by Robyn Neeley
Amanda climbed the steep hill to her parents’ cabin alone. It was daylight and extremely foggy. When had the fog rolled in? The thick mist wrapped around her legs and ankles. She could barely see what was directly in front of her let alone make out the log cabin.
How long had she been outside? She must have gotten lost in the woods. The fight she had earlier with Tate still fresh in her mind. She remembered it ended with bright lights blinding her, probably from one of the Christmas trees on the lot. Alex was always rigging up some kind of bright lights display. It must have been his Christmas Eve lights finale.
She should have known better than to bring Tate home, let alone have sex with him. Even if he was telling the truth about him and Lacy, how many other women at the station had he attempted to be with?
What did it matter? They weren’t even a couple, a fact Tate all too quickly pointed out last night. She sighed. Another Christmas Eve ending in humiliation and heartbreak.
Her foot came down on a soft fury object. “Oops, I’m sorry,” she said, looking down at a buff colored tabby on the walkway. “That’s odd. I thought Grandma’s cat was grey.” She crouched down and petted the feline’s soft fur. “Hello. Who are you?”
The cat answered back by rubbing its head repeatedly on her hand. “You look just like my cat, Sydney. She was such a good kitty. I miss her.” The cat continued to rub its tiny head against her. “Are you hungry? Let’s go get you some food.” She stood, her sweater constricting underneath her jacket. The weather seemed to be unseasonably warm. There also wasn’t a trace of snow on her boots.
Not wanting to wake her family, she opened the door and tiptoed inside.
She gasped. Where were the spiral stairs? This wasn’t her parents’ house. She looked down. The white mist had rolled into the house and coiled around her legs.
Her heart beat faster as panic pulsed through her. “Where am I?” She stepped all the way in the house. “Is anyone home?” She stood frozen, letting a few seconds pass. Complete silence.
This was how really bad horror movies started out. Whatever she did, she would not run up the stairs.
But she didn’t feel like she was in a horror movie. No, far from it. There was something oddly familiar about this house that comforted, not frightened, her. What was it? She inched her way into a small living room where she saw a sofa, a wicker rocking chair with a plum cushion, and a fireplace. A round ball of green yarn and knitting needles were lying on the chair. To the right of the fireplace was a beautiful Christmas tree saturated with exquisite silver and blue ornaments. A bright silver star glistened on top.
She walked over to the stone mantel and stared at a gold framed picture of a family. “No, this can’t be,” she said and shook her head in disbelief.
It was her family’s Christmas photo from years ago, when Amanda was ten. They were wearing identical Christmas sweaters.
She knew exactly where she was.
“I can’t be here, can I?” Even if she had walked the five miles to her grandparents’ farm house, it had been years since they’d lived in it. Why was there a picture of her family on the mantel? She entered the foyer, now recognizing the dark brown banister that led up to the second floor. Her fingers glided over the wood as she remembered how she and Alex used to slide down it as kids, especially on Christmas morning.
“Grandma? Grandpa?” She paused, not quite sure if she had lost her mind. “Are you here?”
“Amanda!” A plump old woman entered the foyer. Her fine grey hair swept up into a bun. She wore a green and white gingham apron. Around her neck was a gold necklace that read, Betty.”
Amanda’s jaw dropped at the sight of her grandmother. She ran over and hugged her, smelling the faint scent of gardenias coming from her grandmother’s silver hair. The flower had always been her favorite. “Grandma? How is this possible? I don’t understand.”
“You will.” Grandma Thompson cupped Amanda’s face with her hands. “You must be hungry. Follow me. I’ve got to check on dinner.”
Amanda dutifully followed. Growing up, they’d often had dinner with her Grandma and Grandpa Thompson on Saturdays and their Grandma and Grandpa Turner on Sundays.
A familiar aroma filled the air. “Grandma, are you baking your famous lasagna?” Peering through the stove’s glass, she could see cheese oozing inside the pasta. Her tongue could already taste her grandmother’s special sauce. If this was a dream, it certainly was a delicious one.
Grandma Thompson laughed. “You remember.”
“How could I forget? We haven’t had lasagna as good as this since . . . ” Her voice trailed off. It had been a long time since she’d seen her grandparents. “Is Grandpa here, too?”
Betty rummaged through the refrigerator. “What can I get you to eat? How about a sandwich?”
“I would love one.”
“Peanut butter and jelly still your favorite?”
“You know me well.” Amanda sat on a kitchen bar stool and scanned the room. It looked just as she remembered. The buff tabby from outside was now on the floor, sipping water from a bowl.
“Did you get a cat?”
Her grandmother followed her gaze and smiled. “She came to us about ten years ago. Bit finicky. We think she misses her owner.”
“She looks just like my Sydney.”
“Dear, can you grab me a cup from the cupboard?”
“Sure.” Amanda jumped up and glanced out the kitchen’s back window. “Grandma, it’s awfully foggy out there.”
“Oh, it’s always like that. Doesn’t matter what time of day. We’re used to it.”
“Really? Is Grandpa out there? Couldn’t he get hurt?”
“He’s dealt with it much longer than I have. He’s the one who taught me how to maneuver around.”
“Where did you say he was?”
“Oh, he’s out and about. He’ll be here soon.” She set the sandwich in front of Amanda. Thick, chunky peanut butter and raspberry jelly oozed out from the white bread.
“Oooh! Crustless! Just like I like it.”
Betty grabbed the cup and poured some milk into it. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I know how much you love coffee, but we don’t drink it much. Is this okay?”
Amanda nodded and chewed her sandwich. “How do you know about my coffee addiction?” She was pretty sure that the last time she saw her grandmother, she had been too young to drink the stuff.
Her grandmother chuckled. “Oh, we’ve known for some time. Okay. I’m going to be out back. You finish eating your lunch and come join me when you’re ready. There’s something I want to show you.”
Obediently eating her sandwich, Amanda watched her grandmother leave from the back door. Was this family reunion with her deceased grandma really happening?
Perhaps she should pinch herself to see if she was dreaming. She grabbed her arm and started to tug at her skin but hesitated. “The only problem is . . . I don’t want to wake up.” She reached down and petted the soft tabby that was now lying at her feet.
She finished her sandwich and headed outside to find her grandmother. The fog was twice as thick in the backyard. It resembled the pockets of fluffy clouds one would see from the window of an airplane. “How does anyone get anything done with all this fog to navigate around? It would drive me absolutely insane.”
Her grandmother approached. “We manage. As I said earlier, we’ve gotten quite used to it.”
“It seems so.” She could make out the silhouette of an old man who appeared to be walking around the house. “Is that Grandpa? Where’s he going?”
“Not far. He just wants to let someone else know that you’re here with us.”
“Here?” Amanda repeated. “Grandma, where exactly is ‘here’?”
“That boyfriend of yours is quite a handsome man,” Betty said.
Was her grandmother dodging her question? Amanda sighed. “Not you, too. He’s not what he seems. Trust me.” She raised an eyebrow. “Wait. You’re talking about Tate, aren’t you? How do
you know him?”
“Oh, we’ve been watching.”
“Sorry?”
“Come, let’s take a peek at what we’ve been watching, shall we?” She motioned for Amanda to follow her even deeper into the thick fog.
“You want to go in there?” Had her grandmother lost her mind? “Grandma, I can’t see two feet in front of me. I know you’re used to this, but I won’t know where I’m going. I nearly trampled your cat earlier.”
“Don’t worry. We’re going in together.” Betty took Amanda’s arm and guided her slowly. Cool mist hit Amanda’s face as she tried to focus her eyes.
“Where are we?” She could make out the outline of an apartment building. Turning around, she could no longer see her grandparents’ house.
“I don’t understand. When did they build an apartment complex behind your . . .” Her voice trailed. She took a step backward and rubbed her eyes. Were they playing a joke on her or was that Tate sitting on the front steps? She frowned as Lacy joined him. “I don’t think I want to see any more.”
“I see you recognize where we are?” Betty asked.
“I don’t know how this could even be possible, but we’re in front of my assistant’s apartment building. What we’re watching happened two days ago.”
“You are correct.”
“Grandma, I don’t understand. Can they see us?”
“No. They can’t hear us either. Let’s listen.”
Amanda crossed her arms around her. “Yeah, this should be good,” she said coolly.
“Hi,” Tate said to Lacy, moving over for her to join him on the stairs.
“Hi,” Lacy said, taking a seat.
“Some year, huh?”
“Yeah, that’s one way to describe it.”
Amanda walked over and stood in front of them. “Worst year of my life."
“Dear, they can’t hear you,” Betty interjected. “Just listen.”
Tate continued to speak to Lacy. “Do you really think it’s a good idea?”
“I do.” Lacy giggled, in a Tate, you’re such a hopeless romantic kind of way.” She tugged on his suit. “You know, eventually you’re going to have to tell her the truth.”
“What truth?” Amanda said.
Tate smiled at Lacy. “I know. I think I’ve got it all planned out. I’m going tell her this weekend, just before Christmas dinner.” He chuckled. “I just need to get her to invite me home first.”
“Well, if I know you, you’ll think of something. Happy holidays, Tate. I hope you get your Christmas wish.” They hugged.
The embrace that Amanda had walked out on. She glanced at her grandmother. “So am I to understand he came up with this idea because he has feelings for me? Since when?”
Her Grandma nodded. “I think we need to go further back in your story for you to understand his motivations.”
“Story?”
“Your love story.”
“With Tate? It’s not that long, and it’s over.” Amanda followed her grandmother back into the mist. “And I’d hardly call it love. More like a stupid and temporary lapse in judgment.”
They left the apartment building and were deep into the fog once again. She strained her eyes, making out a gas station and a highway. “Where are we now?”
“Shhh . . . You always were the grandchild who asked the most questions. Probably why you became an anchor.”
“You know I’m a journalist?”
“Sure do. Pretty good one. Glad you finally busted that crooked mayor of yours. Now just watch and listen. It’s very important that you listen to this conversation.”
“Fine.” At least her grandmother wasn’t telling her to open her eyes like her other grandmother had. “Wait. Is that the gas station on Main Street in Hammondsport?” She saw her dad talking to a strange woman. They were both pumping gas. He looked different. So much younger . . .
She gasped as her gaze shifted to her father’s truck and the young girl inside. “That’s me? How was her grandmother able to take her back in time like this, and what did this memory have to do with Tate?
“Do you remember what happens next?” Her grandmother gently put her hand on Amanda’s shoulder.
“I’m about to follow that boy into the store.”
Betty nodded.
They watched as the little girl got out of the truck and bounced inside. She bent down and picked up something from the ground.
“I picked up a ten-dollar bill. This is the night our cookie tradition started.” She watched the little girl approach the boy inside and hand him the money. A few minutes went by. Young Amanda followed the boy out and then went to the truck. There she took out a box and ran over to the station wagon.
Amanda knew exactly what was going to happen next. “I’m going to come back to the truck, and Dad’s going to tell me to let them know there’s eggnog in the cookies. I learned the secret ingredient that night.”
The little girl tapped on the window of the boy’s car with her small hand. Amanda listened.
“Tate, where are you manners? Honestly. Roll down your window,” the woman ordered.
Amanda watched as her younger self relayed the information her father told her and then proceeded to kiss the boy on the lips. She walked over and peered into the car at the young boy. He had short brown hair and blue eyes. “Tate was the boy?”
Betty nodded.
“Then the woman in the car has to be his mother.”
“They were headed out of town that night. It was a rough time for both of them. Mr. Ryan had recently passed away.”
“He was the first boy I ever kissed. I don’t even know why I did it. It was just an impulse. I felt so connected to him that night. I felt his pain.” She stared at her grandmother. “This doesn’t make sense. Has he known all this time that I was the little girl?”
“I need to go in and check on the lasagna, but your grandfather is back and excited to see you.”
The house appeared through the fog. She turned around, but her grandmother was gone. How did she do that? Directly in front of Amanda on the back porch was her Grandpa Bruce Thompson.
She ran and climbed the stairs, flinging her arms around the frail man. “Grandpa! Is it really you?” She held him tightly.
“Didn’t remember what I looked like, did you?” He laughed and patted her arms. “It has been awhile. So, I take it Betty showed you the first time you met Tate.”
Her eyes widened. “You know him, too? How did you both know it was the first time? I didn’t even know.”
Bruce winked. “I’ll explain everything, but you need to follow me. There’s another scene just over the hill that you have to see.” He grabbed her hand and winked. “You’re gonna like this one.”
Amanda followed her Grandpa Thompson back into the mist. Scene? What twisted version of A Christmas Carol was this?
She stepped down onto a rickety wooden step. The steps were attached to a worn-looking trailer. “I know where we are. This is Kristen Bailey’s home. I climbed these steps last night. I had dinner with Kristen and her girls.”
Grandpa Thompson opened the door and held it out, motioning with his hand for her to walk through. Inside, Tate was talking to the girls beside the tree. He had on the Santa suit. Amanda and Alex sat on the couch.
“I suspect your grandmother told you that they can’t see or hear us.”
“She did.” She watched herself laughing with her brother. “This happened last night. I couldn’t hear what Tate was saying to the girls.”
“Well, now’s your chance. Go take a seat.” He motioned for Amanda to sit on the floor.
She walked over to the Christmas tree and crouched behind Chloe and Danielle. They were hanging on Tate’s every word.
“Yummm.” Tate took a bite of the cookie and handed another one to Melanie. “For the baby.” He winked.
Turning to Chloe and Danielle he said, “Many years ago on Christmas Eve, a little girl, just a few years older than the both of you, gave me a box that had t
hese same cookies in it. That one simple act of kindness changed my life.”
“How so?” Melanie asked, taking a bite.
“I had nothing left to believe in. My dad had just . . .” He paused, looking at Chloe and Danielle. “Gone on a trip. But the girl came along and simply cared enough to make sure I still believed in Santa.” He stopped and corrected himself. “Believed in me. I didn’t know it then, but I met my true love that day.” He glanced over at the couch and winked.
Amanda covered her mouth in surprise. “Oh my gosh. Tate knew I was the girl.”
“Appears he did.”
“But how?”
“He remembered your name and tracked you down years ago. Apparently, you were the only ten-year-old in town that year named Amanda.”
“Why didn’t he ever say anything?”
“It’s hard for Tate to let people in, but there was one person he confided in. Let’s go see what he told her.” He put out his hand and helped her up.
She took it, still watching Tate laugh with the girls. “And he loves me. He was trying to tell me last night.”
“I know. We saw.”
“Grandpa, what have I done?”
“Nothing that can’t be undone.” He smiled reassuringly. “This time.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You will.” Bruce led his granddaughter out the door.
Amanda could hear the sounds of waves crashing. Her boots sank deep into the ground. “Is this sand? Are we at the beach?” She turned back to see a familiar boardwalk behind her. “I know exactly where we are. This is the beach near my condo in Wilmington.”
Ahead of her, she saw Tate sitting on a blue bench with an attractive older woman who wore a navy blue jogging suit. “Great, another fan,” she said sarcastically.
“Sorry?” her grandfather asked.
“Nothing.” She forced a smile. “I know the drill. Shut up and listen.”
The woman handed Tate a cup of coffee and a donut. “Here.” She set a napkin on his lap. “I thought you could use some fuel.”
“Thanks, Aunt Bridgette. I’m starving.” He set the items to his side, stood, and took off his jacket and royal blue tie. “Don’t want to get this all over me. I’m doing camera tests later on.”