Page 29 of The Holiday Fakers
“You don’t want to check in first?”
“I do, but I’d rather let them know about you before that, and give them a chance to process before the evening meal.”
She takes her time making the call, then puts the phone to her ear.
I’m holding my breath. Waiting to hear what she’ll say.
“Dammit!” She shoves the phone in her purse. “I knew I shouldn’t have left it until the last minute.”
“Hideaway still hasn’t got a new mast?”
“No. And people still think patchy-to-zero cell coverage is a good thing.”
“Fostahs commoonity spirit,” I say, putting on a Maine accent.
“Yeah. Some things never change.” She huffs out a laugh. “Oh well, let’s hope my folks don’t have a heart attack when they see you.”
There’s a sharp silence, then Piper rushes to cover it.
“I’m so sorry, Brody. I didn’t think. I?—”
“It’s okay. Honestly. It was a long time ago.”
“But—”
“Seriously. It’s fine.”
I thought I’d dealt with it. But now, driving back into Hideaway Harbor, my mom’s death from a heart attack at only fifty-two doesn’t feel like a long time ago. It’s as painfully fresh as if it happened yesterday.
Piper doesn’t say anything else, and a lead weight settles in my stomach, growing heavier as I navigate on autopilot toward the Locke family home.
It’s almost exactly as I remember—a big, three-story wooden house with steps leading up to the front door and a large wraparound porch. A double garage sits off to one side, and the front lawn and white picket fence are as immaculate as ever.
There are more Christmas lights than there were twelve years ago, an inflatable Santa, a pair of light-up reindeer, giant candy canes, and Christmas tree baubles the size of exercise balls. There’s also a small snowman with a scarf around its neck, two lumps of coal for eyes, and a carrot for a nose.
Piper’s quiet beside me, also making no move to exit the car and face her parents.
I take a deep breath and get out, meaning to go around the hood and open the passenger door for her.
But the moment my foot hits the gritted sidewalk, there’s a cry.
“Brody?”
I pivot slowly toward the house.
Piper’s mom is standing outside, one hand covering her heart.
“Oh, my Lord! Itisyou!”
My feet are frozen.
Erica takes hesitant steps closer, reaching out cautiously as if to touch a ghost.
Then her eyes widen even more. “Piper?”
Her gaze bounces between us, then the penny drops.
“Oh, my!” she cries, her hands going to her cheeks. “Brody! And my baby!”
