Page 31 of The Roads We Follow

“Pretty close, ma’am.”

Mama sighs. “Just as I reached my bedroom door at the top of the stairs, ready to cry myself to sleep, I heard the sound of jingle bells coming from the driveway outside. Given the late hour, I thought I must be delirious, but the bells continued. And then I heard the front door open. I was so petrified, I froze like a statue right there in the hallway, trying to think of how I could protect my daughters as I was certain I was about to be murdered by a burglar disguised as Old Saint Nick. What a headline that would make.”

“Woman Attacked on Christmas Eve by Candy-Cane Wielding Santa?” Micah replies with a hint of amusement. “A true American horror movie if ever there was one.”

“Exactly!” Mama exclaims. “But when that jolly old Mr. Claus climbed the stairs and appeared with his fake pillowed belly, long white beard, and red velvet hat, his eyes were the only thing I could see. For the first time in months, my heart felt like it could beat again. My Russell had returned, and I needed him more than I’d ever needed anyone in that moment.”

I can hear the tears in Mama’s voice, which cause my own eyesto mist with the memory of the last time I heard my daddy tell his version of that story five Christmas Eves ago. How he’d paid the taxi cab driver handsomely to give him the rented Santa suit hanging in a bag in the back seat from a costume shop across town. The way my straightlaced father spoke of undressing in an airport taxi cab after barely catching his red-eye flight from Germany ranks as one of the funniest stories in my family’s vault of memories.

“When Russell finally wrapped his arms around me, after all those months, he whispered, ‘Merry Christmas, Lulu. I hope you can forgive me for running a bit late.’”

“Lulu?” Micah repeats.

“That’s what he called me,” she says. “To be honest, I hardly remember a time when he called me Luella. The day we were married, he told me he would agree to share my name with the world but he would never agree to share my heart with anyone else.”

“A true romantic, then?”

“Oh, he was so much more than a romantic, sweet boy. He was my hero.” I smile at the admiration in Mama’s voice and slowly pull back the privacy curtain, bringing a close to story time and hopefully an end to the crashing waves inside my core.

“Good morning,” I say.

“Good morning, darlin’! I didn’t realize you were awake. I’ve been warming up your seat for you.” She scans my face and frowns. “Goodness, you look pale. Here, let’s trade.”

Mama holds her hand out to me, and we gingerly exchange places.

“Your mother makes for a great road-trip companion,” Micah says as soon as I’m seated. “She’s kept me well-entertained.”

After I buckle up, it’s a struggle to keep my eyes trained on the horizon like I should when the view to my immediate left is far more appealing. I chastise myself for thinking like a romance writer and not like a regular human being who can simply turn unwanted attraction off. Because that’s what I need to do with Micah—turn it off.

“Wait—you can’t stop there, Luella,” Micah calls out to Mama.“I need to know how Russell knew about Raegan before you. Did the angel Gabriel come to him in a dream?”

Mama slaps him on the shoulder. “You’re closer than you realize!”

I lean my head against the seat. “My dad bought her a—”

“Don’t you go spoiling my story now, Sunny Bear. How much longer do we have until we arrive, Micah?”

“We should be at our destination in roughly twenty minutes.”

“Plenty of time, then,” Mama says as he continues on the interstate. I notice for the first time how rich the scenery around us has become. I know we’re in Arkansas by the exquisite Ozarks and thick evergreen forests. It’s beautiful.

We pass an interstate sign that proclaims:Hot Springs, Arkansas 15 milesand another highlighting a popular destination called Bathhouse Row.

Mama moves up to the stairs. “Can you see this in the mirror, Micah?” She lifts the gold necklace out of the neckline of her shirt that she’s worn around her neck since before I was born. It glistens in the sunlight, and I can tell the instant Micah catches the reflection of it in the rearview mirror.

“Is that three angels holding hands?” he asks.

“Yes. It’s the gift Russell brought home from Germany for me that Christmas. Oh, how he loved to tell this story on Raegan’s birthday.” Mama reaches forward and squeezes my shoulder. “When he left the American embassy and was headed with the crew to the airport, he told the driver he couldn’t go home without a single Christmas present for his wife and daughters, but there wasn’t a store open. You see, it was nearly Christmas Day in Germany. But the driver’s wife’s family owned a jewelry store, so he pulled over to the side of the road and made a single phone call. Russell said a few blocks later their driver pulled up to a store that looked like it could be a replica in my little porcelain Christmas village I put out each year. He only had five minutes to pick something out, but he said the instant he saw this necklace he knew it was the right one. Naturally, when he gave it to me, I assumed the three angels represented me, Adele,and Hattie. But when he slipped it around my neck he told me that as soon as he saw it he knew the three angels represented his three daughters. Of course, I’d laughed at him—we’d tried for years to have another baby after Hattie. I told him I was too old now and that he had it wrong. But wouldn’t you know it, I found out I was pregnant with our Raegan three years later at the age of forty-one! It’s what inspired the song ‘My Daughters Three.’”

“That reallyisquite the story,” he says, regarding me again. “Guess you’re one of the select few in history whose births were prophesied ahead of time.”

“You should have seen these two girls when they were young. They were obsessed with our Sunny Bear here. For years, it was like she had three mamas fussing over her. And now she’s the one who’s often taking care of us. She’s always there to help when there’s a need.” Mama presses a kiss to my head. “I don’t know what this family would do without her.”

Her assessment rubs against a sore spot. Is that what I’m doing now—taking care of them by keeping the tell-all a secret?

Mama turns then, saying, “Looks like Hattie is up and about. I better tell her to unpack her swimsuit.”

The second she’s out of earshot, I address Micah. “Please tell me whatever Mama has planned today doesn’t have something to do with that bathhouse sign I saw a while back.”

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