubt the result of what Carla called “her hippy-dippy California ways.”
Joy, on the other hand, twenty-four but still the baby of the family, would be splayed out on the La-Z-Boy, her athletic figure practically hidden underneath her tattoos, and colored sweatpants with JUICY on her derriere, and her pretty face slathered with dark makeup. Maybe a neon-pink streak running through her choppy platinum hair. Joy thought of herself as the forgotten child and maybe to some extent she had been. Her mission in life seemed to be to make Hope feel that everything she said was a complete waste of breath, or at least worthy of an eye roll.
She felt bad for judging her sisters, but she couldn’t help it. How did they see her? Did they look at her as the dutiful middle child? Did they think her boring with her girl-next-door look, her honey-colored hair that she’d never touched with highlights despite the two of them begging her to “mix it up,” and her natural brows they’d salivated over tweezing? Did they long to take a lint roller to her T-shirts covered in dog hair? Most likely. No matter.
She began her plea again, making eye contact with the apparitions of her sisters. “You two can come to Portland, or Joy and I could go to San Francisco, or we could all meet in Seattle.”
Joy probably wouldn’t go for meeting in Seattle; she’d told Hope she was in between apartments, whatever that meant. Regardless, Joy would have a fit if Hope didn’t at least include the possibility of spending the holidays in her home turf. It was so ridiculous, all three of them lived on the west coast, but given the protestations of Faith and Joy every year, you’d think they lived on opposite ends of the earth. Every year Hope tried everything she could think of to convince them to spend it together, and every year they deflected her request with a sorry excuse. Faith’s usually revolved around family:
We’re going to spend it with Stephen’s mother this year, sorry.
The kids just want to spend it at home.
I’d rather wait until we could all afford to go somewhere nice, somewhere away from here.
Joy’s excuses ran the gamut and were often filled with
a Shakespearean-esque passion:
I’m not celebrating that Hallmark holiday this year!
Bob (Mark, Jeff, Greg) and I are:
a) Hiking the Appalachian Trail
b) Buying a yurt
c) Going to Vegas
Hope was always defeated. Not this year, sisters.
But short of kidnapping them, Hope wasn’t quite sure how to get her way this year. She thought about involving Stephen, but she never really felt comfortable around Faith’s husband. There was nothing wrong with him per se, but he was a bit stiff. And he always seemed to want Faith to go to his mother’s house for Christmas. No matter what, it was probably going to take several attempts, so she might just as well make the first call. But to whom? If she called Faith first, Joy might complain that she’d been an afterthought. But Faith always had to call the shots, so she wouldn’t be receptive if Hope and Joy had it all worked out in advance.
“I can’t believe you’re this worked up about Christmas,” Michael called from the sofa.
“That’s because your family is normal,” she said. “They just get together. My family talks about getting together like scientists talk about taking trips to outer space. Maybe. Someday. You never know.”
“Hurry up and call because if you three aren’t getting together, I had a few thoughts of my own.”
“What thoughts?”
“Let’s just say—we’re going to have a merry Christmas whether you get together with your sisters or not.”
“I have to get together with my sisters. If we don’t start doing it, we’ll forget how.”
“Then call already.”
She hoped he wasn’t planning anything big. Couldn’t he see that they weren’t right for each other? What was wrong with this picture? The guy she didn’t want to be with was sticking to her like glue, and the two women she did want to be with were dodging and evading. Regardless, he was right. She needed to get over herself and call. She clicked on the video icon and clicked on the picture of Faith’s smiling face.