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“Mom?” I say, as I stride through the house and catch her sitting at the dining room table by herself. She glances up at me, her hands wrapped around a coffee mug, and I can tell by her deep frown that something’s wrong.
“What happened Mom?” I put my hand on her shoulder and squeeze, sitting down next to her at the table.
“She’s gone,” she says as she wipes a tear from underneath her eye. “Penelope is gone.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Penelope
Beforemyheadevenhit the pillow last night, I knew what I needed to do. So, when I got back to my room after dinner, I packed all my things and set my suitcases by the door. I noticed the paparazzi left when the snow and darkness fell, so I formulated a plan before getting much needed rest.
I won’t say goodbye, I’m really not good at those, but I write a note to Suzanne and Tom, as well as Sally and Nora.
I’ll forever be grateful to each of them for making Winterberry a home and giving me a holiday season to remember.
Is it the right thing to do, leaving before everyone gets up? That I don’t know.
But the one thing I do know is the look Brent gave me, and the coldness in his demeanor, tell me he’s rethinking everything that happened between us.
Before the sun wakes, I tiptoe down the steps, my bags trailing behind me. I’m careful to avoid the squeaky steps, pausing every so often to ensure no one has woken.
I set my bags down by the dining room table and take the notes out of my pocket. I’m filled with a brief surge of regret and guilt, but I push it aside. I need to leave this way. I place Suzanne’s note on the dining room table, where I know she’ll see it first thing, then I take a few minutes to study the inn, committing everything to memory. I never want to forget the feelings of peace, comfort, and family that the inn evokes. I never want to forget the time I spent here for the holiday season. I walk over to the Christmas tree and gently caress the branches.
I feel terrible for bringing the paparazzi to their front door and the only way I know how to fix that is to remove myself. It’s what I’ve always done in the past.
How dumb I was to think I could truly live anonymously in a small town and have a quiet Christmas. All I’ve done is bring stress and pain to the people who have been nothing short of amazing to me.
Making my way to the front door, I glance over my shoulder one last time before stepping outside and shutting the door on the life I never knew I wanted.
The freezing wind slaps across my face and I grit my teeth as I walk down the steps. The snow is absolutely gorgeous, especially in the dark of the early morning. The lights from the inn make the snow glisten, even at this time of the day. I wrap my scarf across the bottom of my face to keep it warm.
At the end of the driveway, I turn back to look at Brent and Nora’s house. The lights are all off, except for the soft glow of the Christmas tree and the fairy lights on the front porch.
Blowing a final kiss at the house, I grab my bags and drag myself toward Main Street.
Next, I stop at Sally’s Diner. It isn’t open, but I leave her letter in the mailbox. She checks her mail each morning before opening the diner, so I hope she’ll see it.
And I hope she won’t hate me.
I trudge through the snow, struggling to keep a hold of my luggage, and pass by the gazebo and the fireplace. It’s out for the night but I’m sure in an hour or two it’ll be lit again. I love what this fireplace represents, and it’s another memory I’ll always hold onto.
Town is completely quiet, with not a soul around. It’s tranquil yet eerie, and a little bit depressing. I guess it’s fitting that as I leave, back to my old life, I’m all alone.
My arms start to ache from the weight of my luggage as I make my way through the inches of snow. Why did I have to pack so much crap?
Next, I head to Ben’s Shop to grab my car keys.
My keys are where Ben said they’d be, and I easily locate my car in the lot. I finger my keys, turning them over in my hand and breathing deeply. Anxiety blossoms in my chest. Hauling my bags into the trunk, I quietly close it then climb into the driver’s seat.
The smell of my expensive perfume and a lavender air freshener hits me in the face and almost makes me cry. For the first time, I feel like a stranger in my car. The memories of Manhattan that flood my mind feel like they’re from someone else’s life.
How am I ever going to go back to Manhattan?
I climb in, turn the car on and am both relieved and disappointed when it works. Guess it really is time to go.
Pulling out of the lot, I decide to take one more tour around town. I drive past the shops on Main Street, smile at the large bows on every lamppost, and take in the lake one more time. Lastly, I roll past the inn. It’s still completely dark inside. With an ache in my chest, I slowly drive by before heading out of town, passing the “Come Again Soon” sign.
“Bye, Winterberry. I will truly, truly miss you,” I whisper to the empty car, tears streaming down my face.
