A Cliché Christmas(37)

“Took breaks?” Weston questioned.

I nodded, licking my chapped lips.

“You mean, from you?”

My hands tingled with unease. “She knew I had Nan.”

Though Weston refrained from saying more, the tension in his shoulders and face was enough to make me want to jump out of the truck. I’d never had this conversation with anyone. It was as impossible to articulate as it was to understand. My mom wasn’t abusive or neglectful, she wasn’t mean or menacing . . . She was just my mom.

“But you are her daughter, Georgia.”

The words chafed my heart, rubbing it raw.

A short horn blast startled us both, and a line of brake lights suddenly illuminated a path of movement before us. Weston huffed, released my hand, and put the truck in motion. We rolled forward slowly, tires crunching against the freshly fallen snow beneath us.

Though I hadn’t said much, I wanted to retract every word. My pulse quickened as I replayed the conversation again and again in my mind, searching for a missing link that could solve whatever misunderstanding stood between my interpretation of the past and a better, less pathetic version.

But another voice drowned out my own. “Sympathy never makes us stronger, Georgia. Stop feeling sorry for yourself, and start focusing on how not to make the same mistakes I did.”

I couldn’t help but think I was the mistake she spoke of. The thing that held her back, inhibited her future, preyed on her weakness.

Several miles later, after the speedometer finally registered our slow pace, Weston spoke.

“What aren’t you saying?” he asked.

This conversation was beginning to feel like a fresh hangnail—equally as painful as it was annoying. “Nothing. She’s happily married now, living in Florida with her family.”

“With your family, you mean.”

“Right, that’s what I mean.”

When Weston’s eyebrows creased with understanding, my temples began to throb as I prepared for my deepest hurt to be exposed.

But he said nothing.

Lifting my hand, Weston laced his fingers through mine once more, and my fear was quieted, blanketed with relief.





CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The wind howled down Nan’s darkened street as we crept toward her house. No lights were on. Anywhere.

Though it was only eight in the evening, the blackout gave Lenox an eerie, post-apocalyptic feel.

On the way home, I’d had spotty cell coverage and never managed to reach Nan. As we pulled up to the house, I finally released the breath I’d been holding.

A frozen wind gust whipped my ponytail violently as Weston took my arm and led me toward her front porch. I tried the door and then knocked. No one answered. I tried again—harder. The wind was so loud she might not have heard me. No answer.

“Do you have your key?” Weston asked.

Frigid cold seeped through every layer of my clothing. I bent and lifted the doormat, revealing the old key. Weston took it from my shaky hands and slid it in the lock with ease, pushing the door open a second later.

No light. No noise. No sign of Nan.

“Weston?” A fog of panic began to cloud all of my senses at once.

“Where are the flashlights?”

I walked toward the kitchen, realizing for the first time that there was no heat coming from the wood-burning stove.

Nan, where are you?

I bumped a dining room chair and nearly collided with the table, when Weston’s hands gripped my waist to steady me.

His soothing voice sent chills down my spine. “Careful, Georgia. Let your eyes adjust a bit more.”

I put my hands out in front of me and grasped the countertop. Nan always kept a flashlight charging in the corner. Here it is. Searching for the switch, I fumbled before finally—

Click.

The entire room was illuminated in an instant.

We saw it at the same time: a note.

Weston reached it first and held it up to the light as our heads huddled together.



G,

At Eddy’s house.

Franklin had another episode today. She needed me.

I tried to stoke the fire for you. Please call me as soon as you get in.

Nan



I exhaled and leaned my head against Weston’s chest.

“She’s okay, Georgia.” He kissed the top of my head. “Try your phone again, and see if your call goes through now. I’m gonna start the fire and check in with my folks. I’m glad Willa and Vannie aren’t coming home till next week.”

I nodded my head in agreement, the knotted muscles across my back slowly starting to release. As soon as I heard her voice, my nerves relaxed. I bit my lip to keep the tears at bay when she told me of the day’s events: Eddy making her infamous “storm chili” that tasted like a hot mud bath, and Franklin forgetting to turn off the sink again, which flooded the bathroom.

“Did you kids have fun at the mountain? I worried about you getting home in that awful weather, but then I figured if there was any trouble, you two would just pull off the road and start necking.”

“Nan!”

“Well, honey, I might be old, but I know about snow kisses.”

So did I. I could remember a recent one quite clearly.

“I think you should stay there tonight, Nan. I’ll be fine here once the fire gets going.”