Page 47 of Mistletoe Sky
Georgia. Sweet Georgia Caraway. Had she been happy? Had she loved them? Amelie had to believe she was, that she did. Even if she struggled at times.
Who didn’t struggle to find joy in the everyday?
“The best thing that ever happened to me was that advertising gig,” Willa said now, letting out a sob. “I don’t know if I ever would have made it back to see you, Dad. I don’t know if I ever would have had the strength to start forgiving myself for everything. And I don’t know if I ever would have mended my relationship with Amelie.” Willa squeezed Amelie’s hand.
Amelie let her shoulders droop forward. Their father was crying fully, his cheeks wet. Willa had made quite a speech. It was everything Amelie wished she’d been able to say, everything that had twisted itself up in Amelie’s mind.
She was supposed to be the writer, but sometimes, words failed her.
“I love you both,” Amelie said. Her voice was choked.
A few minutes later, after they hadn’t spoken for a little while, Pascal poked his head out with pie, whipped cream, and a bottle of wine. Marius, Grandma Mary, and Aunt Violet were hot on his heels, eager to join the festivities. As evening fell once more, another snowfall had begun, sending soft flakes to the multiple feet of snow already on the ground.
Amelie cozied up on the sofa next to Pascal, eating her pie slowly, tracing her eyes from Willa and Marius to her father, to her aunt, to her grandmother. The television had just come back on, and it was playingIt’s a Wonderful Life, one of her mother’s favorites. If that wasn’t a sign that Georgia was watching over them, Amelie didn’t know what was.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Willa
Christmas 2026
It was the final evening of the Christmas Festival, over a full year after Willa’s return to Mackinac Island, and everything had changed. There, Willa stood at the Caraway Fudge stall, bathing in the green and red lights from the Christmas lights that hung from one end of the street to the other, watching as tourists flitted in and out of shops, carrying fudge boxes and beautiful gifts. Not only did the Christmas music not grate on her, but sometimes Willa caught herself singing the lyrics or whistling along. She couldn’t believe how much time she’d wasted, disliking Christmas.
After nearly three hours at the stall, Willa would soon be sold out of fudge and ready to pack it in. She was grateful. Now that she was six months pregnant with her first child, her discomfort was mounting, and she sometimes felt like her legs were going to give out. But she’d been the one who’d agreed to manage thestall! She’d wanted to be out in the chill, enjoying the Christmas magic. It was all her fault.
I just wanted to see all the happy faces. I wanted to feel a part of it all.
Suddenly, Pascal appeared on the street, all bundled up, moving through the crowd with that funny French smile of his. Ever since he and Amelie had eloped to Paris, there’d been an even bigger bounce to his step, as though uniting with Amelie had given him more purpose. In secret, Amelie had told Willa that they were pregnant, too—but they weren’t telling anyone yet. “But I’ll always tell my twin anything!”
To this, Willa had said, “I already knew.” It was the twin thing.
And to this, Amelie had said, “I knew before you told me, too.” She smiled.
“Amelie says you’re done and I’m taking over,” Pascal announced now, situating himself behind the stall and pointing back toward the fudge shop. “She says you have things to attend to. Sister things. I never know what you two are up to.”
Willa laughed and touched her stomach over her winter coat. It was as if Amelie had sensed her sudden, intense discomfort. Thank goodness.
Willa entered the fudge shop to find her sister behind the counter, selling a few boxes as their younger cousin prepared an order in the corner. Since Willa and Amelie had returned to the island full-time, they’d enlisted most of the younger Caraways, eager to show them the ropes. Amelie was the head boss, and Willa pitched in when she could. Now that she’d started her own advertising firm on the island, she didn’t have as much time as she wanted to.
“There you are!” Amelie cried, finishing with the customer and hurrying around the counter. “How long have you been out there? Two hours? Three?”
“I loved it,” Willa confessed. “You know that.”
Amelie laughed. “Come on. Let’s drink cocoa.”
They sat upstairs in their mother’s old apartment and exchanged stories from their beautiful days of Christmas Festival-ing. Willa had numerous photographs Marius had sent from the stables, where they were hosting horseback riding for kids and adults. Marius was tender with the children, showing them how to hold the ropes and where to put their legs. She knew that soon, he would be just as soft and kind with their own children.
“It’s been quite a year, hasn’t it?” Amelie breathed, adjusting herself on their mother’s bed and smiling at Willa. Her hand was on her stomach.
“The strangest and best,” Willa agreed.
Amelie snapped her fingers. “What time is it?”
It was getting late, and they’d agreed to head up the hill for dinner by seven. Quickly, they gathered their things, said goodbye to the cousins who’d decided to clean everything up, and headed up the hill. Willa waddled slightly as she walked, but she chose to relish it. She remembered all those years in Chicago, when she’d watched pregnant women, wondering how they’d managed to build such a warm and lovely life. Now, she had that kind of life.
As they walked, Pascal hurried up after them, announcing that he’d sold out of fudge and closed the stall down. “Bless you, Christmas Festival! See you next year,” he said.
Amelie and Willa shared a secret smile. They couldn’t wait to show their children the festival next year. They couldn’t wait to teach them everything Mackinac-related: swimming and sailing, sledding and skating. They would do it side by side, with their children thinking of one another as siblings rather than cousins. It was almost exactly as they’d planned, except for one person and their mother.
