The shorter woman stalks a few more steps into the house and bellows, “Finley!”
I blink in shock. Wait, they look just like?—
“Where’s Finley?” the taller one demands her tone sharp. “We want to see her immediately.”
“Mirna?” I ask, dumfounded.
“I bet they have her locked in the basement,” the short one declares. “Just like in Buried with the Mob Boss.”
If I take away the hat and the two scarves wrapped around her head, I realize it’s Barb.
They flew from Atlanta. On Christmas Day.
“Now is not the time for your silly books,” the woman who must be Mirna snaps, then pins me with a glare. “Hello, Alex. Now, where is Finley?”
A loud, angry meow erupts from inside the carrier.
“Mirna?” Finley calls from the top of the stairs.
“I’m here too!” Barb hollers, making a beeline for the foot of the stairs.
My family has spilled into the entryway, staring at the two older women like a circus act has barged into the house mid-performance.
“Barb?” Finley calls again as she hurries down the stairs. She’s changed out of her pajamas into yoga pants and a long-sleeve T-shirt.
My stomach drops to the floor. She wasn’t resting. And there’s no way she’d change into that casual, unholiday-like outfit to spend Christmas Day with my family. Not even after the disaster of a morning.
She’s preparing to leave.
When she called Barb and Mirna last night, did she ask them to come get her?
Hurt slams into me. She didn’t have to ask them to rescue her. I would have done it.
But you didn’t, did you? You made her stay until tomorrow.
And then things got even worse.
Finley throws her arms around Barb, clinging like she’s found solid ground after a shipwreck. Then she turns to Mirna, who has brushed past me to fold her in too.
“What the hell is going on?” Grant asks, dazed.
I start to answer, but I can’t get out the words lodged in my throat. I’ve let her down, and I’m not sure I’ll ever forgive myself.
“What are you two doing here?” Finley asks, incredulous.
Mirna’s face hardens. “We came to rescue you.”
Relief rushes through me—they came on their own. But if they left Atlanta before dawn on Christmas Day, then Finley must have painted a bleak picture last night to make them drop everything.
“Finley,” Mom says cautiously behind me, “I take it these are your grandmothers?”
Finley turns to her, giving her a half smile. “Yeah, Barb and Mirna—” she gestures to each of them “—this is Valerie King, Alex’s mother.”
Barb doesn’t bother with niceties, but Mirna takes a step forward and says stiffly, “Thank you for your hospitality, but we’re here to take Finley home.”
Mom looks close to tears. “I really wish you wouldn’t.” She glances back at Grant, who, to his credit, actually looks embarrassed. “I realize things have been rough, but I promise they’ll smooth out.”
Mirna lifts her chin. “There shouldn’t be anything to smooth out. Alex brought Finley here, practically guaranteeing her a nice, traditional, family Christmas.”
