The Speed of Light: A Novel(76)

But even if it slows me down, it’ll never stop me.

A gentle rap rap rap against my window, and I jolt upright. My parents’ faces smile in at me, waiting to welcome me inside.



Two hours later, my parents’ living room couch is enveloping me in its comforting embrace. I inhale the scents of ham, mashed potatoes, and pie wafting from the kitchen. Then I scowl—happy holiday tunes also begin blaring toward me as Mom turns the music up, their lie of joyful promise grating against my ears.

I crank up the TV to drown it out as I sip from the dwindling wineglass in my hand. I wrap my afghan more securely around myself and try to focus on the only Christmas movie I can bear to watch right now—Die Hard.

My phone beeps. Nikki:

Merry Christmas! See you in three days.

I smile. Mom and I are planning to meet them at the truck stop in Summit and then travel on together to Minneapolis—Nik and Claudia are going apartment hunting; Mom will go with me to my neuro appointment, my first time seeing Dr. Bukhari. For a moment I’m overcome with love for them, with gratitude that they are all in this fight with me.

I sniff, wipe my eyes, then type my reply.

Merry Christmas to you, too! Can’t wait to see you two.

I settle back against the couch, and Bruce Willis has just reached Nakatomi Plaza when Mom walks in and sits next to me. “Don’t worry, it’s network TV—they’ll bleep out the f-word,” I say with a teasing grin as I turn, but I blink—it’s not Mom. It’s Grandma.

She smiles, her eyes crinkling at the edges. “I’m so glad you made it, dear.”

A twinge—again, it’s almost as if I can pretend she still knows me. “Yeah, the snow’s supposed to hit pretty soon, but the roads were good for me today.”

“Is your sweetie going to be here?”

I don’t know who she thinks I am—a long-lost friend or relative, perhaps—but the reminder of Connor cuts like a knife. “Not this Christmas, Grandma,” I say softly.

I turn back to the TV, trying to focus on Alan Rickman’s skillful portrayal of the villain, but a few seconds later I glance over and find that Grandma is still smiling at me. She leans in, takes my hand, and gives it a gentle squeeze. “Don’t you worry, he’ll make it. It’s Christmas.”

The wine, the fragility from trauma, and the fact that it is Christmas, dammit, have all combined to raise some small sliver of hope within me. I squeeze her hand back. “Thanks, Grandma,” I whisper.

A coat flies onto my lap, and I whip my head toward the door that leads into the hallway. Emmett stands there, keys in hand. “Mom needs more eggnog. Let’s go.”

I wrinkle my nose. “I just got here.”

“Come on—you’re not doing anything.”

“But I’m comfortable,” I whine.

Emmett smirks at my twisted-up hair and the baggy sweatshirt visible under the blanket. “I think you could stand to get out of the house.”

I grumble, throw off the blanket dramatically, then switch the channel so Grandma can enjoy some old Bonanza episodes in my absence.

I shrug into my coat, leaving it unzipped, but as we step out, I quickly correct that mistake. The wind has picked up, and snow has begun to fall. “Sheesh, that escalated quickly.” I yank on my hat and gloves.

“Yeah, they say it’s going to be even worse than last Christmas.” Emmett winces and shoots me an apologetic look. I shrug, and we walk to my parents’ sedan.

We ride in silence at first; then Emmett glances over. “So, uh . . . I’m seeing Kaley again.”

I whip my head over. “Emmett, that’s great!” I beam at him, so happy he’s sharing something with me, and he smiles before turning back to the road. “So is she coming over? Or are you going over there?”

“Nah, we’re both spending time with our families. We want to take things slow, make sure this is the right thing to do.”

I stare at him—at my little brother, who is not so little anymore—and am so proud of him in this moment. “Well, that sounds like a very mature, levelheaded thing to do.”

Emmett rolls his eyes. “Yeah, don’t go telling too many people.”

I laugh, and we continue on through the increasing snowfall.



As expected, frantic shoppers roam throughout the store, plugging up every aisle, holiday music blares through tinny speakers, and the echoes of the Salvation Army bell follow us deep into the building like an eerie warning alarm.

“Good God, let’s get this shit and get the hell out of here,” Emmett mutters.

We stick close together and head straight for the back coolers, but we’re halfway there when my phone buzzes. “Oh no.” I look up at my brother in horror.

His eyes widen. “What?”

“She needs aluminum foil, too.”

“Shit.” He runs his hands through his hair. “That’s all the way on the other side of the store.”

“I’ve got it. You get the eggnog, and we’ll meet at the checkout.”

“Okay.” Emmett places his hands on my arms solemnly. “Godspeed, sis.”

I roll my eyes and turn to make my way through the throngs of shoppers until I find the aisle I need. The bright-blue boxes beckon me from the bottom shelf, but a woman in a gray parka has her cart blocking my goal.