by Beth Labonte
“Riley,” said Granny, her eyes lighting up. “I liked him. When will we get to see him again?”
My heart sank at the look of joy on their faces. When I’d concocted this whole fake boyfriend idea, it had been in the midst of an emergency. I hadn’t had any time to really think about what it entailed. I’d never considered the fact that my family might actually be happy I’d finally found someone after Dean. I’d never considered the fact that later on, they might be upset to hear we’d broken up.
“He’s, um, he’s actually gone down to Pennsylvania to be with his family for Thanksgiving,” I said, with a no-big-deal sort of a shrug. “He’ll be back, though.”
“Good,” said Granny, squeezing my hand.
“Wonderful,” said Mom.
Lee and Dad cheered from the other room.
Over the next few days, I tried to focus all my attention on getting ready for Thanksgiving. The tent, tables, chairs, heaters, and portable toilets were all delivered to the common on Monday afternoon. There was a bit of snow in the forecast for Wednesday, but it didn’t look like more than a dusting. Since Riley had left, I’d been wallowing in Autumnboro’s gray November dullness, and was sort of hoping the weather would stay that way for at least a few more weeks. On Monday, my sister Meg finally arrived with her husband Dave, and my two nieces, Nina and Ayla. We had dinner at my house that night—all twelve of us—making it almost feel like an early Thanksgiving.
The difference was that after my talk with Mom, there was no more harping on my love life. My aunt, uncle, and cousins discussed their past few days of exploring Autumnboro (Uncle Burt was one drumstick away from completing Grayson’s Turkey Challenge), and Summerboro (Randy wanted to come back next summer for Jet Skiing). Aunt Carla and Audrey had gone for pumpkin facials at Autumnboro’s new day spa, and were practically glowing. Audrey even invited me along for next time—"her treat”—which made me laugh. Nobody mentioned my money a single time, which was most definitely some sort of record.
On Tuesday, I put everybody to work setting up tables and chairs on the common, and on Wednesday, we started preparing the food. Once I’d realized that I was going to need more turkeys than I could possibly cook on my own, I’d given Roy a call at the turkey farm. Before I could offer to buy thirty more pies, he’d agreed to provide me with ten pre-cooked, pre-sliced turkeys by Wednesday evening. All I would need to do was reheat them on Thanksgiving Day. He declined any sort of payment—even in the form of pies—and insisted that he was just happy to help.
All of the side dishes still needed to be prepared, so I set everybody to work making mashed potatoes, stuffing, green bean casserole, and candied yams. By the end of it, my kitchen was one big hot mess—Pixie scurried happily around, lapping up anything and everything that fell to the floor—but it had been fun. For the first time in a long time, it wasn’t just me in the kitchen, preparing Thanksgiving dinner all by myself. With a football game on in the background, we joked and we teased, and we drank cups of homemade caramel apple sangria. Somehow, my most self-centered relatives—who had never been satisfied, no matter how much money I gave them—seemed to have been swept up in the giving spirit of the season. Maybe it was the sangria, but everybody finally seemed happy.
I was happy, too. Mostly.
When thoughts of Riley crept in—which was every five seconds, it seemed—I reached for the sangria. But it wasn’t helping much, and I was starting to get clumsy. After I’d dropped a spoonful of mashed potatoes directly onto Pixie’s head, I put my glass into the sink.
“I’m cut off!” I announced. I paused at the sink, staring out into the darkness. What I wanted, more than anything, was for Riley to come up beside me, his arm around my waist. We would clean up the kitchen, then we’d snuggle on the couch. My reflection stared back at me, frowning and alone.
Shortly after cutting myself off, Burt, Carla, Audrey and Randy retired outside to the hot tub, and Dave took the girls to The Shaky Maple for hot chocolate, leaving me alone with Mom, Dad, and Meg. Granny was dozing in the living room.
“Can we talk for a minute?” I asked, wiping down the kitchen island. The three of them were sitting around the kitchen table, polishing off an apple pie.
“Pull up a chair, sweetheart,” said Dad. “What’s on your mind?”
“I wish I could have met this Riley,” said Meg, as I pulled out a chair. “It’s too bad he had to leave right before we got here. But I suppose I’ll have more chances.”
“That’s sort of what I wanted to talk to you about,” I said. “Riley. He’s, um, he’s asked me to go on this pretty big trip with him. To Japan, Europe…all over.” I left out the part where we’d be searching for Pokémon. Unimportant, super lame detail.
“That’s wonderful,” said Dad. “It’s been so long since you’ve done any traveling.”
“Do you think he’s going to propose?” asked Mom, her eyes widening. She turned to Meg, both of them squeezing hands.
“I’m not going,” I said. They dropped hands, their faces falling right along with them.
“Why on Earth not?” asked Meg.
I told them everything I’d told Riley; the lingering effects of the sangria helped me to finally let it all out. I told them how the thought of traveling filled me with anxiety and painful memories. I told them how I worried that if anything ever happened to me, they’d be left to deal with my money and all of the headaches that came with it. I felt ridiculous as I heard the words coming out of my mouth, as if I were completely out of touch with reality. I want to protect you from the horror of becoming financially secure multi-millionaires. Just the same, it was how I felt, even if nobody else could understand it. Even if I knew that my reasoning had most likely been warped by heartbreak.
“Oh, Josie,” said Meg, staring at me with her chin in her hand. “I just assumed you were leaving everything to Pixie.”
“You can’t live your life worrying about us,” said Dad. “I don’t ever want to think about something bad happening to you. But if it did, sweetheart, we’d be just fine.”
“Dad’s right,” said Meg. “I mean, we’d mourn your death for a full twenty-four hours, but then we’d be totally okay with our inheritance.”
“Very funny,” I said. “But you’re not getting my point. You don’t know what it’s like having friends and relatives look at you like you’re suddenly a different person. Or being hated by people who don’t know anything about you, just because you happened to buy a lottery ticket at the exact right time. Never mind the temptation of having this much money at your fingertips. It can be completely overwhelming. I mean, you saw what it did to Dean.”
“Dean was an ass,” said Uncle Burt, stepping through the sliding doors from the back porch. He was wearing a large yellow towel around his waist, and went straight for the refrigerator. “The money had nothing to do with it.”
“Of course, the money had something to do with it,” I said. “It was too tempting. He cracked.”
“Nah,” said Uncle Burt, turning to look at me. “Dean was no good from the beginning. If it wasn’t the money, it would’ve been something else. Younger woman. Ponzi scheme. Hang on.” He walked back outside and returned a minute later with Aunt Carla. “Tell Josie what we thought of Dean.”
“Total ass. From the moment we met him.”
“And you never thought to tell me this?” I asked. “You might’ve saved me a lot of heartache! Never mind half a million dollars!”
“Like you would have listened to us,” snorted Uncle Burt. “No, you were all googly-eyed in love with that guy. You needed to figure it out for yourself.”
There were a few seconds of awkward silence.
“Please don’t tell me that you’re only figuring it out now,” whispered Carla.
I put my face in my hands.
“Look,” said Uncle Burt, walking over to the table and leaning down across from me, forcing me to look up. “That guy would’ve ended up hurting you no matter how much money you had in the ban
k. But he’s not the only guy in the world. Get yourself back out there and find someone worthy of blowing all that beautiful money on—well, not all that money. Save some for your uncle in his old age, eh?” He straightened up and popped open his beer. “What about that Miley kid? I liked him. Where’d he go, anyway? Don’t you dare tell me Thailand.”
“It’s Riley,” I muttered. “And he’s in Pennsylvania.”
“Pennsylvania? What’s he doing down there?”
“It’s a long story.”
“Whatever you say,” said Uncle Burt. He walked into the living room and flopped down on the couch, still wrapped in his wet towel.
“Look, honey,” said Mom. “If anyone’s at risk for getting carried away by money, it’s me. I know that. But I’ve got your father here to rein me in. And if you think people aren’t already pounding down our door asking for money, you’re wrong. We deal with it, too, all the time. We don’t tell you because we don’t want you to worry about us. But trust me, they don’t come knocking a second time.”
“Your mother has quite a mouth on her,” said Dad proudly. “She could give you some tips.”
“Really?” I laughed. “I don’t believe it.”
“Well, you should believe it,” said Meg. “Have some faith in us! We’ve been watching you for years and learning from the best. You’ve done some great things with that money, Josie, but what you need to do now is get out of your own head. Go do something great for yourself, for once. Whether that means taking that trip with Riley, or taking a spaceship to Mars—”
“Spaceship to Mars?” shouted Uncle Burt, from the living room. “Did she finally book it?”
Meg rolled her eyes. “Whatever it is…just go.”
Chapter 22
I lay awake for hours that night, thinking over everything my family had said. How they’d be okay, no matter what. How I needed to do something great for myself, for once. I’d been convincing myself for so long that their lives would be ruined if anything ever happened to me. I never expected that hearing them say have faith in us would mean as much to me as it did. Then there was my aunt and uncle’s revelation that perhaps Dean hadn’t been the best representation of all the men in the world. I tossed and I turned. Despite everything I thought I knew about dating in my financial situation, maybe I’d been wrong. Sure, there were more Deans out there in the world to be wary of…but there were also Rileys. Actually, there was only one Riley. And I missed him.
When I woke the next morning, I felt unrested and my heart was heavy. But it was Thanksgiving Day, and I had a lot to do. I rolled out of bed and walked into the bathroom. Pixie followed me to the window. I raised the shade and looked outside, temporarily blinded by the whiteness.
Snow!
I gasped and lifted Pixie up so she could see. For the moment, I was too swept away by the beauty of it to think of anything else. The woods and the river were covered with a gorgeous blanket of soft, white, untouched fluff, and it was still coming down hard.
Five minutes later, I was downstairs, staring out the back windows, slightly less smitten.
“This is bad,” I said. Everybody was gathered in the living room, watching the Weather Channel. The snow had been coming down hard all night, and wasn’t expected to stop until later this morning. According to the weathermen—who I wasn’t sure we should be trusting at all, since yesterday they’d predicted nothing but a dusting—we’d already had nearly a foot.
“This is really bad,” I repeated, turning to look at my family. “That tent wasn’t made to hold a foot of snow!”
“Sweetheart, I don’t think you’re going to need that tent,” said Dad, motioning to the television. He’d changed it to a local station, where the reporter was advising people to stay inside if they could, as most of the roads were still impassable. I sank down onto the couch. Pixie jumped up beside me and rested her chin on my lap. She was wrapped in her fluffy pink bathrobe, and seemed perfectly fine with the idea of staying in today.
“But it was barely supposed to snow,” was all I could mutter, staring at the television. Footage of stuck cars and fallen wires flashed on the screen. A map of the state of New Hampshire showed predicted totals for the White Mountains to be twelve to eighteen inches. I closed my eyes and rubbed the bridge of my nose. “How do they always get it so wrong?”
“This could be a good thing,” said Dad. “I mean, the people you were worried about showing up and finding out about your money…that’s not really a concern anymore, is it? And, you know, we’re all here.” I opened my eyes to find him smiling at me. He didn’t mention that Uncle Burt and his family were stranded over at the inn, which I’m pretty sure was on purpose.
I was somewhat relieved that tons of potential gold-diggers wouldn’t be pouring into town after all. But those people weren’t the reason I’d planned this dinner in the first place.
“What about everybody else, though?” I said. “The whole point of this dinner was to help the people in Autumnboro who were going to be alone today. Now, they’re still going to be alone, while I’m snowed in with my family and tons of food.” I put my face in my hands and shook my head. This had not turned out the way I’d planned.
“They might still come,” said Granny. “People will do anything for free stuff.”
I looked up. “You think so?”
Granny nodded. “Gladys Porter once drove fifteen miles through a blizzard for a free hot dog. That was in 1974.”
“She did not,” said Mom, rolling her eyes.
“We could still set up in the church basement,” I said, ignoring my mother as my spirits lifted. “Just in case anybody shows up. I mean, if Gladys Porter drove through a blizzard for a hot dog, people would definitely trudge through a foot of snow for a turkey dinner, don’t you think? We’d just have to somehow get all the food and equipment over there.”
“Have you heard any plows go by?” asked Mom skeptically.
My house was off the beaten path, and one of the last streets to get plowed, ever. The guy I normally paid to plow my driveway was in Florida visiting his parents for Thanksgiving.
“No,” I said. “But, that’s okay. I’ll figure something out! Just give me some time…and some coffee.”
I was in the kitchen pouring myself a cup, when the doorbell rang. My heart froze. Last Thanksgiving, the doorbell had brought Dylan, Quinn, and Brady. This year…Riley? My stomach twisted into knots at the idea that it was him. Had he turned around and driven back to New Hampshire? Driven all night through a blizzard to get to me? Gladys Porter had done it for a hot dog, so it wasn’t completely out of the question, was it? Riley. I’d been thinking about texting him as soon as I’d gotten out of bed this morning, but then the snow situation happened and the moment had passed. But if he was out there right now, I’d throw my arms around him and—
I looked through the peephole to find Moose Moriarty, covered in snow.
“Moose?” I said aloud, as all romantic notions vanished in a poof of black smoke. My heart sank.
“Moose?” I said again, pulling open the door. “What the heck are you doing here? Come on in.” His heavy brown coat was covered in snow, as were his hair and his bushy beard. In his hands, he held a cardboard box. He stepped into the front hall, stomping his big boots on the mat. I looked past him to the Dodge Ram parked in my driveway. There was a snowplow attached to the front. Without a word, Moose handed me the box.
“What the—”
I took it from him and looked inside, my jaw dropping at the sight of Tom’s model stagecoach, no longer in bits. I looked up at Moose, at a loss for words, before carefully carrying the box into the kitchen and placing it gingerly on the counter. “How did you—”
“Lee,” he said. “He told me what happened. Then he swiped that box from your store and gave it to me.”
I laughed. I knew exactly what he was talking about. Lee had come into Pumpkin Everything the other day, asking if I had any more sticks of women’s pumpkin spice deodorant, which was odd en
ough in itself. When I told him we were sold out, he insisted that I check in the back room. When I returned, he was gone. The little thief.
“And you…you fixed it?” I asked, peering into the box again, afraid to even touch it. But from what I could see, you’d never even know it had been broken.
Moose nodded. “I’ve done some woodworking. It’s a hobby. I used to help Lee with all of his Boy Scout projects. He’s always been like a son to me.”
“Thank you so much,” I said, looking up at him with tears in my eyes. I wanted to wrap my arms around him and give him a big hug, but then something occurred to me. “But why would you help me like this? You don’t even like me.”
Moose rubbed one hand through his wet, bushy beard. “Lee told me how you’ve been helping him—you and your dad—to look at colleges. I don’t know how you convinced him so quickly. I was never able to.” He shrugged. “I just wanted to thank you for that. And, you know, apologize, if I was ever”—he cleared his throat and looked up at the ceiling—“rude to you. Or judgmental.”
“Aw, Mooose,” I crooned, my heart melting. I was about to wrap my arms around his big moosey belly and give him a squeeze, when he held up one hand to stop me.
“Don’t go getting all mushy on me, now. I’m still not going to offer you a job or anything.”
“I wasn’t expecting a job offer, silly. At least not today. Can you stay for a while? Have some coffee? Do you like Jingle Bell Spice?” Without waiting for an answer, I poured some into a mug and pushed it into his hands.
“This is what you do with your money?” he asked, looking at the photo of Pixie I’d had custom printed on the side of the mug. It was from the photo shoot we’d done at the pumpkin patch last year.
