by Becky Monson
“Well, now, I’m sure you are doing more than that,” she said, her head angling to the side, her face filled with skepticism.
“Yes, well . . .” I trailed off, twiddling with my camera strap.
“Still taking pictures, I see,” she said with a nod toward the contraption sitting in my lap.
“Yep,” I said simply.
“That’s wonderful,” she smiled. “You always had a knack for that. I still have the one you did for me,” she turned her head in the direction of the framed picture I’d done of the falls. I’d given it to her for a Christmas present one year. I was touched to see it still hanging there on the wall.
“So, now, tell me about you.”
So I did. I filled her in on the life of London Walsh. I didn’t try to sugarcoat things or leave anything out, because this was Miss Anna Cate. She loved me for me, and there was no need for pretense around her. I told her about Phoenix and San Francisco, about my life since I left Christmas Falls.
“That’s too bad about your parents,” she said, her lips forming a frown after I updated her on my family.
“Yeah,” I agreed.
“Well, sounds like you’ve had quite the ride,” she said.
I half-laughed. “Yes, I suppose.” It was kind of a ride, I guess. An unintentional one.
“Isn’t that what life’s all about, though? Enjoying the ride?”
I smiled. How Miss Anna Cate could be so positive was always amazing to me. She was widowed since before I ever met her and never married again, and she never was able to have children. Her children, she had said on many occasions, were her students. We were her children.
“Well,” she said, clasping her hands together and placing them in her lap. “Now that I have you here, we’ll need to practice for the pageant.” Her lips curled up into a bright smile.
“About that . . .” I started.
“Oh no, you aren’t going to break an old dying woman’s heart by telling me you can’t be there, are you?” She raised her eyebrows high, giving me her best disapproving look. See? Now that’s how you properly guilt someone in a passive-aggressive way. My mother could take a few lessons from Miss Anna Cate.
“Well,” I said. “I mean, I didn’t exactly think this whole trip through. I just hopped on a plane.”
“And I’m grateful you did. And now that you’re here, you can stay and sing in the pageant. We need your voice—the community center needs you.”
“Are all the other girls here?”
“Most of them, yes.”
“Do you think they’ll all come?”
“Well . . . yes,” she said, as if there wasn’t even a possibility that we all wouldn’t show up.
I breathed in through my nose. “I’m sure the other girls could carry it just fine.”
“No, it has to be all of you. I need you all there,” she said. I could tell by her tone that she wouldn’t be taking no for an answer. Only Miss Anna Cate would be able to get all of us back together and have us sing in the Christmas pageant. No one else would have been able to pull this off.
I sat there, twiddling the camera strap in my fingers, coming up with all the reasons I should go and only thinking of one reason to stay—for her. It was an easy decision, she’d done so much for me, of course I would stay for her.
“I’ll stay,” I said, giving her a closed mouth smile.
She clapped her hands together. “Yes! I knew you wouldn’t let me down. Now,” she said giving me a jovial smile, “let’s celebrate by having some tea.”
~*~
“So, what are you going to do for the next ten days while you’re in Christmas Falls?” Andy asked as we walked out of Holly’s Café, both bundled up in our winter coats, hats, and scarves, and both carrying a piping hot cup of hot chocolate. I was going to get caramel brulée coffee—one of the specialties of the shop—but then I saw the hot chocolate on the menu and it reminded me of Piper, so I got that instead. I was really missing her; memories of her were everywhere in this town. At least for me they were. And I was regretting even more how everything had ended.
“Well, I’m counting on you to keep me entertained,” I said, bumping his arm with mine.
“I’m at your service,” he said, giving me a small bow.
We started walking toward the falls, not even acknowledging the decision to go there—it was unspoken, just like old times.
We crossed the street and passed the fire department and the community center on our way to the path that took us to the falls. I stopped and took it all in once we got to end of the path and also tried to catch my breath—my heart was pumping overtime to keep me warm. The falls, though, were worth any amount of cold. I mean, I’d seen this waterfall more times than I could probably count, and yet, seeing it again nearly took my breath away. Or perhaps I still couldn’t catch my breath. It was odd, but I felt like the falls were even prettier now. Maybe because I could see it through eyes of appreciation, rather than those of a teenager who took everything for granted.
“I wish I had my camera,” I said, regretting the fact that I’d left my camera back at the cottage.
“You brought it with you?” Andy asked as we walked over to the bench and took a seat, sitting close to each other to share body heat.
“Of course,” I said.
“Some things never change,” he said, and I caught his smiling profile as he looked out on the falls.
This was true, I always had my camera with me. At least back when I lived here. Honestly though, this past year it had stayed more and more in the black equipment bag that I kept in the closet at my apartment.
“I can’t believe they still do that,” I said, pointing to the tree not far from where we sat. There were ornaments hanging from some of the branches. The tradition was, starting after Thanksgiving, couples could hang an ornament to pledge their love forever, or something like that. I always thought it was cheesy when I was a teenager, and now that I was older it still had a huge cheese factor, but I could better appreciate the sentiment.
“Yep,” he nodded. “Not much changes around here.”
“I kind of love that about this place.”
“Me too.”
“So,” I asked, feeling reluctant and not sure why—this was Andy, for heaven’s sake. “About Christmas—”
“You’re coming to our house. I already asked my mom,” he said. “She’s excited to see you.”
“But how did you know I’d stay?”
“I just had a feeling,” he said. Stretching his arm up and putting it around my shoulders, he pulled me into him, giving me a side hug. He left his arm there and it felt good as I snuggled into him. I rested my head on his chest and could hear his quick heartbeat and wondered if his body was also working hard to keep him warm. I was starting to feel all kinds of warm right now, sitting next to Andy.
“Your arms aren’t quite as bony as the last time we sat here,” I said, remembering the last time we sat in this very spot. It was right before my family moved to Phoenix. Our last hurrah—we grabbed ice cream and came up to the falls. I remembered feeling extra sad to leave Andy that day, but ready to go someplace else, to try something new, and to get away from the drama with Piper.
It was so silly and we should have resolved it then, but Piper and I were dumb teenagers. It was one of my biggest regrets in life. Would either of our lives be different if we had worked things out? At the very least, we would have kept in touch and I wouldn’t have had to hear about her life from someone else.
“I’m pretty buff now.” Andy smirked.
“I wouldn’t go that far,” I said, and I felt his arm tighten around me as he flexed his muscles.
I reached up and felt the taut arm bulging beneath the sleeve of his wool coat. Not too shabby, actually. But I couldn’t tell him that.
“Meh, I’ve felt better,” I said, and I laid my head on his shoulder, which was also a lot less bony than last time.
“Shut up,” he said. I felt him lean his head toward
me and expected him to rest his head on mine. Instead he placed a kiss on the top of my head. As we sat here by the falls, drinking hot chocolate, all felt right in the world.
CHAPTER SIX
The next day was Friday, and already having made plans with Andy for that evening, I decided that I wasn’t going to spend the day locked up in my room. So what if only two people had recognized me in the entire town. At least they were the two most important people.
I ate breakfast at the cottage. Mrs. Curtis made me pancakes topped with fresh berries and cream, and during breakfast, Mr. Curtis schooled me in the way to pronounce poinsettia. Apparently, the correct pronunciation is poin-set-ee-ah. Not point-set-uh as everyone says it. I had no idea if this was true, but he was very determined about it.
After I left the cottage, I decided I would go see Mrs. Mitchem and ask if she needed any help in the bakery. I saw Mrs. Brooks—my friend Ashley’s mom—was still working as a day clerk at the grocery store. I waved at her, hoping that she might recognize me and I could talk to her and see how Ash was doing, but she gave me a confused look and waved back at me like one would wave to a stranger. I knew I could have gone over and shown her the picture of high school London, and maybe it would jog her memory, but I lacked the energy. Besides, I’d see Ashley soon enough.
I went straight back to the bakery and, after an awkward conversation where Mrs. Mitchem tried to explain to me that they already had help and couldn’t afford to pay me, we got it squared away that I was there solely on a volunteer basis, and a temporary one at that. Like, just for the day, temporary.
She was thrilled to have me help and even said I was an answer to a prayer—they had been working around the clock to fill all of the holiday orders. I spent the rest of the afternoon baking and frosting (and eating) sugar cookies. I asked if I could take a few for Andy and got a knowing look from Mrs. Mitchem.
“You still hanging out with the Broll boy? He’s back in town?” she asked as she rolled out the dough for cinnamon rolls. She was wearing a hot pink apron with black polka-dot ruffles. I had borrowed a lovely Christmas tree-covered one. It went nicely with my black leggings and soft pink tunic sweater.
“He’s back in town, yes. But this is the first I’ve seen or heard from him since we moved away,” I said.
“Well, isn’t that a shame,” she shook her head. “You kids and all your Twitters and stuff. You’d think you’d be able to keep in touch better.”
“You’d think,” I said. The truth was, I had purposely not kept in touch. That was the truly sad part of it.
“Anything going on with that Andy that I should know about?” she asked with a double eyebrow raise. “I mean, y’all were quite cozy in high school.”
“Andy?” I scoffed. “Nope. Just friends. We were never more than that.”
“Really?” She pulled her eyebrows in and squinted her eyes. “You sure seemed like ya had something.”
I supposed from an outside view we probably did look like more than friends. But it had never been that way with us. Sure, we’d snuggled up together on his bed while watching a show in his room, or lain out under the stars at night in the summertime. Sometimes we held hands for no reason. But it was never more. On the rare occasion I had a date in high school, I did find myself often wanting to be with Andy instead. But only because he was one of my best friends; it was easy with him. There was no getting to know you part, nothing expected of me. I could just be me with Andy. I felt that way even now, even after eight years of not seeing him. There was so much comfort in my friendship with Andy.
“Well, maybe now that you’re older there might be something?” Mrs. Mitchem asked with a touch of insinuation in her tone.
I scoffed. “Um, no. Andy and I . . . no.”
“And why’s that?”
“Because we’re just friends.”
“Well,” she gave me a half-shrug. “Friendship is the best foundation for romance to bloom.”
I rolled my eyes because Mrs. Mitchem had always tried to match up everyone back in the day. I was happy to see she hadn’t let that go, even if it was directed at me. Misdirected, really.
I finished up at the bakery in time to go back to the cottage, take a shower, and get ready to hang out with Andy. This trip—even with its poor start—was turning out to be just what I had hoped for, and what I’d needed. After seeing Andy and Miss Anna Cate and spending time at the bakery with a misguided Mrs. Mitchem, it was feeling more like the home I’d romanticized in my head.
“You look lovely,” Andy said as I met him outside the cottage. I was wearing dark blue skinny jeans, a flowy, button-up, deep green top and knee-high charcoal-gray boots. I had my cream peacoat in hand and my gloves, scarf, and hat tucked in my purse just in case I needed them.
“Not too shabby yourself,” I said, motioning with my hand at him. He was wearing jeans and his wool coat was open to a soft-looking navy-blue v-neck sweater over a white collared shirt. We both had done some changing since high school.
“What happened to your eyes?” I asked when I saw that his eyes were red and irritated behind his black-rimmed glasses.
“Oh that,” he said, reaching up and rubbing one of them with his finger. “Just some allergies, I think.”
“In the middle of winter?”
“Yep.”
“Really?” I took a challenging stance, leaning back on my left leg, my right foot pointed slightly out, my arms folded.
“Yes, allergies,” he confirmed. “Maybe I’m allergic to people from San Francisco.”
“Oh yes, I’ve heard that’s an actual thing,” I said, trying to hold back a smile.
“Oh, it’s real.” He did a very good serious face when he wanted to. “Is there anything I can take for it?”
“The best thing to do is to keep hanging out with the person so that you can adjust to the allergy.”
“And this diagnosis is from a professional, then?”
“Yes,” I said, giving him a mock-serious look. “It’s definitely from a professional.”
He leaned in and kissed me on the cheek. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s get out of here.”
He grabbed my hand as we started off. It was only meant to be a friendly gesture on Andy’s part, I’m sure, but for some reason my heart did a little thump when his hand touched mine. Which was preposterous. I wrote it off as a palpitation from all the sugar I had consumed that day. Which reminded me . . .
“Hold on,” I said, letting go of his hand. “I forgot something. I need to run back upstairs and grab it.”
I hurried up to my room, waving at Mr. Curtis as I went by, grabbed the sugar cookies, and hurried back to Andy. When I got outside, I found him talking to a redheaded woman who was dressed in a police uniform, and it looked to be a friendly conversation. I couldn’t place her from when I lived here before; she didn’t look familiar at all. She was tall, with shoulder length red hair and freckles . . . the cute kind of freckles. She also looked strong—like she could kick my butt, strong.
“We should definitely get together sometime,” I heard Andy say as I approached. I noticed that he had quite the smile on his face.
“I’d like that,” she said, returning the smile. And was that a wink?
“Hi,” I said as I approached them.
“Oh, hey,” Andy said like he hadn’t seen me just two minutes ago. “This is London Walsh,” he gestured toward me with his hand, his eyes still on the redhead.
“Hi, London,” redheaded police officer put her hand out for me to shake, which I did.
“This is Samantha Hutchinson, she’s new to Christmas Falls—or newer, I guess. How long have you been here?” Andy asked.
“Just over a year,” she said, focusing solely on Andy, a flirtatious smile on her face.
“That’s cool.” I did a weird head-bobbing thing.
“We met a couple of weeks back at the bookstore,” Andy said to me, pointing in the direction of The Sleepy Hound—the lone bookstore in Christmas Falls.
“I did,” he said, nodding his head.
She asked him another question, but I had tuned out because there was suddenly something swirling in my stomach. Something off-putting. I instantly didn’t like this woman, and I had no idea why. Maybe I had suddenly developed a bout of clairvoyance and could tell she was up to no good. But that wasn't it. She looked normal—she was probably lovely. Plus, I had never been clairvoyant in my life. In fact, more often than not, it was better for me to ignore my gut feeling all together.
“I’ll be in touch,” Andy said as Samantha with the stupid red hair turned away from us and headed toward the downtown area.
“She seemed nice,” I said, even though I still had a weird feeling about her.
“She is,” he said simply.
“Are you going to hang out with her or something?” The words were out of my mouth before I could stop myself.
“Like go on a date?” he asked.
I shrugged, playing it cool. “Yeah.”
“I don’t know,” he shrugged back. “Maybe. Why? Feeling a little jealous, Walsh?” he said, a playful smile on his face. He used to say that to me all the time when we were in high school.
“No way,” I retorted, squinting my eyes at him.
“Don’t be jealous,” Andy said with a conniving smile. “There’s plenty of me to go around.”
I slapped him lightly on the stomach with the back of my hand. “I’m not jealous.”
But that swirling in my stomach just then . . . Was that . . . jealousy? It kind of felt like it. I mean, maybe it was . . . only because he said he would entertain me while I was in town. Yes. It was definitely that. And I didn’t want this chick swooping in and taking him away while I was here. Of course, that was it. Because this was Andy, after all. My friend Andy. My F-R-I-E-N-D.
But then Mrs. Mitchem’s words came to mind. Friendship is the best foundation for romance to bloom. I pushed them out because she was obviously a complete nut job. I had half a mind to never go to the bakery again, if it wasn’t for those darn sugar cookies.