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Whitney couldn’t get Kris’ words, home for Christmas, out of her head. They repeated over and over as she carried her bags down to her car and then checked out of Bramble House.
She still had a couple hours before she had to be at the Bozeman airport, so she ran some errands in Marietta, stopped by Copper Mountain Chocolates to say goodbye to Sage, and then went into the florist to get a pretty holiday arrangement for Eliza and Mable at the B&B. The florist assured Whitney they could still deliver today, and Whitney scribbled a note of thanks on the tiny florist card letting the Brambles know how much she appreciated the last few weeks in their beautiful home.
And then she had time for one last coffee from Java Café, and with her coffee in hand, she took a last stroll down Main Street, trying to take it all in, wanting to remember everything. The parade. The lights. The carolers. The roasted chestnuts. The fun.
It had been a great month. It had. She’d hang on to those memories.
Whitney walked to the Crookshank Building which was still humming with noise and activity. She’d heard that the first of the Sheenan Media team had arrived at the end of last week and the rest would be here soon. She’d done what she could. She’d given everything she could. She had no regrets, either.
Not one hundred percent true, she thought, heading back to her car. She would miss being at Cormac and Daisy’s tonight. She would miss seeing Daisy’s face as she entered her new home for the first time. She would have loved to be there when Daisy stepped into her bedroom and saw the canopy bed and the castle climbing wall and the little reading corner reached by the wooden drawbridge. Whitney had even painted a dragon peeking around the closet door because every good princess needed her own dragon.
Just like Mulan.
Every little girl should grow up strong and confident, creative and independent.
And every girl should be encouraged to take risks, too. It was okay to fail. One just had to try.
*
Cormac knew he’d promised Whitney that he’d stay away from the house until the big party Christmas Eve, but he wanted to slip a gift for Daisy under the tree. It was a custom dollhouse he’d commissioned one of Heath’s carpenters to make for Daisy. It looked like their new house and it was filled with furniture and a set of dolls. He hoped she’d like it. He wanted to give her something special just in case he couldn’t deliver on the promise Santa had made her.
But entering his new house, Cormac was blown away. It was beautiful. It was everything he’d thought it could be. Elegant, stylish, yet comfortable. She’d mixed sturdy antiques with his modern pieces from the California beach house. Rich jeweled Persian carpets covered the stone and wood floors. Crimson and copper pillows softened the severe lines of his couch.
Cormac positioned the dollhouse at the back of the Christmas tree and then walked around, visiting each room. He’d be happy here. Daisy would be delighted by her incredible bedroom. But there was something off, and he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.
He walked around once, and then twice, returning to the family room with the soaring ceiling and the beautiful pine tree. His gaze swept the wood angels on the table, the Nativity scene on the built in bookshelf, the dark ruby candles on the mantle and then his eye was caught by the stockings hanging at the fireplace.
Two knit stockings. Two hanging together.
Pain shot through his chest. The pain was as physical as if he’d been punched in his heart.
There shouldn’t be two stockings.
There should be three.
Whitney needed a stocking. She belonged here with them. Whitney was the part missing. Without her, the family was incomplete. Daisy didn’t need a princess castle room. She didn’t need a dollhouse. She didn’t need the toys he’d ordered and wrapped. What she needed was Whitney. And he needed Whitney, too.
Cormac left the house quickly and drove into town. He needed to find Whitney immediately and make her understand that no, he wasn’t good with fighting, and no, he didn’t enjoy the back and forth—he’d always found conflict excruciating—but he wasn’t his dad, and Whitney wasn’t his mom, and they didn’t have to become those people who couldn’t work things out.
They didn’t have to be angry and resentful. They could move forward. It was a choice. Forgive, forget. Let go.
He needed to convince her that all they had to do now was let go of the old. Let go and start fresh.
It was possible. With a little work, and a lot of love, anything was possible.
*
Whitney listened to the latest announcement at the airport gate in Bozeman. Due to weather in Denver, the flight was being delayed yet again. It was the second delay. First, it was thirty minutes, and now, an hour.
There was no guarantee that the flight would make it out tonight, either. The airline had already offered to re-route people to another airport, or reschedule them for a flight tomorrow so that folks didn’t have to spend their Christmas Eve sitting at the Bozeman gate.
Passengers lined up at the counter, asking for changes. Whitney remained in her seat, waiting to hear the next update. The flight might still go out…
No one had said the flight wasn’t going tonight…
And if it was, Whitney definitely wasn’t going to be rerouted to another airport. There was no point in that.
No, she’d overnight at one of the hotels near the airport and return in the morning. She’d reach her apartment eventually. It’s not as if the apartment would be warm and welcoming. She hadn’t been there in over a month. There were no decorations or presents or festive anything.
Denver was not home.
Marietta wasn’t home.
No, home was Cormac and Daisy.
Her eyes burned. She felt heartsick. This was an awfully terrible way to spend Christmas Eve.
One of the uniformed airline agents walked past.
“Excuse me,” Whitney said, rising. “Do you think the plane for Denver will make it out tonight?”
“They say it’s snowing so hard in Denver that not even Santa is going to make it in this year.”
“But Santa isn’t flying Montana Air. He has his own sled and eight magic reindeer.”
The agent gave her an odd look. “Right. Love that Christmas spirit,” he said, walking on.
Whitney sat back down.
Some Christmas spirit. She was here at the airport trying to catch a flight out on Christmas Eve instead of celebrating with Cormac and Daisy at their house.
This was not how it was supposed to go.
This was not how she’d wanted Christmas to be.
Whitney put her head down into her hands, so sad she couldn’t stand it.
She didn’t want to be here. She wanted to be at the house on Copper Mountain Lane. But she was angry with Cormac, and angry with herself.
She wanted so much more from him than he was ever willing to give and yet there was this little tiny part of her that had quietly kept hoping…
Maybe he’d one day love her…
Maybe he’d one day want her…
Maybe…
Her phone rang. She took it from her purse and looked at the number. Cormac. Disgusted, she sent the call to voice mail.
The phone rang again.
And again she sent the call to voice mail.
It rang again and for some idiotic reason she answered.
“Yes?” she said sharply.
“So where are you? Daisy is asking for you. Are you on your way?”
She was so mad at him, blisteringly angry. “You fired me, remember? You paid me off and told me to scram—”
“I didn’t fire you,” he interrupted. “You’d already quit. You were putting in your time and so I just gave you your check.”
“But I don’t want your money!”
“Yes, you do.”
“I do not. I tore it up.” And then she hung up on him.
He called back.
She stared at the phone, letting it ring five times and then she grabbed it just before it went to voice mail. “Yes?”
“You’re being really difficult.”
“I’m not difficult—”
“Oh, you’re being incredibly difficult. I was doing something nice for you…for us…creating a level playing field—”
“Stop talking. It’s annoying.”
He stopped talking and she didn’t hang up. In the background she could hear voices and laughter. He must have quite a party going at his house now but it was difficult to imagine enjoying a party when her life felt like it’d been turned inside out. She could pretend she didn’t want more from him, but it was a lie. She’d hoped for more. Deep down she’d hoped for a miracle. She’d wanted Daisy to have one, too. “I thought this was going to turn our differently,” she whispered after an interminable silence. “Or, I’d hoped it’d be different.”
“Is it too late to say I’ve been an ass, and selfish, and brutally hard, and that I am sorry, Whitney? I’m sorry I don’t…do…emotions better. I’m sorry I haven’t…been there…for you.”
