I was crying for real now. This. This was the thing my mother wouldn't talk about. This was what no one had ever bothered to explain to me.
"I don't know for sure what your mother told you, honey. But you need to know that none of it was because of you. I didn't leave you. I left what felt like an impossible situation—and I know you won't believe me, but I did it for you. Because I didn't want you to see me become the angry, resentful man I would have been if I'd stayed."
He looked up again, one of the tears making a steady path down his cheek. "Not fighting harder for you—for a chance to talk to you, to see you regularly—that's been the single biggest regret of my life. And time passed, you know? And then it felt like you hated me so much, and I guess I assumed by then you were better off without me, that I should just let you move on."
He sighed and shook his head. "But honey, I never did. Maybe externally. And yes, I tried to give myself another chance, I tried to forgive myself for whatever part I had in that first terrible marriage. I decided to live in hope instead of regret. And I met Laura. But I never forgave myself for you, for the mess I made with you. And not a day goes by, April, that I don't think of you and pray for you and wish to know you, to be part of your life."
He stopped talking then, and just stared into the camera as tears ran unheeded down my cheeks, spattering on my hands and my jeans. My emotions were jumbled and confused, leaping over one another for a spot up front—hurt, anger, confusion, sorrow … and love—that unwanted longing that had lived in the back of my heart for so many years, that wish that one day my daddy would come back, would tell me it wasn't my fault.
"I'd like to see you sometime, honey. If you'd ever maybe be okay with it. I know you're out in Maryland now, and I hope you're having a wonderful time. Callan seems like a really good guy." My father tilted his head, and a half smile lifted his lips. "It's hard to believe you're old enough to be dating grown men," he said. "But I guess I gave up the chance to have any opinions there."
A strangled noise escaped my lips and I dropped my head for a second. It was too hard to look at my father now, to hear the words he was finally saying, the words that smoothed the edges of the jagged rip that had been in my heart for so many years.
"I'm sorry, April. For leaving you, for not explaining things better when you were little, and for not being a part of your life since then. I would have been, but … well, this isn't about me and your mother. It's about me and you. And for all the things I didn't do right there. I'm sorry." I looked back up to see another tear trailing down my father's cheek. "I'm proud of you, April. And I know maybe it doesn't feel like it, but please know that I'm always here for you."
The screen went blank, and I sagged. It was as if years of tension had been unlocked and had just left my body, flowing from my fingers and toes and leaving me drained and floppy as a rag doll.
For a long minute, the television remained blank, and I cried.
If there were going to be two more ghosts, I wasn't sure I’d survive them.
When I’d regained control of my breathing, I got to my feet, went to the counter, and poured myself a shot of Half Cat moonshine, downing it fast and then putting both hands on the countertop and taking some steadying breaths.
I waited, on edge, but nothing happened. And frustratingly, House Hunters did not come back on.
As the clock on my mantle ticked and the hour wore on, I wondered if that had really happened at all. It had been such a strange day, maybe my exhausted mind had fabricated my father's appearance on my television. Maybe I was dreaming. I crossed the room to the window, lifting the sash and letting a wash of frigid air sweep into the room, carrying the scent of snow.
"Not dreaming," I said out loud, shivering. Part of me wondered if maybe there was a camera inside my room somewhere, but I quickly dismissed the notion. Callan had hijacked my television, maybe. He wouldn't bug my room.
I turned back toward the television after struggling to shut the window, and frowned at the snow falling on the screen.
"Get on with it," I grumbled, snatching a sweater from the chair back. As I did, the screen flickered again, and Callan reappeared.
"Hi," he said.
My battered heart beat hard at the sight of him, and despite my lingering anger with him, I wished I could find him, maybe press myself into his arms for a few minutes and tell him about my father. I still felt mad at Callan, but more than that, I felt a pull to him. In the past couple weeks, he'd become the person I talked to, the person I thought out loud with, the person I depended on. And that was a lot after years of depending only on myself.
I sat back down on the end of the bed, steeling myself for what might come next.
"I hope you're doing okay," he said. "In case you're wondering, there aren't any cameras or anything in your room, so it's not like I can see you." He leaned forward a bit toward the camera. "But God, April. I want to see you. I know it's only been a day or so, but you have no idea how much I miss you. You swept in here with your gorgeous hair and your television crew, and … well, you shone a light into part of me that I guess had been dark for a really long time. And I screwed it all up. And I miss you."
I shivered, staring into the fathomless depths of his eyes on the screen. It was exceedingly hard to hold onto my anger.
"Get ready for the next visitor, okay? The ghost of Christmas present." Callan flickered away, and a moment later, Lynn appeared on the screen.
"Hey girl!" she chirped. "Oh my god, this has been the most insane day. I can't believe Callan Whitewood called me … to help him win you! What have our lives turned into? Seriously."
Lynn laughed, and my heart lightened with the sound of it, so familiar and reassuring. Lynn had been family to me since high school, and seeing her round pink cheeks and soft blond hair on the screen made me feel instantly better. "So I'm totally coming out there if you decide to stay, but I wouldn't have gotten there in time today. So you get me on camera instead—where I totally belong, by the way. Someday!"
Lynn had dreams of acting. Dreams she literally never pursued. At all. But I was used to hearing about them, so this nod to all things familiar made me feel even more at home with Lynn on my screen.
"Here's the thing. Apes, as much as I miss you here in LA, I think it's time to face facts. For one thing, you don't have a job. And this is not an especially affordable place to live. Unless you're thinking of taking that apartment you looked at after college over in Santa Monica. The one with the closet bar across the living room? Where the bathroom door didn't close because the toilet was too big? I mean, if that's what you want for your future—living in a literal closet and being able to poop while chatting with whoever's on the couch—then by all means. I mean … who am I to stop you?
"But I'm thinking you need more than that, and I know you deserve a lot more. And while I've never been to Snaggle Tree, Maryland, myself, it sounds like a pretty good place. A place with people who care about you. And April, it sounds like a place where there's a ridiculously hot guy who would do just about anything to make you happy.
"I miss you like hell, but, April? What do you have to come back to?"
Ouch. I cringed at the truth of it. Though my mother was still in Los Angeles, there wasn't much else there for me now besides Lynn. And I knew that Lynn would always be my best friend, no matter who lived where. That was just a fact.
"Think about it, okay?" Lynn added. And then she winked and did a little gun motion with her hand. And she was gone.
And I was alone in my room again, snow falling gently on my television screen, and my mind whirling in too many directions at once. Could I really stay here?
I’d sat with Ryan McDonnell for two hours that morning. And once I’d gotten past the shock and obvious nerves that came with the fact that he was completely famous and really handsome, I’d listened to what he had to say. He'd come to Maryland for a weekend, fallen in love, and never really gone back.
Come to think of it, there were a lot more par
allels between our stories than I would have ever assumed I might find with a legitimate celebrity. We both came to Maryland from Los Angeles—somewhat under duress in both cases. We’d both assumed we would be heading right back home, but had ended up staying longer than intended. And Ryan had found the love of his life here. That was what had made him stay.
What about me, I wondered. Had I found the love of my life?
I didn't know about that, but what Ryan offered was a solid job. And a promotion at that. He was looking for a production manager for the company he'd formed here in Maryland. I’d be producing film projects for him, but I’d also have a hand in helping select those projects. It wasn't reality television, and it wasn't some over-tinsled home show. It was feature-length film, something I’d always wanted but hadn't dared to hope for. Something I wasn't sure I could even do.
Hadn't I just failed spectacularly twice? Maybe I wasn't cut out for production at all. Maybe I should have been talking to Lottie about getting a job at the bakery instead.
I pulled the sweater tighter around me in the quiet closeness of my hotel room. A sense of anticipation brewed within me. I knew what was coming. Or at least, I knew there had to be a ghost of Christmas future to follow on the heels of those last two visits. But what would it be? Who would it be?
The snow continued to fall on my television screen as the hour stretched on, and I was beginning to have that strange feeling again that maybe I’d imagined it all. And in the silent waiting, my mind went to Callan.
Here was a man who'd come to Singletree to escape in many ways. He was hurt, wounded by disappointment and broken expectations, and within days of him arriving, I’d barreled in with cameras, threatening to expose him again to the very thing he'd been trying to escape. I couldn't blame him, maybe, for jumping to the worst conclusions when he'd gotten the second contract. It had been a big enough stretch for him to agree to the first. And I knew that he'd done it not because he cared a lot about his house being featured on Holiday Homes, and not even because he'd signed a contract, no matter how unwittingly. He'd done it for me.
Callan had been willing to put himself out of his comfort zone because I needed him to. Maybe I needed to step out of my own comfort zone a bit too.
As I had this thought, the sound of music filtered up from somewhere outside. As I strained to listen, the music grew louder, and I realized it wasn't only music—it was voices. A lot of them. And they were outside my window.
I stood and went over to put up the sash once again, and when I did, the cold air whooshed in on a chorus of "We Wish You a Merry Christmas." I peered out to see at least fifteen people bundled against the cold and standing beneath my window on the sidewalk below. Annabelle was there, along with Andrew the bell boy and a couple of the other guys I’d seen moving things around the hotel. Lottie and Helen were there, and so was Ryan McDonnell, his arm around a beautiful dark-haired woman who must have been his fiancée, Tess. I nearly choked when I recognized Juliet Manchester at Tess's side, along with a huge dark-haired man that must have been the bodyguard Ryan had mentioned, Jace. Wylie Blanchard from the distillery was there, and so were the Wentworths and six or seven other people I’d seen around town. It seemed like every single person I’d met since coming here had gathered outside to sing. I figured they'd move on any second, off to serenade another guest, but as soon as the song ended, they started up again with another familiar holiday tune.
I waved and smiled down at them, catching the eyes of Cormac and his darling daughters and getting an ecstatic wave from Maddie who broke from singing to yell, "Hi Ape-Will!"
Just as I started to wonder how long this might go on, there was a sharp knock at the door of my room, and I let out a little scream. I covered my mouth with my hand, waved down at the carolers, and took a deep breath. Whatever the ghost of Christmas future had to tell me, it was about to happen. I steeled myself and I turned, crossing to answer the door.
24
The Trouble with Armoires
Callan
Planning the rest had been easy. I knew it was potentially risky to reach out to April's father, but once I’d spoken to Lynn, I knew I had to try. And when he'd been receptive, almost relieved, to tell me the story, I knew it was the right thing.
I wanted April to see a future she hadn't imagined before—one I didn't even see until just a day or two before. I wanted her to feel the magic around us in this place and know that there was a chance we could capture it and hold it forever if she was willing to try.
Standing outside the door to her room, hearing the distant notes of the carolers in the cold night beyond her windows, my heart hammered and a slick of sweat coated my palms. It wasn't just April's future I wanted to show her. It was my own as well.
I took a deep breath, wiped my hands down the thighs of my jeans and knocked. "Now or never, Whitewood," I muttered beneath my breath.
When the door swung open, April stood inside, her beautiful face flushed and her eyes shining with tears. Her hair was down loose over her shoulders, and she wore a soft white sweater that my hands longed to touch. She was flushed and gorgeous, and for a long second, I forgot everything but her and how desperately I needed her in my life, at my side, holding my hand.
"Future?" Her voice was almost a whisper, and for a second her word confused me, spun my brain off track even more than it already was.
Future yes. God, that was what I wanted with her.
"Yes," I said, "I'm the ghost of Christmas future. Can I come in for a minute?"
She looked uncertain, but stepped back, making room for me to step in and shut the door. God, I wanted to touch her. She looked so innocent and young, standing there with her eyes wide, her chest heaving slightly. I wanted to lay my hand along her cheek and pull her to me, bury my face in her hair and tell her it would be all right, I’d never let her go again. But I hadn't earned that right yet.
"Did you want to sit down?" April asked me, and then she looked quizzically at the snow falling on her television screen. "Or, do we need the TV?"
I shook my head. "No, there's no multimedia presentation for this one. Just me."
"Okay," she said, and she waved me over to the armchairs, sinking into one and folding her hands across her knees.
I wasn't sure I could sit and say what I needed to say, but I took a steadying breath and sank into the cushioned seat, trying to remember where I needed to begin.
"April," I started, feeling already like nothing I could say would be adequate to explain myself. But I had to try. "I owe you an apology first of all."
She was shaking her head slowly, and she leaned forward suddenly, interrupting me. "I should have told you about the contract!"
I couldn't do this. I couldn't sit here three feet away from her. I needed to touch her, if she'd let me. I stood, and moved to where she sat, her glowing eyes following my every move. I sank to his knees before her, taking her hands in mine. "Don't interrupt, okay? I have a lot I need to say."
She sighed and nodded, letting me hold her soft hands in mine on her knees.
My ankle screamed in protest at the position on the floor, but I refused to pay attention to it tonight, almost feeling like I deserved the pain, and the sharp edge of it kept me alert, thinking straight. "When my lawyer called about that second contract, I jumped to conclusions. I assumed things about you, about your intentions, about your character—things that, if I'd given myself a little more time to think about them, I already knew weren't true. I'm sorry about that, and I'm sorry I didn't give you the chance to explain."
April nodded, but she kept her promise and didn't interrupt, her raspberry colored lips pressed together beneath wide eyes.
"It was only because in the past, with other people who have been in my life, it wouldn't have been a leap to assume they intended the worst. They usually did. I came here, to Singletree, in part because I wanted to get away from everyone in that life. And I didn't trust anyone new as a result. Or more accurately, maybe, I didn't trust myself to
be a good judge of people. I figured I'd come here, be an uncle to my nieces, be a support to my brother if I could, and die quietly and alone."
A visible shiver went through April as I said that, and a little blossom of hope opened up in my gut.
"And before I got my head on straight, there you were," I continued, remembering the way April had bustled into my house, bossy and beautiful. "And I didn't know it at the time, but you saved me."
"Saved you?" April asked, scooting forward in the chair and then sliding out of it, joining me on the floor so we were kneeling face to face, our hands linked in the middle.
"Yeah." My heart was galloping in my chest, both with April's proximity and with the next words I wanted to say. "The future I'd imagined for myself was going to be empty. I thought it was what I wanted, maybe what I needed to ensure no one could hurt me again, no one could use me. But you showed up, and suddenly I saw a different future. One with kisses in the back of Santa's sleigh, one with cats in ridiculous little wheelchairs and a town full of people so insane they change the name of the place to match the season." April was nodding slowly. "I saw mornings lazing around in bed with you tangled up in my arms and nights filled with the sounds you make when I touch you. And I saw my nieces dancing through my house smiling and laughing, even though they've been through hell, and my brother having a place to relax and hand over the reins for a while. I saw a family I'd never really imagined."
Tears were welling in April's eyes and as I took a breath, one spilled over the edge of her lashes, and I wiped it away with a thumb.
Shaking the Sleigh: Seasons in Singletree Page 23