The Merriest Magnolia

by Michelle Major

  “Why won’t he come to Magnolia?” Avery asked. “Your studio and paintings are here.”

  “He offered that,” Carrie admitted. The truth was the man had offered to represent her without even meeting her. He said he thought she had a bright future just from the pictures of her work. “But I want to go to the city. He has ideas for a show at his location in Tribeca. I’d like to see them. I’d like to feel the energy of New York. Dad always talked so negatively about the art scene there, but I realize that’s because of how the critics viewed his work. I want to see it for myself. I’m tired of letting other people determine how I live my life.”

  “We’ll support you in whatever path you take.” Avery’s smile was gentle. “But remember this will always be your home.”

  She knew that, of course, but the words were still a balm on her heart.

  “And we can take out Dylan Scott if you want,” Meredith offered, making a show of cracking her knuckles. “That guy deserves a good throttling.”

  “No.” Carrie shook her head. “He’s doing what he thinks is right. For the town and for Sam. I wish he could see a different way, but maybe he’s right.”

  Meredith frowned. “Don’t say that. He’s a lowlife, lying slime ball. Don’t give him an out.”

  “I’m not trying to,” she protested weakly. “But I don’t want to live with my head in the sand any longer. I have to face life, even the difficult parts of it.”

  “No matter what happens, today is Christmas and you shouldn’t be alone.” Avery glanced at the television. “Get dressed and come to the house. Violet is so excited to show off her presents, and even Gray’s mother is coming over. I still think she likes you better than me.”

  “She doesn’t like me at all,” Meredith said with a laugh. “I’m going to have a great time with that.”

  The two of them turned for the door, arguing over how to handle Avery’s soon-to-be mother-in-law. It took almost a full minute for them to notice that Carrie hadn’t moved.

  “I’m serious,” Avery said, turning again. “You can’t spend Christmas alone. I see where this is going. You’ll tell us everything is okay and then end up sitting in the dark on the wrong side of a bottle of wine with Joni Mitchell’s River playing on repeat.”

  “Such a good song,” Meredith murmured. “But sad as all get out.”

  Carrie shook her head. “I’m not planning on drinking,” she promised. “But I’m staying here.”

  “Carrie, come on.” Avery’s mouth thinned. “We’re worried about you. This is your first Christmas without Niall. Things have changed and—”

  “I’ve changed,” Carrie whispered. “It hurts right now, but I’m going to be fine.”

  “Are you sure?” her sisters asked in unison. Neither of them looked convinced.

  That made three of them, but she took a deep breath and nodded. She might not know how she’d survive, but there was no doubt she’d find a way to figure it out.

  “What about Dylan?” Meredith held up a clenched fist. “I could still throw down if you want me to. I’m pretty sure I could take him.”

  “I don’t want to think about Dylan.”

  “You fell for him again,” Avery commented. “And he hurt you again. How can we ignore that?”

  “He never really promised me anything.” Carrie tried not to flinch from the pain of that truth. “I thought his views on the town had changed. I thought he wanted to be with me. Obviously, I read more into great sex than I should have.”

  Meredith sniffed. “Or maybe he used his ninja bedroom skills to ensure you.”

  The last thing Carrie wanted to think about was Dylan’s ninja bedroom skills. The idea that he’d purposely worn down her defenses made the pain of her heartbreak spike hot and bright in her chest. Perhaps wine and a Joni Mitchell marathon weren’t such a bad idea after all.

  “I need to get ready for the trip,” she told her sisters, hoping she sounded more convincing than she felt. “It will be good for me to have a change of scenery.”

  “If you change your mind about Christmas dinner,” Avery said, her gaze filled with a quiet concern, “come over. Don’t call. Don’t hesitate. Just come over. You aren’t alone.”

  Tears pricked at the backs of Carrie’s eyes.

  It felt strange but right to let them out of her house and return to the quiet. Instead of resuming her position on the sofa, she padded to the kitchen table and flipped open her laptop.

  Her inclination might be to close herself off, but she wasn’t that person anymore. She used to think fear and doubt made her weak. Now she realized that those two emotions could only control her if she let them.

  The only way to overcome fear was to keep moving forward. That was what she intended to do.

  She found a flight leaving Raleigh the following morning and booked a seat on it. Then she grabbed her phone and punched in her mother’s number.

  Vanessa answered on the third ring. “Merry Christmas, Carrie. I only have a few minutes to talk. A local choir is about to begin performing in the lobby.”

  Her mom had called earlier for their traditional holiday conversation, undoubtedly when she’d had a break in her schedule, but Carrie hadn’t answered and understood she’d missed the window of her mother’s attention. She admired Vanessa’s dedication. She worked every major holiday, showing a devotion to the guests at the hotel that she had never displayed with her family.

  In a way, both of her parents had wanted to control their own lives. They’d just gone about it very differently. Carrie let out a long breath. She was a grown woman, and it was long past time she claimed control of her life.

  “Hi, Mom. Merry Christmas. I need your help.”

  She heard the soft gasp on the other end of the line. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d asked her mother for anything. It clearly felt as strange to Vanessa as it did for Carrie.

  “What can I do?” her mom asked without hesitation.

  “I’m going to New York City to meet with a gallery owner. I’ve looked at a couple of hotels online, but everything seems to be booked for the holidays. I don’t know if you have any contacts but—”

  “I can get you a room. That’s easy.” There was a long pause. “Is this about your father’s work?”

  “The gallery is interested in me,” Carrie said, feeling pride swell inside her despite the ache in her heart. “I’ve been painting again, Mom. Different than what I used to do.”

  “You have talent, Carrie. You always have.” Vanessa laughed softly. “When you were little, your father used to brag to anyone who’d listen about what a chip off the old block you were. Don’t think he didn’t recognize it. I’m sorry he sabotaged your confidence once he realized your gifts would eclipse his, although I suppose it’s not a surprise. Another reason for me to feel horrible about leaving you with him.”

  “That’s not what I want, Mom.” Carrie’s chest heaved with her attempt to reconcile the way her father had derided her teenage efforts with her mother’s assertion that he’d once been proud of her.

  “I’ll call the hotel in New York right away,” her mother promised. “In fact...” Her mother paused, drew in a breath. “I could come up to the city and meet you.”

  Carrie’s immediate reaction was to say no. She assumed, because that was her way, that her mother was making the offer out of guilt or some sense of duty.

  “I mean it,” Vanessa continued when Carrie didn’t answer. “It would be fun for the two of us to spend some time together.”

  “Would it?” Carrie murmured. The tea she’d shared with her mom at the start of the holiday season had been strained at best.

  “For me it would.”

  “You tell me every year how busy you are during the holidays. The hotel is packed, and you have returning guests to take care of. Isn’t that why you could never have Christmas with me?”
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  Vanessa gave a soft laugh. “Let me ask you a question, Carrie. Would you have ever left your father alone for the holidays?”

  Embarrassment stabbed at Carrie’s gut. “I didn’t mean to cut you out of my life.”

  “I know,” her mother said, her tone soothing. “And I should have fought harder to keep you in mine. Yes, the hotel is busy at this time of year. But I haven’t taken a vacation in years. They’ll live without me for a few days. If you’re willing, I’d like to come to New York with you. I’d like to meet this potential agent and take you around to my favorite places in the city. I know I haven’t been much of a mother, and for that I’m sorry. I’m not even sure if I know how to change at this point. I’d like the chance to try.”

  Carrie lifted her fingers to her cheeks to find them moist with tears she hadn’t even realized were falling. These weren’t the sad kind she’d shed over Dylan late last night. This crying felt cathartic, like a part of her evolution into the woman she wanted to be.

  “That would be nice.”

  “I’ll text you the details once I confirm the reservation. Let me get a pen and I’ll write down your flight information. I can book the same one.”

  “Thanks, Mom,” Carrie said. Maybe she’d gotten a different kind of Christmas miracle than she expected.

  * * *

  DYLAN KEPT HIS EYE on Daisy as she sniffed a lamppost on the corner outside the row of buildings he owned in downtown.

  The street was surprisingly crowded given that it was a few days after Christmas. He would have expected the crowds to disappear now that the holiday rush was over, but it seemed that visitors were still drawn to Magnolia and the town’s festive atmosphere.

  He forced himself not to look across the street to The Reed Gallery. He hadn’t spoken to Carrie since he and Sam had left her house after a painfully awkward Christmas Eve dinner.

  But damn he missed her.

  Christmas had been almost the easiest day to get through. He’d focused all of his attention on Sam and, once again, the kid had blown him away with his insight.

  He’d been thrilled—if overwhelmed—with the wealth of gifts Dylan had wrapped and shoved under the Christmas tree. Dylan hadn’t expected anything in return, but Sam had handed him a box clumsily wrapped in red paper.

  He’d opened it to find an oil color painting of a place that held more memories than he could count. “It’s the dock off your grandpa’s cabin at the lake.”

  Sam gave a jerky nod. “I copied it from a picture I found on the internet. It was the last time we were all together and I thought it would be good to...you know...remember something happy.”

  “Yeah,” Dylan whispered around the emotion clogging his throat. He’d knocked himself out buying all kinds of fancy presents to take Sam’s mind off the family he’d lost only to receive the most precious gift in a reminder that memories could comfort as well as cause pain.

  It had seemed safer to ignore the difficult emotions. That was what he’d learned to do in his family—distract and buffer against anything that made him feel. Because feelings made him vulnerable, which meant they were dangerous.

  “Is this day especially hard?” he’d asked the kid, holding his breath as he watched varying degrees of sorrow play across Sam’s features.

  Then the boy began to talk about his parents, and that sadness morphed into something different, shades of emotions ranging from upset over the loss and trauma to joy at the memories he had of them. All of the money Dylan spent couldn’t hold a candle to the significance of everything Sam shared. They’d continued to talk through breakfast and then as they drove out to the beach for a walk along the shore.

  It truly felt like some kind of Christmas miracle. When they’d returned home, both of them had been exhausted, and they’d spent the rest of the afternoon watching movies, playing video games and laughing at Daisy and Barnaby’s shenanigans.

  By the time Sam said good-night, Dylan’s heart felt so full he thought it might explode out of his chest. Except for the gaping hole in it where thoughts of Carrie continued to consume him.

  Like clockwork, Steven Ross’s attorney had called the day after Christmas. Clearly, Dylan’s instructions to wait until the New Year had been roundly ignored.

  It made him wonder how much else Steven might ignore as part of this partnership. There was a reason Wiley had always dealt with their investors. Dylan didn’t want to compromise when it came to his vision. But by taking another firm’s money, he would have to give up some control.

  He looked up as a group of people walked out of Il Rigatone. The smell of garlic and sweet tomatoes filled the air and a sudden vision of an updated version of the restaurant flashed across his mind.

  As Carrie had predicted, he and Sam had one of the best meals Dylan could remember when they’d ordered carryout based on her suggestion. Thick cuts of chicken with a savory marsala sauce for him and a slice of lasagna that probably weighed close to five pounds for Sam. The quality of food had never been in question, but the image of a down-home mom and pop diner simply didn’t fit with what he wanted for the town.

  What if his vision was wrong?

  Ever since he’d left Magnolia, Dylan had been moving forward. Always fast and with unwavering faith that momentum would keep him going. The same thing had kept him going even upon returning to Magnolia.

  He hadn’t listened—hadn’t wanted to hear anything Carrie was saying about the town and what might be best for it. He knew what was best. He always had.

  He’d made a promise to his cousin. For Dylan, taking care of Sam meant ensuring the boy’s financial future. Giving him a legacy. Something that would belong to him. The one thing Dylan had always craved.

  Listening to Sam discuss his memories of his parents—both good and bad—Dylan realized that keeping Wiley and Kay’s memories alive and helping Sam understand that both his parents loved him would be far more beneficial than anything material he could give the kid.

  “You should go in.”

  He turned as Mary Ellen Winkler approached from across the street.

  “Nah. I’ve got the dog and, besides, it smells greasy from here. I’m just imagining the upscale steak restaurant that’s going to replace it.”

  He’d wanted to punch himself in the face even as the words spewed from his mouth. What was it about this place—the town he’d chosen to return to—that made him act like such a jerk?

  At least he could take comfort that he knew who he was in Magnolia. No one expected anything more. Except for Carrie.

  Instead of huffing away or giving him a well-deserved lecture, Mary Ellen laughed. “Il Rigatone is the best Italian food you’ll find in either of the Carolinas. You’re just grumpy because Vinnie Guilardi hasn’t been willing to beg and plead for you to keep the restaurant open. He’s a proud man.”

  Dylan narrowed his eyes. “I don’t need anyone to beg or plead. In addition to the steak house, I might hire someone to open a bakery. I’m friends with the guy who’s been voted best pastry chef in Boston for three years in a row.” Even though it was a low blow, the mention of some potential competition should stop her from having a laugh at his expense. Dylan hated being laughed at.

  To his surprise, Mary Ellen’s smile broadened. “I remember that about you,” she said, dabbing at the corner of her eye with one chubby finger. “Your pride trumped everything. I think back to when you vandalized Sunnyside. You would have gladly worked unpaid for another month if it meant you didn’t have to say you were sorry for the damage to my shop. The apology cost you dearly.”

  Guilt zipped through him, and he had trouble meeting her gaze. He’d thought he’d worked through the issues from his past but clearly he hadn’t. He was still copping an attitude. “I owed you a sincere apology more than anything,” he admitted ruefully. “I was a punk kid with too much attitude back in the day.”

  “I imagi
ne you developed that attitude in order to survive,” she said gently.

  Irritation bristled across Dylan’s shoulders and he tugged on Daisy’s leash. He didn’t like discussing his childhood with anyone. Or his parents. Especially his father. Dylan would rather people see him as the bad guy than pity him for the way he was raised.

  He wouldn’t tolerate pity.

  “We all do what we can to survive,” he answered through clenched teeth. “I’m no different than anyone else in that respect.”

  “This is for you.” Mary Ellen handed him the bag she’d been holding. “I saw you from the window of the bakery and thought Sam might enjoy a couple of donuts for tomorrow’s breakfast.” She smiled. “I know how much he likes them.”

  Dylan nodded. “Um, thank you.” He didn’t quite know how to respond to the random act of kindness. It didn’t matter that she hadn’t done it for him directly. The gesture meant more because it was for Sam. This was why Dylan had brought him here in the first place—so that the kid could see what it was like to be in a community that cared. He knew Magnolia could be that place for Sam, even if it hadn’t for Dylan.

  “I included a couple of sticky buns. You aren’t fooling me sending Sam in to buy your favorite.”

  Daisy whined softly as she settled next to Dylan.

  “There’s a biscuit for you, too, girl,” Mary Ellen told her, earning a tail thump like the dog understood the words.

  “Well, I’m banned so what choice did I have?” Dylan peeked in the bag, inhaling the scent of all that warm, sugary dough. “Like I said, we all do what we can to survive.”

  “Surviving isn’t good enough,” Mary Ellen told him with a motherly tsk. “We should aim to thrive. I’m lifting your ban. Dylan Scott, you’re welcome in the bakery anytime.”

  “Even though I’m the guy who’s going to ruin Magnolia’s future?”

  “Even if you import every highfalutin celebrity baker you can find. You aren’t the same troubled teenager you used to be. I may not agree with what you’re planning for the town, but we’ve survived worse than you.” She leaned in closer. “And we continue to thrive.”