Page 192 of A Merry Mountain Christmas

“You brought him here because it takes a village, Mary.” She looks tired, although I know not to say so, her curly red hair barely held back by an array of clips. She also looks happy in a way I’ve only flirted with. “So rely on your village. Dottie has mentioned wanting to babysit for you several times. And I want all the time I can get with him, and so does Molly.”

“So does Cal,” Molly says. Then makes a face. “Although he has been super busy lately. I suspect he’s up to something.”

“Like cheating?” I ask in shock. Because I’ve never seen two people so clearly into each other as Molly and Cal. (I ignore the little voice in my head that whispers Jace’s name.)

“No,” she scoffs, nearly choking on a sip of her drink. “He’d never dream of it. And not just because he knows I’d neuter him. No, he’s planning some sort of surprise, the dolt. But he can’t pull a fast one on me.”

“Yes, yes, we all know you’re very hard to surprise,” Maisie says, rolling her eyes at me in commiseration. “But back to what I was saying. We’re here for you, Mary.”

“Even Nicole is here for you, and she barely likes anyone!” Molly interjects. “She essentially started up a new Bad Luck Club just for you.”

“Well, it might be a threesome soon,” I say with a little smile at Maisie.

Our little sister lifts her eyebrows. “Kinky.”

“Has Tina told you that she’s meeting Nicole tomorrow to talk about joining our group?”

“Yep,” Molly says smugly. “And I even know why. It’s juicy as hell, but I’m not going to say a word. Presuming Nicole wants to maintain any of Cal’s rules—that’s something of a sore subject for him—Tina will tell both of you herself. But let’s not get too off-topic. Maisie was about to say something inspirational and supportive.”

Maisie throws her ayou scoundrellook and then turns back to me. “We all want the same thing. We want you to be happy. You just have to want it too. The thing is…you’re not neglecting Aidan by seeking out something for yourself. You’re not being a bad mom. What he needs most in this world is a happy mom. One who shows him what it means to be fulfilled.”

Somehow, I have a feeling we’re not just talking about dancing anymore.

My sisters exchange a glance, as if passing a baton, and then Molly says, “It’s not selfish for you to want an adult relationship with a man who’s not a pencil-dick asshole. Or a cheater like Dad.”

There’s a wince of pain on Maisie’s face, and I’m reminded that she only recently learned about his extracurricular activities. Molly’s known for years, and me? I’ve suspected.

“In fact,” Maisie says, rallying, “it’ll be wonderful for Aidan to have a good man in his life. One who can be a role model. He has Jack and Cal, of course, but that’s different.”

I take a big sip of the wine, but it doesn’t stop me from blurting out, “I know. That’s exactly why I can’t be involved with Jace. Because Aidan needs him more than I do.”

“Are you sure about that?” Maisie asks softly.

Before I can answer, which is for the best since I don’t know how to answer, Molly asks, “Is he the kind of man who’d hold it against you if you broke things off with him? The kind who would take it out on Aidan?”

Obviously not. He’s made that much clear.

I don’t answer, but Molly continues anyway. “If not, then what’s the harm?”

My heart.That’s the harm. My heart.

If I let myself give it to Jace, I’m not sure I’ll ever get it back.

I spendthe next day decorating my room. The emerald duvet cover goes on, and I tuck the bra and panty sets into my drawer with a pinch of sadness. I wanted Jace to see them, but he won’t. Maybe no one will.

Once everything is immaculate, I drive to the dance studio near Molly. I told myself it probably wouldn’t be open, but it is. I told myself the owner would be too busy to talk to me, but she confirms that she’s looking for some volunteer help. She’s a French woman named Anette, gruff but lovely, and five minutes into our conversation she asks me to dance for her. Old fears rear up—not good enough, not good enough, not good enough—but I remember what it felt like on Friday night. How it felt like I was flying again after being grounded for nearly half my life, and Idance.

We make an arrangement: as much time as I’d like in the studio in return for helping with her ballet class for preschool-aged kids. The class is on Saturdays, so the first one will be next weekend.

Excitement pulses within me as I head home. Weirdly, although I discussed the dance thing with Molly and Maisie, the person I want to tell is Jace. I put it off, though, because I said we could only be friends, damn it.

It’s early afternoon, and Aidan will be back soon, but I have at least a couple of hours to fill before he returns home. I should probably focus on doing some online shopping—although I have most of Aidan’s gifts, plus spa gift certificates for both of my sisters, I still need something for my niece. And for Tom and Ruth. And for Dottie, who texted me a very sweet offer to babysit and asked about my dear little man. And maybe something for…

My mind, unsurprisingly, turns to Jace—first, to the things we did together—something my mind will spend a lot of time dwelling on, I don’t doubt, and then to our almost argument before I FaceTimed with Aidan. Although it was pretty obvious Jace didn’t want me asking questions about his past, I find myself Googling the man whose car he wrecked. Lester Montague. He made a holier-than-thou statement about Jace’s arrest: “I’m speechless,” it starts, then continues on for long enough to suggest that (a) he has plenty to say, and (b) he’s a liar. “This is a betrayal of the highest degree. That boy is my godson. I’ve attempted to take care of him and his family for years, and this is how he repays me? He knew how much that car meant to me. Still, I’ve asked the court to show him clemency.”

Now I know he’s a liar. Because if he’d actually made such a plea, Jace wouldn’t have gone to jail. There’s no way. The judge was probably his poker buddy, a thought that makes me want to punch through the computer screen to throttle him.

Lester Montague’s online presence suggests he’s an upstanding citizen—a self-made businessman in the construction world, although on a much larger scale than Cal, with two kids, a girl and a boy, and a house with a literal white picket fence. But after all the years I spent married to Glenn, I know how easy it is to create a smoke screen to fool the world into thinking you’re (a) happy, (b) satisfied, and (c) innocent of any wrongdoing. Besides, there’s something off about him. Perhaps I’m toeing into Dottie territory just thinking it, but his smile doesn’t meet his eyes, and his mouth—the corners are too far up.

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