“But … .”
“Okay, we’ll do that.” Landon grabbed my hand to quiet me, his eyes moving around the party. When they landed on Sam, I recognized the stirrings of pity – laced with a healthy dose of amusement – in his expression. “Are we here to get Sam’s hair back?”
Aunt Tillie followed his gaze, smirking. “Sad, isn’t it? He had that full head of luscious hair and then Clove’s narcissism knocked it right out of him. It’s enough to make a soul weep for the future.”
“I thought we were in the future,” I challenged.
“No one likes a smart mouth,” Aunt Tillie snapped. “As for Sam, life didn’t go as he planned. It started out great, of course. He was full of hope and love when he proposed. He thought they’d live happily ever after.”
“What happened?” Landon asked, feigning patience.
“They missed Christmas.”
“Oh, you have got to be kidding me,” Landon hissed. “We get it. We’re sorry we were going to miss Christmas. I swear it will never happen again.”
“Unless we visit your family,” I automatically corrected, cringing when Landon scorched me with a furious look. “What? We can’t very well leave your family out of all future plans. It’s not fair.”
“Fair shmair,” Aunt Tillie snapped. “Christmas is mine. Connie can have Arbor Day. No one cares about Arbor Day.”
“We’ll talk about that later,” Landon said, pointedly holding my gaze. “What’s important now is that we express how very sorry we are to Aunt Tillie. Not only have we learned our lesson, we’re gutted by the idea that we might’ve ruined Christmas for everyone.”
He was laying it on a bit thick for my taste. There was no way Aunt Tillie would fall for that.
“Oh, that’s very sweet.” Aunt Tillie beamed at Landon, making me think I’d underestimated his powers of persuasion. “But nobody believes that for a second. Quite frankly, you’re lucky we’re not in a fairy tale world, because you’d be the one with the growing nose this go around.”
Landon balked. “I was telling the truth.”
“You were full of yourself, and everyone knows it,” Aunt Tillie countered. “Ginger, do you think he was full of himself?”
Grandma looked uncomfortable to put on the spot. “I think he’s a very handsome boy who seems to love Bay a great deal.”
“I don’t know how handsome he is, but the love part is right,” Aunt Tillie said. “That’s the only reason I tolerate him.”
“I am extremely handsome,” Landon argued.
“Yes, all you’re missing is a car shaped like a penis,” Aunt Tillie noted. “You had that when you were a teenager. If I’m not mistaken, you thought you were really handsome then, too.”
“I was,” Landon said. “I was also a jerk. I try really hard not to be a jerk these days, but it’s not always easy because … well … I can’t seem to help myself from being a jerk when Bay is in trouble. I’m working on it.”
“That’s not the only time you’re a jerk,” Aunt Tillie pointed out. “You were a jerk when you ruined Christmas.”
“Now you’re just playing with me,” Landon spat, slapping his hand over his eyes. “You want to see if you can make my head explode.”
Speaking of explosions, the bush next to where Clove sat staring at her reflection in the small mirror burst into flames.
“You’re going to get warts in places you can’t even reach,” Sage yelled.
“And you’re going to get pregnant in the back of a Volkswagen because you’re a total whore,” Cinnamon yelled back.
“Hey!” Landon barked, lowering his hand. “No one is a whore! Stop yelling at each other that way. It’s not dignified or ladylike.”
“Who are you?” Sage asked, sparing Landon a look.
“He’s one of the Upper Peninsula relatives,” Cinnamon answered. I couldn’t see exactly where she was, but she’d managed to find cover in a grove of small trees.
“Oh.” Sage wrinkled her nose. “That makes sense.”
Landon turned to me. “What is with these Upper Peninsula relatives that I’ve never heard about?”
“Just think of them as the irregular family members and leave it at that,” I suggested.
“We don’t like to talk about them because they’re kind of like the kissing cousins every family has that no one wants to talk about,” Grandma volunteered.
“I don’t have kissing cousins,” Landon said.
“Don’t lie.” Aunt Tillie made a tsking sound with her tongue. “It’s completely normal.”
I shot her a quelling look. “Stop trying to make him uncomfortable. It won’t work.”
“On the contrary,” Landon drawled. “I’m completely uncomfortable.”
“See. The boy is learning.”
“I hope you look like Aunt Tillie for the rest of your life,” Cinnamon screeched from her position in the trees.
“Hey!” Aunt Tillie swiveled and extended a finger. “Do you want to be on my list?”
Cinnamon popped her head up and swallowed hard. “I didn’t see you there.”
“Obviously not,” Aunt Tillie said. “If you feel the need to insult someone by using a family member, who are you supposed to use?”
Cinnamon looked sheepish. “Aunt Thistle.”
“There you go.” Aunt Tillie turned back to us, all business. “Where were we?”
“Speaking of Thistle, why isn’t she here?” I asked, scanning the partygoers. “We haven’t seen her yet.”
“Don’t worry. She’ll be along.”
“When?”
“Soon.”
I narrowed my eyes. “How soon?”
“Very soon.” Aunt Tillie averted her gaze. “As for you two, you have a bit of time before you’ll be allowed to return home. You haven’t yet learned all of the lessons you’re meant to learn.”
That was the last thing I wanted to hear. “What more do you want us to learn? I’ve already learned that I will never pick at Landon’s eating habits. I will not stick with the terrible child-naming game when it comes to spices. And I will never purposely ruin Christmas again. What more do you want?”
“You’ll see.” Aunt Tillie smiled as someone called her away from across the lawn. “The president is here. I need to greet him. You guys have a look around. You’ll know when you stumble across something important.”
Landon furrowed his brow. “What president?”
“The president of the United States,” Aunt Tillie replied, offering up a “well, duh” expression as she straightened her hat. “We’re good friends. We’re such good friends, in fact, that he wanted me to head his security detail. I politely declined.”
“Uh-huh.” That sounded totally plausible. “And where is he?”
Aunt Tillie pointed toward a figure I recognized from some reality show Aunt Tillie used to watch. I couldn’t remember exactly which one, but I knew the face. “He’s the president?”
“The aliens didn’t like the last one, so we had to replace him.”
“Let me guess,” I said. “You got to pick the candidates.”
“The aliens revere me.” Aunt Tillie pasted an innocent look on her face. “I’ll be back in a bit. Have fun looking around.”
I watched her go with a mixture of amusement and irritation. Aunt Tillie’s version of the future was so out there that it was hard to take offense with any of her choices. I firmly believed that – until I saw the massive figure moving across the back lawn. He was so huge he made the runaway troll in the first Harry Potter movie look slim.
“Is that …?”
Landon followed my gaze, his eyes widening to comical proportions when he saw Chief Terry. The man – I was almost certain it was the same man who doted on me whenever he got the chance – looked as if he hadn’t said no to many meals throughout the years.
“What happened?”
Grandma moved to my side, her expression unreadable. “I guess that’s what happens when you have three women who love to cook fighting
over you, huh?”
I shifted a hard look in her direction. “Is that what did this?” Chief Terry had never been what I would call slim, but he’d always been strong and fit. I barely recognized the figure across the way. “Did Mom, Marnie and Twila feed him until … this … happened?”
“He looks like one of those carnival goldfish,” Landon mused, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear as he stared at the man he considered to be a friend. “He’s one fish flake away from bursting.”
I ignored the joke and openly glared. “This can’t be right. Even when she’s annoyed, Aunt Tillie loves Chief Terry. He stood up for us when we were kids. He took us to the carnival. He dressed up as Santa. He even went to summer camp with us. Oh, and he taught us to fish, too.”
I was near tears.
“Bay, it’s okay.” Landon slid his arm around my waist. “She’s making it up. This isn’t real.”
“I know that.” I did. Still … . “The thing is, I always wondered if it could be true. I wanted to ask him why he didn’t make a choice, but I always chickened out.”
“Why? Because you thought he wouldn’t pick your mother?”
“Because I thought he might not pick any of them,” I replied. “I want him to be part of our family. I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t want him with my mom – although that kind of grosses me out. I can’t explain it.”
“I get it.” Landon pushed a strand of hair from my face. “It’s okay.”
“I wanted him to be with my mom, to move into the inn and to always be there,” I said. “When I was a kid, I always imagined weird stuff like that. It was like a romantic comedy or something.”
Landon chuckled. “That sounds fun.”
“But then I started wondering about other things,” I said. “What if he chose Twila? Then he would be Thistle’s dad, and that really irritated me because I assumed he’d switch his favoritism to Thistle.”
“I get it.”
“The same with Clove. Then it became a thing where I didn’t want to risk losing what I already had even if I could win something better.”
“Geez. Even as a kid your mind worked overtime, huh?” Landon pressed a kiss to my cheek. “Sweetie, you’re an adult now. Terry will always favor you. I think that much is obvious. I think it’s okay if he wants to make a choice now.
“Even if he doesn’t pick one of your mothers, he’ll always pick you,” he continued. “Don’t get all … worked up … over this. I have a feeling this is simply Aunt Tillie’s way to force you to have a conversation with Terry while still getting her way on the Christmas stuff.”
He had a point. I risked a glance in Chief Terry’s direction, frowning when I saw three older witches – women who managed to look older than Aunt Tillie even though they were her nieces – scurry to Terry’s side so they could start feeding him with their hands. Marnie actually had grapes, and she popped them off the stems one at a time so she could cater to Chief Terry’s rather obvious appetite.
“That is so … gross.”
Landon scowled at the scene. “You’re telling me.”
“I’m totally going to tell Mom what Aunt Tillie did here. She won’t be happy.”
“Tattletale.” Aunt Tillie popped up behind us, causing me to jolt. “Come on. I’ll make introductions. They’re excited to meet you.”
“Wait … we’re going over there?” That’s the last thing I wanted.
“Of course we’re going over there. You still have things to learn.”
Ugh. This night was seemingly never ending. At least the weather was nice, though.
Caroling should be outlawed. People act as if strangers coming to your door and singing is a good thing. Let me ask you this, if those carolers showed up during Halloween and had masks and knives, would you think that was a good thing? Singing is just as bad. It’s like a knife to the eardrum. I … what is that? Hot chocolate? You’re not giving that to the carolers, are you? How did things go so wrong when I raised you?
– Aunt Tillie explaining her philosophy on caroling
Sixteen
“Hey, Terry. How’s it going?”
Aunt Tillie was all smiles as we approached the table. Mom didn’t so much as glance at me – she was too busy feeding Terry a huge turkey leg – but he did a mild double take when he met my gaze.
“Do I know you?”
“I don’t think so,” I replied haltingly, furious that Aunt Tillie would do something this obnoxious to someone I loved. “I’m pretty sure I’d remember you.”
“Of course she’d remember you,” Marnie said, flourishing a plate of cookies as she smiled. “I made your favorite: chocolate chip cookies with extra chocolate.”
I pressed the heel of my hand to my forehead as I fought to maintain my cool. “Aren’t those just normal chocolate chip cookies?”
Marnie spared me a withering look. “Who are you?”
“This is Dwayne and Whitley,” Aunt Tillie announced, catching me off guard. “They’re from the Upper Peninsula.”
“Oh.” Mom, Twila and Marnie adopted triple scowls of dislike. “Welcome to the inn.”
“Wow,” Landon muttered, fighting back the urge to laugh. “I desperately need to meet these Upper Peninsula Winchesters. If they get this sort of reaction, they must be hilarious.”
“Hilarious isn’t the word I’d use.” I frowned as Twila snatched the plate of cookies away from Chief Terry and handed him a loaf of French bread. “I made your favorite, sugar bear.”
How Chief Terry hadn’t lapsed into a diabetic coma was beyond me. “Stop that.” I grabbed the turkey leg before he could bite in to it, earning a growl for my efforts. “Did you just growl at me?”
“That’s my snack,” Chief Terry protested.
“You don’t need another snack.”
“You don’t,” Landon agreed, grabbing the leg from me. “I, however, am starving.”
I watched as he bit into the meat, doing my best to ignore the whining sounds Chief Terry made as he watched Landon devour his snack. “You might want to learn a little something from this situation,” I warned, gesturing toward Chief Terry for emphasis.
“What are you getting at?” Landon asked, his mouth full.
“Just that constantly stuffing your face might not be a good idea.”
“Hey, I’m not taking anything this world has to offer seriously,” Landon said. “We’ve got kids running around cursing each other, Terry apparently eats his weight in … whatever he can find … on a daily basis, Aunt Tillie doesn’t age, Sam is bald, Clove is glued to her mirror and for all we know, Thistle is dead.”
I stilled. I hadn’t wanted to give the fear voice, but I worried about that myself. “Where is Thistle?” I asked, turning my full attention to Aunt Tillie. “You said she would be here.”
“She’s coming.” Aunt Tillie didn’t look nearly as bothered by Thistle’s absence as I felt. “Don’t get your stardust knickers in a twist. By the way, that’s actually a thing here. I totally invented it.”
“Joy.”
“So, Dwayne and Whitley, how long are you staying?” Chief Terry asked, his eyes never moving from the turkey leg Landon gnawed.
“Why Dwayne and Whitley?” I asked, agitated. “I thought we were Lois and Clark.”
“I changed my mind. He can never be Superman.” She inclined her chin in Landon’s direction. “He’s far too snarky and broody.”
“Does that mean you want me to be Batman?” Landon asked hopefully, tilting the turkey leg in my direction in case I wanted a bite. I forced a smile and shook my head as he happily returned to munching.
“Batman?” Aunt Tillie snorted. “If anyone is Batman, I’m Batman. You can be … Aquaman.”
Landon’s smile slipped. “You’re on my list.”
“Eat your turkey and shut up,” Aunt Tillie ordered, focusing on me. “It’s a party, Bay. Try to relax.”
“I hope you get your mother’s butt, Sage,” Cinnamon yelled in the background, causing me to hunch my s
houlders.
“She’s talking about my butt,” I pointed out.
“Your butt is fine.” Landon patted it for good measure. “You need to chill out. This isn’t nearly as bad as we thought it would be.”
“Yet,” I stressed. “Yet. This is Aunt Tillie we’re talking about. Things can always get worse.”
“She’s not wrong.” Aunt Tillie beamed. “Oh, look, the Pope is here.”
“The Pope?” She was clearly trying to kill me. There could be no other explanation. When I looked over my shoulder at the man dressed in ornate robes, flowing brown hair offsetting vivid blue eyes, I merely sighed. “He looks like a male model.”
“Hey, at least we can say we partied with the Pope.” Landon continued working on his turkey leg. “This is good, sweetie. You should try some. You need to keep up your strength.”
Speaking of people who were starting to bug me … . I forced the idea of ripping the turkey leg away from Landon and beating him over the head with it from my mind, instead fixing Twila with a pointed look. “Where is your daughter?”
Twila, who appeared dedicated to feeding Chief Terry bits of bread and cheese, didn’t look in my direction. “Oh, Thistle?”
“Do you have any other daughters?”
“No, just the one.” Twila was often slow, distracted. Today was no exception. “Why do you ask? Did you hear something?”
I narrowed my eyes. “Tell me about Thistle,” I prodded. “How is she these days?” The fact that Aunt Tillie was waiting until the end to unveil Thistle wasn’t lost on me. It had to mean something. Thistle often agitated Aunt Tillie most, so I was fairly certain it meant Thistle would get the worst future in Aunt Tillie’s little nightmare.
“Do you know Thistle?” Twila asked, confused. “She always told me she’d rather shave her head bald than purposely spend time with the Upper Peninsula relatives.”
“We met at a gathering years ago,” I lied.
“Oh, well, Thistle is great,” Twila enthused. “She’s absolutely wonderful. Her husband – well, they’re separated, but he’s technically still her husband – is a doll, and her children, well, her children could be extras in The Sound of Music.”
A Witchmas Carol Page 15
