And that was for the best …
“No word from Joey?” she asked.
I shook my head, a familiar tightening in my chest that felt like stepping out in subzero temperatures. “Still planning to be back after the holidays.”
Brooks clicked her tongue. “How can she leave her own kid over Christmas?”
“It’s her busiest season with the theater company. They add extra dates to the tour,” I defended like a reflex.
To myself, I agreed. Every month, six-year-old Collette became more aware of how time passed and asked more and more questions about her missing mother. She grew and changed so fast. Sometimes, I stayed in town at Brooks’s during the week to help at the shop, and when I returned to George’s, she’d seemed to have developed years in her speech and grown inches. It made me worry how much Joey was missing, but my sister didn’t seem to be as concerned about it. More so, I worried about the long-term impact this would have on this shining star little girl who needed her mom.
Brooks made a sound like she wanted to argue but didn’t press. It was a conversation we’d had a lot over these past few years as Joey came and went with the winds. I couldn’t think about it without my heart breaking.
“Merry Christmas,” I said, only hesitating for a moment before giving her a hug goodbye. Look at me growing and changing.
“You too. Tell Collette I said she’s a stinky booty butt,” she said as she squeezed me tight.
I chuckled. “I’ll pass that on.”
I was exhausted when I hit the incredibly packed—and only—grocery store in town and made my way back up to George’s. My social batteries were drained after answering the same ten questions to tourists all day, and I was ready to call it a night.
An unfamiliar car parked in the driveway caused a pang of dismay. I’d have to plaster on a polite smile for a little longer. I sighed as I loaded my arms with the groceries and last-minute Christmas gifts. Piano music and singing voices reached my ears before I made it to the front door. The people inside sang a slowed-down cover of the old song “What Are You Doing New Year’s Eve?” Only Collette’s voice was recognizable. My little niece and George’s temporary charge was always eager to put on a show for whoever would listen, but the other voice had me stopping in my tracks.
The rich, male voice was reminiscent of old Hollywood crooners, complete with a decent level of professional lessons. Joey had once explained that not everybody was born with raw talent (like herself), and most singers require years of breath control and pitch training.
I tried not to encourage Collette’s understandable obsession with performing. Between her mother’s career and George’s multitude of contacts in the business, it made sense why the little girl was drawn to it. But I didn’t like it. My experience with actors showed them as vain, flighty creatures by nature. Those who reached any level of success were the worst, adding ego and entitlement to the mix. They were detached from reality and only saw to their own needs, and the people in their orbit fed that fantasy.
Still, I let myself listen to the duet for a moment longer, noting how the hairs on my arm stood on end as the male voice held a long, particularly lovely note at the end.
If I were to go in now, I’d ruin the fun. I didn’t earn the name Frowny Frankie for nothing.
I never used to be the buzzkill. I used to be the life of the party …
As the piano stopped, I opened the door. Collette spotted me first, instantly launching herself at me, and I dropped the groceries just in time to stoop to catch her. My heart ached as she squeezed with all the might her tiny arms could muster. I’ve missed her so much, and I only just saw her a few days ago.
It still felt shocking to be loved by this child, so free with her affection. I should have grown accustomed to her hugs and snuggles, but every time was surprising. It felt like a special kind of gift to be loved without any expectations. Just because I existed. My love for her was never a choice. When Joey introduced her to me all those years ago, she looked at me with big, wide eyes like “Oh, there you are,” and my heart was hers. I still felt undeserving and scared. She shouldn’t be alone without me here. It was becoming increasingly apparent that it would be irresponsible to do so. I would have to add it to the list.
After Collette released me, I stood to take in the guests, all of whom felt familiar but not anybody I knew.
Then, my gaze snagged on the man leaning casually against the piano. I felt his searing, watchful eyes before I met them with my own. He straightened as we took each other in, and my breath stuck in my throat.
Dark eyes framed in thick black lashes that said mischievous, wounded, distracted.
I feel like I’ve known you.
The room around me seemed to fall away like I stumbled through a wardrobe to an unexpected world. It was him. His beard was gone, and his brown curls were trimmed short, but those mesmerizing blue eyes were unmistakable. They zeroed in on me, intense and delighted as they’d been the day he accidentally shoplifted. I hadn’t stopped imagining those intensely piercing eyes that contradicted his good-natured affability.
Those eyes that were so familiar even through our painfully short exchange. After all these weeks of hoping to see him again, just to get his name …
I almost stumbled with the pure shock of it.
“What are you—” I caught myself in time, unsure how much to reveal. Would I give away how much I thought about our brief interaction? What would that say about me?
He schooled his features as well, glancing at a beautiful redhead and back at me.
It was so jarring to see him. Here. At George’s. I wanted to ask so many questions, but all at once, the tension in the room was palpable. I couldn’t handle all these people looking at me expectantly. If only I’d taken a few more minutes to get here. I felt awkward and bored in the presence of all these accomplished people. How would I explain who I was? I’d let George decide.
“Grandpa, who are your guests?” I asked lightly, feeling silly that he told me and all his former foster kids to call him that. Also, a small part of me liked that the familiarity made me less of an intruder here. Innotmy home.
