Page 52 of Home for Christmas in July

His grin evaporates. “Yes,” he says carefully.

“She asked me if I still had feelings for you.”

“She what?”

The only way out is through, I remind myself, paraphrasing Vermont’s favorite poet. Then I blurt, “She said that she wanted us to be here for each other after she was gone.”

He scrubs a hand over his face. “I don’t understand.”

“I don’t know,” I wail. “I hate that she died thinking I was lusting after her husband.”

I don’t know how I expect him to respond to this confession. But it’s definitely not by laughing in my face. And yet, that’s exactly what he does.

Unamused, I flop back against the bench, cross my arms, and wait for him to stop cracking up. Finally, he wipes his eyes with the back of his hand and takes a long breath.

“Sorry, Noelle. I can tell this has been eating at you.”

“Well, yeah.”

“Carol didnotthink you were lusting after me.”

I give him the side-eye. “Hmph. Sure seems like it.”

“How do I explain this?” He clicks his tongue against his teeth. “Okay, you know how some folks are really specific when they write their wills because they want to make sure their cherished possessions end up with people who truly appreciate their rock collection or first edition books or whatever?”

“I guess.”

“That was Carol. At the end, she spent a lot of time trying to decide which of the girls would most love each piece of jewelry, which friend would want her sewing machine, who would take good care of her signed hockey puck. She chose something for everyone.”

“This just confirms she was upset with me. She didn’t choose anything for me.”

The grin is back. “Yeah, she did. She gave you me.” He stands up. “Come on. Let’s go get the clue before the bell rings again.”

I stare at his outstretched palm for a long moment. Then I take his hand and let him haul me to my feet and across the vestibule to a twisting flight of stairs.

CHAPTER 22

Nick

“How many more steps?” Noelle wonders aloud as we pass through the second-floor choir loft and take a shorter set of stairs to a small hallway.

“It can’t be much further.” I hope so, at least. The air up here is hot and stuffy.

At the end of the narrow corridor, there’s a door set in the wall. Noelle opens it and pokes her head inside. From behind her, I can see a ladder to the next level.

She groans, and I give her a reminder. “It’s better to keep moving. We don’t want to be up there when the bell rings again.”

She steps aside and ushers me forward. “Lead the way.”

“Why do I feel like this is a ploy so you can look at my butt?”

“Because it is.” She giggles.

I’m glad to see her laughing. She was so distressed when she sat me down on the bench. I couldn’t imagine what she wanted to tell me. Definitely did not see ‘your wife was trying to set us up from her deathbed’ coming.

But, in retrospect, that’s how Carol was. She probably saw something Noelle and I didn’t. She was insightful that way. And she wasn’t one to sit by and leave anything to chance—not when it came to the people she loved.

And she was right, wasn’t she?

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