Page 5 of Decked By The Grumpy Golem
There's always a story with Evelyn. Sometimes I think she invents drama just to have something to discuss at the grocery store.
My mother's hand lands on my arm, a gentle touch that stops me before I can say something I'll regret. Or something that will give Evelyn a reason to gossip some more.
"Well, I'm sure the Reyes family is thrilled to have her home," she says diplomatically.
"Oh, they are," Evelyn confirms. "And speaking of family time, Thomas Hallowell mentioned that the sleigh runners at the farm need some attention before Christmas Eve. You know how popular those rides are with the children."
My stomach drops. Shit. Here we go again.
"I'm sure Tom's far too busy to fix that old sleigh with the farm at full capacity over the holidays," Martha says.
I know that tone. She's about to throw me under the bus. And I watch it happen like a car crash in slow motion. Like the big idiot that I am.
"Gideon will be there first thing tomorrow morning," she says, and there it is.
Fuck. Me.
Evelyn claps her hands together, delighted. "Wonderful! I'm sure he'll have it fixed in no time. Such skilled hands he has, just like his father."
I nod stiffly, not trusting myself to speak. Hallowell Farm is where every family in Saltford Bay goes for sleigh rides and hot cocoa and all that Norman Rockwell bullshit that makes people nostalgic for childhoods they probably never actually had.
That tightness in my chest squeezes even more until I can barely breathe.
I slam my toolbox shut with enough force to make several nearby volunteers jump, then stalk toward the exit without bothering to say goodbye to anyone. Behind me, I can hear Evelyn launching intoanother story, something about the mayor's wife and a questionable casserole at the church potluck.
The December air hits me like a slap when I push through the front doors, cold and clean and sharp enough to cut through the fog in my head. My skin feels overheated, the way it always does when my emotions run too close to the surface. One of the less convenient aspects of being made of stone. When things get intense, I run hot enough to melt rock.
"Gideon."
I pause at the bottom of the steps, my mother's voice stopping me before I can escape to my truck.
"It’s been a long time," Martha says quietly, her breath forming small clouds in the frigid air. "I’m sure Lucia has her own life by now, her own family. Whatever happened between you two, I’m sure it’s old history by now."
I don't turn around. Can't turn around. If I look at my mother's face right now, she'll see everything I've spent ten years trying to bury, and I'm not ready for that conversation.
"I know," I lie.
"Do you?"
The question hangs between us like a challenge, and for a moment I consider telling her the truth. Instead, I climb into my truck and wait for her. Martha climbs in shortly after, and we drive home in awkward silence.
Lucia Reyes. Back in Saltford Bay.
But what are my chances of bumping into her anyway? Tomorrow, I'll do my job and pretend that the sound of her name doesn't still have the power to bring me to my knees.
And I will leave the past in the past, where it belongs.
Chapter Three
Lucia
Thetwinsarebundledlike marshmallows in their booster seats on each side of me, while I sit as snuggly as a sardine between them. Dad burned my ears this morning about how useless my sports car is in the snow and I had no other choice but to climb in his SUV.
I know he’s probably right. Well, not probably. My car is made for the streets of New York City in the summer, not Maine in the winter.
Dad steers us down the snowy drive toward Hallowell Farm. The twins are both bundled up tightly in their pink polka dot coats, pink pom-pom hats, and pink mittens. They swing theirfeet in tandem as they press their faces to the windows, their faintly green skin, gifts from their half-troll heritage, adorable in the morning air while I'm sweating profusely, the heater blasting against my face.
Somehow, I feel twelve years old again, stuffed into my father's car, on my way to a holiday tradition I'm weirdly excited about despite myself.
