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Tad glanced at Taison. “Chickadee? That’s Sarah?”
“Yeah, but don’t call her that. She’s too nice to say so, but she can’t stand that name.”
Tad’s brows drew together. Most of the grownups had clustered around the tents and were spiking their cocoa, chatting up a storm. Why wasn’t Sarah with them, joining in the fun? If Aunt Nancy needed a babysitter, surely she could afford one. Or step in herself, if it came to that. AndChickadee,what was that? It made her sound five years old.
Will said something to Suzanna, and the whole group burst out laughing. Sarah made a sour face and turned her back.
“Do they always box her out like that?” Tad was starting to get ticked off on her behalf.
“They don’t mean to, but yeah.” Taison drained his cocoa and crumpled the cup. “She was always the baby, y’know, growing up. As far as they’re concerned, not much has changed.”
Sarah crouched to zip West’s coat to his chin. He said something to her, and she gave him a hug.
“You could go rescue her,” said Taison. “That’d win you some points.”
Tad shot him a sharp look, but Taison was staring into the distance, off past the big house into the dark winter night. He’d turned away slightly, like he wanted to be alone.
“Okay, circle up!” Aunt Nancy hopped up on the back of Will’s truck. She clapped her hands for attention and the chatter died down. “Now, I know we’re all ready to go throw some snowballs, but before we get going, what are the rules?”
“No iceballs,” called someone.
“No hiding in the house.”
“No snow shovel catapults—got that, Uncle Vince?”
A wave of laughter went up, but Tad didn’t join in. Sarah had sat down and was watching the adults team up—Will with Suzanna, Uncle Vince with a rogues’ gallery of older men. A pretty girl dragged Taison onto her crew. She motioned for Tad to join, but he shook his head.
“Everything inside the lights is your safe zone.” Aunt Nancy made a sweeping gesture, indicating the front yard. “Anywhere outside, consider yourself fair game.” She grinned. “Any questions? No? Then, let’s go!” She pulled a klaxon and blew a loud blast. The crowd scattered, cheering, churning up snow. Sarah rose slowly and set off after the kids.
Tad bent and scooped snow, and packed it into a ball. He had an idea, but it’d be tough to pull off.
* * *
Sarah stood seething, fists clenched at her sides. It was happening again, just like always. When would it end? Would she be eighty, still watching the kids? Still brushed off, forgotten, poor Chickadee? So condescending and so, so unfair. She licked her lips, tasting cocoa andonlycocoa, no Southern Comfort to warm her blood. She wished Cassie had been able to come—her best friend, at least, would have had her back—but she was tied up at work. Even Tad had abandoned her, and he was her guest.
“You don’t have to stay with me,” said Amy. “I’ll just slow you down.”
Sarah dredged up a smile. “No way. We’re a team, and teams stick together.”
“Is there space on that team for one more pair of hands?”
Sarah spun to find Tad holding a snowball. Warmth flooded her chest, and she laughed, bobbing her head.
“Of course we’ve got room, if you don’t mind going slow.”
Tad glanced at Amy and his lips quirked up. “Yeah, about that—I might have a plan.”
Sarah eyed him, suspicious. “What kind of plan?”
Tad leaned in and whispered. At first, Sarah frowned, but her expression soon shifted, through incredulity, amusement, and at last, excitement. Tad’s plan was ridiculous—but theepickind of ridiculous. The kind of ridiculous that might win the day. She grinned.
“Hey, Amy?” Sarah asked.
“Yeah?”
“Can you sit on a sled?”
Amy laughed. “I can sit anywhere you want me. It’s what I do best.”
