Page 28 of Holiday Wedding
“Gross.” I wrinkle my nose in disgust. “People really buy that?”
“You’d be surprised. She was making a lot of money. We took away her key and changed the locks.” He taps a finger against his lips, watching as the woman disappears into the building.
We wait for several minutes, staring at the door, but no one comes back out. The whole time, my brain is whirring, sifting through everything I just learned about Dean, Caleb, and the stalker.
“That’s it!” I half-stand in my seat and clutch at his arm.Why am I touching him so often tonight? “It’s Mrs. Wilkins in the conservatory with the rope!”
He squints over at me, tilting his head. “Did you make a Clue reference? Like the board game?”
I put my hand over my mouth to stifle my giggle. “Sorry. Too much?”
He must not think so, because he laughs one more time, that amazing sound, and I laugh along with him.
9
Thursday, December 12
12 days until the wedding
Gwen
Everything is the same as the last time I was in this room. There’s the couch where Caleb slept beneath my grandmother’s quilt. There’s the table where we put the puzzle together. The Christmas tree is in the corner by the fireplace. It’s not the one that Caleb, Jenny, and I decorated, but it might as well be.
This is where I fell in love with Caleb and him with me. Is this how I’ll always view things going forward? In relation to him? I hope so. I don’t mind seeing the world through a Caleb-shaped lens. He makes everything seem brighter, more beautiful.
“I can’t believe it’s been so long,” says Mom, reading my thoughts.
“I know, two years since I was here with Caleb, but it’s not like we could come back before, not with the renters.” The kitchen island has a light granite countertop covered in a menagerie of Christmas figurines. I pick up a jolly Santa, holding a bag of presents over his shoulder. I remember this one. It was there when Caleb and I danced on that long-ago Christmas Eve.
“They were such nice people. Those renters.” Mom blows a stray piece of hair, blonde like mine but shorter and curlier, out of her eyes. The grilled cheese sandwiches sizzle when she flips them over in the skillet.
Pip leans against my leg, gazing up at me with doggy adoration. Her pinktongue lolls. I scoop her up in my arms and hold her like a baby, petting and tickling her nearly furless belly.
“Thanks for bringing Pip. I know it was a pain.”
“It’s fine. You want her in the wedding. Honestly, she would have hated it if we left her behind. She gets so anxious.”
“How’d she do on the flight?” I ask. Pip turns her head to the side and licks my forearm, leaving a sticky, wet trail.
“Okay. The vet gave us a sleeping pill that we crushed up and put in her breakfast. She snoozed most of the trip.”
“That’s good.” I set Pip back on the ground, but she doesn’t move away, just stares up at me like she’s scared I’ll disappear if she blinks.
“Go put your star on the Christmas tree,” Mom says, adding bacon to the skillet. It sizzles immediately, curling along the edges.
She’s already placed the ladder next to the tree, so it only takes a minute to balance the battered gold star, the one we got when Teddy was a baby, on the topmost branch. When Dad was alive, he would put me on his shoulders to get the star up there. When Caleb was here with me, he had done the same thing. He’d hoisted me high on his shoulders and let me place the star. This way, with the ladder, is a lot less romantic, but it still gets the job done.
“It’s perfect. Good work, honey,” Mom says, gazing at the top of the tree with a sad, wistful smile. I know she’s thinking about Dad too. She sighs, flips the sandwiches one last time, and announces, “Lunch is almost ready.”
“Is it okay if we eat outside by the pool?”
“Of course. You could probably use the vitamin D.” Mom shifts into a warmer smile, one I’ve missed seeing since she moved away.
I stand on my toes and reach into the cupboard, pulling out plates and cups, which I take out to the umbrella-topped table. Pip follows at my heels. It’s a beautiful California day, the sky an azure blue. The weather channel in my hotel room this morning warned that a big snowstorm is building on the East Coast. Glancing around my mother’s backyard, it seems unfathomable, like something that might happen on another planet.
It’s bright outside, so I put on my new sunglasses, the ones Caleb gave me. I sit at the table and look at Pip by my feet. “Glasses, take picture,” I order.There’s a click noise from the tiny speaker in the earpiece, and a photo of my dog materializes in front of my eyes. “Camera, text this to Caleb.” A whoosh sound lets me know the image has been sent.
“How cool is that?” I tell Pip, who cocks her head, listening intently.
