A Cliché Christmas (18 page)

C
HAPTER
N
INETEEN

D
espite the rolling sickness in my gut, I made it through the show, physically shrugging Weston off each of the six times he tried to pull me aside during the performance. I had only so much strength—and right now, I needed it for Savannah.

Not for her backstabbing uncle.

I walked to the lobby to shake hands with the townspeople, to accept flowers, and to encourage patrons to head over to the senior center. All the while my smile felt as plastic as Holiday Barbie’s.

The kids had rocked it. And they knew it.

Every moment of every scene had been on target, and they had shone like bright beacons of talent. Especially Josie and Kevin. But instead of brimming with pride, a second wave of grief swept over me. Sydney wasn’t just destroying the theater: she was taking away these students’ ability to belong to something more. Something that mattered. And though I wanted to weep with pride for all they had accomplished tonight despite their emotionally comatose director, a vine of sorrow coiled around my heart.

Several parents expressed their surprise about Sydney’s announcement, but I simply nodded, refusing to comment. I didn’t know what to say. I still didn’t understand it myself.

Nan and Eddy left for the senior center when the show finished, and I was grateful for that. Hugging Nan would be my undoing, and I needed to stay strong and in control.

As I flicked off the last of the lights for what would likely be the last time, I heard his voice.

“It’s not what you think, Georgia. Let me explain.”

My laugh was humorless. “Oh? And what do I think? That you lied to me? That you played me? That you sold me out for Sydney Parker?”

“It’s not like that, Georgia.”

I spun around to face him. “Then tell me what it’s like! I guess it wasn’t enough for Sydney to be the mastermind behind my most humiliating moment seven years ago. This time she went and got herself an accomplice.”

He rubbed his face. “Sydney’s not—”

I held up my hand. “You know what? I don’t want to listen to this. Whatever sick and twisted relationship you have with that woman is none of my concern. You two are made for each other.”

I pushed the door open and stepped outside. He followed me, waiting as I turned the key in the lock.

Even in the darkness, I could see the deep furrow in Weston’s brow. “None of your concern? Don’t say that, Georgia. Sydney and I don’t have a relationship!”

“Excuse me, I guess I should say,
business
partner
.” I paused, using air quotes for emphasis. “Here, you might want to give this to her.” Slapping the key into his palm, I refused to let the threatening surge of emotion fill my chest.

The click of my heels matched the speed of my heart as I raced toward my car, but Weston arrived first.

Urgh.

“Sydney and I
are not
business partners. She contracted me to draw up some plans for her about six months ago, but the city turned down her permit to build—
twice
. When she mentioned the theater—”

I shoved him.

He rocked back, his eyes round with surprise.

“You knew she was going to make an offer, and you listened to me go on and on about my plans without telling me? You’re revolting!”

“I was just as surprised as you were tonight! Do you really think I want Sydney to turn that theater into a spa?
Really
?
” He shook his head. “Georgia, I didn’t want to tell you because I was doing everything in my power to change her mind. I didn’t think she would do it.”

I glared at him. “Like what?”

He rubbed his head and took a deep breath. “Like paying her back my fee for drawing up her blueprints. And it was more than just a few pennies, believe me.”

“No.”

“No,
what
?”

“I don’t want to believe you.”

“Well, it’s the truth, Georgia. I never wanted Sydney to buy that theater. I want you here. I want you with me. I want—”

I shook my head. “It was a mistake to think I could stay here. My mom was right.”

“Your
mom
?”

Weston grabbed me and forced me to look at him.

“That’s it, isn’t it?” The unsettling calm in his voice sliced me deeper than the blade of a knife ever could.

I fought against his hold. “Stop it, don’t try to psychoanalyze me. This is about
you
.”

“No.
This
is about
he
r
! I’m not trading you in, Georgia. I’m not waiting around for a better dea
l . . .
I’m not giving you up. Not for anything.” With one quick yank of a loose emotional thread, he was unraveling me.

“Stop,
please
.” I squirmed in his grasp.

“That’s what you meant the other night—about feeling
support without condition
. But what you really meant to say was that outside of Nan, you haven’t felt
love
without condition, right? That the only time you felt loved by your mother was when you were on top, succeeding and living the life she didn’t get to live herself. Well, her life is not yours!”

I shook my head, a sob breaking from my chest.

“Georgia,” he whispered.

My chin quivered, my name a lonely, pathetic whisper on his lips. “It’s over, Weston.”

“I’m not losing you, Georgia—not over this.”

“I’ve never been yours to lose.”

His hands fell away, the expression in his eyes punching me hard in the gut.

Do it. Rip the bandage off.

“I don’t belong here. And I don’t belong with you. Go to the bake sale, they’re expecting you, but please don’t come after me. I won’t change my mind.”

His jaw was clenched tight as I got inside my car and pulled the door closed.

And with all the strength I had, I slammed another door closed as well. One I prayed would never be reopened.

Not by the kid who chased me around with a glue stick, not by the man who had stomped on my dreams—and my heart.

Nan offered her condolences over a steaming cup of coffee, after I replayed the realtor’s message on my phone. It confirmed what I already knew—that Sydney’s bid had been chosen over mine. But I was no longer in the mood to shed tears or feel sorry for myself. I had done enough of that last night on my pillow. I had only one mission.

To finish a debate I had started three weeks ago.

The bells chimed as I stepped inside the bookstore. Violet looked both surprised and pleased to see me.

“Well, I hoped I would see you back in here before Christmas. It was a great show last night. Hope there was a lot of money raised. The place was packed.”

I nodded. “Thanks. I don’t know the final figures, but I think it will be a good-size check.”

Violet pulled her glasses off and studied my face. “You all right?”

“Not exactly, but I do want to have that debate—the one I promised you. About
Little Women
.”

Her mouth curled into a half smile. “Sounds like you’ve put some thought into this.”

I swallowed.
Not enough, apparently.
“Yes.”

“Okay, then. You start. Tell me why Laurie and Jo were wrong for each other. What did Louisa May Alcott know that we don’t?”

Easy.
“They were too similar. Hot-tempered, stubborn, passionate. Not to mention there was
way
too much history between them. Sometimes starting over is the best thing we can do for ourselves, and Jo did that with the professor.”

“Yes, and he was a bore! Sure, opposites attract, but
sometimes
the only way to understand who we are is to see ourselves through the eyes of someone just like us. Laurie and Jo had an understanding. They had a unique bond—one that is difficult to find in friendship, much less in love. And
history
? Tell me, if you were given the chance to watch the love of your life grow up, share in his memories, learn his family dynamics, wouldn’t you take it? No matter when love begins, history is only a step behind us—always.”

I bit the insides of my cheeks, thinking. “Then why did Jo turn him down? Why did she say no to his proposal?”

My head throbbed with the quiet tick of the clock.

“Why don’t you tell me,” said Violet.

I stared at the stain on the carpet. “I don’t know.”

She chuckled. “Georgia, I’ve been married to my best friend for thirty-eight years. I’ve learned a few things about love and regret in that time.”

Sliding my gaze up to hers, I watched her lean over the counter as if to tell me a secret. “Fear is love’s greatest opposition. No
w . . .
what are you afraid of?”

The ache in my chest suddenly ignited, singeing the edges of carefully wrapped truths and melting layers of old hurts. “I should get going. Thank you again for the discounted book, Violet.”

“Georgia?”

Two steps from the door, I turned. “Yes?”

“I married my Lauri
e . . .
and it was the best decision of my life.”

My hair was up, my sweats were on, and I was eating through my second box of Cocoa Puffs. Apparently, I didn’t need a storm warning to create a new stockpile.

“Come with me, Georgia. I don’t want you to be alone tonight.”

“I’m not, Nan. I have Mary Higgins Clark to keep me company.”

She scowled. “That doesn’t seem like appropriate reading on Christmas Eve.”

“Well,
I live
Christmas Eve eleven months out of the year. I’ll be fine.”

Nan didn’t move an inch.

“Go, Nan. Eddy needs you.”

Her shoulders sagged with her exhale. “I’m sorry, Georgia.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for. You’re a good friend. Eddy is lucky to have you, and you’re lucky to have her.”

I was pulling another handful of cereal from the box when I saw the tears falling from her eyes.

“Not about that.” She waved her hand in the air. “About your mother. When your grandpa die
d . . .
a part of me did, too. The holidays became so painful for me. He was the king of tradition and Christmas spirit, so I guess that when your mom acted indifferent toward the whole thing, I was kind of relieved. I just wanted to fill time, to spend the season helping others. But I’m afraid it came at a greater price than I realized. I didn’t think enough about the little girl in my own house. I won’t make excuses for your mother, Georgia, but whatever part my decisions have played in your hur
t . . .
I’m truly sorry.”

The handful of Cocoa Puffs plinked onto the hardwood as I stumbled to my feet and flung my arms around her. I’d never seen her so exposed or so vulnerable.

“Nan. I could never be upset with you. I don’t blame you for anything.” Then I squeezed her tighter. “I wish I could stay.” I wasn’t ready to leave her again.

“I know, darlin’. I know. I wanted that, too.”

Nan pressed a kiss to my forehead and made me promise I’d join her at Eddy’s if I started to feel lonely. Little did she know that Lonely and I had coexisted inside my world for as long as I could remember. Life was no different on the holidays.

“I’ll be back late, but we can do Christmas breakfast together, okay?”

“Okay.” I smiled. “But Na
n . . .
I did get you a gift this year. So you’d better prepare yourself now, all right?”

She shook her head and chuckled. “I suppose.”

That was as good as I would get on that particular point, no matter how sentimental she was feeling tonight.

Snuggling into the sofa, I picked up my latest mystery novel and let my eyes drift over the words and paragraphs, pages and chapters. I didn’t comprehend a single phrase.

At a quarter to nine, I decided I needed a walk.

I didn’t care that it was freezing outside. I layered myself with Nan’s scarf and hat, and the warm black gloves Weston had bought me nearly four weeks before.

The streets were silent, but lights glowed in every house. It was Christmas Eve after all. Who wasn’t home celebrating with family, reading “The Night Before Christmas,” and drinking hot chocolate?