When Never Comes(26)
Something hot and bitter rises up in Christy-Lynn’s throat as she unfastens her own necklace. She stares at it, coiled in her palm, tarnished after nearly three years of wear. Her mother’s words echo in her head, as clear as the day she had spoken them. We’ll never take them off. Whatever happens—no matter how bad things get—we’ll always have each other.
Christy-Lynn swallows a sob. The necklace slips out of her hand with surprising ease, slithering through her fingers and into the wastebasket. She has kept her part of their pact, but it doesn’t matter. Half a heart isn’t good for anything.
FIFTEEN
Sweetwater, Virginia
December 31, 2016
Missy’s house was located behind the inn, a quaint clapboard cottage bordered on three sides by a tidy boxwood hedge. The snow had begun to fall by the time Christy-Lynn arrived, the large wet flakes already clinging to the slate-paved path to the front porch.
Missy pulled back the door with a grin on her face and a wineglass in her hand. “Come on in and kick off your shoes. Just watch your step. Nathan’s got LEGOs all over the floor. The place is basically a minefield. Oh, and don’t get too close to the tree. I put it up Thanksgiving Day so it’s a bit of a fire hazard at this point.”
Christy-Lynn followed her to the kitchen. Missy topped off her wineglass and reached for a handful of cheese puffs from an enormous bag on the counter. “What can I get you to drink? We’ve got lemonade, tea, apple juice, root beer, or Sprite. Oh, and wine, if you’ve taken up drinking since lunch.”
“Sprite works.”
Missy shoved the bag of cheese puffs in Christy-Lynn’s direction then reached into the fridge for a soda. “Help yourself. It’s part of our New Year’s tradition—junk food and Chinese. The menu for Lotus is on the counter if you want to look it over. I’m hooked on their lo mein, and the boys always do shrimp fried rice.”
Christy-Lynn was scanning the menu, trying to decide between the pepper steak and cashew chicken, when the back door crashed open and a pair of pink-cheeked boys in coats and scarves barreled into the kitchen, making a beeline for the refrigerator.
Missy turned to face them, hands on hips. “Hey, hey, you two. No running in the house. And before you touch anything, hang up your coats and go get cleaned up. But first say hello to our company.”
The pair turned in unison, the younger of the two staring with wide blue eyes, the older grinning handsomely, a space where one of his incisors used to be.
“This is Christian,” Missy said, ruffling the taller boy’s strawberry-blond head. “And the little squirt with the orange lips and fingers is Nathan. I’ll give you three guesses who voted for the cheese puffs. Guys, this is Christy-Lynn. She’s going to hang with us tonight for New Year’s.”
“Hello,” Christy-Lynn said tentatively, hating the awkwardness she always felt when there were children around. She never knew what to say or how to act, and she wondered if it showed with Missy’s boys.
“Do you have a hat?” Nathan asked, scrunching one eye up at her.
Christy-Lynn blinked down at him. “A hat?”
“He means a paper hat,” Missy whispered. “For New Year’s.” She rolled her eyes balefully. “We have horns and noisemakers too. We put them on after dinner since the boys are usually out by midnight.”
Christy-Lynn looked at Nathan gravely. “I’m afraid I don’t have a hat. Is it mandatory?”
Nathan frowned, clearly baffled by the word mandatory. Missy stepped in. “Don’t worry, baby. Mama has extra hats. Now the two of you go get scrubbed while I order dinner.”
Christian turned on command and darted down the hall, but Nathan lingered, blue eyes fixed shyly on Christy-Lynn. Finally, he slipped away, giggling as he vanished down the hall.
Missy grinned as she grabbed her wineglass from the counter. “Looks like my baby’s developed his first crush.”
By the time the food arrived, the boys had cleaned themselves up and were sprawled in front of the television, engrossed in what Missy assured her was their seventieth viewing of Ice Age.
Missy unpacked the food and portioned fried rice into two small bowls, then carried them to the living room, along with the remaining containers.
They ate sitting cross-legged on the couch, swapping containers and chatting like college roommates, while the boys sat on the floor in front of the TV. It surprised Christy-Lynn just how quickly she’d become comfortable with Missy. She couldn’t put her finger on any one quality. Perhaps it was her big heart and her clear-eyed ability to deal with whatever was in front of her. Or the pride she took in the life she had built for herself and her boys. Whatever it was, she was grateful for it.
When they had eaten their fill, Missy stacked the containers and set them on the coffee table. At some point between the fortune cookies and Missy’s third glass of wine, the boys had crashed. “Told you,” she said softly. “Every year they swear they’re going to watch the ball drop, and every year they’re out by nine. Give me a minute while I get them to bed.”
“Can I help?” Christy-Lynn asked, secretly hoping the answer was no. She hadn’t the slightest idea what putting a child to bed entailed. Pajamas presumably, toothbrushes, bedtime stories, prayers. None of which she felt equipped to handle.
“No worries,” Missy grunted as she hoisted a limp Nathan onto her shoulder. “When they’re like this, it’s just a matter of dumping them in the bed and pulling up the covers. Parenting rule number one: never wake a sleeping child.”