Page 33 of Mistletoe Sky
“You know why we left,” Willa said, her nostrils flaring. “I can’t believe I let myself get dragged up here. I can’t believe I got swept up.” There was sweat on her upper lip, and her eyes were darting from left to right, as though she were tracing through old memories and finding ghosts everywhere.
Amelie’s heart thudded. She felt herself drop back into Christmas of 2006—nearly twenty years ago. She felt the pain and the darkness and the torment, as though she carried it with her always. She cupped her own elbows and grimaced. Maybe Willa was right. Perhaps they needed to go before their father showed his face.
But suddenly, here he was on the staircase, his arm thrown over Pascal’s shoulders as they made their way down. Immediately, Amelie’s heart shattered. The man before them was old and rickety and gray-faced, his limbs long and crooked, his clothes hanging off him as though he were a scarecrow. Amelie took a tentative step back, her hand on her heart. Immediately, most (if not all) of the rage she’d had for her father fell away. This man was an older man, a broken man. He couldn’t even get down the stairs himself.
It fell into place. This was why her father had had to close the fudge shop. He was tremendously ill.
She wondered if this was why the Christmas Festival Committee had tricked Willa into coming back to film their commercials. It was crafty, the sort of thing an islander would come up with.
Willa and Amelie backed up toward the foyer, watching as their father came slowly to the first floor. Pascal talked enthusiastically the entire time, as though to take their father’s mind off the fact that he couldn’t really get around. This was the magic of Pascal, Amelie knew.
But their father couldn’t keep his eyes off his daughters. When they reached the bottom of the stairs, he used both hands to grip the railing and stood in stunned silence. All of the Caraway family members were equally as quiet, waiting expectantly, as though fearful of what would happen next.
Well, everyone was quiet except for Grandma Mary, who always knew just what to say. She strode forward, all breath and power, and said, “Son, your daughters worked all day at the fudge shop. They worked tirelessly and sold out. After that, they spent two hours cleaning up and prepping so they can do it all over again tomorrow. What do you think about that? You taught them well, didn’t you?”
Amelie didn’t like the way her grandmother was talking to her father, as though he was too ill to fully understand. Her father’s legs quivered beneath him. It was clear he needed to sit down, but didn’t want to acknowledge it.
Amelie dared a glance at Willa, who was, as ever, difficult to read.
Finally, their father extended one of his arms. It shook out beside him like a tree branch in winter. “My girls,” he whispered. “I thought I would never see you again.”
Suddenly, Amelie couldn’t resist it. She no longer cared what happened, nor did she want to be angry with him, and she no longer wanted to carry this pain. She fell forward and into her father’s arms. “Dad,” she said. “Dad, it’s so good to see you.” He was quiet, sniffing. Tears fell down his cheeks.
Amelie assumed that Willa would hang back. She assumed that she wouldn’t forgive their father so readily, because Willawas stronger, sturdier than Amelie. But a moment later, Willa joined them, tucking herself into their father’s arms. For a long time, the twins stood there, in their father’s embrace, crying quietly. It was ages before Grandma Mary announced that they needed to sit down for dinner, or else it would get cold.
When their hug broke, Amelie tried to catch her sister’s eye, but Willa wouldn’t look at her. It was as though all this emotion, all this family love, was too much for her. Amelie prayed it wouldn’t chase her away.
Chapter Seventeen
Willa
December 2025
It was Monday morning when Steve and the rest of the camera crew came to Mackinac Island from Chicago. Armed with four carriages ready to take them to the Isaacson stables, Willa greeted them at the ferry docks, helped them pile and safely secure their supplies aboard, and prepared them for the day ahead. “We don’t have a ton of time,” she said, “because the light’s so strange this far north. We’re going to lose it. But we’re going to do what we can today. Hopefully, we can get it all in.”
The crew had hotel rooms ready for them, she explained, and they could expense whatever horse and buggy ride they required to take them to and from the shoot.
From the expressions of the crew, Willa could tell that coming to Mackinac Island was incredibly exciting and bizarre. No cars? Horse and buggy? A winter wonderland in the middle of a ginormous lake? She understood how strange it probably seemed. But she couldn’t let her crew get distracted. TheChristmas Festival itself was just around the corner, and she prayed that the weather would hold so they could get enough footage, both for Marius’s commercial and the others she had planned.
On their way up to the stables, Steve and Willa sat together, discussing Steve’s trip up from Chicago. Because they’d worked together on so many projects at this point, they had a rapport that made Willa think of brothers and sisters (not that she knew what that was like). However, because they were so close, Steve sensed something was amiss from the outset.
“What’s up, Boss?” he asked.
Their carriage glided down a gorgeous, wintry lane, lined with crisp white snow.
Willa sighed. She wasn’t sure what she could tell Steve or what would get back to her bosses in Chicago. Then again, her life in Chicago currently felt like it belonged to somebody else. Messing it up from here almost didn’t seem possible anymore.
“I grew up here,” she said finally.
Steve barked with laughter. “Wait, you’re kidding, right?”
Willa gave him a look that meant she wouldn’t kid about something like this.
Steve’s face fell. “Wow. I mean, how did this happen? Kevin said they sought you out specifically to direct.”
“Yeah. They wanted the hometown director to come back,” Willa said with a groan. “I didn’t leave on good terms, and they want me to fix it. Or something like that.”
“Ah.” Steve narrowed his eyes. “You were set up.”
