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“Well, we’re going to be done here in two shakes of a lamb’s tail,” Opal said. “But I’d like to hear your long story. What do you say we have some lunch? Bernadette and Bettina’s little sister, Rita, owns the coffee shop in town, and Bernadette works the counter on Saturdays so Rita can spend time with her babies in the afternoon. The shop sells these little finger sandwiches that are made fresh a few times a day. Absolutely delicious. I like them because they’re small, so I don’t have to pick just one. Anyway, I can introduce you to Bernadette, we can see if she remembers your daddy, and you can tell me your holiday card story.”
“Umm… Sure.” I shrugged. “Why not? That sounds like fun.”
My new friend Opal drove a bright yellow Volkswagen bug. Light rain started to fall as we went to the parking lot. We took separate cars, but I followed behind her to Rita’s. On the way, I couldn’t help but think this was something I’dneverdo in New York City—agree to have lunch with a virtual stranger. Being down here had me letting my guard down, accepting a friendly person as just being friendly, not having an ulterior motive. The vibe was so different.
When we arrived at Rita’s, the girl at the counter said Bernadette was on break and would be back in a little while. Opal and I ordered iced coffees and four different types of the finger sandwiches. We took seats toward the back of the shop on a comfy leather couch and matching oversized chair. The place reminded me of something out ofFriends. Warm and cozy. A place where you’d meet your crew to catch up on stories.
“I’m all ears.” Opal sipped her coffee and picked up one of the sandwiches. “Tell me your holiday card story, and if your story is good and we have time before Bernadette gets back, I’ll tell you about the time she had a little too much to drink, fell down, and got her high heel stuck in her panties on the way back up.”
I chuckled. “I might have to bolster my story a little to make sure I get to hear yours.”
Opal’s eyes twinkled. “Something tells me your story will be more than enough. Go on, now. Let’s hear why everyone in this town except me gets a Christmas card from you.”
“Well, I grew up in the suburbs of New Jersey. When I was little, my dad used to tell me all these amazing stories about growing up in Laurel Lake. Two years before he died was the first time the town was namedAmerica’s FriendliestbyPeoplemagazine. He was so proud that he told everyone who would listen. Laurel Lake became this mythical, sort of magical place to me. He always promised we’d visit, but my mom is a very successful neurosurgeon, and she works a lot. We’d planned to come a few times, but something would always pop up for her and we’d have to cancel. My dad died very unexpectedly when I was thirteen—cardiac arrest in his sleep. We’d never made it down.”
Opal covered her heart with her hand. “Oh, that’s terrible. Such a young age to lose your father.”
“It was definitely tough. My dad was my best friend. I was never too close with my mom. My parents were a very odd couple—Dad laughed a lot, told tall tales, and had a warm and loving way about him. My mom, on the other hand, is a bit cold—sort of detached and all business, even to me. Her career always came first, and she wasn’t home a lot. To be honest, I never really understood their pairing. But for whatever reason, my dad was over the moon about my mom. He worshiped the ground she walked on.” I paused and sipped my iced coffee. “Anyway, back to the cards. After my dad died, I started spending a lot of time at my best friend Chloe’s house. Chloe was one of seven kids, and they didn’t have that much money, but they all loved Christmas. Every year in late November, they would decorate their house with Christmas cards from the prior year hung on strings. They draped them on every wall in the kitchen and living room. My house was done up for the holidays by a professional decorating team that came in and made everything perfect. I once asked my mother if I could put some homemade ornaments on the tree, and she told me to put them on the little tree in Nilda’s room. Nilda was our live-in housekeeper who also kept an eye on me because my mother was rarely home.”
I nibbled on a sandwich before I continued. “Fast forward five years to when I turned eighteen, and I went away to college and got my own studio apartment in New York. I couldn’t wait to decorate for Christmas that first year—my way, not my mom’s way. So I got five boxes of Christmas cards, fifty in total, and sent them out to all my friends. I think I received one back. In hindsight, most eighteen-year-olds are either too broke to send cards or too wrapped up in their lives to take the time to do it. It made me sad, though, because I’d wanted to hang the cards from string like Chloe’s family did. The following year, I came up with the idea to send cards to strangers and ask them to send one back. The morning after Thanksgiving, I took a picture of myself smiling in front of my Christmas tree. I hand wrote a message in each card saying I wanted to collect cards to decorate my house, and I hoped they’d send me one. I had the Laurel Lake phone book in a box with my dad’s things, so I decided to mail the cards to people who lived here. I figured if they were America’s friendliest people, I’d have a better shot of getting a card in return. That year, I sent out fifty cards and got forty-one back. I gotonefrom my friends the year before, yetforty-onefrom complete strangers. I hung them from string on all of the walls of my little apartment.”
“I love that!” Opal said. “Your dad’s people took care of you after he couldn’t any longer.”
“I never thought of it that way, but yeah, I guess they did.” I sipped. “I still had the cards hanging up in March, so I decided to send Easter cards to the forty-one people who had sent me a Christmas card. The next holiday season, I sent fifty new cards to random people from that phone book, and close to the same number reciprocated. Over the years, I’ve continued to send to the old ones and add new. I think I receive about nine-hundred cards for Christmas now, and a little less for the smaller holidays, like Fourth of July. I go in alphabetical order in the Laurel Lake phone book. I’m up to the Ns now. Some get returned because the book I’m using is outdated, but I enjoy doing it.”
“Makes sense why I haven’t had the pleasure of receiving one from you, then. My last name is Rumsey.”
I smiled. “I’ve sort of become pen pals with a few of the residents of Laurel Lake. I’ve exchanged letters in the cards with some. They tell me what’s going on in their lives, and I do the same. I’ve never met any of them, yet I feel like they’re old friends.”
“That’s wonderful. I’m surprised it took you so long to visit.”
I sighed. “Yeah. It shouldn’t have. Unfortunately, I followed in my mom’s footsteps and spent a lot of years in school and working too much.”
“I hear it’sDoctorPreston.”
I shook my head. “Dr. Preston is my mother. I’m just Josie.”
“We’ve only met and I can already tell you’re far fromjust Josie,sweetheart.”
“That’s kind of you to say.”
Opal finished off one of the finger sandwiches. “So what finally brought you to Laurel Lake now?”
I looked down. “I…had a mental-health crisis and thought it would be best to get out of the city for a while.”
“Pardon my ignorance, but I’m not sure what that means. A mental-health crisis?”
“Basically, I had a nervous breakdown. Everything has a new term these days, doesn’t it?”
Opal reached out and covered my hand with hers. “I’m so sorry. Are you feeling okay now?”
I smiled sadly. “I am. I spent a month in an inpatient facility getting treatment. When I got out, I went home to a pile of mail waiting for me in my apartment. One was a letter from the real estate agent who had been collecting rent from the woman renting my dad’s old house. She said Mrs. Wollman had moved out. I didn’t feel ready to go back to work yet, so it seemed like the perfect opportunity to get out of the city and finally see the town my dad loved so much.”
Opal squeezed my hand. “Well, you’ve come to the right place. Our lake has healing powers.”
“It really is beautiful. There’s a serenity here that you can’t find in New York City.”
Opal nodded. “Can I ask you a personal question, Josie?”
