If It Makes You Happy(118)

That’s the weirdest thing of all. Tracy doesn’t like Cliff, but she doesn’t like me with him either.

The three of them walk to the line for Santa. Tracy holds out her hand for Brittany, who eagerly takes it, now gripping one hand from each parent. My stomach twists at the sight. It’s so domestic. Brittany doesn’t have three hands, so where would my puzzle piece slip in?

Emily’s pregnancy scare took me by surprise. When Sara was a teen, she was too distracted by acrylic paint and charcoal drawings to care about boys. But even without experience, helping Emily felt natural. As we lay on that bed with her between me and Cliff, solving problems … it felt like we’d been doing it for years.

Dad nudges my shoulder, startling me. He chuckles and holds out a paper cup, steaming with hot chocolate. I smile and take it.

“Thanks. Where’s Sara?”

“She’s on the hunt for pie.”

“Oh.”

It’s the first time Dad and I have been alone since Thanksgiving. He seems happy again. He’s smiling.

“Happy to be back?” I ask.

He shrugs. “Sort of.”

I give him a curious look, and he laughs.

“I love Copper Run,” he corrects. “But the inn? It was your mom’s passion. Not mine.”

I clutch my hot chocolate tighter. The steam rises to my cheeks—or maybe it’s my own heat.

“Let it be Sara’s, then,” I say, looking out at the crowd, where Lisa and George each try a bite of funnel cake from the same plate. “Let yourself retire out here. Enjoy the town.”

“Yeah,” Dad says, drawing out the word and squinting at me. “I was thinking about that. What about you?”

I lift an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“Have you been thinking about Copper Run?”

I clear my throat. “Not sure I follow.”

“You know, you’re very similar to your mother,” he says. “You have her motivation. Tenacity. Confidence.”

I shake my head. “Sara has all that too.”

“Your sister got her spirit—that’s true. Birdie gave that to her in spades.” He gives me a weak smile. “But you like a good challenge. So did she.”

My heart sinks as I slide my—no, Mom’s—pendant across its chain. As I grip her purse on my shoulder. I finally take a sip from my paper cup, and the hot chocolate stings my tongue.

“I’d be lying if I said you girls were raised by the same mom. She was a different woman with Sara. And it wasn’t your fault. And it wasn’t fair either. But nothing in life is. I’m sorry you got the short end of the stick, Shells. But I’m proud of you. And I know she would be too.”

I tighten my fingers around the paper cup. It dents and pops back out again, sending small drops of hot chocolate over the side, singeing me through my glove.

“I was perfectly fine back then,” I murmur into my sip. “And I’m fine now too.”

“You’ve always said that.” Dad looks around the park. “But this might be the first time I believe you.” He smiles gently. “You fit in here.”

“In Copper Run?” I ask. “No, I … I like the city. I miss Seattle.”

But the words feel so defensive now, like a knee-jerk reaction.

I hesitate for a moment, open my mouth, close it, then take a sip of my hot chocolate. I find myself subconsciously searching the Santa line again, spotting Brittany dangling her feet over Santa’s lap, grinning from ear to ear. Cliff stands off to the side with his arms crossed, beaming and talking to Tracy, who gives a wry smile in return.

I’ll miss these events. Maybe I could come here specifically for the holidays. September through December. But what fun events do they host in the spring or summer?

I glance down at Rocket. His tail is no longer wagging, but he takes a step closer, nudging his head against my leg. For once, I can’t decipher what he’s saying.

I find Cliff, like a magnet searching for its opposite pole. And, like Cliff always does, he somehow finds me as well, staring from the Santa line and tossing a wink my way.





CHAPTER 40





Cliff




I wake up to a tickle on my foot. I kick the sensation and roll over on the couch, throwing the sleeping bag comforter over my head.

“Wake up, Dad,” Brittany whispers at the opposite end of the couch.

She tickles my foot again, and I tug my legs up into a fetal position.

“The birds aren’t chirping yet,” I murmur into my pillow. “If they’re asleep, we should be too.”

“But Santa came!”

“And I bet he’s tired after delivering presents,” I argue.

I hold up my palm to shield my eyes from the bright tree lights, which kept me up all night. At one point, I unplugged them, but Brittany’s pitter-pattering feet woke me up somewhere between three o’clock and five o’clock as she plugged them back in. It was too much energy to get up and turn them off.

A finger wiggles into my ear. A shiver skitters down my spine. I bat the hand away.

“Up and at ’em, old man,” Emily says above me.

I peer up through my folded arms to find her perching on the couch’s arm with a steaming coffee mug.