Page 39 of Mistletoe Sky
Maybe Amelie was at the jazz bar, celebrating with the other revelers, watching the blizzard come in. Maybe Willa could find it within her heart to embrace that happiness. She pictured another version of herself on stage, maybe with a microphone, belting out a Christmas song as Pascal and Amelie clapped along. The vision of it made her laugh and brought tears to her eyes.
But when Willa reached the bed-and-breakfast, she found that the bar was dark and closed up for the night. Nobody else was on the streets. She parked her bike under the porch awning, wondering if Amelie was already asleep. But that was when she realized a light was on in the back of the Caraway Fudge Shoppe. Incredibly, Amelie was already making fudge. She’d fully embraced tradition. That, or she couldn’t sleep.
Willa hurried across the street, peering through the glass door, watching her sister’s diligent steps. Amelie wore a look of intense concentration, so much so that Willa hesitated before she knocked on the door. But all she wanted in the world, just now, was to help her sister make their family’s recipes. She regretted how dark she’d been earlier, telling her sister that shewanted to leave the island as soon as possible. It had felt like a lie, pouring out of her mouth.
It was true that she was angry with their father. It was true that she might always be angry. But it was also true that, for two decades, she’d missed her twin sister like a phantom limb. She wanted to make up for lost time. She wanted to stop fighting, for goodness’ sake.
With the third knock, Amelie bucked out of the kitchen, then stopped short when she saw who was on the other side of the glass. Her eyes swam with confusion. When she opened the door, she was frozen. A gust of blizzardy wind pushed Willa to the side, breaking Amelie’s spell. She reached for Willa’s hand, drawing her into the warmth.
“You made it,” Amelie said, as though a part of her had already known Willa was on her way—the twin thing.
Willa removed her coat, gloves, hat, and scarf, remaining quiet. Her heart thudded from the bike ride in. Amelie was playing music over the speakers, not Christmas music, thankfully, but something from the nineties. Willa wasn’t sure if she could handle Christmas music right now.
“I want to help you,” Willa said.
Amelie looked like she wanted to say something, but didn’t know how. Instead, she led Willa into the back, where Willa pulled up her sleeves and began to help her sister.
“We sold out early today,” Amelie said. “I don’t want that to happen tomorrow.”
Willa didn’t want to tell her that there probably wouldn’t be a Christmas Festival tomorrow, that the snow would pile high on the island’s streets, and the ferries wouldn’t bring tourists to buy the fudge. Instead, she fell into a frenzy alongside Amelie, performing the tasks she’d been born to do.
Strangely, she felt as though their mother was in the apartment above the shop, fuming that Amelie and Willa hadn’t“done anything with their lives” besides work at the Caraway Fudge Shoppe.I did, Mom, Willa wanted to tell her, her eyes smarting.I’ve had a whole career, and I still feel empty inside.
She often wished she could go back in time and help her mother heal.
When Amelie and Willa finished another batch of peanut butter, Amelie put her hands on her hips and turned her attention to Willa. The speakers were playing a Mariah Carey song, but not the Christmas one.
Amelie said, “I have something to tell you.”
Willa took a step back, as though Amelie’s words would hurt her. Whatever it was, couldn’t it wait? Maybe they could call each other tomorrow. Perhaps she wasn’t strong enough.
“I went to see Dad tonight,” Amelie said. “It’s why I couldn’t sleep. It’s why I came here immediately and started making fudge, like a crazy person.”
Willa narrowed her eyes. The last thing she wanted to talk about was their father. She backed toward the mudroom and put her hand on the doorknob.
But Amelie followed her, saying, “You know, we can’t keep running from this the rest of our lives. It isn’t fair to us. It isn’t fair to Mom.”
Willa’s face crumpled. How dare she say it wasn’t fair to Mom?
“He told me what really happened that day,” Amelie said, her voice just a whisper.
Willa opened the door and stepped into the billowing winds without a coat. She wanted to howl,Why do you trust anything Dad says?Immediately, her fingers were rigid with cold. What was she doing? Why was she throwing herself into the darkness? Amelie hurried over, pulled Willa back into the mudroom, and closed the door tightly against the blizzard.
“You need to hear it, Willa,” Amelie breathed. “Please.”
But Willa wasn’t sure if she could. She put her hands over her ears, like a child, and inhaled deeply. She thought she was going to have a panic attack.
“Please, Willa,” Amelie said. “Please. Hear me.”
And so, Willa forced her hands from her ears and let them hang at her sides. It was clear there was nowhere else to go and nothing else to do but listen to this. Amelie took her sister’s hand and led her upstairs to their mother’s old room, where they sat at the edge of the bed where their mother had slept all those months alone. It was the only place where they could speak honestly and openly, as the winds howled outside and the snow collected on the windowsills.
Chapter Twenty
Amelie
December 2006
It was the week before the Christmas Festival in the year 2006 when Amelie and Willa woke up to an island blanketed with snow. It was a surprise and nothing they’d planned for. As though Mackinac had been put under a spell during the night, a blizzard had come and made every street invisible, with snowdrifts towering up to seven feet tall, many of them blocking doors and alleyways. The electricity was out, although they clicked their light switch on and off, wondering if it would come back on again.
