But now her baby daddy was making a spectacle of them all and Hope wanted to hide. No, she wanted to turn around and hightail it home. Escape. To Antarctica, maybe. Until Donovan Charles Stone left Sweet Home for good.
Apparently, Ella hadn’t seen him. She kept walking toward their pew, oblivious. Hope didn’t know what to do. If it wouldn’t draw more attention to the impending catastrophe, she would dive for Ella and tackle her before she made a monumental mistake. Ella couldn’t sit beside her father! She just couldn’t! They weren’t one big happy family.
And Ella was a wild card, without a reliable filter. She might yell at Donovan for trying to displace them. Or accuse him of trying to insinuate himself into their midst. For sure some kind of scene would break out. And it would fuel Sweet Home’s gossip mill until at least the end of winter.
Suddenly Ella stopped short. Thank goodness, Hope thought.
But then Ella spun on Hope and glared at her as if she were in charge of the church’s seating chart.
Hope pointed to the pew off to the right, away from Donovan, hoping to put away the dirty laundry that they’d hung out for Sweet Home to see.
Hope slipped into the safe-haven pew. Ella followed with a huff and dropped beside her.
“You could’ve let me know you asked him to sit with us at church,” Ella hissed. Hissed loud enough that passersby outside the church could hear.
Donovan turned and looked back at them. Once again, Hope wanted to make a run for it, this time from his piercing eyes, which didn’t miss a thing. “I didn’t ask him to church or to sit in our pew.”
“Then what’s he doing there?” Ella said angrily.
“Communing with God?” Hope feebly offered. Even though Donovan had been a hellion in his youth, he had never missed mass.
To Hope’s relief, the processional music began and the congregation stood and opened their hymnals. But she couldn’t help glancing over at Donovan every other stanza.
Ella put her hand over the page, glaring at Hope. “Stop it.”
She was right. Hope was pitiable. Especially since Donovan didn’t look at her once during the service. The first half of Father Mike’s sermon was on the power of forgiveness, while the second half covered the harm of gossiping. He had certainly tied Hope’s troubles up with a nice neat bow. Thanks, Father Mike.
After church Piney stopped Hope as she was trying to hurry out the door.
“Come by and eat with Bill and me. Family dinner, you and Ella.”
Ella held out her phone, demonstrating that she’d been texting since the moment church was over. “I’m headed to Lacy’s.”
Piney nodded. “Then you, Hope. You’ll come?”
Out of the corner of her eye, Hope saw Donovan shaking hands with Father Mike. She turned to Piney. “I can’t, I have too much to do.” Run!
Piney took her hand. “It’s not because you’re upset with me, is it?”
Yes! Partly. “No. I’m too busy. I have to get ready for next week.”
Piney squeezed her hand. “If you change your mind, we’ll be at my apartment.”
Trying to put on a brave front, Hope smiled before removing her hand from Piney’s. “Thanks.” She turned to Ella. “Don’t be late.”
Ella nodded and hurried for the door. Hope followed close behind, not to keep up with her daughter but to avoid Donovan. And to avoid the curious stares from the folks of Sweet Home.
But once Hope was home, she didn’t want to do laundry or mop the floor or make a menu for next week. She looked around her empty little house, feeling lonely, until her eyes landed on the Rubbermaid container in the corner, the one holding Izzie’s Memory Tree quilt. She took it into the kitchen and gradually lost track of time as she cut Izzie’s clothes into blocks and strips. When Ella got home around five, she pulled a container of fish soup from the freezer, dumped the contents into a pan, and set it on the stove. Hope returned to cutting out pieces while the soup heated, then scooped up two bowls.
“Sit with me,” Hope offered.
“Nah. I’m going to eat in my room.”
Fine. Hope would just keep working on Izzie’s Memory Tree. By the end of the evening, the blocks had been organized, the cut pieces placed in baggies and tagged. She felt good about what she’d accomplished. Somehow, working on Izzie’s quilt had given Hope a reprieve from worrying over Donovan.
But as soon as she fell into bed and closed her eyes, Izzie was there.
“So, you told my niece about you and me having our little chats,” Izzie said.
“I’m lucky she didn’t call the head of the loony bin to have me committed.”
“It’s good you talked about it . . . and other things. But you didn’t tell her about the kiss,” Izzie said, singsonging kiss like the middle schooler that she’d been.
“I don’t want to talk about the kiss.” How could she, when she still didn’t know how she felt about it? “There’s nothing to talk about, anyway. It was just a thank-you kiss. No big deal.”
“No big deal? I think Donovan still loves you and wants to get back together,” Izzie said, acting the wise woman that she wasn’t. “And you still love him.”
“Stop it! I think the afterlife has demented your brain.” But it was actually Hope who was demented. Who else, besides her, talked to their dead sister?
“Hope, he was sitting in your pew at church. That could not have been a coincidence,” Izzie said.
“And yet, it was,” Hope insisted.
“Well, tomorrow you should talk to him.”
“Of course I’m going to talk to him. He’s my boss now.”
Izzie gave her a look, the same one their mother gave Hope when she was disappointed in her. “Don’t be obstinate. I mean talk to Donovan about your feelings and how you’d like to rekindle the old flame.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I am not doing that.” But the truth was, Hope was very curious to find out how that theoretical conversation might go. “Good night, Izzie. I’m going to sleep.”
The next morning after getting Ella off to school, Hope drove out to the lodge with butterflies attacking her stomach. Had Izzie been right about Donovan? Did he still have feelings for her after all these years? Answers would have to wait.
When she arrived, Donovan’s car wasn’t at the lodge. But he must’ve been there. The old clothespin attached to the front door from the Charles and Elsie days held a piece of paper. Hope pulled the note from the door. But it wasn’t a note at all.
It was just a typed list of chores for Hope to complete. Depressingly impersonal. It was demoralizing how much she’d been anticipating seeing him today. While if the note was any indication—and it was—he hadn’t wanted to see her at all.
She held the list up. “Izzie, if you’re listening, you were wrong. Donovan doesn’t have feelings for me. He only wants me to clean his toilets.”
Chapter 12
FOR THE NEXT week, the same awkward dance was afoot. Hope would drive to the lodge, hoping to see Donovan’s car, but it was never there. The only thing that awaited her was that darned typed chore list clipped to the front door. The chores were easy and only took her a couple of hours to complete.
She was starting to go a little batty from the mystery of Where is Donovan? And how did a chore list miraculously appear on his door each morning? On Wednesday night, day three of Donovan’s disappearance, she drove back to the lodge at eleven p.m., looking for signs of life. The place was dead. No cars. No lights. Abandoned, as it had been for seventeen years. She was certain he was gone for good, but the next morning, a new chore list was on the door. If she had the money, she might have bought a wildlife camera to capture him sneaking back at night. The only thing she knew for certain was that he was avoiding her.
Hope even felt desperate enough to go to the Hungry Bear to ask Sparkle if Rick might’ve mentioned where Donovan had gone.
But only Piney was there, slicing bologna for Paige Holiday.
“I’m busy,” Piney said. Sparkle was nowhere in sight. “Do you mind checking yourself out at the cash register?”
“Yeah, I can do that.” Hope bought a loaf of bread before leaving for home without any answers.
She gave up expecting Donovan to be home. She deep-cleaned Black Bear Hideout Cabin and pulled the swayback mattress, with a lot of huffing and puffing, to the end of the driveway, for Dewey Winkle to haul away. Having new mattresses delivered to Nowhere, Alaska, would cost a fortune, but that was what Donovan wanted. Curse the guy! She missed working cozily beside him in his grandmother’s studio or moving things around in Wandering Moose Cabin. She was a team of one now. All day long, she stopped herself from speculating where Donovan had gone off to and when he might return. Or at least she tried. She hated that she’d run him off, kept him away from the lodge and from Sweet Home.
Friday’s chore list came with no chores at all, just a typed instruction: Take the weekend off. She went home and started her own list. A list of possible jobs to check out. She couldn’t work for Donovan another week. She couldn’t stand how she was pining for him all over again. She even considered looking for work on the North Slope. Housekeepers were always needed there and the pay was more than she could make in Sweet Home. But Hope knew she couldn’t leave Ella to fend for herself, as she had been forced to do. Besides, since the debacle at church last Sunday, Ella was drinking even more than before. Hope was beyond knowing what to do at this point. It hadn’t worked to ground her and it wasn’t safe to take away her phone. The phone was Ella’s only lifeline if she ended up in a car crash like Hope had at nearly the same age.
She wondered if it would have been better if Donovan had never come back. Any more contact with him and Ella might really go off the deep end. Also Hope’s yearning heart was in danger of not surviving if he returned.
She sat at her kitchen table, staring sightlessly at the list in front of her. The last note on the door hadn’t mentioned anything about getting paid. She wondered if Donovan had forgotten about paying her weekly. But not ten minutes later, her phone dinged with an email from PayPal. The subject line read Money is waiting for you. Hope bristled; she’d told Donovan she didn’t need his charity. Then she saw the note inside: Payday. Includes signing bonus.
The amount was triple what she expected for a week’s work.
“Signing bonus, my foot,” Hope sniffed. But she really couldn’t afford to turn it down. Ella needed new gloves and new boots.
Hope decided, for her daughter’s sake, that she’d swallow her pride this time. She rationalized that money for boots and gloves was really child support. “When I see Donovan at church on Sunday, I’ll give him back the rest of the bonus.”
But Sunday morning, he wasn’t there. Continuing to read her mind, Father Mike preached a sermon about patience, about letting go and letting God. Patience was not her strong suit. Neither was leaving things to chance.
But the sermon tugged at Hope. Self-reliance hadn’t really gotten her anywhere. Maybe just this once, she should turn things over to a higher power and see what He could do with her mess of a life. She bowed her head and prayed for Ella to stop drinking. She prayed for her friends Piney and Sparkle, thanking God for putting them in her life. While she was at it, she asked God to forgive her for being angry with Piney. Then Hope did the unthinkable. She prayed for Donovan—with no strings attached—asking God to shower goodness on him now that he’d left Sweet Home for good.
* * *
• • •
DONOVAN RACED TO Sweet Home with his sleeping dog beside him in the front seat. Apparently Boomer didn’t have the same worries that humans had. Donovan hadn’t slept well in a week, not since leaving Sweet Home. He hated knowing that he’d run again, just like before. And just like his mother had when he and Beau were kids.
He was glad to be reunited with Boomer. Donovan had boarded him at a loving, run-free establishment in Anchorage . . . five stars on Yelp. Boomer looked well-fed, healthy, and happy. It was clear that Donovan had missed the dog more than he’d been missed.
He glanced at the dash clock and cursed the stupid flight delay in Florida. He was late, really late, for the monthly town council meeting. He pressed the accelerator harder.
It had been a nice visit, but he was taken aback to find his father preoccupied with a new girlfriend, Rose, who’d apparently moved in two weeks ago. Dad seemed eager to meet Ella, but mostly he was immersed in his new relationship. Donovan was glad his dad had finally found someone after all these years with whom to share his life.
Yes, it’d been an impromptu trip. No, he hadn’t given his dad any warning. It was just that Donovan had been looking for a break from Sweet Home, a break from all the emotions that being there had stirred up. What he especially needed was a break from Hope.
At least the trip had been illuminating. Ever since Grandpa’s death he’d been so worried that his dad needed him to move to Florida right away. Instead, he’d only felt underfoot, with Dad and Rose acting like a couple of honeymooners.
One thing he did right was to tell Piney where he was going, and ask her to print out his emailed list of chores every night and stick it to the lodge’s front door.
He glanced at the dashboard clock again. Seven o’clock already. No time to head home, shave, and change first. He pulled into the Baptist church parking lot, grabbed his leather portfolio with his notes in it, clipped on Boomer’s leash, and headed for the meeting. Boomer had other ideas—he needed a break and apparently another few minutes to sniff around after that. When Donovan finally walked into the church, Leaky Parks was at the lectern, the meeting in full swing. The rest of the room turned to look at Donovan as he pulled the creaking door closed behind him.
Leaky motioned to someone in the front row as Donovan strode with Boomer up the aisle, taking in the faces all around him. Some he didn’t recognize, but most he knew from his youth. The one face he wasn’t prepared to see was Hope McKnight’s as she stood and turned around.
She stared at him, looking utterly speechless. Then she opened her mouth as if she was going to ask him where he’d been, but apparently she decided otherwise, because she clamped her lips tight together.
It was Piney’s loud throat clearing that brought Hope back to her purpose, because Hope nodded at Piney.
“As head of our local chapter of MADD,” Hope started, “I just want to remind everyone about MADD’s Halloween watch on Thursday.”
Donovan’s stomach clenched. Hope volunteers with MADD? Why hadn’t Piney said something when he’d mentioned petitioning the council? Even better, why hadn’t he stayed in Florida and left Sweet Home to deal with Sweet Home?
Hope was still talking. “We have several teams who will patrol the streets to make sure we have a safe trick-or-treating for the kids this year.”
Leaky moved back in front of the lectern as Donovan took a seat.
“Thanks, Hope, for the reminder. If you have questions about your time slot, or still need to sign up, see Hope afterward.”
Hope stood again. “We do have a couple of openings, so please sign up tonight.”
Leaky pointed to him. “Donovan Stone has asked to speak tonight. Donovan, would you like to come forward?”
Donovan made his way to the front to stand before the council, who sat at a makeshift dais. He passed handouts to each member.
“I know most of you remember my grandparents, Elsie and Charles Stone. I’m here to petition the council to lift the dry decree for one night to revive one of my grandmother Elsie’s favorite traditions, the Wines of Alaska wine-tasting party to kick off Sweet Home’s Christmas Festival.” He could feel Hope’s disapproving frown without even seeing it, and he understood. His proposed wine tasting was in direct conflict with Hope and her cause.
“I don’t know if you know this or not,” Le
aky said to Donovan, “but Sweet Home’s Christmas Festival has been gone for many years now. There just wasn’t enough interest. Or for that matter, a large venue like the lodge or the hardware store for people to gather.”
Which didn’t ring true—the elders of Sweet Home and a good number of its citizens were gathered here in the church tonight. And St. Ignatius was even a bit bigger than the Baptist church. It was as if a domino effect had started the night of the accident that killed his brother and Izzie, which eventually killed off the town, too.
“I know Sweet Home is dry now. I also understand that Alaska has a crisis of addiction.” He didn’t want to reveal personal details, but it looked as if he was going to have to, especially since the council members were staring at him as if they’d already made up their minds. “I know firsthand how destructive alcoholism is. You see . . .” He paused. “I’m an alcoholic.”
There were many startled faces, but his gaze narrowed in on Hope. For some reason he feared her judgment above everyone else’s. For a split second he thought he saw sympathy on her face, but then it was gone.
Piney pointed at him. “It’s not surprising. You were a tippler even in your teens. You take after your mother,” she said bluntly.
He couldn’t deny it. It was the main reason his parents had gotten a divorce. “I’m lucky, though,” he said. “I found AA and have been in recovery for years.”
Hope stood, and he had the irrational expectation that she’d say she was proud of him. But that wasn’t what happened. “Then why are you doing this?”
One Snowy Night Page 16