Rose simply stood and gaped at him. She certainly hadn’t anticipated running into the Grinch in Juniper Springs of all places. But she wasn’t going to let him ruin her Christmas cheer. “Maybe I should talk to the person who sponsored the tree.” Surely some rational person with the holiday spirit would welcome her help redecorating the tree.
“I’m the one who’s sponsoring the tree this year.” He didn’t turn around to look at her. Somehow, he’d located all the ornaments—holding the lot of them in his large gloved hands. “And if we’d wanted anyone to fix the tree, we wouldn’t have put up this fence around it.” Impatience flared in his eyes. “You can go on now. Or I’ll have to call the sheriff out and tell him you’re trespassing.”
“Trespassing?” In a public place? “Like I said, I didn’t mean to cause problems.” She hadn’t caused any problems. “I accidentally dropped a few ornaments, but that doesn’t mean I deserve to be treated like some criminal.” Rose whirled indignantly and went to step over the rope, but the toe of her boot caught and tripped her. Instead of stalking away, she fell flat on her face in the snow.
Chapter Eight
Magnolia
This couldn’t be right.
Mags checked the GPS again. Surely, she’d made a wrong turn somewhere. She squinted out the windshield ahead of her. How could this be the Juniper Inn? You used to be able to see the pond and a few of the cabins from the road. There was evidence that a driveway had once been there, and tire tracks had packed down the snow, but where were the beautiful cabins? Where was the large hand-carved sign that used to welcome visitors to the property? Where was the main house where her aunt lived? She couldn’t see anything past the overgrowth of the forest. The pines and evergreens and aspens had inundated the place, hemming in the driveway.
Mags eased a foot onto the rental car’s gas pedal and urged the SUV forward, staying in those tire tracks. Thank God she’d rented the four-wheel drive vehicle, or she’d never make it through. Shadows slid over the car as she navigated the path she assumed the driveway would follow. Even at three o’clock in the afternoon, the sun already hovered low, spilling through the trees like liquid gold. The lane was so narrow that branches scratched along either side of the rental, so it was a good thing she’d gotten the extra insurance, too.
Riding the brakes around another curve, Mags checked the GPS again. It had to be right, but—
She eased the car to a stop. The trees had started to thin enough that she could see a few buildings in the distance. But they weren’t the same charming cottages that had once dotted the lake. They were old and run-down, the siding rotted and peeling, their front porches collapsed in. Worse yet, there were no Christmas decorations. Not one wreath or string of lights visible anywhere.
Sassy used to go all out in decorating for Christmas—she’d had every cottage outlined with colorful lights. Each front door would have a wreath made of fresh evergreen branches. Red velvet bows used to dress up the porches, but now there was…nothing. Nothing except for tumbledown buildings and snow and trees that had grown in too thick.
The sight sunk Mags’s heart. Aunt Sassy really must not be doing well. Why had she waited so long to reach out? Guilt edged in. Her aunt probably thought she and her sisters didn’t care about her. And who else did Sassy have?
Mags cringed remembering how she’d called her mother to talk about Sassy’s letter. Lillian had dismissed the whole thing and quickly changed the subject. She’d refused to even acknowledge the possibility that her sister’s health was declining. Instead, she’d asked if Mags had gotten her measurements done for her bridesmaid dress yet. That was what her mother truly cared about right now. Rose’s upcoming wedding. Though they hadn’t talked in a month, Lillian hadn’t even asked Mags how she’d been. Her mother had never really known what to do with Mags. Dahlia had been her overachiever, getting straight As and securing every academic honor. Rose had always been the one who lived to make Lillian happy, but Mags had been closer to her father, bonding over the baseball games they used to attend together, and since his death, it was like she and her mother had no connection at all anymore.
It had always been easy to connect with Sassy though. In her memories, their aunt only had positive things to say to them. She’d told them she loved them. She’d told them how brilliant and beautiful they were. Mags couldn’t wait to see her.
Last week, when she’d tried to call her aunt to tell her she was coming, she’d only been able to leave a message. Sassy had replied with a text asking her to send her travel information and had said she couldn’t wait to see her. But she’d reveled nothing about her condition.
Whatever it was, she and Rose and Dally would get Sassy though it. Mags steered the car up the small hill and felt her heart sink even further the second the main lodge came into view. The house had once been so pristine and well cared for, but now the massive stained logs were peeling and faded. One of the large picture windows that overlooked the property had cracked, and a few broken bird feeders were scattered across the wide front porch. The house almost looked as sad as she felt.
Only one other car sat in front of the garage—a rental from the looks of it. Dahlia had texted that she’d already arrived at the inn but had offered no other details—no warning about what they were walking into.
Mags parked the rental behind Dahlia’s car and climbed out straight into a drift of snow, her whole body shuddering. There was a reason she’d moved to Florida. She absolutely detested the cold. Zipping up the ski jacket she’d borrowed from Coral before she’d left Florida, Magnolia tromped through the snow in her borrowed Sorels, trying to follow the tracks Dahlia must’ve made when she’d gone into the house earlier. By the time Mags reached the front door she was huffing and puffing from the altitude and from the frigid air—which really did take your breath away. She stomped snow off her boots and knocked on the door, her knuckles already halfway to freezing. This was colder than cold. Mind-numbing. She simply wasn’t going to be able to leave the house once she got in there.
The door swung open quickly—thank God—and Dahlia appeared. “So, Aunt Sassy isn’t dying,” her sister announced before Mags could even greet her.
“What’d you mean she’s not dying?” Mags scooted inside the door past Dahlia before her toes froze off.
“I mean Aunt Sassy is as healthy as a bull moose, according to her doctor, who I happened to meet on the road when I almost hit a moose, and he told me Sassy was in for a checkup a few weeks ago and there’s absolutely nothing wrong with her.”
Relief loosened the tightness in her rib cage. “Thank God.” Mags took in her sister’s indignant expression. Out of the three of them, Dahlia looked the most like their father, with a slender nose and cheekbones made softer by the roundness of her face. Mags had always been envious of Dally’s olive skin and strawberry-blond hair, not that she’d ever admit it to anyone. “Isn’t it a good thing that Sassy’s not dying?” Mags leaned over to untie the laces of her boots so she didn’t tromp snow all over the house. Although it might not’ve mattered much if she did. Judging from the dust on the floor in the entryway and the clutter stacked in the corners, the place hadn’t been cleaned in a while.
“Of course it’s a good thing she’s not dying.” Dahlia’s voice softened. The relief was evident on her face, too. “But why would she basically say she was then? In our letters. I mean, you read it the same way I did. So did Rose.”
Mags stood and shook the boots off her feet. “To be fair, she never actually said she was dying.”
“She insinuated it.” Her sister had always been a literalist. “She must’ve known how it sounded.” Dahlia led her through a sitting room with a misshapen old couch and two overstuffed chairs facing a river-rock fireplace before bringing Mags into the kitchen. It was cheery and warm—with yellow walls and blue accents, but this room hadn’t been cleaned in a long while either.
“And, when I arrived to ask her about it, she wasn’t here.” Dahlia promptly went to the a
ntique stove and grabbed a teakettle, that had just begun to whistle. “She left us a note saying she had a last-minute errand to run and she’ll be back with dinner, so I guess we’ll have to wait and ask her what’s going on then.”
“I guess so.” Mags glanced around the kitchen wistfully.
There had been so much laughter in this kitchen while Sassy had shared her secret cookie recipes, teaching the girls to sift flour and measure out the right amount of baking powder for the high altitude, and how to cream the butter and sugar. Mags had fallen in love with baking in this kitchen. Sure, the house was a little older, a bit run-down, but this was where she’d uncovered one of her deepest passions.
“Here’s some peppermint tea.” Dahlia carried over two mugs. The same Santa face mugs they’d used to drink hot cocoa from. Except now Santa’s nose was missing.
“I added some honey and lemon,” her sister said, setting the mug in front of her. “It’ll warm you up.”
Dahlia was always doing things for people—feeding them, cleaning up after them, organizing them, bringing them peppermint tea with a splash of lemon and honey. Her sister liked to be busy.
Not that Mags was going to complain. The mug warmed her hands right away. “Thank you. It’s good to see you, Dally.” Mags appraised her sister’s face. Dahlia’s eyes were still bright and animated, but a sadness hid in them, too. Her sister never would admit it, but the last year—the divorce—seemed to have taken a toll on her.
“It’s good to see you, too.” Dahlia’s face relaxed into a smile. “I can’t believe we’re here. After all these years.” The bridge of her nose crinkled slightly, reminding Mags of the face her sister used to make when their mother would make her eat peas. Dally had hated peas with an undying passion.
“It’s a mess though, right?” Her sister’s voice lowered as though she was afraid someone might overhear. “I mean, it doesn’t look like the place has been cleaned in eons.” She seemed to inspect the surface of the Formica kitchen table. “And not one upgrade in all those years. Everything’s the same, except for older and messier.”
Mags had to laugh at that. “Then I guess we’ll fit right in.” She winked at her sister. “Older and messier is how I feel, too.” Now that she was inside, she didn’t mind the state of disrepair so much. When they were children, twirling around in this kitchen with their aprons on, spatulas in their hands, everything had seemed so perfect, so easy. But that was the façade of childhood—the trust that everything was just as it should be when all along beneath the surface things had always been messy. Back when she was a kid, Mags hadn’t paid attention to the dysfunction, but her mother and Sassy obviously had had plenty of issues. She sipped the tea, letting it warm her. “So, Dally…how are you?” She asked her sister this question on the phone often, and Dahlia always deflected. She wouldn’t be able to do that now that they were face-to-face.
“Fine. Great actually.” Dally’s eyes had always flared slightly wider when she lied. They’d learned it from their mother, the lying. The smoothing over of details. It was why Mags hadn’t shared her fertility struggle, what it had done to her marriage. It was why Dally couldn’t tell her how broken her heart was, even though Mags could see it in her slightly sunken posture. It was why Rose pretended to be excited about the wedding, even though Mags had noticed her hesitations the last time she’d visited Savannah. They were always supposed to be fine.
She shouldn’t blame only her mother. Over the years, Mags had learned that was the expected response from a strong, independent, capable woman. I’m fine. Great, actually. Anything less would show weakness, a vulnerability most people feared. Including her.
“How are the kids?” she prompted, mostly because she’d grown tired of the song and dance. She sure as hell wasn’t fine, great actually, and she would be willing to bet her marble rolling pin that her sister wasn’t either. What was wrong with needing each other anyway? What good was having sisters if you couldn’t rely on them? “I bet they’re missing you like crazy right now.” Once again, Mags wondered what kind of jackass took his kids on a vacation with his new girlfriend over Christmas? That was an easy one. Jeff Martindale. She’d never liked her sister’s husband. He’d always been slightly obsessed with himself.
Tears welled in Dahlia’s eyes. “Yeah. I’m missing them more than I even thought I would. I can’t stop thinking about them even for a second. I hate it. Not knowing what they’re doing, how they’re feeling.” She sighed. “From the little I have heard, it sounds like things aren’t exactly smooth sailing on the trip right now.”
“Well of course they’re not.” Mags set down her mug so she could throw up her hands. Some conversations required dramatic gesturing. “What does he expect? They want to be with their mother on Christmas, not at some hotel in France.” With some young bombshell who couldn’t keep her hands off their dad. How awkward would that be? Mags had seen plenty of pictures of the two of them on social media.
“It’s okay—”
The front door banged open and a muttered string of curses drifted down the hall. That sure sounded like Rose…well, minus the curses. Their youngest sister was still entrenched in the whole Southern manners thing. Thank God Mags had escaped.
Mags looked at Dahlia and the two of them stood at exactly the same time, hurrying down the hall to greet their sister.
“Whoa.” Mags stopped short of hugging Rose. “What happened to you?” Soggy was one way to describe Rose’s current look. She seemed to be wet from head to toe—her beautiful golden hair hanging in strings around her shoulders.
“I fell!” Rose practically wailed, shaking off her coat with force. “Face-first in the snow!”
Mags held back a chuckle. When they were young, Rose had been the most dramatic of the three of them. Over the years she’d mellowed out, but every once in a while Mags still caught a glimpse of Rose’s inner diva.
“And then when I was trying to get up, I couldn’t get my footing, and I fell again!” She blew inside with the same swiftness as a cold wind and slammed the door shut behind her. “All in front of the most incorrigible, surliest man I’ve ever met.”
“Well that sounds like a story.” Mags moved in to help Rose slip off her dripping-wet suede jacket.
“You’re completely soaked!” Dahlia hustled around, coming back with a stack of blankets she proceeded to wrap around Rose’s indignant shoulders.
“All I was trying to do is to clean up the Christmas tree in the park. I mean, seriously! It looks like a horde of raccoons decorated the tree, ornaments all over the place, thrown about in no particular order. So, I took a few off to rearrange them, and the man accused me of stealing!”
Mags couldn’t tell if the ruddiness on her sister’s cheeks had come from anger, cold, or humiliation. Most likely a combination of all three. Rose hated to make a fool out of herself and embarrassed easily.
Together, she and Dahlia escorted Rose into the kitchen and sat her in a chair.
“There.” Dally offered their sister her peppermint tea and tucked the blankets in tighter around her shoulders. “I’m sure it was all a misunderstanding.”
“I mean, do I look like someone who would steal Christmas ornaments off a public tree?” Rose demanded.
Mags decided not to answer that. At the moment, Rose did happen to have a little crazy in her eyes. “So, you drove into town and got to work right away redecorating the place?” Mags couldn’t help but tease her. “Like some kind of Mary Poppins for Christmas trees?”
That at least made Rose smile. “I was reacquainting myself with the magic of this beautiful little town, and I saw something amiss. I mean, remember how stunning that tree used to look all lit up in the center of the park? Well believe me, this one looked nothing like I remembered.”
“Just like everything else around her,” Dahlia muttered, dragging another chair to the table. “It seems a lot has changed.”
“There’s no stopping change.” Magnolia said as she took another sip of her tea. �
��But I’m glad we’re all here.” They hadn’t spent any quality time together since high school. Not for more than a week at a time. And never just the three of them without their parents or spouses or kids.
“Yes, at least we’re together.” Rose’s eyes brightened with tears.
Mags studied her sister, seeing a familiar weariness in her features. “Other than the Christmas tree caper, how have you been?” she asked.
“Oh, I’ve been great.” Rose sat straighter. “The wedding plans are really coming along.”
Mags could’ve mouthed the response along with Rose. Her sister’s heart wasn’t in the words, though. They rang too hollow.
“By the way, I have it on good authority that Aunt Sassy isn’t dying,” Dahlia informed Rose. “According to her doctor, she’s perfectly healthy.”
“What?” The blankets fell away from Rose’s shoulders and she finally smiled. “That’s the best news I’ve heard all day. But if she’s not sick, what are we doing here?”
Mags wrapped her hands around the warm mug again. “We’re reconnecting. Escaping. At least that’s what I’m doing.” Whatever Sassy’s reason for bringing them out here—and Mags was sure she had one—the timing was perfect.
“I’m surprised Eric didn’t come.” Rose started to comb out her hair with her fingers. “You two have never spent a holiday apart.”
“He couldn’t get off work.” The words tumbled out, a perfectly reasonable explanation. Except it wasn’t true. But how did you just come out and tell your sisters that your marriage was in shambles when you’d been pretending things were great for so long? She and Eric hadn’t spoken since she’d walked out of the condo with her suitcase, but she couldn’t get his sad expression out of her mind. He’d looked like he was in pain. The same pain that seemed to run through her heart like a fault line.
Home for the Holidays Page 6