Page 29 of Mistletoe Sky
Willa hung her head and rubbed her temples under her fuzzy hat. It felt bizarre to stand in the window with Willa, staring into a past they couldn’t return to.
“I’m guessing you wouldn’t go with me,” Amelie said.
But it seemed like Willa didn’t have anything else to say. Amelie tried desperately to read her twin’s mind, but couldn’t figure out how. Maybe they’d lost their “twin connection” long ago.
Suddenly, Willa turned back toward the bed-and-breakfast. “I’d better get home,” she said. “I have things to do. Commercials to film.” She swallowed. “I probably need to find a way to get off this island all over again, before it draws me back into its web.”
Amelie nodded, telling herself that this was only step one, that they’d have more opportunities to go over the events of the past and to heal. Maybe.Please, Willa, talk to me, she did not say.
“What’s it like to ride Mom’s bike?” Amelie asked as Willa waved to Marius through the window, alerting him that she was ready to go.
Willa took a moment to consider it, pressing her lips together. Marius came into the dark and chilly night, tightening his scarf.
“It feels like I’m flying,” Willa said with a soft smile. “I love it.”
Marius nodded hello to Amelie, then wrapped his arm around Willa’s shoulders to guide her back to his horse and buggy. Amelie stood on the sidewalk, watching them grow smaller beneath the towering nightlights, before they disappeared in the inky darkness.
A part of her ached with fear: What if that was the last time I see Willa for another five years? She resolved to fix it if she could.
But she had to go inside and rest. Tomorrow at four a.m., she’d be at the Caraway Fudge Shoppe, doing what she’d done for the better part of her life: make fudge for the tourists and delight everyone with a bit of Christmas cheer. It was what she’d been raised to do.
When Amelie returned to the bed-and-breakfast, she found Pascal at the front counter, smiling at her from behind a pile of paperwork. The trumpeter, Grandma Mary, and the drummer were on the bar stage, jamming out a tune they made up on the spot. Amelie was surprised that Pascal had abandoned the stage, as she’d come to find that he was addicted to it. At the look in his eyes, her heart melted.
“So,” Pascal said, tapping the tip of his pen against a pad of paper. “You’re that Amelie.”
Amelie swallowed the lump in her throat.
“And that was Willa?” Pascal asked.
Amelie nodded, suddenly exhausted. “I haven’t seen her in five years.” Tears spilled from her eyes. She tried to mop them up with the sleeve of her coat, but ended up coating herself with snowflakes.
Before she knew it, Pascal was before her, his arms outstretched. When she flinched into a nod, he hugged her gently and let her cry against his shoulder. It was the comfort sheso needed, the comfort she’d thought would never come to her. When the guests left for the night, including Grandma Mary, who went home in a carriage, Pascal made Amelie a mug of hot cocoa, carried it up to her bedroom, and told her to come to his room if she needed anything at all. “You’re in safe hands,” he said. “Mackinac people take care of their own.”
Chapter Fifteen
Willa
December 2025
The following morning, Steve, the cameraman, called to discuss next week’s filming schedule. Willa was jittery, stationed at the kitchen table of Rosemary Cottage with a fourth cup of coffee, her mind elsewhere. She had to ask Steve to repeat himself three times on a simple subject, cursing herself for her lack of professionalism. But what had the Christmas Festival Committee expected? She was in over her head emotionally. She couldn’t handle this.
“Are you okay, Boss?” Steve asked Willa, using the nickname he’d lovingly given her after she’d gotten her big promotion—a promotion he’d said she should have gotten five years ago, at least.
“I’m fine,” she said. “It’s just, you know, another world up here.”
“Should I be worried?” he asked. “What should I do to prepare myself and the crew?”
“I think you’ll love the island, and the people, and all of it,” Willa said.
“Then why don’t you?” Steve asked.
“I do,” Willa said. “Maybe that’s the problem.”
Shortly after that, they hung up. Willa worked on the timeline for an hour or so, which included determining where they had to be, when they could secure certain shots given the light and weather forecast, and so on. It was work she was accustomed to, having done it even before her promotion as a “hotshot advertisement director.” But right now, sitting so close to where her sister had probably already opened the fudge shop for the morning, everything felt empty and purposeless.
Before Willa knew what she was doing, she was bundled up and back on her mother’s bike, heading toward town. Another snow was falling, but the road wasn’t slick in the slightest, which she was grateful for. The scarf protected most of her face, save for her eyes, which felt frozen and bright. The lake was gorgeous beneath a thick, gray sky. How she loved this island! She loved these gorgeous trees and the few birds that remained.
As she biked, she thought back to yesterday, her day with Marius, and their dinner. After the chaos of seeing Amelie for the first time in five years, she hadn’t known what to say to Marius. In the carriage back to Rosemary Cottage, she’d clasped her hands and whispered, “I’m sorry. I’m all out of sorts.” Marius had taken her hand, handling the horses’ reins with his left one. He’d said, “You never have to explain anything to me.” She’d bit her tongue to keep from crying.
