I tell myself not to look. Not to care. But I can’t help it. My gaze seeks out a shiny blond head in a sea of dark-haired Walshes.
I don’t see her. Yet. But it does nothing to ease the sudden tidal wave of pain that seems to swallow me at the inevitability of coming face-to-face with the woman Tom loves.
I don’t think I can do this.
In the past twenty-four hours, I’ve survived a car accident, a concussion, a dozen stitches, another car accident, trudging through the snow, a dirty motel room, having all of my belongings stolen, and a two-hour sing-along session with a jovial truck driver.
I’ve handled it all.
But this? Meeting Lolo? I can’t.
And of course, I have to.
The truck—sorry, Rebecca—lumbers to a stop outside the modest, well-kept suburban home. And the Walshes, who Tom texted from Gorby’s phone about our impending arrival a couple minutes ago, descend upon the truck, all talking over one another.
The favorite son is, of course, cause for celebration. His ex, though?
I take a deep breath and reach for the door handle. Which gets stuck. An omen? Probably. For a moment, the coward in me considers begging Gorby to take me straight to the airport. But the temptation to hug my ex-in-laws is even stronger than my desire to avoid Lolo.
Still, the handle stays stuck. “Gorby, what the—”
“Ol’ Rebecca’s playing coy with you, hun,” Gorby says, taking a final bite of his third burger in as many hours. “Just pull it back nice and slow, and give her a little shove with your shoulder.”
Tom adds, “Carefully. We don’t want to reopen your wound.”
“Which looked right as rain to me,” Gorby says happily. “Got a good look when Tom checked the bandage a bit ago.”
“Fantastic. Glad you got a good look,” I mutter, leaning into the door per Gorby’s instructions just as Tom’s dad opens the door from the other side.
I practically tumble into him, and unfazed, Bob Walsh wraps me in a big warm hug. “Damn, Katie. It’s been too long. I always did like your face.”
For a long moment, I let him hug me. Let myself pretend that things are different, then and now. That this is still my family, that Tom—
“My turn, my turn, my turn,” Nancy says, batting at her husband’s arm and wrapping me in a warm hug of her own. “Katherine, my darling. What a day you’ve had.”
“What about me? My day?” Tom says good-naturedly as he hugs all his siblings.
His mom releases me and reaches out to pat his cheek fondly, her eyes watery. “You too, Tommy. You too.”
Bob clamps his hand on his son’s shoulder. “Glad you made it, son.”
“Thanks, Dad.” Tom reaches out and pulls his father in for a hug, and my eyes prick a bit when I see the delighted pleasure on Bob’s face before he hugs Tom back.
“Now,” Bob says, pulling back, clearing his throat, and reaching for his wallet. He nods toward the truck. “How much do we owe this fine gentleman for the ride?”
I have to smile at gentleman being applied to Gorby but then amend my thoughts because Gorby—if he’s not the truest gentleman, I don’t know who is. The kind of generous, kind human being that makes me want to rethink . . . well, all of my life choices, actually.
Something I’ve been doing a lot of the past twenty-four hours.
“I’ll take care of it,” I say, accepting the cash Bob generously holds out. “And I will of course pay you back every penny the second I get everything sorted from my lost wallet.”
“You’ll pay me nothing,” Bob calls after me.
As I move back toward the truck, Tom’s gaze locks on mine, and despite the wide smile on his face for his family, his eyes seem as conflicted as I feel that we’ve really, truly reached the end of this journey.
Our journey.
And then, behind me, I hear her. An unfamiliar female voice that doesn’t belong to Tom’s mom or sisters. “Tom!”
His gaze seems to drag away from me. Toward Lolo.
“Sorry I wasn’t out here to greet you,” I hear her say. “ I was just FaceTiming with my brother so I could see my niece’s Christmas pageant, and oh my gosh. I’m so glad you’re here . . .”
I continue toward the truck before I can hear the rest.
Gingerly, so as not to ruin the festive mood by tearing my stitches, I hoist myself back into the cab where Gorby sits with a happy grin, watching the Walsh reunion.
“Gorby,” I say, exasperated. “Are you crying?”
“Can’t help it.” He wipes his eyes. “Becky and I are a sucker for family at Christmas.”
I look over my shoulder, waving happily at Tom’s sisters and brother, who I have yet to properly hug, and then, because I force myself, I look at her.
Lolo is . . .
Well, not exactly what I expected. She’s blond, but instead of being tiny and petite and fashionable, she seems . . . very real. Very nice, actually. And there’s no denying that her smile as she talks excitedly with Tom is very, very real.
She loves him. He loves her. And I surprise myself by realizing . . .
I’m happy for him.
And yet . . .
“You gonna tell him?” Gorby asks.
I look over, surprised to find the truck driver studying me. Still smiling, but a little less jovial.
“What? Tell who what . . .” I sigh when he simply gives me a look that says I’m better than cheap denials. “No, Gorby. I’m not going to tell him.”
Gorby gives a sad shake of his head. “Tom deserves to know, darling.”
“He deserves a lot of things,” I say. Better things than I can give him.
I try to hand Gorby the cash, but he looks affronted and shoves my hand away. “It wasn’t no big thing spending a few hours with you kids. Nice to have the company, actually.”
Belatedly, I realize that it’s Christmas Eve and that Gorby will be spending it in a truck, alone. Close as he and Rebecca are, Rebecca can’t sing “Baby, It’s Cold Outside” with him like I can.
“Gorby, I don’t suppose . . .” I jerk my thumb toward the Walsh home. “They’d love to have you. There’s always room for one more here.”
I should know.
“Oh gosh. I appreciate that,” Gorby says as he turns on the engine. “But I’ve gotta hightail it. Em will kill me if I’m not home by the time the kids wake up to Santa.”
I blink. “Em?” Kids.
“Sure. My wife. We’ve got three boys, and a little girl on the way.”
“I— You didn’t mention them.”
“Course not, darlin’。 Rebecca gets jealous.” He winks.
I shake my head with a smile, and then acting on impulse, I lean over to kiss his cheek. “You’re a treasure, Gorby. I’m not entirely sure you don’t have a pair of wings under your dry-cleaned flannel.”
“I’ll never tell,” he says, giving me a friendly squeeze, then waves me back with his hand. “Now, go on. Go be with your family.”
“Oh. Not my family,” I say as I scoot toward the door.
Gorby tsks. “And here I thought you were a smart girl. Merry Christmas, Katherine.”
I hop down and smile up at him. “Merry Christmas, Gorby.”