Page 88 of A Not So Merry Rescue
Her chuckle vibrates my ear. “I’ll let you get to your parade. Got an inkling I needed to check in on you.”
“Thanks for not ignoring this one.”
“Sure thing. Have fun at the parade and what comes next. Call me tonight. No matter how late. I want to hear all about your day.”
“It may be really late . . . or early.” I cringe at my implication. “I don’t want to interrupt any plans you’ve got with the boys and Keith.”
“You won’t be. I promise.” Her voice is lower, and there’s something she’s not saying, but I let it go.
“Great. Talk later. And thanks again, Clem. Thanks for sharing half my brain and knowing what I need before I do.”
“Always, kid. I’ve got your back. Love you. You’ve got this.”
I can’t let the guilt wiggle in. The guilt about ruining her Christmas last year. Her pride is genuine. And she’s right. I can do this.
“Oh. I wrote almost one thousand words today. Useful words, some of which might even make it to the final draft.” I laugh, letting go of more of the tension circulating through me. Clem’s voice helped dislodge unneeded anxiety.
“Willafred! Go you. We’ve got so much to catch up on when you get home. You can come for a visit, and we’ll do a day just the two of us. Keith can wrangle the misfits. But go. You’ve got a parade to watch.”
“Love you, sis.” I hang up, a renewed sense of pride from our conversation. Until my heart jumps into my throat at the knock on the passenger window. I lower it about halfway.
“Willa? Beckett told me you’d be coming. Parade’s arrivingsoon.” Heidi holds up a plate of cookies. My mouth waters, even with the green and red colors, the sprinkles, and other festive decorations.
“Hey. Yes, sorry. Finishing up a call.” I hold up my phone in case she thinks I’m lying. “I’m coming.” I return the phone to my bag and grab the thermos of coffee Beckett poured for me.“Spiked,”he informed.“Will help keep you warm. That and my hoodie.”
Not once in all the time we were together did Elias try to understand my aversion to coats. Not once did he suggest I wear something of his to keep warm. He’d often roll his eyes when I’d get super frustrated by having to wear it when the weather was extremely chilly when we’d go to Vermont for a visit.
Yet, one action and Beckett not only didn’t question why I couldn’t stand the coat but made sure I had something less constraining and more to my liking. His reasons aren’t purely for me, but it’s easy to pretend they are. Especially because I’m not the one fighting suffocation, and as a bonus, I get to smell like him. Win-win in my book, no matter the ulterior motive.
With a smile on my mouth and glee in my steps, I reach into the back seat and slide my arms into the sleeves of the hoodie. Making sure the car is locked, I join Heidi at the back of the car, stealing a cookie from her plate.
“Okay, let’s do this."
25
willa
Twenty minutes later,the parade rolls down Main Street. A marching band from the high school, floats from shops in town (I assume), a dance team decked out in elf costumes, and a full-on rendition ofA Christmas Carol—complete with costumes and a set—round out my favorites.
I didn’t ask Beckett or Heidi how long it lasted, but I figure it must be almost done. How much more can they fit into a Christmas Eve parade?
Beckett wasn’t wrong about the crowd of people congregating here. Mostly families with kids, their grandparents, and a few groups of teenagers. Not once did the teenagers get rowdy, and the only time they were on their phones was to take pictures. I’m so used to zombie-like ones hanging around the coffee shop, it was refreshing to see them so excited about a parade. Some of their infectious joy leaked to me, and I’m not sad about it.
My therapist will have a field day when I see her in January. I can’t wait to tell her.
“Ah, here comes Beck,” Heidi calls out, enthusiasm dripping with it.
I take a step in front of the crowd, trying to get a glimpse ofhim and what kind of float he’s driving. All I can see is an old red Chevy truck, like vintage old. From the sixties, maybe. I thought he said he’d be driving it, but upon closer look, he’s not the driver. Another guy his age sits behind the wheel, and Dax is in the passenger seat. I’m so confused.
“I don’t see him,” I grumble, mostly to myself, but Lenny overhears it.
His smirk is sinister as he points to the back of the truck.
The only person in the back of the truck is . . . wait for it . . . Santa!
It takes several moments for what I’m seeing to sink in.
“Wait, what?That’sBeckett?” I blink, attempting to clear my vision. Between my contacts and the cold weather, my eyes are bothering me more than usual. I stare at the man currently waving to the crowd, sporting a huge smile.
