A Cliché Christmas (14 page)

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTEEN

T
o my utter amazement, the storm came early.

Weston rarely showed signs of nervousness, especially behind the wheel. But when he slowed to a crawl around a tight bend in the road, I could feel the stress radiating from him. A focused silence replaced our banter and jokes. Though it wasn’t even four in the afternoon, the sky was an opaque gray mass. The snow was so thick that even the brake lights in front of us were no longer visible.

And we still had twenty miles to go.

Even with chains
and
Weston’s superior driving skills, navigation proved difficult. I prayed we’d make it home before dark.

Suddenly, Weston jerked the truck to the right, narrowly missing a car that was stopped in the middle of the road. “What the—”

He maneuvered the truck over to the narrow shoulder on the right.

“Stay here. I need to figure out what’s going on. Might be a stalled car.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“No, you won’t. Stay here, Georgia. The hazard lights are on, and you’re more visible here than you are walking around outside or standing behind that car waiting for someone to plow into us.”

Though I didn’t want to be left alone, I conceded. His look certainly didn’t say, “Let’s negotiate on this one.”

As Weston blurred into the ominous wall of snow, I slipped my cell phone out of my satchel to call Nan.

No signal.
Urgh!

I counted the seconds until the windshield was completely covered with snow, a solid screen of white.
Fourteen seconds.
I flicked the wipers on to clear it away. And then I started counting again.

Eleven minutes passed before Weston returned, the tip of his nose rosy from the cold.

He slammed the door. “Bad news.”

“What?”

“It’s not a stalled car. It’s an entire lineup of cars. I talked to a driver a ways up—before he lost reception, he got a text saying there was a major accident near the exit for Lenox. Do you have coverage?”

I shook my head. “No, I already tried.”

Weston exhaled and rubbed his temples. “I’m sorry about this, Georgia.”

“It’s not your fault. It’s weather—it’s fickle.”

“Yeah, but I knew it was coming. It’s probably going to be a few hours until we can make it home at this point. I haven’t seen any plows out yet.”

I watched the blades of the wipers as they scraped against the windshield.

“If there was a closer exit, I’d pull off, but you know as well as I do, there’s nothing. I’m guessing they’ll close the pass to oncoming traffic if they haven’t already. When this all freezes tonight, it’s gonna be a huge mess.”

I bit the corner of my lip.

“You thinking about Nan?”

“Yeah, I’ve just always hated the idea of her being alone during winter storms.”

Weston’s chuckle rumbled low, blending with the muted sound of the engine. “That town treats Nan like a queen. She’s far from alone, I can assure you of that.”

He was right. Most likely, her phone was already ringing with neighbors checking up on her to make sure she’d stocked up on supplies.

I reached behind my seat. “Well, it’s a good thing I snatched this giant container of Nan’s cookies from the counter before we left.”

Weston pulled onto the road again, keeping his hazard lights on. “Yeah, those might end up being dinner
and
breakfast.”

My laugh faded the second I realized he could be right.

An hour and a half and approximately two car-lengths later, our hope to make it home before the sky completely blackened vanished as frigid wind gusts continued to pummel Weston’s truck.

The only contrast to the darkness that enveloped us was the falling snowflakes caught in the glow of the headlights.

We’d already played a riveting game of Would You Rather?
—
which, of course, was filled with the most absurd and ridiculous scenarios—and then we tried to guess the story of the family in front of us because the two dark-haired children in the backseat continually turned and waved to us.

And then I had a thought. “I wonder if they’re hungry.”

Weston glanced down at the cookie container on my lap, and we exchanged a knowing look. “You want to be the Cookie Santa?”

“No, I want
us
to be.”

The twinkle in his eye filled my chest with warmth.

We put on our gloves, hats, and scarves as if we were about to trek across the Alaskan tundra instead of a single car-length.

As we approached the vehicle, the driver rolled down his window. There was a look of quiet apprehension etched into his features.

“Hi,” I said. “We couldn’t help but notice your kiddos in the backseat, and we wondered if we could share some cookies with you all? My grandma made them for us last night.”

Weston’s hand pressed on my lower back as I spoke, and the gesture warmed me from the inside out.

The woman in the passenger seat leaned over her husband’s lap and smiled at us through his open window. “How sweet of you! We’d love some.”

“Yeah! We’re starving!” One of the kids in back exclaimed, a double gap in his smile where his front teeth had been.

“What you mean to say, Cooper, is
thank you
,” the woman scolded.

“Yes, thank you,” he echoed immediately.

The little girl next to him nodded excitedly and reached for two cookies. Both parents took a few as well.

“Merry Christmas to you all,” Weston said. But as we started to turn back, the doors of an SUV opened and a couple of guys headed toward us.

“He
y . . .
are those cookies you’re handing out?”

I smiled up at Weston and shrugged.

“Sure are. Would you like some?”

“Yes, thank you! We’ve been up at Mount Bachelor skiing all day—thought we would grab dinner on our way home, but it doesn’t look like that’s gonna happen.”

Weston shook the driver’s hand and held out the container of Nan’s oatmeal-raisin cookies to them both. They grabbed several each, and I couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride. Nan would be overjoyed.

“Merry Christmas!” we called after them.

As we passed the family in the car again, we heard a familiar sound:
Christmas music.
They had tuned into the nonstop Christmas music station, cracking their windows to release the sound into the snowy mountainside. The lyrics to “Silent Night” rang out crystal clear. The ski guys in front of them tuned into the station as well, the sound pouring from their open windows and sunroof.

And then the car in front of
them
turned on the Christmas music—the trend had caught on quickly.

Once we got back in the truck, Weston tuned in as well. With the windows open, the symphony of Christmas was everywhere.

I inhaled a sharp breath as my soul stirred in a way it hadn’t in years. Even Weston was quiet, experiencing a similar attitude of reverence. As the song continued, the volume intensified. Though there was no way of knowing just how many vehicles were participating in this spontaneous outpouring of Christmas spirit, in my imagination there were thousands of cars. Weston took my hand in his, and together we listened, tears gathering in my eyes as I soaked in the sound of wonderment.

“Does this beat your Holiday Goddess clichés?”

I nodded in response, because the truth was, that it did. By miles.

Weston shifted his body toward me, his attention shifting with it. “How did you spend Christmas as a kid?”

“Well, Christmas as a kid wasn’t anything like my screenplays, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Weston’s head bobbed slowly, his eyes alight with understanding. “I’m not asking about your screenplays. I’m asking about
you
.”

Even with the window open, the air grew stuffy—claustrophobic even. I unwrapped my scarf and pawed at the frayed ends. “My granddad died when I was a toddler. I don’t remember him, but Nan says he had a strong faith and a big heart—one that simply gave out too soon. He
loved
Christmastime. He’d dress up as the town Santa and give presents to children.” I glanced up at Weston, who was staring at me intently. “Nan took his spirit of giving very seriously, but she made a point to teach me that one should be generous all-year-round, not just during the holiday season. For that reason, we didn’t—and still don’t—participate in gift giving on Christmas Day. Instead, we volunteered at shelters, baked cookies to give away, and helped families in need.” I realized how selfish I sounded. “But I’m not complaining about that—”

“I don’t need a disclaimer, Georgia. Go on. What about your mom?”

“U
m . . .
my mom.” The truth was a thickening mass that I couldn’t swallow away. He rolled up the windows then and waited.

“She didn’t usually spend Christmas with us.”

Weston’s frown armed my defenses. “What do you mean?”

I squirmed in my seat, wrapping a loose thread around my finger. “What I mea
n . . .
is that she worked really hard to keep me on task during the school year. She felt it was her job to push me academically. But when I had breaks, she took breaks, too.”
Okay, maybe that didn’t sound as normal as I wanted it to.

“Took breaks?” Weston questioned.

I nodded, licking my chapped lips.

“You mean, from you?”

My hands tingled with unease. “She knew I had Nan.”

Though Weston refrained from saying more, the tension in his shoulders and face was enough to make me want to jump out of the truck. I’d never had this conversation with anyone. It was as impossible to articulate as it was to understand. My mom wasn’t abusive or neglectful, she wasn’t mean or menacin
g . . .
She was just my mom.

“But you are
her
daughter, Georgia.”

The words chafed my heart, rubbing it raw.

A short horn blast startled us both, and a line of brake lights suddenly illuminated a path of movement before us. Weston huffed, released my hand, and put the truck in motion. We rolled forward slowly, tires crunching against the freshly fallen snow beneath us.

Though I hadn’t said much, I wanted to retract every word. My pulse quickened as I replayed the conversation again and again in my mind, searching for a missing link that could solve whatever misunderstanding stood between my interpretation of the past and a better, less pathetic version.

But another voice drowned out my own.
“Sympathy never makes us stronger, Georgia. Stop feeling sorry for yourself, and start focusing on how not to make the same mistakes I did.”

I couldn’t help but think
I
was the mistake she spoke of. The thing that held her back, inhibited her future, preyed on her weakness.

Several miles later, after the speedometer finally registered our slow pace, Weston spoke.

“What aren’t you saying?” he asked.

This conversation was beginning to feel like a fresh hangnail—equally as painful as it was annoying. “Nothing. She’s happily married now, living in Florida with her family.”

“With
your
family, you mean.”

“Right, that’s what I mean.”

When Weston’s eyebrows creased with understanding, my temples began to throb as I prepared for my deepest hurt to be exposed.

But he said nothing.

Lifting my hand, Weston laced his fingers through mine once more, and my fear was quieted, blanketed with relief.

C
HAPTER
F
OURTEEN

T
he wind howled down Nan’s darkened street as we crept toward her house. No lights were on. Anywhere.

Though it was only eight in the evening, the blackout gave Lenox an eerie, post-apocalyptic feel.

On the way home, I’d had spotty cell coverage and never managed to reach Nan. As we pulled up to the house, I finally released the breath I’d been holding.

A frozen wind gust whipped my ponytail violently as Weston took my arm and led me toward her front porch. I tried the door and then knocked. No one answered. I tried again—harder. The wind was so loud she might not have heard me. No answer.

“Do you have your key?” Weston asked.

Frigid cold seeped through every layer of my clothing. I bent and lifted the doormat, revealing the old key. Weston took it from my shaky hands and slid it in the lock with ease, pushing the door open a second later.

No light. No noise. No sign of Nan.

“Weston?” A fog of panic began to cloud all of my senses at once.

“Where are the flashlights?”

I walked toward the kitchen, realizing for the first time that there was no heat coming from the wood-burning stove.

Nan, where are you?

I bumped a dining room chair and nearly collided with the table, when Weston’s hands gripped my waist to steady me.

His soothing voice sent chills down my spine. “Careful, Georgia. Let your eyes adjust a bit more.”

I put my hands out in front of me and grasped the countertop. Nan always kept a flashlight charging in the corner.
Here it is.
Searching for the switch, I fumbled before finally—

Click.

The entire room was illuminated in an instant.

We saw it at the same time: a note.

Weston reached it first and held it up to the light as our heads huddled together.

G,

At Eddy’s house.

Franklin had another episode today. She needed me.

I tried to stoke the fire for you. Please call me as soon as you get in.

Nan

I exhaled and leaned my head against Weston’s chest.

“She’s okay, Georgia.” He kissed the top of my head. “Try your phone again, and see if your call goes through now. I’m gonna start the fire and check in with my folks. I’m glad Willa and Vannie aren’t coming home till next week.”

I nodded my head in agreement, the knotted muscles across my back slowly starting to release. As soon as I heard her voice, my nerves relaxed. I bit my lip to keep the tears at bay when she told me of the day’s events: Eddy making her infamous “storm chili” that tasted like a hot mud bath, and Franklin forgetting to turn off the sink again, which flooded the bathroom.

“Did you kids have fun at the mountain? I worried about you getting home in that awful weather, but then I figured if there was any trouble, you two would just pull off the road and start necking.”

“Nan!”

“Well, honey, I might be old, but I know about snow kisses.”

So did I.
I could remember a recent one quite clearly.

“I think you should stay there tonight, Nan. I’ll be fine here once the fire gets going.”

“Oh heavens! Did it go out? Georgia, I’m so sorry!”

“Nan, I’m a big girl. I’ll be okay.”

“Is your beau there? Put him on the phone.”

I rolled my eyes. “Nan.”

“Don’t sass me. Put him on.”

Weston crouched in front of the open stove, adding more wood to the crackling fire. His striking features glowed in the light of the flames as I made my way over to him.

“Here.”

I held the phone out to him without further instruction, but his grin indicated he knew what Nan was going to tell him.

After a few pleasant exchanges, Weston listened, gave a couple of short replies, said good-bye, and hung up.

“What did she say?”

He laughed and wrapped his arms around me. “She said you should stop being so uptight.”

“That’s not what she said.”

He brushed my temple with his lips. “She told me that I wasn’t to leave here without making sure you were going to stay warm for the night—and then she told me where her secret snack collection i
s . . .
since someone already ate through her box of storm Cocoa Puffs.”

I rested my head on his shoulder as he kneaded my back with his strong fingers.

“S
o . . .
you want me to stick around for a while tonight?”

More than anything.
“Hm
m . . .
well, we’ve already had one scandalous sleepover in the not-so-distant past. I don’t know if we should push our luck. It’s a small town.” My smile curved with mischief as our eyes met.

Weston’s throaty laugh caused my heart to cartwheel. “Then let’s not sleep. Show me where the candles are, and we’ll stay up, keep the fire going, listen to the wind, and
talk
. I’ll be a perfect gentleman.” He kissed the tip of my nose. “I promise.”

“This is turning into the longest date in history.”

“Correction—this is turning into the
best
date in history.”

“I think it should count for dates three, four, and five.”

Weston pulled me in closer and whispered huskily into my ear, “I think we should just stop counting.”

Through the glow of ten votive candles and one heavy-duty flashlight, Weston and I chowed down on Nan’s secret stash of sugar. It was snowing hard again. We sat on the floor, legs outstretched, backs against the couch, each with a ratty afghan across our laps, as we watched the flakes fall.

It was past three in the morning, but being with Weston invigorated me. My head rested against his shoulder. He lifted our connected hands to his mouth and kissed my fingertips, each gentle caress singing through me like a personal melody.

“I used to watch you at the park. From my bedroom window,” he said.

I tilted my chin, meeting his gaze momentarily.

“I always wondered what went on in that head of yours.” He chuckled. “Although now I’m convinced you were plotting screenplays under that old oak tree, while the rest of us struggled to complete our math story problems.”

I suppressed a yawn and nuzzled into his shoulder. “You never struggled in school. You got straight As—always had the right answers to your story problems.”

“Not always. There was one story problem I could never figure ou
t . . .
a story that kept me awake at night and gnawed at me for years.”

Weston’s finger traced a pattern onto my open palm, and my pulse skipped.

“We’ve always been intertwined, Georgia. Our pasts are impossible to separate from one another. It would be like trying to extract salt from the ocean.” He shifted his body, and his hand cupped the side of my face, his fingers sliding easily into my hair. “This is the story we were always meant to live.”

A shallow sigh escaped my lips. “S
o . . .
you’re saying you want me to stay? Even if it means that I buy a run-down theater?”

Weston laughed as he pressed his forehead to mine. “I’m saying whatever I have to do to keep you from leaving, I’ll do it.”

“I think I like this story.”

My words were silenced as he kissed me gently, and my heart was fuller than I could have ever imagined.

And for the first time ever, I doubted the story line I’d loved so much as a young girl.

Maybe Louisa May Alcott
did
get it wrong.

Maybe, just maybe, Jo and Laurie could have been happy together.

Despite our goal to pull an all-nighter watching the fire and talking, we fell asleep sometime in the wee hours of the morning. I was on the couch while Weston slept on the floor next to me, several pillows tucked under his head. It was just after six when the power came on, the light from the kitchen blinding me.

“Weston—Weston, wake up.”

He lifted his head and rolled over groggily to face me. “Is it next week yet?”

“What?” I giggled.

“I think I need to sleep for a week.”

I nudged his leg with my foot. “No, you need to go home and shower. You have to salt the church parking lot, remember? You told me to wake you if you fell asleep.”

“Urgh, right. Okay.” Weston rubbed his eyes and then ran a hand through his messy hair. I couldn’t help but smile. He was adorable—like a bear cub coming out of hibernation.

He stood and planted a kiss on my head. “Best. Date. Ever.”

I yawned. “Agreed.”

“I’ll see you later this morning at service?”

I nodded, rubbing a kink from my neck.

His eyebrows pinched together. “Be careful on the road this morning. I’m sure the plows were working all night, but it’ll still be slick.” He shook his head. “Actually, why don’t you tell Nan I’ll pick her up and bring her here in a bit. I don’t feel good about her driving.”

I smiled. “Stop it.”

“Stop what?” Confusion clouded his eyes.

“Being so wonderful.”

He grinned and tipped an imaginary hat before walking out the door.

The church service was small.

Though winter storms were common in the mountains of Oregon, they tended to keep people indoors. My pulse jumped when I noticed Nan’s friend Mr. Harvey in attendance. He was the owner of Lenox Community Credit Union. I made my way toward him, brimming with excitement, joy, and—

Am I seriously going to do this? Am I really going to buy a theater?

Just as quickly, my doubts were replaced with peace—an oddly reassuring peace. Even the thought of telling Summer didn’t dispel my mysterious sense of calm.

“Mr. Harvey. Hi, I don’t know if you remember me, but—”

“You’re Nan’s granddaughter.” His puffy cheeks and bald head glistened under the lights.

“Yes, that’s right. I’m Georgia. It’s nice to see you again. I was wonderin
g . . .
Could I come by the bank tomorrow morning and see about getting a preapproval for a real estate purchase?”

His eyes lit up. “Oh, are you looking to buy a house?”

“U
m . . .
not exactly. But I’d love to sit down and talk with you about it in detail.”

“Sure thing. Can you come by around ten? I would love to help you if I can.”

I beamed. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

I spotted Nan talking to Violet, the owner of Sunshine Books, and I remembered the debate about
Little Women
that I’d agreed to a couple of weeks ago. So much had changed since that day in the bookstore.

Violet winked at me.

Okay, maybe you’re right, Violet. But the jury’s still out.

Pulling my coat closed and wrapping Nan’s scarf around my neck, I headed for the exit. Weston was probably helping the elderly cross the slick parking lot. Really, his goodness was annoying at times.

I went outside to see if I could lend some assistance when I was assaulted by the sight of Miss Perfect Teeth talking to my Weston. Again.

My Westo
n . . .
really?

Just go with it.

Fine.

Weston’s back was to me, but I heard him clearly. “What I’m saying is, I think you should stick to your original plan, Sydney. You’re getting in way over your head. It’s too much work.”