Page 23 of Second Chance Christmas

The cab driver slipped Gran’s luggage into the trunk and cranked the engine.

No. No. No. Everything was moving too fast. If this is what fate had in store for her, she didn’t want any part of it.

“Listen, sweetheart.” Gran threw her arms around her and pulled her into a hug. “I’m going to give lady luck some love in Vegas and hopefully my boyfriend will do the same. Hopefully, I’m his lady luck and it turns into a spectacular trip.” Ivy pulled back.

“But what if I have to leave? No, Idohave to leave, you know that right, Gran? The job.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll find your footing with your next step and you’ll find the answers you need before you know it. Trust in yourself and you’ll find what you really want. Now go, you have a lot to do and so do I. I don’t want to keep Harry waiting too long.” Gran winked and waved to her as the cab drove away.

What just happened? And what did all that mountaintop prophecy mumbo jumbo mean? Trust herself? Find what she really wanted?

Ivy knew what she wanted. But turning back time just wasn’t an option.

She thought over the events of the entire morning. One big setup. No, this entire trip felt like fate had help to lure her into a trap.

Trust her gut? Her gut never got a thing right, why would it now?

Now alone, she turned her attention to the note again.

Dear Angel, please don’t be mad.

She rolled her eyes. When, in the history of letter writing, did anything good start with that line? Ivy’s eyes crossed and she rubbed at a headache already forming between her eyes before continuing.

You’ll find the money you need in the cookie jar on the counter and a key under the third poinsettia plant from the left.

Back on the porch, Ivy turned in a circle. There had to be a million poinsettias between what lined the railings and every window with a ledge that faced the lake which took up the entire side of the house. “Third poinsettia to the left of WHAT?” There was no beginning nor end to the blanket of red from what she could see.

A sinking feeling weighed in her stomach the farther she read down the letter. Tears of frustration blurred the words into a shimmering sea of black ink.

Mr. Romantic, you remember him from this morning, invited me to Vegas for Christmas and you know how I love the shows and dazzling lights. At my age, you can’t miss such an opportunity. The guest list is in the books and the shopping lists are beside the cookie jar. See you Christmas morning!

Part of her wanted to be mad, but the sensible adult part of her brain felt happy for Gran. That she found someone to be happy with after losing her husband almost five years ago.

She inhaled and let it out slowly. “Okay. So, what about all the paint cans and plastic? The new curtains that need hanging. She would have to do it all herself. But how?” The tight grip around her chest returned. “Fuck me. I hate Christmas! Why can’t it just be over already!” She didn’t expect the closed door or flowers to fess up solutions for her, but it felt good to just let the words out anyway.

Ivy turned over twenty-something flowerpots before finding the key her Gran hid. “I guess she was right. No robber would have the patience to look that long!”

There she went talking to herself again.

She walked back to the front door and slipped the key in, only to be greeted by another wall of frigid air. “No fire either. Great.”

She shut the heavy wood door with a little more effort than she intended, and the thud reverberated throughout the quiet, lonely house.

Each squeaky step across the hardwood floor echoed. Ivy kicked off the noisy rain boots but opted to keep her coat on.

An arched doorway divided the foyer from the rest of the house. Stained glass doors with a domed peak stood wide open, welcoming anyone that entered. When the sunlight followed people through the front door, multicolored light beams would spray the entire house with every cheerful color in the rainbow.

Today, the shroud of clouds that enveloped the town and blocked the sunlight mirrored her mood perfectly.

Walking out of the small foyer, a wall of windows to the left looked out over frozen gardens that waited for the thaw of springtime. Pushed up close to the windows stood a worn yet loved oak table that easily sat twelve to sixteen if they were clever and didn’t mind little elbow room. Two generations of family and friends had bonded over meals and birthday cakes sitting there. The amount of history that table had witnessed astounded her.

A small communal area divided the semi-open space layout before giving way to the gathering area to the right, which invited everyone close with its cozy fireplace and enough seats even the largest of families would fit. Along the back of the sofas were tables that currently held holiday knickknacks, peppermint candy dishes and her gran’s favorite—poinsettias.

She walked past the dining table piled high with the materials she would need for her job and made a beeline for the kitchen, divided by another larger archway and matching stained glass doors that never closed.

She tossed her bag and planner on the counter next to the money and lists Gran had mentioned.

With several flips of her planner, Ivy found the full calendar spread for the month and counted out the days she had to work.

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