Page 7 of The Christmas Spirits on Tradd Street
Rebecca stood. “Marc and I would like to donate twenty thousand dollars to the fund-raiser.” She smiled broadly as she turned to accept the applause, her gaze finally settling on me. I began to feel sick. “With just one condition.”
She waited for a prolonged and very uncomfortable moment while my stomach roiled.
Without moving her gaze from mine, she said, “We will donate the money provided that the Trenholms will agree to host one of the courses. Not to put the burden all on Melanie, I promise to help her with the decorating.”
There was another surprisingly loud round of applause amid murmurings about Rebecca’s generosity and how such an offer would be impossible to refuse. I didn’t know what I found more horrifying—the idea of pink garlands festooning my beautiful Adams mantels and a pink-frosted Christmas tree in the front parlor window for all the neighbors to see, or the idea of all the agitated spirits shaken awake.
“I...” I began, then stopped, realizing how futile protesting would be.
“Thank you, Melanie,” my mother said, leading another round of applause, which sounded more and more like nails being hammered into a coffin.
She turned back to the room. “I believe that concludes our meeting, ladies. Please make sure I have all the committee forms, and please be checking your e-mail for the name of our new fund-raising chairpersonand which committees you’ve been assigned to. Thank you all for coming.”
As the other women began to gather their things and say good-bye while thanking Rebecca as if she’d just found a cure for cancer, I stayed where I was, torn between strangling my cousin and faking my death and moving to another country. Because where there was Rebecca being generous and kind, there were ulterior motives.
“You okay?” Veronica asked softly.
I sent her a grateful glance. “I will be. Just as soon as I find a way to make my cousin disappear.”
She grinned wryly. “Yeah, I could probably help you with that. What’s with all that pink?” She picked up her plate, and I watched as she crumpled the remainder of her cake into a napkin. Veronica continued. “I’m getting bad vibes about her decorating skills. Want me to volunteer to help?”
I nodded enthusiastically. “Please. Maybe I can hold her down while you put normal Christmas decorations that don’t resemble cotton candy around the house.”
She snorted, then abruptly stopped as Rebecca approached, her expression managing to appear chagrined. “Will you excuse us for a moment, Veronica? I need to speak with my cousin.”
With a little smile, Veronica left, offering a reassuring pat on my shoulder.
Rebecca slid onto the sofa in the spot vacated by Veronica. “I’m sorry, Melanie. I really am. But you’ve got that big, beautiful house just aching to be shown off. It’s a historic icon—just ask Sophie. People will be buying tickets just to see inside.”
I pulled back. “You’re trying to get film people inside the house, aren’t you? You just can’t take no for an answer, can you?”
She looked deflated, unprepared for me to expect the worst from her. But she’d never shown me reason not to.
“I’m sorry, Melanie. I really am. But Marc’s on my case about getting the movie filmed inside your house. He’s obsessed! I figured if we couldget some of the film people in the house to take pictures, they can re-create it in a set. And then we’ll all be happy.”
“Really, Rebecca? You think that would make Marc happy?”
Her shoulders sank. “I had to try. You know what he’s like.”
I frowned. “I met your brother-in-law. Anthony. He told me something very interesting.”
She looked at me warily. “Yes?”
“He said that Marc wants our house.” I leaned forward, resisting the impulse to press my index finger into her chest. “Please make sure he knows, in no uncertain terms, that I’d rather burn my house down to the ground than see him take possession of it.”
Pucci whimpered, and Rebecca held the little dog’s head against her chest. “I’m sure you don’t mean that. Marc is my husband, remember.”
“Oh, that’s not something I’d forget.”
I thought she’d jump up and leave in a huff, but she stayed where she was, an expression that I’d come to recognize on her face. A signal that she had something unpleasant to tell me.
“I had a dream,” she said.
I almost stood and left right then. All of my life, avoidance had been my modus operandi. But ever since my marriage to Jack, I’d been trying to change. To be a more mature version of myself by facing unpleasant things instead of pretending they didn’t exist. I still failed as many times as I succeeded, but Jack said that as long as I tried, it wasn’t a complete loss. I took a deep breath. “And?”
“It was about Jack. He’s in danger.”
She had my full attention. “From what?”
