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She’d wished, like any sixteen-year-old girl deeply in love with a twenty-one-year-old man might wish, that he would apply the pressure to her wrist that would pull her closer to him. And then, when she was a breath away, he’d smile his half smile, hiding that crooked tooth he was embarrassed about, and press those smiling lips to hers.
She’d wished that wish so many times it was nearly a prayer.
Helen set a very big glass of wine down in front of Josie.
“Whoa.” Josie laughed. “You trying to get me drunk?”
“You’re drinking for two tonight,” Helen said with what seemed like a nervous smile.
“The second person is you, I take it?”
Helen nodded glancing backward at the door and then over at her parents.
“You all right?” Josie asked. She took a sip of the red wine and then another. She’d managed, so far, to keep the memories of Cameron at arm’s length. But she could feel them hovering tonight. Close enough to touch.
“Fine,” Helen said. “But look, whatever happens tonight, I just want you to know that everything is going to be okay.”
“You’re freaking me out, Helen,” Josie said, turning to face her cousin more fully.
“Alice?” Grandmother Iris was looking over her shoulder at the tree. “Did you do something different with the tree this year?” she asked.
“No. I mean, the lights are on a timer,” Alice said, putting green salad on her plate. “But I did that last year.”
“I think…” Patrick got to his feet, and over his shoulder Josie saw the branches of the tree shimmy. “…maybe the tree had a stowaway.”
“What are you talking about, Dad?” Max asked, leaning forward so he could see the tree too.
A squirrel poked its head out of the branches.
“Holy shit!” Dom swore. Mom smacked the back of his head.
Max, Gabe, and Jonah all got to their feet and the sound of all the chairs scraping back startled the squirrel, who jumped off the branch onto the floor.
Alice screamed and jumped away from the table. “It’s the racoons all over again!”
Mom stepped back too, but she had the good sense to grab the wine bottle and a glass as she went. Iris, Stella, and Garth were freaking out. Which also sent the squirrel into a tizzy, and the poor animal darted left and then right toward the fireplace.
“Don’t let it—” Max shouted, but the squirrel must have thought better of his plans and took an immediate right and jumped up onto the table.
Everyone screamed.
“Jesus,” Max said. “Someone open the front door.”
The squirrel ran right down the center of the table, over all the food, through the salad bowl, sending lettuce flying.
“Come on!” Alice cried, throwing her arms up in the air.
“I got it, Dad,” Josie said, walking backward toward the door. Without looking she opened it, hoping the cold air might lure the squirrel outside.
Max tried to scare the squirrel in the direction of the front entry, but all the squirrel did was knock over a candle. Helen, acting fast, threw her glass of water over the flame. And the squirrel, instead of heading for the front door, went running and then leaped off the end of the table toward the kitchen.
“Not my kitchen!” Alice cried and went running after it.
Dom and Max followed and from the kitchen there was the sound of glass shattering, and Alice swearing a blue streak.
The chill from the open front door behind Josie got to be too much, and she imagined other squirrels in the forest, hearing the plight of their brother, might come charging in to save the day. And Alice would have a conniption.
So she turned to shut the door.
But there was a man standing there.
Tall and wide, with a backpack over his shoulder. He looked like he’d walked himself here over a million miles, or perhaps through a bunch of years. He had a beard and a bright red hat pulled low on his head.
“Hi,” he said, and his voice sent chills down Josie’s spine. Across all her skin.
No. It can’t be.
At almost the exact same time she thought, Please. Please let it be him.
And then he smiled, his half smile hiding the crooked tooth he was embarrassed about.
“Cameron.” His name tumbled past her numb lips.
“Long time no see, Josie,” he said.
6
CAMERON
In Italy, four summers ago, before YouTube changed everything, Cameron had been broke as broke could be. So he’d agreed to work for room and board for this absolute asshole of an artist. He was a glassblower high in the hills of Tuscany. And Cameron had worked like a dog for Carlo in his sweltering hot workshop and then ended up having to cook for the guy, too. Which wasn’t such a chore—the guy pressed his own olive oil and he had chickens and goats, and lemon trees and rosemary grew wild in the yard.
