“Wow,” was all I could say.
Jack circled back toward the barn and stables sitting on the other side of Main Street, past the general store, and parked the tractor. He stood and leaned forward to open the door for me to exit.
The men made quick work of unhooking my car. Jack pointed toward the lodge just up the sidewalk and said, “I know your parents and sister are here already. My wife, Sandy, should be in the lodge and can get you all checked in.”
I took my car keys from Jett. “Thank you for not wrecking this priceless heirloom.”
He grinned, the braces on his teeth gleaming. “Don’t know how you drive in something that low to the ground. I’d recommend getting a truck.”
I laughed. “Every winter, I put that in my letter to Santa, but he never comes through.”
Turning to Jack, I shook his hand, “Thank you for the lift and for my personal tour.”
He chuckled. “My pleasure, Olive. It will be fun to have you around. And if there’s any way we can get rid of that pesky boyfriend, let me know. I’d love to introduce you to my son.”
“I don’t think so.” I grinned and waved, making my way toward the lodge. If his son turned out to be anything like Jack, I was going to be sorely disappointed in my fake-boyfriend situation.
A light sprinkling of flakes drifted down from the sky. The air was fresh, and for a moment, I almost decided to keep walking instead of facing my family. But I forced myself to be a grown-up, put a pleasant look on my face, and opened the lodge door.
The place seemed empty at a glance. The doorway opened into a large foyer with a hallway that seemed to round the perimeter of the building. I moved forward and passed through another doorway and into the sprawling main room. The pitched ceilings were high, and the floor was concrete. Long, wooden picnic tables were placed all around the open room with chairs tucked neatly underneath. Front and center, a stage with a red, velvet curtain drew my eye, and directly across from the doorway was what looked like a large kitchen with a long bar top coming out from the wall, connecting the kitchen with the main room—probably where they served the meals. I took a few steps inside, scanning the room with interest. A front reception area sat off to the left side. There seemed to be no one there to greet guests. I was about to turn and leave when I noticed a small yellow light shining out of what looked like an office just behind the front desk.
A moment later, a thin woman with short blonde hair peeking out from underneath a cute red beanie stepped out of the office. She gave me a wide smile, and I couldn’t help but smile back as I took in her black leggings, long red sweater, and snow boots. She looked like a walking ad for Vermont tourism.
“Hi! I’m Sandy. How can I help you?” She leaned against the reception desk separating us and glanced over me and my luggage. “Oh wait, you’re the spitting image of two other brown-haired beauties I just handed keys to. Are you with the Ellises?”
I clenched my stomach while I smiled, determined not to let the name bother me in public. “Yes. Elaine’s my mom.”
She leaned over and checked a paper on the desk. “Yes. Cute couple.”
Suck it up, Buttercup.
“What’s your name, dear?”
“Olive Wilson.” I made sure to emphasize my last name. Maybe it was petty, but I was not an Ellis.
Her brows furrowed as she looked at her papers. “Is your husband coming? There won’t be much room in Cabin 7.”
“I’m not married.”
She peered up at me. “Oh, I’m sorry. I thought, with your last name…” She trailed off awkwardly and I tried to feign a smile.
“Nope. Just me.”
“Okay. That pull-out couch can’t be too comfortable, so we do have some cots available if you’d prefer.”
“Oh. Are there no beds in there?”
“Well, with your sister’s family in there already, it will be a little tight. It has one full-sized bed, and there’s a pull-out couch in the living room. It’s one of our smaller cabins.”
My heart sank. “I thought I had my own cabin.”
That statement caused a furrowed brow as the woman shuffled through the papers on her desk. “Let’s see…”
My feet began to twitch as I tried not to panic. I loved my sister, but other than offering some babysitting here and there, I hoped to be hidden far away in a cabin all my own. A place where I could choose when to come out and be seen （i.e., rarely, with a side of mealtime only）。
“Oh, yes. Here it is. I’m sorry you weren’t told. Your mother called yesterday and had you moved into Cabin 7 with your sister. She said it was because the…” She searched through more papers on her desk. “…the Fosters were now coming.” She looked at me with concern in her bright eyes. “Is that alright? I wish we had another cabin available, but unfortunately, everything is booked up this week.”
It took me a moment to adjust my face back into some sort of （hopefully） pleasant expression. Of course I wouldn’t have my own cabin. That idea was for people with luck on their side. I felt a brief stab of guilt at my disappointment in the new living arrangements. Truth be told, I probably should have planned it like that from the very start. Ben and Chloe could certainly use some help with the girls, and wasn’t this whole week supposed to be about spending time with family?
“Would you prefer to stay with your parents? They’re in a small cabin as well, but it would have less people.”
How to put this nicely? Thank you, but I would rather jab a hot needle into my eyeball. I wasn’t sure what kind of love life two newlywed married widows in their fifties had, but I wasn’t about to find out.
With a practiced smile, I said, “No, my sister’s cabin will be great. Thank you so much.”
And just like that, my last vestiges of hope for surviving the week were shattered. There would be no lounging in a bubble bath, reading. No late-night TV binges. No safe place to hide when the strain of my fractured family threatened to overwhelm me. There was no escape. The week I had already been dreading for the past month just went from bad to much worse.
FIVE
Terminators are immune to pain. I am not. Please don’t bite me again.
The Terminator
After I left the lodge, I climbed back into my car and drove down the freshly plowed street toward the village, leaning forward to scan the cabin numbers. Although the cabins were spread out quite a bit, the pathways between them had been freshly cleared of snow. Number seven was a small A-frame close to the road, with a porch running across the front. I parked just behind Ben and Chloe’s green Subaru and killed the engine.
Here it was. The start of fake Christmas. That’s what I was calling it in my head. How could it be real without my dad here? And even more than that, how could we replace him so quickly with…something else? Something so different? This was all just fake. Bright, flashing lights in a store window; aisles and aisles of cheap toys. A distracting excursion while we all tried to pretend that our family infrastructure hadn’t imploded.
I thought I had made my peace with it, I really did. But this time of year felt so raw. The snow, the lights, the Christmas music, the baking, and the holiday smells had cemented the last moments with my dad deep into my weary soul. He passed away a week after Christmas. Last year, Chloe and I had camped out at the house, knowing his time was nearing the end. Those last few days, hospice had a bed set up for him in the living room. Though the week was one of tears and sadness, I couldn’t deny that it was filled with sweet and beautiful moments as well—the four of us all together for the last time. Mom and Chloe and I would crowd around his bed, playing cards, rehashing memories, and laughing about childhood antics–jokes we’d played, the times Dad had made us laugh, or made us mad, or taught us a lesson. He tried his hardest to stay awake for our visits. Some days, he put in a better fight than others, but oftentimes his eyes would glaze over while we talked around him, looking peaceful, which is exactly how he went. One moment, Chloe was telling us about the time she snuck out of her window late at night to try out her new bike headlights in the dark, and the next, he'd given one last smile and shut his eyes for the last time. His sickness of two years finally coming to an end. And now, it was Christmas again. It was amazing the difference a year could make.