Page 26 of Christmas Charms
“Okay, charms of Christmas future, show me what you’ve got,” I mutter. Fruitcake cocks his head.
Oh, goody. I’m talking to the bracelet now—because I wasn’t delusional enough already.
My hand trembles like crazy, and the charms tinkle against one another, making a deceptively lovely and simple sound. I swallow hard and take an inventory of the remaining charms. There’s a silver Christmas tree with a gold star on top, a wrapped Christmas gift, a teddy bear, an ice skate, a snowman with an orange enamel carrot for a nose, a delicate filigree tiara topped with a snowflake and finally…
A ring.
At the sight of that last one, my breath catches in my throat. It looks like a miniature engagement ring and appears to have a tiny diamond chip in the delicate setting. Funny, I don’t remember seeing that one when I first noticed the bracelet on Betty’s arm during our train ride.
I go over the charms again, one at a time. Honestly, with the exception of the ring, they don’t seem especially significant. At first glance, it’s simply an innocent collection of winter and Christmas charms. Maybe I really am jumping to conclusions.
There’s still no rational explanation for Fruitcake’s appearance, though. Or the eerily perfect match of the cookie tray. Or why the house charm is decorated exactly like my childhood home.
But why is the ring there? The mysterious force behind whatever Christmas magic is going on must have missed the memo about my non-proposal.
It’s just a bracelet, I remind myself, but I must not be very persuasive because I’m not entirely convinced.
I’m not altogether sure how I feel about the ring charm. It doesn’t seem possible that it could be some kind of premonition. I still haven’t heard a word from Jeremy. He’s probably sipping champagne in a gilded room at the Palais Garnier opera house or something equally posh right now, while here I am…
Trying to make sense of my vague feeling of disappointment over the fact that none of the charms on my wrist appear to have anything to do with Aidan Flynn.
I wake up the following morning on a mission.
Maya called while I was at the firehouse last night, and by the time I finally listened to her voicemail, it was too late to call her back. Totally my fault for getting distracted by the bracelet, which is, of course, still stuck on my wrist. A collection of mangled bobby pins sits on my nightstand in an ineffectual pile. At one point last night, I tiptoed down to the basement in search of my dad’s bolt clippers but they were far too bulky for the task at hand.
According to Maya’s message, while I was busy yesterday riding around in a fire truck, doting on my mystery dog and baking Christmas cookies, a handful of candidates interviewed for the management position. How can this be happening? Other than a few afternoons off when my parents came up to Manhattan for a visit, this is theonetime I’ve actually taken vacation days, and I’m going to get passed over. I just know it.
I ring my boss, but of course Windsor isn’t open yet and there’s no answer. I leave another message indicating I’m interested in the position, but it’s clearly not enough or I’d have heard back, letting me know that I’m at least in the running. Ihaveto get back to Manhattan.
Staying in Owl Lake and waiting for the train station to re-open isn’t an option, but that’s fine. There are plenty of other ways to get from here to Manhattan. Okay, there’s actually just oneother way—by car. Granted, I don’t own a vehicle, because renting a parking space in the city is basically the equivalent of renting an apartment for your Ford Fusion. But I can certainly rent a car overnight. Easy peasy.
I let Fruitcake out, then get dressed in another classic black cashmere turtleneck and simple black slacks as fast as I can while Betty’s charm bracelet rattles on my wrist.
Not much longer.
Once I’m back at Windsor, I will definitely be able to get it removed. It will probably take all of two seconds for one of the jewelry repair specialists to open the clasp. So, there—I’ve officially got two perfectly valid reasons to beat a hasty trail to the city.
Just like the day before, my parents are dressed in their matching plaid bathrobes, sipping cinnamon roll–flavored coffees at the kitchen table when I make my way downstairs. It’s starting to feel sort of like the movieGroundhog Dayaround here, but in a good way. From the ongoing Christmas traditions to my mom and dad’s quiet morning rituals, there’s a rhythm to Owl Lake that sets it apart from the hustle and bustle of my usual life. I’ve forgotten how comforting the routine of small-town life can be—probably because I’ve always been so anxious to spread my wings and experience something bigger and better.
“Sweetheart, are you sure you want to try to drive? The roads are still pretty icy,” Mom says when I announce my plans to rent a car and drive into the city for the day.
“The forecast calls for more snow,” Dad adds.
I glance out the big picture window facing the lake. There’s not a snowflake in sight. A pale lavender mist covers the icy surface of the water, and as I’m taking in the breathless serenity of an Adirondack sunrise, a snowy white owl swoops from the branches of a blue spruce tree and glides through the air in a smooth, graceful arc.
It’s my first real owl sighting since being back in town, so I watch until the big white bird disappears into the mist. Snowy owls like to fly close to the ground—just a little nugget of owl lore my grandmother taught me when I was little. She also told me that snowy owls were supposed to symbolize big dreams and new beginnings. They’ve always been my favorite.
“The weather seems fine,” I say. Seeing the owl feels like a sign—that promotion is mine. I just have to grab hold of it. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. I promise.”
My dad smirks. “The last time you said that, Aidan ended up driving you home in the ladder truck.”
Like I need the reminder.
I roll my eyes. “That won’t be happening again, I assure you.”
“If you say so,” he says, smirking far too much for my liking.
Have my parents forgotten that I lead a perfectly independent life in the biggest city in the country? I don’t need Aidan—or anyone else, for that matter—to rescue me. Certainly not on a daily basis.
