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Another piece of reality is that I’m not getting anything else from Eleanor. The last clue that would’ve led Sawyer and me to our gift from her is lost. There’s nothing more for me here—I’ve completed all of Eleanor’s tasks, and my heart has grown, just like she wanted.
As I walk back to my car, I text my boss and let him know that I’ll be there.
I rush back to Sawyer’s parent’s house, as I need to get my stuff packed up and head out as soon as possible. I don’t want to be driving through the snowy parts of Tennessee after dark, and leaving today is the only way I’ll be able to get into the office that early.
After I collect my things, I find Maryann in the living room putting more presents under the tree. When she sees me with my luggage, her face drops. My voice is weak when I say, “I’m so sorry I have to leave, but it’s a work emergency and if I don’t go, I’ll lose my job.”
“Oh, dear.” She stands, brushing away a wisp of her hair as she approaches me, taking my hand in hers. “Well, we’d sure love for you to stay, but of course, we understand if your job is on the line.” She pulls me into another one of her amazing hugs, rubbing my back. “We’ll miss you terribly but will be looking forward to hearing from you soon.” Pulling away, she pats my cheek. “In case you don’t already know it, you’re welcome here anytime. It doesn’t have to be a holiday. This is your home now, okay?”
Her words warm my heart. “I do feel at home here, and I can’t wait to come back. Thank you—for everything.”
Stephen pats my back and wishes me well before I head out the door and back into my car, stepping into the driver’s seat after putting my luggage in the trunk. My mind spinning, I can’t help but think back to the book that Eleanor had us take. Maybe it will help us find love. Sawyer is with Françoise and maybe, just maybe, I’ll meet somebody when I get back to Atlanta.
Anyway, I need something to believe in. It’s almost Christmas after all. After I start the engine, I text Sawyer and tell him I have to leave, but I don’t hear back from him. It’s just as well.
I pull away, not looking forward to the four-hour drive I’ve got in front of me, but it’s definitely better to do it now and get a decent night’s sleep before getting up at six a.m. I don’t even want to do the discovery for this case—I hate seeing a big corporation take advantage of an injured, elderly man. But it’s my job.
Heading toward the highway, I go through downtown, passing the big, beautiful Christmas tree in front of the courthouse. The one I was supposed to stand in front of tonight and hang an ornament and make my wish. I didn’t have one anyway—I couldn’t bear to do it without Eleanor. At the stoplight, I study the courthouse—it’s such a pretty bricked building with large Roman pillars. It makes me remember the time Eleanor and I put a time capsule inside the wall behind a loose brick in the side of the building. We pinky-swore to wait until we were thirty to dig it up, but we opened it a few years back when Eleanor got sick. It had our Furbies, Barbies, and our tween diaries, which talked about how we were in a fight because we both wanted to marry Zac Efron. We got a good laugh opening it.
Those were the days, and they’re gone now, and I can’t help but feel nostalgia for those moments that I thought would never end.
My phone buzzes. It’s Sawyer, and I don’t answer because I don’t feel like talking to him right now. I need time to recover from everything that just happened.
He calls several more times, but I let it go to voicemail. Then he sends me a string of texts, but I don’t read them.
I just can’t right now.
An hour and a half in, I’m listening to the hum of the tires against the road and being careful to avoid the ice patches. The full moon’s illuminating the night sky when my phone rings through the car speakers, and I jump. The dashboard screen says that it’s an unknown Tennessee phone number. Is Sawyer trying to call me from someone else’s phone to get through? I don’t know, but something tells me to answer it, so I do. “Hello?”
“Is this Dawson?” It’s a woman’s voice.
“Yes.”
“This is Cindy Thomas. I have the broccoli dog Christmas ornament that belonged to Eleanor. I’m so sorry—my boys took it off the tree last year thinking it was ours. I just found it with the wrapping paper.”
My breath stops in my chest. When I finally manage to inhale, I say, “Oh, wow. You have it?” My vision blurs, and I fight to keep my focus on the road.
Cindy sighs. “Yes. I’m sorry again, but can I bring it to you after Christmas? I’m trying to get Christmas Eve dinner cleaned up and presents wrapped for tomorrow.”
Without a beat of hesitation, I say, “Is it alright if I come get it? It’s a really important part of the Quinn family Christmas Eve tradition.”
“Sure, of course. I’ll text you my address.”
“Thank you so much. I’ll be there in an hour and a half.”
“Sure.” Cindy’s voice goes soft. “I’m sorry again, Dawson.”
“It’s okay. I’m just thrilled you found it.”
I take the first exit off the highway and turn around. Once I’m safely heading back, I call my boss, expecting to leave him a voicemail. I already know what I’m going to say.Tomorrow is Christmas, and I have family obligations. I’m sorry.
He answers with, “Dawson Wright.”
“Hello, sir.” My voice shakes. Icannotconfront him like this.
“I hope you’re in Atlanta. We could use your help tonight if you can get to the office.”
I sit, staring at the road ahead, not able to open my mouth. I can’t find my words. This is what happens when I try to confront authority.
