Page 146 of The Holiday Hate-Off
“There must be a logical explanation,” Charlie insisted after showing up at my apartment early this morning to check on me. But she didn’t offer any other explanations.
The Bermuda Triangle might as well have swallowed the entire Cafiero family. It was weird, and we both knew it.
I sent several more texts to Enzo’s phone before Charlie and I left my apartment for the Sip, but there was no answer.
“It’s okay,” Charlie said when she saw my furrowed brow. “Someone clearly stole his cell phone.”
“The possibility that he was mugged does not make me feel better.”
No, it just gave my fears more to chew on.
When we went into Love at First Sip, Eileen suggested I take the day off, but I refused. I needed something to do.
Enzo was gone. I didn’t know what had happened to him or his phone or hisfamily.
I might never see him again…
In the early afternoon, Amanda stopped in to get a couple of lattes. She took one look at my face and asked me what was wrong.
Ignoring the childish compulsion to sayeverything, I smiled and said, “It doesn’t seem to be my day.”
“Are you coming to the holiday dance later?” she asked.
I’d forgotten there was one. I just shook my head.
Concern creased her perfect face. “Go back to the Wishing Bridge, Lucy.” She surprised me by pulling me in for a hug over the counter separating us. “I really feel like there’s magic there.”
“I will,” I said, my mouth as dry as paper. All the water in my body seemed to be in the vicinity of my eyes. I wanted to cry but refused to. Because if I did, it would be like admitting that the worst had happened.
The hardest part was that I was worried about himandalso worried he’d abandoned me. That he didn’t care after all. That everything I’d dared to hope for had been a lie.
Now, it’s two o’clock, and we’re closing early by dictate of Eileen.
“We are going across the street to get some spiced cranberry cider,” she says. “No arguments.”
I don’t try to argue. I can’t. I don’t know what I want—probably not cider, but I feel incapable of even voicing a protest. I feel a horrible powerlessness. I have no way of reaching Enzo, no way of knowing where he is or what he’s doing.
No way of knowing if he still wants me…
All I know is that he told me he’d be home today, but New York City is at least eight hours away, so the earliest he could be back is three or maybe four o’clock this afternoon.
“All right, let’s go,” Wayne says.
“You’re coming?” Eileen asks in disbelief.
“Yes,” he replies simply.
And he does, sitting with us at a high-top table by the large front window in Kippis. The oversized Christmas tree in the town square is in full view, dressed in all of its splendor. It feels wrong for it to look like that. So beautiful. So cheerful.
The tears are close, but I still don’t let them fall. Not when my friends are trying so hard to cheer me up.
“To Lucy,” Charlie says, lifting her cider.
To my surprise, Wayne lifts his cup along with Eileen. “To Lucy.”
“Who is nothing at all like Shannon,” Charlie adds.
“Very funny,” I grouse.
