by Toni Blake
“Li—you there?” her sister asked.
She nodded again at the phone. Then did her own regrouping. “You’re right, I just have to make the best of it.” She wasn’t even sure what she meant by that, but she’d figure it out.
* * *
BECK STARED BLANKLY at the text on his phone from George Walton.
Don’t know if you heard, but the ferries stopped running and word is that they won’t be able to get through again until after Christmas.
What the hell? Was George serious? Did he have this right? Surely not. Beck tossed a glance toward the tall windows lining the rear of the house. Yeah, it was snowing and blowing like crazy, but Christmas was days away.
Rather than reply, he pulled up the ferry company’s website, which he’d been told stayed updated daily in winter. And hell—sure enough, the ferry was closed, with an explanation in big red letters. They’d reopen as soon as possible but it was doubtful they’d run again before Christmas. Check back daily for updates.
He texted George again—trying to think outside the box. What about a helicopter? We could see about chartering one.
He’d never flown to the island, and there wasn’t an airport here like on Mackinac—but he knew small aviation companies operated in the general vicinity. Already thought of that., George texted back. But they say it’s weather dependent and unlikely.
Shit. He’d been planning to head down to Kentucky in a few days, arriving the night before Christmas Eve. And this year of all years, it felt important. Not only because it was the first Christmas without Dad but because he needed to mend some fences—apologize to Emma and Mom for being so absent from family affairs these past ten years. He needed to get to know his niece and nephew better—and felt thankful they were still young and he hadn’t missed their whole childhoods. He didn’t want to be an absentee uncle and he really hoped the whole family, or even just the kids if the adults couldn’t get away, would want to come up in the summertime.
Not to mention, he’d figured the trip would be the perfect distraction from thinking about Lila.
A glance to the presents he’d amassed for the kids, sitting wrapped in a pile in one corner near the fireplace, made him feel even worse. The kids wouldn’t get the presents on time. No gifts from Uncle Beck on Christmas.
Glumly, he dialed Emma’s number—only to have it go to voice mail. He left a message explaining the situation, expressing his disappointment, and hoping she could hear how much he meant it. He ended by adding, “I’ve been reading some of the stuff in the box from Dad, Em, and...it’s been good for me. So thank you for sending it. I’m going to miss seeing you guys more than I can say.”
Then he exchanged a few texts with George. Thanks for letting me know about the ferry. Messing up my holiday plans big time. Same true for you?
George replied: Yes. Very disappointing for the whole family. We were leaving for Ohio tomorrow and hadn’t planned to come back until spring.
That stinks. Hope you can get off the island before too long.
Me, too! And poor Cade—he’s the most upset of all. Christmas is such a special time for the little ones—and he won’t be home with his mom and dad for it.
Aw, damn—Cade. Poor guy. Texting back that’s too bad seemed pretty empty, but he felt rotten for his buddy. It was crummy enough to have holiday plans ruined as an adult—as a little kid it would be infinitely more devastating. First world problem, of course—but he still hurt for the kid.
Another text came in from George. Cade is asking if he can come over and see you. But if it’s an inconvenient time, just say the word.
Bundle him up and send him over, Beck texted back. Maybe a visit will cheer us both up.
Five minutes later, the front bell rang and Beck swung the door open to find the little boy wrapped up in the usual oversize scarf Marie was fond of looping numerous times around his neck. Even with only his eyes visible, though, his distress showed. “Becker, Becker, this is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me in my whole life! What am I gonna do?”
Maybe Beck should have given a little more thought to how to appease a five-year-old whose Christmas was ruined. “Well, buddy—it stinks for sure. I don’t get to go see my family, either.”
“You have a family?” Cade asked, sounding astonished.
Beck reached down, grabbed onto the ends of the big scarf, and tugged, guiding Cade in so he could shut the door. Then he began to unwrap the scarf so he could see the boy’s face. “Yeah—I have a sister, and a mom. And my sister has two kids, the littlest around your age.”
“Oh.” Cade then shrugged free of his parka and let it drop to the floor, looking as dejected as a child in this position could.
“Listen,” Beck said, “it’s a bummer, for sure, but we’ll just have to make the best of it. I’m sure your Grandma Marie will whip up a nice Christmas dinner.”
Cade nodded solemnly as they headed to two sofas that sat across from each other near the large stone hearth. “She’s at Koester’s right now. She said you can come over on Christmas, too, if you want.”
The kindness touched him—he hadn’t thought ahead yet to what he would do. And if he couldn’t see his family, he wouldn’t care much about the day—but on the other hand, he certainly wouldn’t decline the Waltons’ kindness, and it would be a lot more pleasant than just another winter day at home alone. “That’s nice of her. And maybe you and I can watch some Christmas movies, or build a new snowman to keep our other one company. Maybe we’ll find a game to play or a puzzle to do.” Did kids these days even do puzzles? Beck had no idea.
“All that sounds fine, I guess,” Cade said, not sounding as if it were fine at all, “but what am I gonna do about the really big problem here, Becker?”
Beck looked Cade in the eye, trying not to let it show that he had no idea what really big problem existed in addition to the one they were discussing. But eventually he gave up. “What really big problem would that be?”
Cade rolled his eyes impatiently. “Santa, of course.”
“Santa?”
Cade blew out a breath. “He won’t be able to find me! I’m not at home!”
Oh, that problem. The thinking kid’s problem—since most five-year-olds, he suspected, would not have leaped ahead to this conclusion. But the answer seemed easy enough. “From what I hear, Cade, Santa’s pretty magical. I’m sure he knows exactly where you are and will visit you here.”
And then, damn, it hit him. George and Marie hadn’t expected to be stuck here with their grandson on Christmas morning. They probably didn’t have enough presents—if any at all—to make it appear Santa had come. And he didn’t think Amazon was going to be making any quick deliveries up here in the next few days, either.
So maybe it was for the best that Cade didn’t buy into it anyway. “No, he won’t know where I am! I wrote to him and I told him where I lived! I told him I’d been real good this year, too, because I have! My dad helped me with the letter. We drove it to the post office and everything! He won’t know I’m stuck on this stupid island in this stupid snowstorm.” He concluded by sticking out his bottom lip in determined defeat.
Beck’s mind raced. How do I fix this for the kid? How do I even take a stab at it? And while he was at it... “Um, what did you tell Santa you wanted, Cade?”
“A bicycle. With training wheels because I’m little,” he added smartly. “And some Pokémon stuff. And a puppy.”
A puppy. This just kept getting better and better. Beck blew out a breath.
“What am I gonna do, Becker? What am I gonna do?”
Maybe, rather than continuing to ask questions about the really big problem, Beck should have instead been trying to distract the boy from it. But now that he hadn’t, Cade looked near tears. And it broke Beck’s heart—enough that he said something he feared he’d probably regret. “I’m not sure, buddy, but we’ll figure it out. I promise!”
* * *
DAHLIA AND SUZANNE sat at the café, drinking coffee and watching the blizzard howl across Lake Michigan, the South Point Lighthouse barely visible just offshore. “When is this supposed to end?” Suzanne asked.
“Another day or two, I believe,” Dahlia said, her tone blasé.
“You seem completely undaunted by it,” Suzanne observed.
“It’s winter on Summer Island. Just came in a little more fiercely than usual this year. You’ll get used to it.”
Of course it wasn’t Suzanne’s first winter here, but she considered herself a new enough resident to still be adjusting to the weather, and as Dahlia had said, this wasn’t a typical December. And now people were stuck here who didn’t want to be. And she wondered how that might change things for certain people. Or...maybe it wouldn’t change anything at all—who could say?
“How’s Mr. Desjardins?” she asked, remembering he’d planned to leave for Toronto.
“Looks like he’ll be with us for the holiday,” Dahlia replied.
Suzanne smiled, thinking fondly of the low-key, debonair Frenchman. “I bet he’s delighted.”
Dahlia shrugged. “Sorry not to see his daughter, but otherwise I suppose he seemed happy enough at the prospect of sharing the holiday with me.”
Suzanne raised her eyebrows at her friend. “And are you happy about it, as well?”
“I’m fine with it.” But still blasé. Maybe Dahlia was tired of Suzanne pushing the Mr. Desjardins agenda.
But she couldn’t help herself, so announced, “Well, I for one am ecstatic. Not only because I find him delightful, but because, frankly, you and I and Zack seem like an odd configuration for Christmas. Given Zack’s surliness and that I don’t tolerate surly well, I welcome another pleasant personality around the dinner table.”
At this, Dahlia chuckled softly. “Zack’s first Christmas without Meg. And Pierre all smitten with me. And you all smitten with Beck. I’ve assembled quite the ragtag bunch of smitten kittens for the holiday—but I’m determined to make it merry for all involved. I want a nice Christmas. And afterward I may take a trip, once the ice clears.”
Suzanne looked over at her. “A trip?”
Another easy shrug. “I’ve wintered here a good many years. Thinking maybe I’ll head south for the rest of this one. You know, just take a break from the ice and snow this time around.”
Suzanne blinked, trying to get to the bottom of this unexpected news. “With a certain Frenchman?”
Dahlia spoke coyly. “I’ve not yet completely decided on such details—time will tell.”
Surely she was thinking of traveling with Mr. Desjardins. And surely he’d jet off to some tropical locale with her if she asked. In a way, this struck Suzanne as out of the blue and out of character for Dahlia. But on the other hand, her older friend was often full of surprises.
“Well, I look forward to hearing these details once they’re in place. And thank God Meg will be back after Christmas or I’d go stir-crazy without you.”
Dahlia reached over, squeezed her hand. “It’s nice to be valued.” Her countenance—suddenly serious—caught Suzanne off guard, but she simply smiled. Because it was nice to be valued. She supposed that was all most of us really wanted.
“About Christmas,” Dahlia said, “I should warn you—Lila will likely be joining us, as well. She’s quite broken up not to be going home.”
Suzanne took that in, turned it over in her head. “It only makes sense. I don’t mind. I only mind that I’ve made things awkward with her. Which I hope I might be able to repair.”
Dahlia nodded, her eyes kind. “You’re a good woman, Suzanne Quinlan.”
“It’s nice to be valued,” Suzanne quipped with a small smile. “So Lila...isn’t spending the holiday with Beck?”
“Not that I know of,” Dahlia said. “I invited her and she accepted. I would invite him, too, but that would cross the line into much more than awkward, I’m afraid.”
“Agreed.” Suzanne sighed. “I’m sorry if he has to spend the day alone, though.”
“He’s friendly with the Waltons,” Dahlia reminded her, “and they’re stuck, too. Perhaps he’ll join their celebration.”
“I hope so. I don’t like to think of anyone being alone for Christmas.”
A little while later, Suzanne bundled up and headed for home. But Beck remained on her mind. She still had no idea what existed between him and Lila. But if they were both stranded here for Christmas and not spending it together, that seemed...positive. For Suzanne anyway.
Of course, there were many unanswered questions, and all she had were a few puzzle pieces to try to fit together and form a whole picture. It didn’t work. And she was tired of wondering where she stood with Beck Grainger.
And maybe, on one hand, she should let the fact that he’d spent the last couple of weeks with Lila instead of her provide her answer. But on the other hand, some of the puzzle pieces were that she’d inadvertently played hard to get for so long, and she didn’t know what he and Lila were to one another, and try as she might, she hadn’t been able to get the man off her mind ever since she’d suddenly decided she wanted him. No matter how many times she’d felt brushed aside in lieu of Lila.
Every time she’d seen him with Meg’s younger sister had inflicted a deeper wound. But maybe...maybe she was hurting for nothing. Because Beck and Lila weren’t spending Christmas together. And because maybe if Suzanne really put her cards on the table and let him know how she felt, things would change in her favor.
Not just flirting, not just saying “sometime soon”—but going for what she wanted. Cal had been fond of saying that if you didn’t go after what you wanted, you never knew whether or not you could have had it. And she knew he would want her to be happy—and that the time had come. It was time to move on from her beloved late husband and find happiness again.
And maybe time was actually of the essence. She’d expected Lila to be leaving, after all, but now she wasn’t. At least not yet. So while she’d originally been following Dahlia’s advice to wait and see what happened after Lila’s departure, maybe...maybe the time to make her intentions known was now. Right now. Before even one more long, wintry day passed. Before something could happen to push him and Lila any closer together. Before she could talk herself out of it. Before anything stopped her from finally being as bold and courageous as she felt in this moment.
Before she knew it, Suzanne had trudged through the snow and wind up Mill Street, past her cottage, and onward up the slope that wound around and led to West Bluff Drive. Blizzard be damned. Her heart be damned. Her good senses be damned.
But wait. Maybe this was...too much. Too sudden. Too crazy. Taking off a glove, she struggled to extract her cell phone from a pocket and dial Dahlia.
“Hi, Suzanne. Anything wrong?”
Given that they’d parted ways less than five minutes ago and that there was a blizzard on, it was a reasonable question.
“I don’t think so,” Suzanne said, still trying to puzzle it through. “I mean, I think something might be right. But I’m not sure.”
“I need more to go on,” Dahlia prodded her.
Yes, that made sense. So Suzanne didn’t beat around the bush. “I’m marching up the hill right now, in a snowstorm, to tell Beck Grainger I care for him romantically.”
“Wow,” Dahlia replied, pretty much summing up how Suzanne felt about it, too. “This is unexpected.”
“I’m calling you for advice. Am I crazy? Am I going to look crazy? Should I stop?”
On the other end, Dahlia took her time, then answered slowly. “Are you emotionally prepared for any outcome?”
“Yes,” she said, almost surprised at how certain she felt. “Whatever happens, at least I’ll know I took my shot and let him know how I really feel.”
“Then press on, my love,” Dahlia
told her.
“Really?” Suzanne put her head down, walking against the wind. “I was sure you’d tell me to turn around and go home, think this through, come up with a better plan than just winging it.”
“Then you were mistaken. If you want him, really want him, you should let him know.”
“Even in the middle of a blizzard?”
“Even in the middle of a blizzard. Life is short.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
SHE WASN’T SURE of the temperatures outside—but given the fierce winds, she suspected a wind chill in the teens. Marching uphill in the blizzard was one of the most unpleasant walks of Suzanne’s life, but she forged on. There were plenty of reasons to turn back, but in her mind, she’d come too far, committed emotionally to what she was doing. She’d turned back with Beck too many times—if she turned back now, she feared she’d keep turning back, over and over. She had to push through this, make it happen.
She felt like a pilgrim on a strange crusade as she made her way up West Bluff Drive, the sole sign of life amid the large, stately homes lining her path. Anyone looking out a window might assume they were seeing a ghost. The Ghost of Christmas Crazy.
But you’re not crazy. You’re...determined. To move forward. At last. And that was a good thing. Even an amazing thing. In fact, it felt like...freedom in a way. To suddenly want another man so badly. To suddenly be ready to let someone new into her life. So despite having to keep her head down in the wind, on the inside, she stood up straight and tall as a sequoia and strode boldly in her snow boots toward Beck Grainger’s big, woodsy-looking home of cedar shake and timber, the roof currently blanketed in white.
It was a relief to duck out of the wind up onto his covered front porch. Determination and boldness aside, she was also looking forward to a little warmth, so she didn’t hesitate to ring the bell.
She waited, hearing no movement inside. Oh Lord. What if he wasn’t home? What if he was down at the inn with Lila right now? What if she’d made this horrendous trek for nothing?
