Page 10 of Home for Christmas in July

“Hi, Tammy,” we say in unison.

“What’s it going to be?”

“We’ll split an order of poutine,” Noelle tells her.

“What drafts are on special for happy hour?” I ask.

Tammy gives me the stink eye. “Are you really going to make me rattle off fifteen beers when we both know you’re going to order a Frosty Ale like always?”

She has a point. “Fair. I’ll have a Frosty Ale.”

“Big one or a little one?”

“We’re walking,” I tell her. “Make it a big one.”

“You got it. What about you, Noelle? Peppermint martinis are on special.”

“Tempting. But I do love my fries with wine. How about a glass of Mistletoe Merlot?”

“You got it.”

She sticks the pencil back behind her ear and leaves to put in our order.

Across the table, Noelle cocks her head. “So how do you get away with calling Griselda ‘Grizzy’? I’ve always thought of her more like agrizzly,but I’d never dare to say it to her face.”

“She’s got a gruff exterior but she’s a marshmallow on the inside.”

“I know,” Noelle confesses. “She’s the library’s biggest donor.”

“Really? Didn’t expect that.”

“She financed the addition of the children’s wing. She seems to have a special fondness for kids. Kind of strange that she doesn’t have any of her own.”

I shake my head. “I don’t know that she particularly likes kids. It’s probably more that she didn’t have much of a childhood herself. Gris was a stage kid. She was in her first Broadway show when she was seven. Her parents pulled her out of school, and she had tutors on set and when she toured. She’s been working more or less full-time since second grade. She missed out on all the typical kid experiences.”

Her green eyes are sad. “I had no idea.” Then she throws me a puzzled look. “How do you know all this?”

“When Carol got too sick to really exercise, she still wanted to do something physical to feel embodied. Gris came to the house to do restorative yoga sessions with her pretty much every day right up until the end. The three of us ended up talking a lot.”

“Oh.” A heavy silence falls over the table. “I didn’t know,” she says slowly.

She wouldn’t, because at the very end, Noelle disappeared. Carol tried to pretend that her best friend abandoning her as she was dying didn’t hurt, but I could tell it gutted her. The memory of her bewilderment at the betrayal makes my heart pound, and I fist my hands to keep myself from lashing out at Noelle after all this time.

As if she’s reading my mind, she says, “I wasn’t around as much as I should have been at the end.”

“It’s hard,” I tell her. “Some people can’t handle death.” It’s a BS excuse, but I give it to her anyway.

She shakes her head. “No. That’s not it. The last time I saw Carol, I came over to wash her hair and paint her nails.” She pauses and take a shaky breath. “She asked me to do something for her after she died. I didn’t want to tell her no. I mean, who turns down their dying best friend’s last wish?”

This is news to me. I stare at her. “What did she ask you to do?”

“It’s private.”

“Did you do it?” I press.

She sighs heavily but holds my gaze. “I told her I couldn’t. And after that, I couldn’t face her.”

Her expression closes, and I know this topic’s off-limits. Before I can try to find another way in, Tammy’s back with our drinks.

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