The Christmas House Read online

  “Wyatt does have a wonderful face, and he is a wonderful man. What a surprise it must have been to see him. Tell me again how you know each other?”

  The entire thing was ridiculous, as was the obvious reference to Wyatt’s looks, even if her grandmother was right about his face. Charlotte fiddled with the edge of her napkin. “He lived in our building for a year, and he also went to our school. One day his family just took off,” she said, not mentioning it was the same day her dad had left too. She didn’t want to get into all that.

  Her grandmother turned to her, her eyes pensive. “It can’t be a coincidence after all these years that he just happens to be the man who bought the house next to mine.”

  Charlotte crossed her arms, refusing to agree. “Grandma, that’s exactly what it is.”

  “Of all the small towns and properties …”

  Charlotte rolled her eyes but softened her rebuff with a smile. “Coincidence.”

  “Providence.”

  Oh, no. “Grandma, please. He was born in Silver Springs before he moved to Toronto. His aunt lives here. That’s why he’s here.”

  “Still. You have to deliver that gift certificate. It would be fraud if you didn’t. You accepted money from Mary.”

  Charlotte let out a choked laugh. “I wasn’t planning on pocketing the money. I was just going to … mail it.”

  “Charlotte, you will do no such thing. Deliver it. He would never be upset by you bringing over a gift from his aunt.”

  “Well, why didn’t Mary just give it to him?”

  “She wants you to give it to him,” her grandmother said, lifting the wooden spoon to her lips and taking a taste.

  “Why do I get the feeling that I’m being set up?”

  Her grandmother smiled. “Because you are! Mary is just trying to look out for Wyatt, and she wants to see him happy again. I’ve talked a lot about you and how proud I am of everything you’ve accomplished with your business. It’s harmless. You should be flattered. Wyatt is a man many women have pursued, but with no luck.”

  There was no way she’d ever pursue a man, let alone a cop. Charlotte took down two white china bowls with holly rims and placed them on the counter beside the stove. She had no idea how she was going to reply to this one without hurting her grandmother’s feelings. “I’m flattered Mary likes me and thinks that I’d be a match for her nephew, but you can’t just throw two random people together and think magic will happen. I’ve told you before, I have no interest in a relationship. I like my life the way it is.”

  Grandma Ruby pursed her lips and silently filled each bowl with the hearty soup. “First of all, you are not random people. And you know I’m all for pursuing your dreams and having ambition. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t. But when you’re not admitting things to yourself and hiding from the truth, you need to examine why.”

  “Hiding from the truth?” Charlotte said as she picked up the soup-filled bowls and brought them to the table.

  Grandma Ruby nodded, her hair bopping with the motion as she sat down across from her at the large farmhouse table. “Yes. The truth is that you hide from people and meaningful relationships. And I’m not one to judge … I’ve pushed important people away too and I’m not sure that was right, in fact I’m certain it wasn’t right. Don’t be like me and figure it out too late. We were not made to be alone, Charlotte.”

  “I don’t need a man to make me happy, Grandma,” she said, trying not to sound defensive.

  “Lord knows we don’t need men. I’m talking about people in general. You have no one. Next thing you know, you’ll be coming here on your visits carting five cats with you.”

  Great. Her grandmother thought she was going to become a lonely cat woman. “I’m allergic.”

  “You know what I mean. I never hear about you going out with friends or going on vacation with people or any kind of meaningful relationships. Your sister, on the other hand, dives headfirst into relationships and makes bad choices.”

  Charlotte ignored the bit about her, because she was still reeling from the cat-lady assumptions and leaned forward. “You think Will was a bad choice too?”

  Grandma Ruby lifted a filled spoon to her mouth and raised her eyebrows. “I think we both know the answer to that.”

  “Have you heard anything from Olivia?” Charlotte asked, relieved that she hadn’t been wrong about Will. Not that she wanted her sister to be married to a jerk, but she didn’t want to be the only one who thought so. She hadn’t heard from her sister in weeks. Up until Will, they had been in contact daily. Phone, text, they always knew what was going on in each other’s lives. But Olivia had slipped away from Charlotte so gradually that she hadn’t even noticed at first. A day became a week, then a month. She understood that being a new mother was difficult, but the distancing had started even before baby Dawn was born. Charlotte had been pushed out. She didn’t really feel welcome in their home, and Olivia’s husband, Will, hadn’t ever been conversational or warm with her. Olivia would rattle off excuses about Will being an introvert or stressed out from work. Charlotte had wanted to throw Olivia a baby shower but had been emphatically turned down.

  “No, I didn’t manage to talk to her but I did leave a message. Hopefully she and that adorable little baby will still be able to come for Christmas. It would be wonderful to have you all home,” Grandma said, stirring freshly grated Pecorino Romano cheese into her soup. The comforting aroma of the soup and freshly baked bread in the old kitchen filled Charlotte with an unexpected longing for her childhood. There had been a simplicity to it—even though it had been far from perfect, it had been simple in comparison to now. There had been absolutes—she had a sister who was also her best friend, she had a mother, a grandmother … and no father. But they’d been happy when they visited The Christmas House. She blinked back tears and tried to focus on the warmth and sounds from the fire crackling in the room, the view of the snow-covered hills that ran into the frozen-over river out the window. That feeling, the one that had gripped her as Wyatt had walked away last night, snuck up on her again. She didn’t like it. It was this house, her grandmother. Too much … feeling.

  “I guess she’s just busy with Dawn,” Charlotte said, forcing a smile. She didn’t want to expand on any of it because it would hurt to talk about how rejected she felt.

  “Well, new babies are a lot of work, and the transition to motherhood isn’t a piece of cake for most,” her grandmother said, tasting a spoonful of the soup.

  “I’m sure. Maybe I’ll text her tonight and see if we can get an answer,” she said.

  Her grandmother put her spoon down and frowned at her. “Pick up a telephone, child, and hold it to your ear. You should let her hear the softness and concern in your voice. A text is void of emotion and feeling.”

  Charlotte brushed off her embarrassment. “That’s what emojis are for, Grandma.”

  Her grandmother’s eyes narrowed. “Stop ignoring your problems, Charlotte. Face them.”

  Charlotte’s mouth dropped open. “What? I thought we already established that Will was the problem.”

  Her grandmother let out a muffled laugh. “Will may have his issues, but you are the one I’m concerned about.”

  Charlotte leaned back with a huff. “What? I’m the one who has my life together, Grandma.”

  “Yes, sweetheart. All you young people have your lives together. Wyatt too.”

  She knew better than to argue. She toyed with her spoon. “Wyatt said something about owing you one. What did he mean by that?”

  Her grandmother raised an eyebrow, a small smirk appearing on her mouth. “Maybe you’ll find out if you deliver that gift certificate.”

  “I don’t need to know that badly,” she said with a laugh.

  Her grandmother raised her eyebrows. “We’ll see. Oh, also, your mother called this afternoon. She’ll be arriving any day now.”

  Oh no. She had counted on having the entire week leading up to Christmas Eve with just Grandma Ruby. “Mom’s co
ming before Christmas?”

  “Yes. She promised she would be here the day before Christmas Eve at the latest. Apparently she’s very busy at work.”

  Charlotte tried to swallow the soup that had tasted amazing just a minute ago, but which she now had trouble getting down. Her mom would bring holiday drama, hidden resentment, and anger. Of course Charlotte wanted to see her … kind of … but the thought of a low-key Christmas was also appealing. She wasn’t going to tell her grandma that her mother was most definitely not working herself to the bone—last she heard she was off “finding herself” for the tenth time in her adult life. Charlotte wanted to change the subject. “Right … This is all delicious, Grandma.”

  “Good. I’m glad you enjoy it. It’s always nice to cook for a loved one.”

  Charlotte fiddled with her spoon for a moment and then took a deep breath.

  “How did you become such good friends with Wyatt?”

  Her grandmother broke off another piece of bread and chewed slowly before answering. “Not how you would imagine, probably. But when I met Wyatt, he was a very different man. He came back here to start over with his daughter about two years ago. His wife just plain walked out on them one day. His Aunt Mary helps out as much as she can. He had a lot on his plate, getting over the end of a marriage and moving forward with a very grueling career.”

  Charlotte swallowed the flavorful soup too, with difficulty. That wasn’t what she’d expected. A pang of sadness hit her. He deserved more than that. But what did she know? Maybe he had turned out to be someone very different from the man of her twelve-year-old dreams. “That’s a lot to handle,” she said, finally.

  Her grandmother nodded. “It is, but he did it. Wyatt is one of those people that I consider family. As I always say, blood is a cheap substitute for true love.”

  Charlotte’s heart squeezed at the old saying. She knew enough about her grandmother’s past to know why she could say that. They didn’t know all the details, but whenever her mother or Grandma Ruby would talk about the past, she and Olivia would cling to the tidbits and try to piece together the real story. Whenever they’d asked for the details, they were told it was in the past and no one wanted to discuss it.

  “So, Grandma, how are you feeling? I didn’t want to get into things with Wyatt here earlier, but are you okay?”

  Her grandmother reached for the bottle of Perrier, but Charlotte grabbed it first and poured her grandmother a glass. “Thank you, dear. Yes, I’m fine. Still fine enough to run a big old place like this if that’s what you’re getting at.”

  Charlotte took a drink of water and stared at her grandmother from across the rim of the glass. “Of course. I’m just looking out for you. I was thinking that while I’m visiting I can help you get ready for the season at Christmas House.”

  Her grandmother’s eyes widened, her sky-blue eyes sparkling. “I was hoping you’d say that. I would love the time with you. But I also know you have a career and a business to run, so I don’t want you to put yourself out.”

  Charlotte shook her head. “Not at all. This is long overdue. Starting my organizing business was crazy, but honestly, the month of December is dead. No one has time to organize their life in December.”

  Her grandmother’s lips twitched. “Except Wyatt.”

  Charlotte took a long sip of water, wishing it was wine. “Well, we’ll see. Now, January, that will be chaos, but I already have all my ads set up. So I am all yours for the whole month!”

  Her grandmother beamed. “Excellent! We will catch up. I want to hear all the details about your company and life in the city.”

  She loved that her grandmother had always supported entrepreneurship and having big dreams. When she’d started her company three years ago, her grandmother had been the one to give her that final push and confidence boost. While it hadn’t exactly been easy, she was able to support herself, and her business was growing. She had every reason to expect that she’d be able to pull this thing off. “Well, I’m happy to give you all the details. Should I get us a bottle of wine?”

  Her grandmother’s eyes lit up. “Yes! Find something that you like in the cold cellar. Good idea. A little wine is exactly what we need.”

  Charlotte stood, ready for a glass of wine. “I’ll be right back.” A minute later, Charlotte placed her foot gingerly on the old wooden steps leading to the basement and flicked on the light switch. Unfortunately, the light only emphasized the dust and cobwebs along the stairwell. She hated this basement—she and Olivia had spent many summer nights under makeshift tents telling ghosts stories with their grandmother’s basement as the setting. It was decent—as decent as a basement predating the 1850s could be—but it was unfinished and rough by today’s standards.

  She gripped the wobbly handrail, as the stairs were uneven, and took a sharp turn at the end. Stopping once she reached the bottom, she surveyed the area, her gaze taking in the groupings of cardboard boxes and random pieces of old furniture. More importantly, she scanned for any sign of mice, bats, or spiders larger than a quarter; the ghost stories had also starred life-sized rodents that attacked. She hadn’t been able to rid herself of that particular childhood memory.

  Walking to the cold cellar as efficiently as possible, Charlotte entered the small room, leaving the door open for light. She scanned the full rack for the right wine and quickly grabbed a bottle, relieved she didn’t have to spend longer than necessary down there. Making her way across the dusty cement floor, she paused as her gaze caught something in the usually empty space. Frowning, she approached the opening in the wall—which she’d always assumed would be the perfect place for an ax murderer to hide.

  She held her breath, her eyes on a box with her mother’s name written on it, sitting on the ledge. Chewing her lower lip, she wrestled with her conscience. She should just walk away. It wasn’t hers. It was probably an empty box anyway. Or maybe just filled with loose change and hair clips or something insignificant like that. Then again, if it was so insignificant, it probably wasn’t that big a deal if she opened it. And it was odd that it was down here. Maybe her grandma had misplaced it and was looking for it. Then Charlotte could give it to her.

  There, she was going with that. She touched the smooth surface of the wooden box and opened the lid.

  Her breath caught at the sight of a pink, knit baby’s dress and hat; her mother’s, no doubt. An envelope with her mother’s name in her grandmother’s cursive writing sat on top. She tugged on her lower lip and gingerly opened it. A copy of her mother’s birth certificate, with her mother’s birthdate along with her grandmother’s name stared at her. It took her a moment to pick up on what seemed odd about the name staring at her … Miss Ruby Harris. She had thought that “Harris” was her grandmother’s married name. And she’d thought her grandmother had been married when her mother was born. The space beside the father’s name was blank. Charlotte’s heart rattled around furiously as she held the paper in her hand.

  “Charlotte, are you all right?”

  Charlotte gasped and hastily shoved everything back in its place, her cheeks burning as though she’d just committed a crime. As she walked back upstairs, her hands were still shaking at what she’d uncovered. The box of mementos from her mother’s birth … the missing information on the birth certificate, all secrets from a past that was obviously supposed to remain hidden.

  CHAPTER THREE

  DECEMBER 24, 1968

  TORONTO

  Ruby opened her eyes, the sensation of the cool washcloth against her forehead calming and reassuring.

  “Dear, please say something. Are you all right?”

  Ruby nodded slowly as her parents grasped her arms, helping her sit.

  Her father leaned forward and brushed her hair from her face. “I know this is a shock, sweetheart. We know how much Richard meant to you. We were all expecting the two of you to announce your engagement.”

  She shut her eyes again as a wave of nausea hit her. Richard. Why hadn’t she been enough? A
part of her wanted to just go back up to bed and cry herself to sleep, but she knew that wouldn’t be possible. He had left her here to face the shame alone.

  She needed to tell them the truth. Before she could grieve Richard, she needed to tell them the truth. “He was going to tell you,” she began but paused as she stared into her parents’ concerned eyes.

  Her mother placed her arm around her shoulders and Ruby wanted to turn into her and clutch her like a child. She wanted to believe that her mother would hold her closer when she found out the truth, that she would whisper that it would all be okay. “We know. He was a fine young man, darling.”

  They helped her stand, and she reached for the staircase railing as she wobbled slightly. She wasn’t sure if it was the same faintness that had been following her for the last two weeks or whether it was knowing that the man who was supposed to be her fiancé had left her alone.

  “Let’s get you off to bed, Ruby. We can talk about this in the morning. You need your rest,” her father said, his typically stern face filled with sympathy.

  Ruby wanted to take that offer to just put everything on hold until the morning, but she knew it wouldn’t get better in the morning. The truth would loom in the darkness tonight, turning itself into an ugly, grotesque monster. She would survive. Her parents would help her. “I … I don’t know how to tell you this. Richard … he was supposed to come here tonight to ask for your permission to marry me … but also, to tell you that I’m pregnant.”

  She watched, with growing horror, as her parents did not move toward her with sympathy, with unconditional love, but instead recoiled as though she were some kind of monster instead of their own flesh and blood. She waited, maybe with the last bit of naïveté left in her body; she waited for the love and grace she had been led to believe would always be there for her. In those few moments she learned what it was like to not be good enough, good enough for anyone to fight for.

  * * *

  “You don’t have to sit and watch me, you know,” Samantha said.