Page 54 of Her Counterfeit Christmas
“No, you’re right, but I can hope this week will change their hearts. If not, they will be sorely disappointed when I die.” She puts her feet on the deck and stands. “Thank you for staying with me. Good night, Layla.”
“Good night, Rheta.”
She moves slowly to the end of the deck and to what I assume is the door to her bedroom. I stay a little longer before heading back inside. My conversation with Rheta has given me a few things to think about.
First, I won’t be a silent bystander in my marriage to Spencer. I will compromise, but he can’t expect me to follow silently while he decides what’s best for both of us and our children when they come along. I don’t want to regret my life.
Second, I will build a community wherever we end up. On those nights he stays at the office to work, I won’t stay home alone. I have friends and hobbies. I can lead a full life, with or without him.
Last, I love Rheta’s views on money. I don’t want to hoardit. Spencer said the night he proposed that what was his will be mine when we marry. I want to help people with what we have. I will be generous and bring Spencer along with me. I’ll teach him there’s more to life than accumulating wealth.
My marriage might not be the one I hoped for, but I can make it a good one.
Just before I turn out the light, I catch 11:11 on the digital clock on the bedside table. The wishing minute.
I wish to make a life filled with love and joy, like Rheta has, and I don’t want to wait until I’m eighty to do it.
When I finally fall asleep, it’s with a smile on my face.
Chapter Thirteen
OWEN
When Layla seesmy rental van, she laughs. “This is yours? I thought it was Miles’. Did you bring a band and all their equipment, then secret them in the basement or something?”
Such a ridiculous question needs no response.
I open the passenger door, and she climbs in. Climb is the appropriate word to describe what she has to do to get into the van. It’s high off the ground.
She looks to the back. “You could fit all twenty-four of my Vocal Jammers into this beast.”
“There are only fifteen seatbelts.”
“They’re middle schoolers. We’d manage.”
I shut the door and walk around the front. When I get behind the wheel, there’s a twinkle in Layla’s eyes.
She unbuckles her seatbelt and moves between the two front bucket seats to climb into the back. “If there are anyhills or speed bumps, don’t slow down. I’ll be judging you on how high I bounce.”
In the rearview mirror, I watch her progress to the last row. “You’re seriously going to leave me up here alone?”
“Of course. You’re my chauffeur, so don’t make me dock your pay.”
“I’m getting paid?”
“In candy canes.”
“Obviously.”
Once she’s seated and has her seatbelt buckled, I turn the ignition and pull around the fountain.
I don’t take the direct route to Long Sands Beach. If Layla wants thrills, then I know exactly where to go: my favorite biking hill as a teen. I got some serious air back in the day.
It isn’t a steep incline, but as we near the top, I gun it and go over the crest at sixty miles an hour. The only thing that stops Layla from hitting her head on the roof is her seatbelt. Even in the front, I get the swoopy feeling in my gut. I slow down to the recommended thirty-five miles an hour as the road flattens out.
Layla laughs so hard tears run down her cheeks. “That was awesome. Much better than I expected from the town of York. Eight out of ten.”
I glare at her in the rearview mirror. “That was perfect execution. How did I not earn a perfect score?”
