Page 66 of A Merry Mountain Christmas

“What’s happening?” he asks, as I drive toward the hospital. “Car accident? Shit, was he involved in a hit and run?”

“No, I don’t think it’s anything like that,” I say, then share the weird exchange I overheard at the hospital.

He frowns. “What could have happened? Especially within such a tight timeframe?”

I pull into the hospital parking lot. “I have a feeling we’re about to find out.”

And we do, fifteen minutes later. Or rather Oliver does. With the flu running rampant through Highland Hills, they have a one-visitor policy, and I tell him to go. He doesn’t fight me on it, not that I thought he would. I send him back there with Harry’s phone too.

I pace the lobby, nerves prickling, until Oliver calls me on my cell.

“Well, they’re releasing him,” he says. “But you know how long all the paperwork can take.”

I nod before realizing he can’t see me. “I know. So what the hell happened?”

“Your grandmotherhappened,” he says, sounding mad as hell. It takes a lot to piss Oliver off this much—leave it to my grandmother to manage the impossible.

“What do you mean?” I ask, catching his anger like it’s a flame to my paper. “What did she do this time?”

“I guess she ran into him when he was on his way out of the house, and she told him his skin looked dry. Offered him some of her special cream. He’s allergic to lavender. We think she knew.”

“Fuck, of course she knew. I’m so sorry, man. How does he look?”

“His face is covered with hives. His hands and arms too. They say he’s going to be fine. He doesn’t need anything but topical treatment. He keeps talking about the past repeating itself, but I have no clue what he means. He took a few CBD gummies for the nerves.”

“She needs to be stopped,” I say, anger thrumming through my veins. “She’s trying to make sure he misses shooting so she can be the star. Thatbitch.”

“You’re right,” Oliver says. “I wasn’t on board with your pranks in the beginning, but you’re goddamn right. There’s something missing in that woman, and now she’s rolling other people into her schemes. She’s power tripping.”

“Will you take him home?”

“Of course.”

We hang up, and I’m left more unsettled than when I started the drive from the Labelles’.

I hate the thought of Kennedy being stuck in that house like a princess living with an evil stepmother. My grandmother might not live in the Labelles’ house, but for the next month, it’s her territory, no mistaking that, and she will take every last advantage that role affords her. Over the past several days, I’ve felt my will to destroy the show crumbling because Kennedy wants this, even if her reasons for wanting it have nothing to do with the supposed purpose of the show. But I can’t let this go. I can’t. I turn to keep pacing and almost run smack into my little sister, who’s wearing a pair of overalls that suggest she’s ready totackle some kind of dirty task, even though I’m pretty sure she’s never changed a tire.

“Rowan,” Ivy says, her lips turning down, and I see it now. Ivy has always looked different from the rest of us kids because she got Jay’s light coloring. But we also look more alike than I ever registered. It’s there in the shape of our eyes, the similarity of our noses. The evidence has been there all along, and it’s disconcerting to see.

I shake myself, because Ivy looks fucking pissed, and she’s not going to give me the luxury of a stroll down memory lane.

“You’re finally here, huh?” she says, lifting one eyebrow. Her ability to do so is a gift, according to Holly, who always complains that she can’t manage the trick.

I didn’t come to see Jay, of course, but I can hardly tell her that.

My mind skips to Kennedy, to how I promised her that I’d tell my sisters the truth, Ivy and Willow first of all.

“Is Willow here?” I ask, and something falls in Ivy’s face, like she’s hurt that I asked.

“Can’t talk to me for two minutes without backup?” She says it like it’s a joke, but it doesn’t sound like much of one. I’ve barely said anything, and I’ve already upset her. That has to be some kind of shitty brother record.

“We talked the other day, didn’t we?” I object.

She makes a sound of disapproval. “Willow’s not here, but she wanted to put in one more visit before she heads home to Asheville. She’s coming in fifteen minutes.” Her expression sharpens. “From what I understand, you haven’t seenhereither. Who pissed in your cornflakes? I know it wasn’t my dad because he’s not exactly in cornflakes pissing form.”

“Nana,” I say deadpan, but my heart is racing in my chest. I’m still not ready to talk to him, but maybe I’ll never be ready.Maybe it’s the kind of thing you just need to do, with the hope that you can manage it because you have no choice.

She laughs before she schools her expression. “I’m mad at you.”

---