“What does Morgan do?”
“She’s a music teacher, but she’s also in charge of the drama club. There are always after-school rehearsals for concerts or shows.”
“I’ll bet your mom loves having the grandkids around.”
“She does. And without her, I’m not sure what Morgan would do. She got divorced and it’s been hard.”
Mark nodded before lowering his eyes. Both of them were quiet for a moment before Mark finally motioned toward the tree. “I’m glad you decided to put up a tree in here. I’m sure the customers will appreciate it.”
“The tree was for me, honestly.”
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
He turned to face her. “Was that Christmas in Ocracoke your favorite?”
In the background, she could still hear the music Mark had selected drifting from the speaker.
“In Ocracoke, as you know, I was in the middle of a very hard time. And of course all the childhood wonder about the holiday was gone. But…Christmas that year felt so real to me. The flotilla, decorating the tree with Bryce, volunteering on Christmas Eve, and going to midnight mass, and then, of course, Christmas itself. I loved it then, but over time, the memory has become even more special. It’s the one Christmas I wish I could experience again.”
Mark smiled. “I like that you have that memory.”
“Me too. And I still have that print of the lighthouse, by the way. It’s hanging on the wall of the bedroom I use as a studio.”
“Did the two of you ever end up making the biscuits?”
“I suppose that’s your way of asking what comes next in the story. Or am I wrong?”
“I’m dying to know what happened next.”
“I suppose I could tell you a bit more. But only on one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“I’m going to need some more eggnog.”
“You got it,” he said. Grabbing both glasses, he went to the back, returning with the eggnog. Remarkably, the thick, sweet concoction was proving to be both easy on her stomach and strangely filling, something she hadn’t felt in weeks. She took another swallow.
“Did I tell you about the storm?”
“You mean the one on Christmas? When it was raining?”
“No,” she said. “A different storm. The one in January.”
Mark shook his head. “You told me about the week after Christmas, when you powered through your schoolwork and Bryce began teaching you the basics of photography.”
“Oh, yeah,” she said. “That’s right.” She studied the ceiling as if scanning the exposed pipes for her lost memories. When she returned her gaze to Mark, she commented, “My grades were actually pretty good by the end of that first semester, by the way. For me, anyway. A couple of A’s and the rest were B’s. It ended up being my best semester in high school.”
“Even better than the spring semester?”
“Yes,” she said.
“Why? Because photography took over?”
“No,” she said. “It wasn’t that. I think…” She adjusted her scarf, buying time to figure out how best to pick up the thread where she’d left off.
“For Bryce and me, I think everything began to change right around the time that the nor’easter smashed into Ocracoke…”
The Second Trimester
Ocracoke
1996
The nor’easter arrived the second week of January, after three days in a row of higher-than-normal temperatures and sunny days that felt unfamiliar after the grayish gloom of December. I could never have predicted that a gigantic storm was in the offing.
Nor could I have seen the changes ahead in my relationship with Bryce. On New Year’s Eve, I still considered him nothing more than a friend, even though he’d chosen to spend the evening at my house while the rest of his family went out of town. Gwen brought over her television and we tuned in to Dick Clark’s show live from Times Square; as midnight approached, we counted down with the rest of America. When the ball dropped, Bryce set off a couple of bottle rockets from the porch that exploded over the water with loud bangs and tails of sparkles. The neighbors on their porches clanked pots with spoons as well, but within minutes, the town reverted to sleepy mode and lights in the nearby houses began to blink out. I called my parents to wish them a happy New Year, and they reminded me that they would be coming to visit me later in the month.
Despite the holiday, Bryce was back less than eight hours later, this time with Daisy, which was the first time he’d brought her over. He helped my aunt and me take down the tree—which was a definite fire hazard by then—and dragged it out to the road. After I repacked the decorations and swept up the needles, we took our places at the table for schoolwork. Daisy was sniffing around in the kitchen; when he called her over, she promptly lay down near his chair.