Page 17 of Miss Humbug
A gust of helplessness blew through me. I felt heavy and useless.
Determined not to dissolve into a funk, I dumped out my suitcase onto my bed. Tailored pieces I wore to the office mixed with upscale sporty clothes tumbled out. Ashe was right. These clothes would make me look like a snob here.
But these were the clothes I had. Not as much black and gray as the old days—I lived in somewhat sunny Bay Area California after all. But the clothes still felt out of place laid against the vintage patchwork quilt on my old iron daybed.
“This is where my lives combine,” I said to the clothes pile.
The clothes didn’t offer any commentary, so I went downstairs to tell Grans the good news. I was staying. I wouldn’t give her an end date. Even holiday magic couldn’t come up with that.
Chapter 6
Marlowe
Once I told Grans I intended to stay through Christmas—to which she nearly wept (nearly, because Grans had tear ducts of steel, unless the situation involved puppies or newborn babies)—she offered use of Gramps’ old car. Gramps passed on while I was in college as an undergrad. His car hadn’t been close to new then, so this would be interesting.
I returned Godzilla’s Mama to the nearest rental car facility, with an assist from Shawn driving Grans’ car to bring me back to the house. Now I had my own free ride. Murdoch, a cushy luxury town car that had been the height of elderly affluence in the decade when it was still manufactured. Gramps named the car after a guy he befriended on a tropical cruise. The inside of the car was spotless. Rich, burgundy velvet with leather accents. It smelled faintly of apple and old playing cards.
Murdoch was a boat compared to my compact Honda in San Jose. Driving this car reminded me of being carted around town before I had my own driver’s license. When I’d filled the back seat with book hauls from the library. Or with friends on the way to the local two-screen movie theater in town.
Today, the tree lighting in town would kick off Grans’ grand games or whatever. Now committed to this thing, it was time to get rolling.
Ashe and Cara arrived at the house to coordinate carpooling into town. The drive wasn’t far, but this was standard practice among the family. Gather in one location and subsequently argue about who rode in whose car.
“Can we ride with you?” Mallory, their middle kid, bounced toward me. The girl literally traveled by bouncing.
I glanced to Ashe. He shrugged. “Fine with me.”
Tyler, their oldest and a middle schooler, sauntered over. He looked like a mini Ashe without the broad shoulders. “I’ll go with you.”
A wash of emotion hit. I’d hang onto that cool auntie vibe for as long as it lasted. “I’m taking Murdoch, so pile in.”
“Might as well take them all.” Cara steered their youngest, Adam, toward me. “Have at it.”
The kids chattered during our uneventful drive into town. Downtown Crystal Cove bustled with joyful looking people. Adults wearing big wide grins and children pointing and exclaiming. A decidedly festive quality permeated the air.
I involuntarily cringed.
I parked Murdoch and began deep breathing. What was the yoga mantra Anna used to say?Omsomething?
“You okay, Auntie Mar-Mar?” my youngest nephew Adam asked. I’d cringe at the nickname if it didn’t sound so darned cute coming out of his squeaky little mouth. Honestly, I was relieved he’d refrained from barking.
“Yup. Everything isperfect.”
He for sure didn’t believe me—or care. I herded him and his two older siblings toward the town square to meet the rest of the family. We found them convened by a row of temporary little shops bordering the square. Ah, the Holiday Haus markets. I snapped a selfie for proof of my full participation. Could I leave now?
Grans strode toward us and I swore the growing crowds parted for her. “Is everyone here and accounted for? I’d like to get the Holly Games started.”
“I thought it was The Great Holly House Caper,” my cousin Riley said.
The Grande dame herself scrunched her nose. “The Holly Games sounds more modern. Like that teen movie Marlowe used to like.”
I coughed. “That was about children forced to kill—”
“It’s not literal,” Grans said quickly.
Ethan arrived, just in time for my sanity. Seeing him instantly eased my urge to bolt. He smiled easily, like none of this stressed him at all.
Okay, I could do this.Wecould do this.
