This Christmas

by Olivia Miles

  “I’ll listen to the message,” she said, holding the phone to her ear. She expected the usual, Jules being breezy and chatty and giving her a rundown of her week, asking Tess to please call when she could. But this call was different. And this message was much worse.

  She stood up, nearly tripping on a box of ornaments, knowing that Jeff and Phoebe were both looking at her with concern.

  “Is everything okay?” Jeff stepped forward, but she held up a hand.

  “It’s fine. It’s fine.” But actually, it wasn’t. It wasn’t fine at all. Jules was coming to Winter Lake for Christmas.

  And by the sound of it, so was Carrie.

  Chapter Seven

  Carrie

  Like Jules, Carrie didn’t own a car. On a preschool teacher’s salary, she couldn’t exactly afford one. And in Manhattan, it would be a headache, a frustration.

  But lugging a huge suitcase, a tote, an overstuffed backpack, and several shopping bags filled with presents down the stairs of her apartment building and into the back of a waiting cab was an even bigger frustration. And getting them out of the cab and through Grand Central Terminal had proven to be downright impossible.

  Carrie stood just inside the doors of the train station, sweating through her wool coat, wishing she hadn’t worn a thick turtleneck sweater that now felt as if it were choking her. She stared at the pile of her belongings, wondering just what Tess would say when she saw it all. She’d been presumptuous, really, assuming that Tess would let her even stay for one night, let alone until Christmas. And just in case things worked out and she was granted access across the threshold, she’d packed enough to get through New Year’s, because the thought of spending it alone, in her empty and dark apartment, while Lucas was kissing the girl with the scarf was too horrifying to even think about right now.

  Luckily, she couldn’t think about it right now. Her train was scheduled to depart in seventeen minutes and she still had to buy a ticket, and find a seat. And haul her load.

  She took a deep breath and decided that she had no other choice but to problem solve. What would she tell her students when they dumped a box of toys and didn’t even know where to begin with picking them up? One thing at a time. Small bites. She started with the backpack. Then she loped the shopping bags over the handle of her suitcase. She deposited her tote into her other carry-on and there. Her back and shoulders and neck were cramping but she had done it.

  She was an independent woman. She did not need Lucas!

  But oh, how she wanted him. Wanted the comfort of her routine. Sundays were usually spent at their favorite brunch spot in Greenwich Village, followed by a walk in the park or a movie, and then they’d browse a bookstore before heading to a lazy dinner near one of their apartments.

  That was their life. That was her life. Only now, another woman was living it.

  In her scarf! Because she’d bought it!

  Fighting back tears, she hauled herself toward the ticket counter and purchased a ticket.

  “Return date?” the teller asked in a bored tone.

  “One way,” Carrie replied, because honestly, she couldn’t pinpoint a return date, just like she couldn’t predict Tess’s reaction upon seeing her. For all she knew, she’d be back in town by tonight. In her cozy, empty bed, in the bedroom that was so small that she could close the closet door without leaving her bed.

  It wouldn’t be so bad. She could order takeout from her favorite Thai restaurant and binge watch past seasons of the reality shows she’d missed when she was busy watching those boring history documentaries that Lucas preferred. She’d keep her phone off, so that Lucas couldn’t even reach her if he tried, but she’d be close enough to the door to answer if he stopped by.

  That thought came to a screeching halt. No. Lucas was not going to be stopping by, at least not until he got bored of his new girl toy. And until then, she was better off out of town, where she couldn’t be tempted to do something really crazy like hover outside his apartment building, or stare up into the windows from three flights below, or climb up his fire escape for a better look. (Yes, she had thought of all three, last night, when the misery of replaying the image of him sitting with that other woman had reached a breaking point.)

  The train was surprisingly full, but then it was the week before Christmas and people were heading home for the holidays, not that Winter Lake had been her home in a very long time. In a few hours they would stop in Boston, where Jules would be waiting. They would arrive in Vermont together as a united force. Just knowing that made her feel better.

  Still, when the drinks cart came around twenty minutes into their journey, Carrie shelled out some cash for a glass of red wine even if it was morning, and sipped it while she attempted to read a new paperback, one she had been looking particularly forward to enjoying on her break—a simple pleasure that she refused to let Lucas steal from her.

  Once they were well outside of the city limits, the countryside opened up and the route became scenic, like a winter wonderland outside her window. With each passing mile, she felt her spirits lift. The physical distance between her and Lucas was a good thing, and she was doing the leaving this time, even if he wasn’t aware of it. Even if he might not care.

  At some point in time, she dozed off, thanks to the aid of the wine, and she didn’t wake until they were only half an hour from Boston. Carrie smoothed down her hair and checked her reflection in her pocket mirror, not that she had to worry about impressing Jules. It was Tess that required some primping. But Jules was carefree and nonjudgmental. She barely wore makeup herself, not that she really needed it with her rosy cheeks and naturally long lashes, and she didn’t really give much care to the appearance of those around her.

  Tess said it was because Jules didn’t notice much of anything around her, that she was like their mother in that way, a free spirit, who took the day in stride and didn’t bother with little details or practicalities, that even when she was the last of the sisters in their childhood home, it had been Tess who still dropped off groceries for their mother and sometimes a meal or two.

  Still, right now Jules was Carrie’s favorite sister. In many ways, she felt like her only sister. Tess…well, that was rocky territory.

  She pulled out her phone and texted Jules, excited at the prospect of seeing her again. The last time they’d seen each other had been more than a year and a half ago, on a brief stop in Boston on Carrie and Lucas’s way to the Cape, back when she had been convinced for a short time that that was when Lucas was going to pop the question. Would she ever learn?

  Her phone pinged seconds after her message was sent. From Jules, of course.

  She blinked at the screen, not wanting to believe the words on the screen. Jules was running late! Of course she was!

  Carrie felt her chest heave as she stared at the screen and tapped, I’ll wait. There was no way she was arriving in Winter Lake without Jules at her side. But Jules replied: Sorry, but I snagged the last ticket for the later bus. Good thing you already bought your ticket for the early one! See you at six!

  Six! But Carrie was arriving at two!

  Was Tess aware that Jules was not going to be on that bus? Or aware that Carrie was even coming? And now—oh God—coming alone?

  She should text Jules and ask. Or better yet Tess.

  But she just couldn’t deal. She had dealt with enough for one week. And as she’d learned the hard way, some things in life couldn’t be controlled or planned or even counted on.

  Sometimes you just had to sit back and see what happened. And say a silent prayer that it would all turn out okay.

  Winter Lake never changed. Carrie stared out the window as the bus made its final push into the station on the edge of town, but close enough to give her a view of the snow-covered orchard where she and her sisters would pick apples each fall and berries each summer, of the old mill where their father had once worked before he’d ditched town, and them, when Carrie was seven, and the long, country road that led right to the hous
e she had lived in until she was eighteen, ready to leave, and go out into the world.

  Jules and Carrie had done just that. But Tess… Well, Tess had always felt a need to take care of the nest, not flee it. And of course, she had Andrew—her high school sweetheart.

  The nostalgia was quickly replaced by something else, a creeping sense of anxiety as the bus door opened and she and her fellow passengers (make that passenger, singular, since the rest had all left, one by one, or two by two, at the stops along the way) stood and gathered up their belongings.

  Knowing Jules, she had failed to inform Tess what time they were expected to arrive. She probably wouldn’t have thought that far ahead. Probably had assumed they would wing it, or call a cab, even though Carrie had begun to worry if there even were cabs in their quaint small hometown. She’d never had to think about that on her visits before. Not that there had been many. There had been Tess’s wedding, a visit a few weeks after Phoebe was born, and then Christmas five years ago. And then, of course, her mother’s funeral, three and a half years ago.

  Her stomach squeezed like it always did when she thought of those visits, and she quickly pushed the thoughts aside. What was done was done. She couldn’t go back and change anything. She was here now. Back in Winter Lake. And she was bound to see a face she recognized. Meaning, time to put on a good front. Chin up. Pleasant smile. It was going to be a very happy holiday indeed.

  The wind was fierce, worse than in New York, and she’d forgotten how unforgiving the winters could be here in Vermont. She pulled her belongings down onto the snow-covered pavement and into the station, which was empty and only a few degrees warmer than the temperature outside.

  This was it. Her stomach heaved as she walked to the front doors and peered through the glass, hoping against hope that there was nothing but a nice long line of taxis, or better yet, nothing. She could just sit here all afternoon, wait for the next bus to arrive. Head over to Tess’s house with Jules at her side for moral support. After all, this whole plan had been her sister’s idea, hadn’t it?

  But there was only one car outside the window, its engine running. Inside was the unmistakable profile of Tess with the shoulder-length cut she’d worn since college, straight nose, strong chin. And in the backseat a child who seemed far too big to be Phoebe, even though it was.

  Carrie closed her eyes, said the serenity prayer she used at the preschool when Zachary was really trying her nerves, and pushed outside into the cold, nearly slamming one of the shopping bags in the doorway in the effort. So much for a smooth, breezy entrance.

  Phoebe’s face was now pressed to the car window, her eyes as wide as saucers, which certainly didn’t bode well. Carrie gave a weak smile and tried to wave but the package on top of the shopping bag she was holding began to topple from that effort, so she dropped her hand quickly, but a few gifts still fell.

  She leaned down to pick them up, almost grateful to have something else to do, anything but look Tess in the eye or climb inside that car with her. But as she reached for the last gift, another hand pulled it from the ground.

  The time had come. Carrie pulled in a breath, stood up, and looked right into the face of her older sister, who didn’t seem remotely pleased to see her.

  “Where’s Jules?” Tess finally said, her eyes flat.

  Carrie tossed up her hands. “She’s arriving at six. She missed the bus.”

  Once, they might have shared a look over this, even an eye roll. It was just so typical of Jules. But today Tess only pinched her lips and said, “Of course she did. And she didn’t even bother telling me.”

  Carrie didn’t have to ponder why that was. Jules knew the strain that existed between her two older sisters. She probably worried what drama would ensue if she told Tess that Carrie was arriving on her own. If there was one thing that Jules hated, it was getting in the middle of things. She was much more comfortable on the outskirts, keeping a safe distance, not getting too close or attached.

  “Do you think Jules did this on purpose?” Carrie dared to ask.

  Tess thought about it for half a second and then said, “No. Jules isn’t that cruel.”

  The only thing saving Carrie from getting out of Tess’s car at the very first red light and dragging her luggage back to the station was Phoebe. Children were wonderfully cheerful and eager to please, whether they were oblivious to the tension around them or just hoping to fix it.

  Carrie had the impression that Phoebe was unaware of the strain between her mother and aunt. A good thing, all considered. Maybe that meant that Tess wasn’t as mad as she had feared?

  She dared to slant a glance to her left. Tess’s jaw was set and both hands gripped the steering wheel. She still wore her rings: a perfect solitaire diamond and a matching set of bands. And even though Carrie knew it was wrong of her, like, really, really wrong, she couldn’t resist the pang of jealousy she felt when she saw those rings. It wasn’t because they were beautiful (and they were). It was because someone had given them to Tess. Someone had chosen her. Someone loved her.

  Had loved her, Carrie reminded herself. Like Carrie, Tess had lost love. Only in Tess’s case, it was much worse. All the more reason not to mention her own troubles right now.

  Tess hadn’t spoken since she’d offered to help load Carrie’s bags into the trunk and then slammed it hard enough to make Carrie jump. But then, maybe Carrie was just being jumpy. Expecting the worst. After all, Tess could have driven off, left her standing in the cold.

  “We have a tree now!” Phoebe was saying excitedly. “And there are only six more nights until Christmas Eve!”

  Carrie turned around and smiled at Phoebe, her heart tugging when she thought of how much she resembled Andrew. Whereas she and Tess were both fair in complexion, with blonde hair and blue eyes, Phoebe had inherited nut brown hair and big, dark eyes. She’d grown so much since Carrie had last seen her, reminding her just how long it had been. Three and a half years. Sometimes it was hard to believe their mother had been gone that long. In many ways, she had been gone so much sooner, but the permanency of it was something different.

  Something that Tess must be struggling with on even a deeper level, Carrie thought, as guilt encroached.

  “You know, when your mom and I were little, we used to stare at the clock all day on Christmas Eve just waiting until we could finally go to bed!” Carrie glanced at Tess, but this memory didn’t spark even a hint of a smile.

  Carrie pursed her lips and blew out a sigh. This was going to be just as tense as she’d feared. She’d talk to Tess. Clear the air once Phoebe was in bed. It was something she should have done before coming here, only then there was of course the chance of being told she couldn’t come at all. Now there was just the chance of being kicked out of Tess’s home. But that would be a more difficult scenario. Tess had always prided herself on being an excellent hostess.

  “Tell me all about what you’ve been up to in school, Phoebe,” Carrie said. “I’m a teacher, you know.”

  “I know. Mommy told me.” Phoebe grinned, and Carrie had to wonder what else Tess had told her daughter. That Carrie was selfish and didn’t have her priorities straight? Things that she’d accused Carrie of on the phone when Carrie had given the difficult news that she would not be able to make it to town for Andrew’s funeral? She’d sent flowers. And a card. But she’d never heard if Tess had received them. Never heard from her again, not that she’d tried reaching out. Tess had been hurtful. She’d been unfair. But it wasn’t the time to point any of that out. Now, though…

  Phoebe filled the silence, talking all about her school pageant, the ornaments they had made in art class, the class party they’d had last week. Carrie looked out the window as they approached the center of town. It was magical; there was no other word for it. But then, it always was at this time of year. No matter how bad things got in their house as kids, they always had Christmas, and Winter Lake was never shy when it came to the holiday.

  Carrie took in the garland-wrapped lampp
osts, the store windows that boasted seasonal displays and lights, and greenery in pots and wreaths on doors. The town square tree was tall and fat with sparkling white lights that lit up the entire space and made the snow at its base seem to glow. Even on this grey, winter day, the town felt sparkly and alive and golden and bright.

  Up ahead was the lake, where they’d skate in the winter and swim in the summer and fish in the spring, even if they never caught anything. Well, Jules might have, once. With her hands.

  Carrie smiled and turned to remind Tess of that story, but Tess’s gaze was still fixed on the road, her expression hard.

  Carrie hadn’t been to Tess’s house in years, but she would have been able to describe it easily, because it was, quite simply, beautiful. A tall Victorian with a wraparound porch within walking distance to the lake and a slightly longer walk to town. The last time she’d been to Winter Lake for Christmas, Phoebe had only been three, and Carrie had stayed at her childhood home, rundown by then, tucked away on a country lane, about a mile from the lake—but not far enough to keep the girls away from it. Had she known that it would be the last time she ever stayed there, would she have made the trip longer, or come back again? The house had been sold, another family lived there now, or so Jules said.

  It was only at the insistence of Tess that she’d come back at all. Phoebe was at that age where she was fully aware, embracing all the magic, and how could Carrie miss out on that? Their mother had never been much for the holiday, but Tess…Tess made up for that. Her front door was flanked in not one but three wreaths, and she’d put a smaller wreath on each window, with an electric candle at each sill. The front porch had been wrapped in garland and lights and secured with red ribbons and the entire house had smelled of cinnamon and nutmeg and cranberries.

  She sat back, waiting to take it all in, but as they turned off Main Street and the house came into view, Carrie frowned. There was no wreath. No garland. No lights. She thought she saw some shadow of a tree in the front window, but it was not lit.