I offer her my hand to help her down the steps, which, note to self, desperately need shoveling. “Does Gerald still come by to clear the driveway and stairs?”
“I told him not to bother today. It’s just a light dusting. Can’t hurt anything.”
Tell that to my tailbone.
“Elaine, come on. Let Gerald clear it. Doesn’t matter if it’s a dusting or a damn blizzard,” I say as I help her into the car. “I don’t want you slipping and breaking a hip. Or worse.”
She waves me off like I’m some nervous mother hen. “Oh, stop fussing. I can take care of myself.”
Sure, but that doesn’t stop the worry from creeping in more and more these days. She’s still got her spark, but sometimes spark doesn’t stand a chance against black ice.
I shut the door gently and hurry around to the driver’s side, climbing in. She buckles up and flashes me one of those warm, crinkly smiles that have been softening the sharp edges of my life since I was six years old. My chest tightens.
I love her. Fiercely. She’s the one who stepped in when no one else did. But loving her also scratches at the scar tissue left behind by the one who didn’t.
My mom—Elaine’s baby sister—was younger, single, totally unprepared for motherhood. She said she wasn’t equipped, and maybe she wasn’t. Logic says she did the right thing by handing me over to someone who could handle it. But logic doesn’t do much to quiet the kid in me who always hoped she’d show up one day and say, “Just kidding. I changed my mind.”
She never did.
“You want to hit the Jolly Bean?” I ask as we pull out of the driveway, keeping my tone light.
Elaine perks right up. “It’s my favorite.”
I grin. “Figured it might be.”
She clutches her purse as we cruise slowly down the main road, letting her take in the town all done up in garlands and candy canes. Even I have to admit—it’s charming in a way that sneaks up on you. Like one of those Hallmark movies you mock but secretly enjoy.
“You were able to get a room at the inn?” she asks.
“Yeah, no problem.” I shoot her a quick smile. And I got a surprise roommate situation with Jaylynn, but Elaine doesn’t need that particular update. Not yet.
“That’s good. If I’d known you were coming home…”
“It’s okay,” I say quickly, maybe too quickly. Regret nips at my heels. Maybe I should’ve come back for Christmas all these years. She’s the only real family I’ve got. But coming back has always carried a kind of ache I don’t know how to handle. It’s a reminder of everything I didn’t get. Everything I wasn’t wanted for.
Still, Elaine did what she could. She didn’t sign up for motherhood, but she gave me a home, gave me love—even if it was a little unconventional.
“You did a good thing taking those cats in, Elaine,” I say, half teasing, half serious.
She chuckles. “They needed me.”
Yeah. I get it.
We roll into town and I pull into a spot near the square, slipping a glance at the clock. I’ve got an hour before the meeting. Plenty of time to grab lunch and keep pretending I’m not being haunted by memories and unresolved mommy issues.
I circle the car and help Elaine out, steadying her elbow as we walk past a Santa shaking a bell for some local cause. I fish out a twenty and drop it in the red bucket. He nods and offers a jolly “Ho ho ho!” like he’s proud of me.
Then we push through the door of the Jolly Bean and?—
Oh hell.
There she is.
Jaylynn.
In an apron. Carrying menus. Smiling at someone.
My head jerks back like I’ve just been smacked with a snow shovel.