Page 86 of Of Literature and Lattes
Alyssa stared at the picture. Lexi had always been at Alyssa’s house, with Alyssa’s family, even bullying Alyssa’s younger brother as much as she herself had—and she’d been there because Alyssa’s family was safe and her home was a good place to be. And even when Alyssa had felt a sliver of green over Lexi’s warm reception in her own home, she’d also held a little nugget of pride that this was her family and her home.
Alyssa closed her eyes, desperate to “come home” as her mom had just said, but she had no idea how to do that.
“Coming back was a mistake,” she whispered before she raced up the stairs.
“Alyssa,” her mom called after her.
“Janet,” her grandmother barked. “Let the girl alone. You’ve done enough.”
Yes, Mom, Alyssa thought as she reached the upstairs hallway, let the girl alone.
Chapter 38
Years ago Winsome’s town council voted to string lights in the trees lining Main Street during the holiday season. The twinkling trees created such a winter wonderland, town traffic increased a whopping 39 percent. Of course it wasn’t just the lights. It was December, and the year’s fourth quarter always brought more folks to town and more sales to the shops.
Then seven years ago the Chamber of Commerce’s executive director suggested turning the lights back on during the summer. Now every night from Memorial Weekend to Labor Day weekend, Winsome glowed like a storybook. Last summer an artist had made somewhat of a name for herself photographing the site—the image graced the cover ofMidwest Living.
In the wake of the publicity and the magazine cover, shops began to stay open late and offer special sales and giveaways. Couples strolled through town holding hands; families rode their bikes in after dinner for ice cream; kids chased each other around the fountain. Friday evenings turned into the town’s own weekly meet and greet, and the boosted sales numbers sent every store owner home happy and tired at 10:00 p.m.
Worn by late afternoon events, Janet dreaded returning to the Printed Letter for the late shift.
Madeline’s pestering didn’t help. “You don’t look good. Where’s that thousand-watt smile I love? Did something happen? Come on, spill.”
Janet knew she meant well, and most of the time she loved Madeline’s direct and inquisitive manner. It mirrored her own. But tonight she felt bruised and tender and back at the very beginning. She wasn’t even sure what her “beginning” was anymore, other than it felt very low.
Her reprieve from Madeline’s barrage came when Seth walked in the door and invited her for a stroll.
“You look tired. Is everything okay?” He leaned against the customer service counter.
“That’s exactly what every woman wants to hear,” she snapped back.
“Take her away, please,” Madeline called with a laugh. “See what I’m dealing with in here?”
As they walked to an empty bench near the fountain, Seth asked, “What happened today?”
Janet pulled her hand from his and crossed the final two steps to an empty bench facing the fountain. She looked around to make sure no one stood too close. “Why does everyone think something happened?”
Seth raised both brows. “It feels obvious.”
Janet plopped onto the bench. “If you must know, I think we should call off the wedding.”
“What? We are four days away.” Seth dropped next to her.
“It’s not right, at least not right now, if that makes sense. We’re a mess. Our family is a mess, and we’re not coming back together. You want us to be perfect, and we’re not. We never will be, because I’m not perfect, and I can’t go back to what I was, but I... I don’t know how to do this anymore.” She bit her lip against the tears.
“How to do what?”
“Any of this. All of it.” She pressed her fingers to her eyes. “How to do us. I’m messing everything up. I thought I wouldn’t do that anymore,” she whispered.
“Janet, where is this coming from?” Seth twisted to fully face her.
“From me, because it’s right. It’s what we need to do.”
Seth narrowed his eyes and studied her. He was silent for so long and stared so hard she wiggled under his assessment. He finally spoke. His words were soft, but not gentle. They struck just above a whisper. “You have got to figure this out.”
“That’s what I’m trying to do.” Her voice arced high in defense.
“Then take it up with your daughter.” His pitch rose too. “Or if the problem isn’t her, go talk to your mom, because it’s one of them, and I’m tired of it.”
