Page 49 of Her Counterfeit Christmas
Christmas lights outlining all five structures on the island, including the Nubble Lighthouse and the keeper’s cottage, turn on at once. The crowd collectively gasps. Even Brady seems impressed as his eyes widen at the sight.
A cheer goes up, but I’d guess no one claps louder than Layla.
Just as Grandmother demanded,back at the cabin, everyone shows up at dinner. Once again, I’m seated across from Layla and Spencer during the meal. Whenever my eyes wander in their direction, Spencer touches Layla. A hand on her wrist. An arm along the back of her chair. If he leaned any closer to her, he’d tumble into her lap.
From the way Layla glances at him with a wrinkled brow and a slight frown, I’m left believing his behavior is all for my benefit. I want to tell him to grow up, but I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing how irritating I find the constant touching.
I stew about what Layla told me today: they hadn’t been dating recently until they met up Friday night and he invited her to Maine.
I stew about what Layla didn’t tell me: her love for Spencer.
If not love, then it must be all about the money. Her motivation is honorable if it’s to take care of her grandma. It makes me sad. She deserves to be adored and spoiled with love by someone who will sacrifice and put her needs first. What a sorry situation thatshe’s not marrying the kind of man who will do that for her.
Mom nudges me with her elbow. When I look over, she mouths, “Grumpy Face, what’s wrong?”
I sit up straight with a shrug and smile, banishing my grumpy thoughts.
Dorian shares a story about a client who got drunk, stuck his head through the bars of a handrail, and was then robbed by some marauding teens on their way to school the next morning. He’s a talented storyteller, and everyone but me laughs throughout the telling.
I have never been with my extended family in a lighthearted situation like this. During the summers I spent here, meals were serious affairs. This is what it should have always been like. I understand why Grandmother brought us all together for the week: to make memories like this.
Since Dad’s funeral, I’ve carried around a knotted ball of anger in my chest. Right now, as I watch everyone laugh and joke together, a few of those knots unravel. They’ve been the villains in my story for so long, it feels odd to see their humanity. I quite like my grandmother after today. Ellory and Dorian may be selfish, but they aren’t evil.
Grandmother stands. “Shall we have our carol singing in the music room? Layla has graciously offered to play the piano for us.”
I’ve always been confused by the house having a music room when no one plays music, but it comes in handy tonight. We file down to the basement and into the music room, which comprises a piano and a few dozen folding chairs.
Grandfather had the cabin built on a slope, so thebasement opens into the backyard. Much like upstairs, the back of the house is mostly windows. No ocean views here, just trees.
As we pull out the chairs and set them up in a semi-circle around the piano, I overhear Layla speaking to Spencer.
“The case will not make itself,” he says.
“Stay for thirty minutes. Everyone else is here.” She points to Dorian and Ellory. Even Tori showed up after putting Sadie to bed.
Spencer’s erect posture softens when he notices me watching them. “You’re right. I can stay. It’s been too long since I heard you play.”
I’m surprised he’s heard her play at all, but I suppose they have dated some of the year, if not recently. Layla kisses his cheek before she sits at the piano. It’s the first time I’ve seen her show him physical affection, and it turns my stomach sour.
Miles hands out music books. We start with “O Little Town of Bethlehem.” I’m not sure Uncle Dorian has ever sung a note in his life, but under Grandmother’s watchful eye, he joins in. We’re not great, but we’re not terrible either.
Grandmother claps and laughs. “I planned for us to sing to a recording, but this is so much better.”
I can’t help but think of Grandfather missing out on this Christmas. The first happy family Christmas we’ve ever shared. It must make him miserable to know he’s not here to ruin it.
With each song, we get worse, and Grandmother’s laughter gets louder. She finally ends the misery after our fifth song.
“Good night!” she says with a wide wave of her arm, likeshe’s Santa Claus. “Thank you for making this old woman’s evening so memorable.”
She’s cackling as she leaves the room.
Layla plays a song with an unfamiliar melody. Spencer goes to the piano and talks to her for a few minutes, but her fingers never stop dancing across the keys. I can’t look away. The music makes her happy, and she literally glows.
Everyone in the family leaves but for me and still Layla plays. I’m drawn to her and step closer until I’m only a few feet away. The last chord reverberates around the room. I feel it in my chest.
She looks up and says, “I thought everyone had left.”
“You’re an amazing musician.”
