Page 22 of The Christmas Letters
I grunt, swallowing and wiping my mouth on my napkin before speaking again. “Sorry,” I say with a grin. “Didn’t realize how hungry I was. You know you never need a reason to invite me over. I love coming out here.”
“And I love feeding you. This just makes it a win for both of us.” She picks up her book. “Finish your food. Then we’ll talk.”
I make quick work of my sandwich, despite Roxie’s best efforts to make ithersandwich, then haul my trash back to the kitchen. I wash my hands as I look through the enormous open windows above the kitchen sink. Just feeling the ocean breeze coming through eases the tension in my shoulders. This late in the year, the temperatures are mild enough that most days, you can leave your windows open all day. It only gets cool at night, but even then, it doesn’t really qualify ascolduntil January or February.
Back in the living room, I drop onto the sofa next to Grandma Pearl. “All fed,” I say. “What did you want to talk about?”
She closes her book, marking her page with a gleam in her eye that almost makes me nervous. “I had an interesting conversation with Francie today.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Yeah? What about?”
“She told me a beautiful woman came into the café the other day. And she asked aboutyou.”
“About me?” I think of the last beautiful woman I saw, which is just irritating. I don’t need more reasons to think about Tess. Not when she’s already popping into my head on a regular basis.
A surge of longing pushes through me. Longing that things could be different. That Tess’s circumstances were different.
Why couldn’t I have felt a connection with an elementary school teacher from Goose Creek instead of a Society Southern belle?
Grandma Pearl nods. “You, specifically. Well, in a roundabout sort of way. She wanted to know if someone named Max still lives on the island.”
I scratch my chin. “Gran, nobody has called me Max since I was ten years old.” Short for my middle name, Maxwell, Max was the only name I went by for the first decade of my life. I was named after my father, and I guess my parents decided calling me Max was easier than having two Andrews in the house. But a year after he died, I decided I wanted to go by Dad’s name instead. He’d given it to me, after all. It felt like a nice way to honor him.
Gran scoots closer. “But that’s just it. She was looking for a ten-year-old Max. She had a letter. A letter you wrote to Santa right after your parents died. Do you remember?”
I nod, the twinge of sadness filling my chest only eclipsed by my confusion.
A beautiful woman showed up at Francie’s with a letter I wrote to Santa sixteen years ago? How does that even happen?
Grandma Pearl pats my hand. “You were so disappointed when you didn’t get a response. I think that’s what killed Santa for you, wasn’t it? It was heartbreak layered onto heartbreak that year. Apparently though, the letter was lost and never opened. But this woman found it. And she was trying to findyou.”
I’m momentarily lost in memories of that painful first Christmas after Mom and Dad died. I can conjure up exactly how I felt writing that letter, knowing that Santa’s magic was the only hope I had left of things going back to the way they were.
“Do you remember the part where I said the woman was beautiful?” Grandma Pearl asks, pulling me back to the present.
I roll my eyes, finally understanding Grandma Pearl’s enthusiasm. “Beautiful in Francie’s eyes could mean a lot of different things. She calls her sourdough beautiful.”
Grandma Pearl swats my arm. “This is different, and you know it.”
“But I don’t know it. That’s just it. You want me to be excited about some random woman who has a letter I wrote when I was ten years old? What did Francie tell her?”
“She told her to respond, of course. She might have even mentioned that you were a man worth getting to know, and it would definitely be in her best interest to reach out.”
I lean back into the sofa cushions. “So a mystery woman I’ve never seen is going to respond to a letter I wrote sixteen years ago, and I’m supposed to be excited about that?”
“Abeautifulwoman,” Grandma Pearl repeats. “You keep forgetting that part.”
“You know as well as I do that appearance isn’t the most important thing.” If it was, I’d have already called Tess by now.
“Maybe not, but you’ve been so withdrawn lately. It’s been six months since Daisy broke up with you. This could be good for you.”
“Do we know her name?” I ask, mostly just to humor my grandmother.
She frowns. “Unfortunately, no. But she’ll likely include it when she writes.”
“Ifshe writes.”
“Don’t be so pessimistic. Of course she’ll write. Francie made it clear how much of a catch you are. Mark my words, Andrew McKay. This will turn into something.”
