I shook my head. "Annie, I don't want to go home. That’s not what I meant." I wanted every bit of her complicated life if it meant staying right here next to her. I wanted to hold her hand and feel that warmth and happiness that came with belonging to something, to someone, blooming inside me.
She sighed. "I don't have time to argue with you, Tuck. This is my family, not yours. My problem. Thanks for tonight, thanks for everything. Merry Christmas." She spun on her heel and joined her father.
"Check out the bars first?" he asked from the steps of the inn. I watched Annie's shoulders fall further as she climbed the steps of the inn to follow him inside in search of Johnny.
My heart felt like a hard knot in my chest, and I wished I could get it out of me and abandon it here in the little plaza next to the happily glowing tree in the frigid air. Everything that had seemed cheerful and light moments before now felt like a caricature, as if it was all here to mock me, to illustrate how very alone I really was. I crossed the parking lot and climbed into the truck without even feeling the cold.
I sat for a long minute without starting the engine. I wanted to turn off my mind, but I allowed myself to think instead. I went over everything that had happened in the last few days, everything Annie had said to me, every moment we'd spent together. I knew there was something between us—I'd never felt anything like the immediate and all-encompassing attraction I felt for her. And I'd never felt so compelled to take care of someone, to look after anyone beside myself.
Maybe that was it though—Annie was used to looking after everyone. She was a doctor, after all. An animal doctor, but still. Between her patients and the situation with her family, she was used to being responsible for others. And evidently she thought the load she carried was so burdensome no one would ever want to help carry it.
But that's where she was wrong.
I didn't need my simple bachelor life. I didn't want to come home to a quiet, cold house every night for the rest of my life. Sure, it was simple, it was predictable. But there was little joy in it.
I wanted this—the color and cold, the togetherness I'd felt at the tree lighting in Kings Grove. I wanted connection and family, even if it wasn't through blood. I wanted to be part of something, and I wanted that with Annie.
I started up the car and drove slowly back to the residential village, letting my eyes rove appreciatively over the houses and cabins all decorated for the holidays. Tiny lights twinkled at most places, and the effect was merry and bright. I let a little of the cheer filter back through me and took a deep breath. I needed to convince Annie that her life wasn't too much for me. That I wanted to help carry her burdens—simplicity was overrated.
My Tahoe practically guided itself left instead of right as I came to the meadow loop, and I followed the narrow lane around, unsurprised to find myself lingering in front of Annie's cheerfully bright little house.
Had the house had all those lights on it yesterday? The porch railing was wrapped in a string of shining lights and there was a tinseled tree in one corner that I knew hadn't been there the night before. As I stared at the little house, my car idling in the road, I saw a black compact parked off to one side. Johnny's car. A second later, a shadow passed in front of Annie's front window.
Johnny?
I pulled into her driveway and switched off the engine. The guy was not my biggest fan, but still, I went to the door and knocked.
Annie's brother appeared on the other side, and he actually managed to smile at me. "Hey, Tuck," he said.
"Johnny." It was a breath of relief that he was safe. "Hey man, your sister's worried about you. She doesn't know where you are."
He shook his head, the smile dropping from his face. "I'm an adult," he said. "I was taking care of a few things."
"I guess she just expected you at the tree lighting is all," I said, hoping not to set him off.
But Johnny's face changed then, the anger evaporating and his eyes misting. "Oh no," he said. He pulled the door open and actually waved me in. Hattie stood and greeted me, and though I was a little uncomfortable with Annie's unpredictable brother, the big brown dog made me feel at home.
Johnny turned to face me, looking sad and lost in the center of Annie's living room. On the table was a pile of wrapped gifts, paper, ribbon and tape. He'd been in the midst of wrapping, I guessed. "I forgot," he said, and I believed him. "I went down to the valley to do some shopping. I wanted to surprise my family, show them I'm not a complete deadbeat . . . and I did the opposite." He shook his head.
"Do you mind if I just let them know you're okay?" I asked, sliding my phone from my pocket.
"Yeah, sure. Of course."
I texted Annie quickly, hoping maybe this once she had her phone with her. Johnny's here at your house. He's fine. Come home.
A few minutes later, a text came in reply. Thank God. Thanks for letting me know. On our way.
I knew Annie and her father would be home soon, and I wasn't sure what I should do. I wanted to stay. I wanted to be there when Annie realized her brother was safe. Part of me wanted some credit, I guessed, for being the one to "find" him, though in reality it took nothing more than letting my heart take me by her house once more.
Still, this wasn't my family. Annie had been pretty clear about that. So I said goodnight to Johnny and left, pulling away from Annie's as I saw headlights coming around the curve behind me.
I drove up the long driveway next to Cameron and Harper's and to the little house that sat behind theirs, parked, and climbed the dark, quiet steps to my own quiet, simple life.
12
Annie
Johnny was waiting inside when Dad and I pulled into the driveway, another car disappearing down the narrow road ahead of us. Tuck.
My heart fell a little as I realized he'd left.
We jumped from the car and rushed into the house, to find Johnny looking worried and staring at a table full of wrapped and partially wrapped boxes. He looked up as we came in, and he lifted his hands. "I'm so sorry," he began.
This was new. Johnny placed blame; he didn't take it. And he rarely apologized.
"Organization isn't my strong suit," he went on. "And I just forgot this was the tree lighting night. I should have called or something, I know. I just . . . " He dropped his hands and his face fell. "I wanted to show you that things are better, that I’m better. And instead I screwed things up. I went shopping," he said. “And Annie?” He added quietly. “I didn’t tell you earlier because they take a few weeks to really work, but I am taking my medication. I have been for a while.”
I hated the defeat in his voice, but his words had kindled a small spark of hope in me. The fact that he'd go shopping for other people, and that he was apologizing for making us worry? This was new. This was good. "I'm just happy you're safe."
Dad was looking at Johnny with a strange look on his face, but he shook himself and went to put an arm on Johnny's shoulder. "You missed a hell of a ceremony," he said.
"I wish I'd been there," Johnny said. "I remember that from when we were kids. I always loved it."
"Me too," I said, and though part of my mind wandered back to running circles around the tree with my brother, another part was thinking about how nice it had been to sit quietly with Tuck tonight, to enjoy the cold air and the music and his arm around me.
"Your friend stopped by," Johnny said. "The Aussie."
I nodded. "He texted to tell us you were here."
"He seemed sad," Johnny said.
My stomach twisted uncomfortably. Thinking of Tuck being sad was terrible. He usually wore his bright, all-conquering smile and walked around like nothing could ever bother him. But I thought of him now, alone at his little house, and wondered about everything he'd said to me, and what I'd said to him. Did he really relish his quiet life? I knew I hadn't imagined the affection and warmth between us tonight—and every other time we'd been together.
As Dad and I took off our coats and settled down in front of the roaring fire my br
other had built, Tuck’s last words to me rang in my head. I'd been so worried, I hadn't really heard them. I want to help. Annie, I don't want to go home.
My own words had been harsh, abrupt. This is my family, not yours. I hadn’t meant them that way. I’d meant that I couldn’t burden him with my troubles, that he deserved to be free if that’s what he wanted.
Tomorrow was Christmas Eve. Would Tuck spend it by himself? My heart twisted painfully at the thought. I looked across the room, half-listening as my brother told Dad about the chaos and the craziness of his last-minute shopping. They were laughing together and smiling. And I realized that while my life definitely came with complications, and there was no guarantee my brother would remain well, I loved my family, and I wouldn't want things any other way.
Well, maybe one other way.
It was too late to visit Tuck now, but I began to formulate a plan for tomorrow.
* * *
I woke early the next day, planning to go straight to Tuck's house to invite him to join us for Christmas Eve dinner and for Christmas morning too. I'd slept badly, regretting my words to a generous man who'd been nothing but kind to me since he'd come into my life. A man who made me feel beautiful and wanted and cared for. I was on my way out when I pulled open the front door, with Hattie waiting patiently beside me, and found a small box wrapped in red paper sitting on the doormat.
The morning was cold and clear, and as I bent down to scoop up the tiny box, with my name on its little white tag, no one was on the road. The sun began to arc up the frigid blue sky, and the village was silent with the exception of a few tenacious birds calling to one another, their songs amplified by the cold.
I took the box inside and unwrapped it before I'd even gotten back to the kitchen. There was no note, but the SD card I found inside gave me a pretty good idea who it was from.
Tuck, I thought, as I slid the card into my laptop and opened the movie player.
The movie was almost exactly what I'd hoped for—the cookie decorating, the families screaming in joy as they toppled one another in the three-legged race, and the convivial warmth that had made the tree lighting a perfect event. And while there were so many familiar faces in the movie, one face dominated the footage—mine.
I was in almost every shot, sometimes up close, smiling openly in a way that made me self-conscious to watch, but often from across a room or space, laughing and talking with my friends and neighbors from the village. It was just a movie, a true accounting of what had actually happened, but there was something about the way Tuck had captured me, about the atmosphere the movie seemed to convey as it was put together, moving seamlessly from one scene to the next, that had me considering myself differently.
I realized I was seeing myself through Tuck's eyes in these shots. And the gentle way the field of view followed me across a room, the soft way the lighting emphasized my best features, it made me look happy and pretty. And Tuck had set the whole thing to music. I watched myself smile and laugh at the tree lighting as the old Donny Hathaway version of “This Christmas” played quietly, and his voice sang about someone’s eyes outshining the town.
At the end, Tuck had interviewed a few people, asking what Christmas meant to them. Hearing his strong accented voice behind the camera as he asked the question made my stomach leap, and listening to each familiar friend talk about family and love nearly broke my heart.
Tuck was alone—and I'd forced him to stay that way, even though he'd clearly told me it wasn't what he wanted.
I hung my head and then took a deep breath. I'd been on my way to his house to invite him around anyway—now I was even more determined.
Hattie and I walked around the end of the meadow loop, turning off to climb the hill toward Cam Turner's big house and Tuck's smaller one behind it. But Tuck wasn't home—his Tahoe was gone.
Despite the early hour, I knocked at Cam and Harper's door, almost surprised to find them up and dressed and smiling. "Hey, Annie!" Harper said. Sequoia and Matilda, with her other puppy who Cam had simply named Five, came bounding out to greet Hattie. The dogs quickly got busy leaping and nosing around on the big deck.
"Hi," I said. "Merry Christmas Eve."
She laughed. "Merry Christmas Eve!"
"Do you know where Tuck is?" I asked. "His car is gone. I'd hoped to invite him to Christmas at our place."
Her face dropped a little and she shook her head. "We invited him too, but he was pretty non-committal a couple weeks ago when I brought it up. Last night I asked him again, and he said he thought he had plans."
"He did?"
Harper narrowed her eyes a bit at me. "Maybe he was just hoping he would. He's into you, Annie. You do know that, right?"
I sighed, my heart sinking a bit. "I'm a little late on the uptake." I couldn't hold her gaze. "I'm into him too," I admitted. "But I think I ruined it—I made him feel like he wasn't welcome last night."
"Hmm," Harper shifted her weight. "Hey, it's freezing out there. Come in for a minute, okay?"
I stepped inside, the dogs rushing by to beat me through the door, and Harper ushered me to the kitchen where Cam was pouring me a cup of coffee. "Hey, doc," he said, and the greeting reminded me so much of Tuck I almost cried.
"Any idea where Tuck might've gone?" Harper asked him.
He looked surprised to be asked, but his face softened as his eyes met mine. "Yeah, actually. He said he was going to see his family."
"What?" Shock shot up my spine. I looked between them. "To Australia?"
"I don't know, Annie, I didn't ask a lot of questions. I just told him he was welcome here for Christmas dinner."
I nodded, letting this sink in.
"Hey, you and your family are welcome too," Cam said. "In fact, we'd really like it if you came."
I glanced at the long table in the center of the big open space. It would easily seat twenty people—it was massive. "That's nice of you."
"Please say yes," Harper said, smiling.
The idea that Tuck had left—that he'd left the country—was breaking my heart in a way I never would have expected. "Sure," I said. "Thanks."
I went back outside with Hattie and walked home, wishing I'd done everything differently the night before. Why had I made Tuck feel so unwelcome? Why hadn't I told him how I felt?
He'd told me how he felt in so many ways. And the sheer enormity of what I'd lost, what I'd pushed away, settled over me like a dark cloak.
13
Tuck
Leave it to my mother to do things in the way you'd least expect. She didn’t email or call to let me know she and my brother had some kind of family Christmas in mind this year and wanted to see the States. Instead, they got on a flight and left a message on my home phone after landing in Los Angeles. The message had been waiting for me when I'd gotten home after finding Johnny merrily wrapping gifts at Annie's house. After Annie had made it clear her family was not mine—and painfully clear that whatever romantic feelings I thought existed between us were one-sided at best.
I called my little brother, August, catching them at baggage claim, and arranged for Mom and him to spend the night in a hotel near the airport. Then I got into the car to drive to Los Angeles, my chest feeling hollow and empty.
I'd wanted family for Christmas, and in some ways I was pleasantly surprised by my mother's impromptu visit. But Mom usually did whatever was best for Mom, and I couldn't help but suspect she had some kind of ulterior motive.
Still, when I arrived at the hotel lobby in the early hours of the morning, I waited in the lobby cafe with something close to excitement rumbling inside me at the thought of seeing them both. Of course that vague excitement had to fight a bit with the disappointment I was nursing over Annie's rejection, which felt like a searing wound I couldn't close.
"Morning, Tuck," came a familiar voice behind me after I'd been sitting for a couple hours. I'd waited until seven to text my brother and let him know I was here. The drive from Kings Grove hadn't taken all night, so I was on
my fourth cup of coffee by the time he appeared.
I stood, looking my brother up and down and noting the small changes that came with years—the lines near his eyes, his mouth. Overall he looked good. August was a darker version of me—just as tall, just as broad, but with dark hair that waved across his forehead and dark eyes. "Little brother," I said, affection coloring my voice as I stepped near and pulled him into a hug. "It's good to see you," I told him.
"Mom's on her way down," he said. "Sorry for the surprise." He took the chair across from me, and the waitress brought him coffee.
"Yeah, it was . . . unexpected."
"Surprises generally are."
"Right. So . . ."
"You're going to ask what's going on." August knew Mom's tendencies as well as I did. "But honestly, I think she's just tired of all the moving, all the heartache. She's been saying things about settling down in her old age, appreciating what she's got, stuff like that."
"So the douchebag dumped her?" I thought of the man who she'd lived with last, the one who'd essentially uninvited my brother and me from his house a couple Christmases past.
"Guess so."
"And you were free to just pick up and run away?"
August's face darkened. "The girl I told you about? The one I was going to marry?"
My brother had told me almost a year ago that he was settling down, was going to be a father. "Yeah?"
"She finally came clean. The baby's not mine."
"You sure?"
"Not a doubt in my mind. The other man came back. She chose him."
I nodded, his disappointment doubling my own. "You love her though?"
"Doesn't matter. She loves him. They have a child." He tried to force a smile, but his heartbreak was clear on his face. I wondered if I looked that glum and defeated. I hadn't been close to getting married, hadn't been planning on a baby.
"Seems like us Andersons are destined to be alone," I said.
Christmas in Kings Grove: Kings Grove, Book 5 Page 7
