Page 14 of Christmas Charms
“No, and I really need you to get off of the train. There’s an ice storm headed this way, and we need to clear the track. You’ve got three minutes.” He turns on his heel and leaves, muttering something about visions of sugarplums dancing in my head as he goes.
Okay, then. I’m stuck with the charm bracelet—at least for the time being. I look down at Betty’s note again.
Please wear this…
I take a deep breath, unfasten the bracelet’s catch and secure it around my wrist. I tell myself it’s only temporary, so I won’t lose it before I manage to track Betty down. I’m afraid I might accidentally misplace the lovely piece of jewelry if I jam it back inside the stocking while I gather my things and get off the train. It will be safer if I wear it. I already have a handbag and a giant wheeled suitcase to keep track of, and the Grinch himself is rushing me out the door.
The charms tinkle as I gather my things together, and a strange shiver runs up and down my spine.
Welcome home.
Chapter Five
Igrab the lone cab atthe small taxi stand outside the station instead of calling my dad to come get me, because, true to the Grinch’s word, it’s already started sleeting outside. Granted, my dad spent a large part of his career maneuvering the OLFD’s 42-foot-long ladder truck over steep mountain passes in all sorts of weather, but it’s bad enough I’m showing up unannounced. I really don’t want to make him climb out of his favorite recliner and drive to the train station when it’s on the verge of raining ice cubes outside. And anyway, the sooner I can get indoors for the night, the better.
Sleet pings against the taxi’s windows, and the driver makes animated chitchat as the cab winds its way from the railway station toward Main Street. The town’s namesake lake shimmers in the center of our small village, surrounded by a three-mile walking trail that runs the length of downtown. On the opposite side of the lake, homes sit perched above the frozen water. In the summertime, the surface of Owl Lake is like a smooth mirror, reflecting everything in sight. Now, with the lake frozen over and piled with snow, it’s a breathtakingly pristine blanket of white.
I lean closer to the window for a better view, my breath fogging the glass. I clear it away with a mittened hand, and the charms around my wrist jingle again. The sound is somehow comforting. My heart starts hammering hard in my chest as soon as the lights of downtown come into view. I haven’t seen my hometown all decked out for Christmas in years, and even though my mom has been peppering me with photos, the images on my phone can’t compare with the real thing. Sights I’ve known for as long as I can remember make me feel as if I’ve stepped back in time—the old stone church at the corner with its original Tiffany stained glass windows and exposed rafters of polished maple; the Christmas lights and fir garlands trimming the gabled roof of the chalet-style inn with its sweeping view of the lake; the letters that spelled outWhite ChristmasandHoliday Innon the Palace Theatre’s glittering gold marquee.
A sign announces that the monthly classic movie marathon is showing on the twentieth of the month, just as it always has. My throat grows thick with emotion. With memories.
Not everything has remained unchanged, though. The boughs of the evergreen trees lining the walking trail are covered in snow and twinkle lights as always, but they’re much taller than they were the last time I saw them. I remember my dad and the other firefighters volunteering to plant them as saplings when I was in sixth grade, and now they tower over the roofs of the quaint shops and restaurants on Main Street.
Everything is just like I remember it, but also different, all at the same time. It makes me nostalgic for years gone by, and a very small part of me wonders if coming here is a mistake. I’m confused enough about the state of my life as it is. Do I need the emotions of an overdue homecoming piled on top? I take a deep breath and toy absently with the charms on Betty’s bracelet as we pass the firehouse, standing sentry over Owl Lake at the top of the hill. A sign advertising the annual Firefighters’ Toy Parade stretches from one end of the apparatus bay to the other.
“Almost there,” the cab driver says. “You got here just in time. This storm is supposed to be a doozy.”
Just in time,I repeat to myself. Of course coming back to Owl Lake isn’t a mistake. This is where I belong. I’m home, even if home doesn’t quite feel the same as it used to.
The taxi crests the small hill that leads to my parents’ lake house, where a ribbon of smoke rises from the chimney. One of the fir trees growing in the front yard has red velvet bows tied to its branches and shimmers with white lights. An antique sleigh sits in the middle of the lawn looking like something out of a Christmas card. My parents have always been big on decorating for the holidays, but they’ve really gone all out this year. I press my hand against the window and squint in the direction of the front porch. The interior lights are still on, and I breathe a sigh of relief that I won’t have to sneak inside while my mom and dad are sleeping.
But then I blink—hard—convinced I’m seeing things.
There’s a dog sitting on the welcome mat on the shelter of the wide, wraparound porch. With its luxurious honey-colored coat and gentle expression, the dog looks like it might be a golden retriever mix. A huge red bow is tied around its neck and, despite the icy conditions, the pup looks as if it just arrived straight from a grooming appointment at the pet salon.
When on earth did my parents get a dog? I begged and begged for one when I was a little girl, but the answer was always a firm no. And why hasn’t my mom mentioned it to me?
All those text messages, and zero mention of a new, furry family member. It doesn’t make sense.
“Let me help you with your luggage,” the driver says as I hand him a ten-dollar bill.
“That’s okay, I can get it. I’m sure you want to head home before the roads get any worse.” I climb out of the backseat. “Thanks so much for the ride.”
“Sure thing. You have a merry Christmas, now.” He grins at me as I shut the car door. While I haul my suitcase to the walkway, he turns the cab slowly back toward the main road.
I eye the strange dog warily as I approach the front porch. It stays seated, greeting me with a wide doggy smile and happy swish of its tail. There’s something so familiar about the animal, from its sweet expression and the tilt of its head to the massive bow around its neck. I’m certain I’ve never seen it before, though—definitelynot at my parents’ house.
“Good boy,” I murmur once I get a closer peek at the animal.
The tail wagging intensifies as the golden gives me a melting look that makes my heart feel like it’s being squeezed in a vise. I reach out a tentative hand, and I’m immediately rewarded with a swipe of a warm, pink tongue.
“What’s your name?” I bend to check the dog’s collar, but he’s not wearing one. The bow’s red satin ribbon is the only thing wrapped around his thick, furry neck.
What are my parents thinking? It’s not safe for a dog to be outside on his own, especially without any sort of identification tag. And right now, there’s an ice storm on the way. This sweet pup should be lying by the hearth, gnawing on a soup bone or something.
“Don’t you worry. We’ll get you right inside.” I knock on the front door, and the dog rises to stand beside me, tail beating against my leg with glee.
The door swings open almost instantaneously, and my mom goes wide-eyed at the sight of me.
