Page 45 of Her Counterfeit Christmas
When we arrive, the small peninsula is packed. Thefirst time I came here, I expected Sohier park to actually be a park. It’s more of a rocky outcropping with a grassy spot to one side. During low tide, a small stretch of rock reaches across five hundred feet to the rocky island where the Nubble Lighthouse sits. It’s high tide now, and the ocean beats against the rock on both land and island. It’s a dull rumble compared to the roar of voices from the hundreds of visitors who have the same idea as Grandmother.
On the left of the grassy area, Santa sits on a large red throne. A line of children and their parents winds back to the parking lot. Nearby are real reindeer grazing on hay. Bells twined through their antlers jingle as they move.
To the left are a line of pop-up shops, nothing more than tables, canopies, and homemade products ready to sell. From jewelry to jam, baked goods to loomed rugs. If anyone has procrastinated their Christmas shopping until three days before Christmas, at least they have a wide selection of gifts to choose from.
Layla twirls in a circle, her eyes bright as she takes in all the goods for sale and tells Brady, “My nana sold at markets like this almost every weekend until a few years ago.”
“What did she sell?” Brady asks.
“Knitted items like socks, mittens, hats, and sweaters. I spent so much time with her. This is almost like coming home.”
“Cool.”
“Brady,” Mom calls from a booth. “I want to show you this.”
That leaves me and Layla at the back of the group. She stops at a handmade jewelry table and runs her finger alonga necklace with an angel pendant carved from bone. The tag attached says fifty dollars. With a sigh, Layla moves on.
“You’re not going to get it?” I ask.
Fifty dollars is nothing, especially when dating Spencer Eccleston.
“No. I don’t need any more jewelry.”
In my family, need is rarely taken into consideration when purchasing items. Her restraint is an admirable quality.
Or … maybe it isn’t restraint? The way she walks away so reluctantly has me wondering if it’s because she doesn’thavethe money to purchase something frivolous. Not even fifty dollars. I count the clues: she’s a school teacher. Her grandmother lives in an assisted living center. Layla has no family to help her financially. How did I not realize this earlier?
My entire perspective on Layla’s relationship with Spencer shifts. Could it be that she isn’t overly interested in money like he claimed, but instead she needs money to survive? Spencer said she wanted to marry for the safety wealth offered. I disregarded it at the time, but maybe that’s the key to understanding the Layla puzzle.
Layla’s phone rings. After looking at the screen, she quickly answers.
“Hello?” She glances at me for a moment, then weaves her way through the crowds to the perimeter of the shops.
I catch glimpses of her between groups of people passing. Next to me is a table selling popcorn. I buy a bag of caramel and munch on it while I wait. The longer Layla’s on the phone, the more her free arm waves through the air as she speaks. When she finally hangs up, she’s blinkingback tears. I weave my way through crowds until I reach her.
“What’s wrong?”
She wipes under her eyes. “Nothing.”
“Maybe I can help.”
She laughs bitterly. “You can help as much as I can since we’re both in York and not Salt Lake.” With a shake of her head, like she’s dislodging something from her thoughts, she explains. “It was the daytime front desk attendant at Brock Pine.”
“Bennie?”
“Yeah. Bennie.” She says his name like a curse. She wraps her arms around herself as if for comfort. “My nana slipped past him and out the door. She was lost for most of the day until they found her in Target. Last time he allowed her to leave, she fell. This time she could have been hit by a car or, I don’t know … kidnapped.”
No one is going to kidnap an old woman, but Layla’s scared and not thinking logically. I try to lighten her mood since her nana is safe now.
“Granny-napped more like.”
Layla shakes her head like I’m ridiculous, but gives a small smile. I’d love to reach out and pull her into my arms, but that isn’t my place as herfriend. It’s Spencer’s, and the idiot isn’t here.
“She’s okay, I know,” Layla says. “But I worry about her, and I feel so powerless, especially when she’s so far away. Bennie better not let her get out again because I have a roommate who is devious when it comes to payback.”
It isn’t Bennie’s job to keep the residents in. They can leave at any time, though they are supposed to check outbefore they go. But Layla’s grandma has memory issues. That would be scary.
She walks back into the crowds. I go with her.
