Page 1 of The Best Christmas Choir Ever

One

Charlie

Snow in December wasn’t a surprise, but the ankle-deep slush that soaked through Charlie’s boots and into her socks the moment she got out of the car? That was a step too far. There was nothing she hated more in the world than wet feet, and she curled her toes as she tried to shake the slush from her boots. The sooner they got inside, the better.

“If I knew it was going to be this frigid, I would have picked a different day to move in,” Gram muttered from inside the vehicle, her breath fogging. She sat in the passenger seat, soaking up the last of the car’s warmth.

Charlie peered in through the driver door. “If I’d known it would be this cold, I’d have demanded my payment in hot chocolate.”

“Forget that,” Gram said. “I’d have gone straight to the Irish coffee.”

“Now you’re talking,” Charlie said. Nothing like a little whiskey to take the edge off a day that started with movers blasting her out of bed at the crack of dawn.

She looked up at the hulking building next to them. It rose ten stories, consisting of brown brick and glass balconies. Most of the railings boasted green garland or twinkle lights. Even the front door was decorated with a holly-filled wreath.

Charlie wrinkled her nose. The Christmas spirit was strong here.

Besides that, the grounds were well manicured under the dusting of snow. Old rosebushes had been pruned back to protect them from the winter winds, and the sidewalks were cleared and salted to prevent ice buildup. A whiteboard sat just outside the entrance. Welcome Home was written across it in bold black letters.

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” Gram said, finally climbing out of the car. A silk scarf was wrapped over her head to protect her ears from the chill.

Charlie offered her a hand for balance. Doris Bender was a tall, slender woman with short gray hair and impeccable taste. She wore a dark blue peacoat that always smelled like Chanel No. 5 and carried around a Louis Vuitton handbag she’d bought back in the ’80s. When Charlie was young, Gram had taught her three things: how to sing scales, how to play the piano and how to spot fake pearls.

Charlie had taken the music to heart, the facts on pearls not so much.

“It looks just like the pictures you sent me,” Charlie said diplomatically. At twenty-nine, she was about forty years too early for admission. So what did her opinion matter anyway?

Gram hummed in agreement. “Wait until you see inside. Homey. Quaint. Exactly what I was looking for.”

“Exactly what the brochure promised,” Charlie said. Glendale Retirement Village: The Best Because You’ve Earned It!

Gram hiked her purse up her arm with a nod and started down the sidewalk.

Charlie closed the passenger door and surged after her. “Careful!” she called. “It might be slippery.”

Gram waved her off. “I’ve survived worse than a little ice.”

That was what worried Charlie. She’d always thought of her grandmother as poised and ageless, but a recent fall and a trip to the emergency room had reminded them all that at seventy-four, Gram was not invincible. Luckily, nothing had been broken, and Charlie’s parents hadn’t been forced to rush home from their month-long European culinary tour.

But getting Gram moved into Glendale while they had a unit available was a priority that couldn’t wait. So the task had landed on Charlie’s reluctant shoulders. Returning to Elm Springs, to the place where Tom had…

Well, this was the last place she wanted to be. A twisting ache tightened in her stomach, and she sucked in a shaky breath.

“Hey! This all headed to the fourth floor?” a voice called.

Charlie turned to greet one of the movers that had rumbled up in the truck behind them. He stepped out of the cab, a clipboard in his hand.

“Yes.” She removed her gloves so she could unfurl a piece of paper from her pocket. “Suite 402. I called ahead, and a woman at reception said it would be unlocked for you.” She glanced into the back of the moving truck as the mover opened the doors.

Gram had only brought a fraction of her belongings from the four-bedroom Victorian she owned. That was all that would fit in her new one-bedroom apartment. Charlie was already dreading having to deal with the rest of the house until her parents got back. The plan was to be ready to sell by the new year, which only left a month to get things sorted. But the thought of being stuck in that house, where Tom had received his palliative care and the memories were heaviest, was a crushing weight to bear.

Gram has no one else, she told herself. Because your brother is dead and your parents are in Europe. So, tag, you’re it. Whether she liked it or not.

“Sounds good,” the mover said, and Charlie shoved her feelings back into the dusty box she’d stuffed them in two years ago. “We’ll get an elevator put on Service and start taking things up to the suite.”

“Thanks, Pat!” Gram called, walking up and looping her arm through Charlie’s. “Come inside. Let me give you the grand tour.”

Charlie was more eager to get out of the cold than she was to tour a retirement home, but she didn’t complain. Truthfully, she’d already been on the home’s website, scoping things out. She’d even ended up on the staff landing page and had spotted an old fling from her college days.