Page 18 of One Golden Ring
“I was just going to run a quick errand in the village,” I say. “If you’re good, Grandpa?”
Before he can reply, Maddie Foster—I guess it’s Stone now—pops her head in the door.
“Special visitor,” she says, just before a little boy runs in.
“Hi,” he says to my grandfather. “We had a half-day at school so I’m home early and you can read me a story because you’re taking time off work.”
“That’s fantastic, boy,” Grandpa tells him. “Go get us a good one.”
The boy scampers off and Maddie watches after him fondly.
“My son Dylan,” she says when she catches me looking. “He’s the light of my life.”
I nod, suddenly missing Judi-Bloom like crazy. I always miss her, now more than ever since she’s been away for so long. But she’s a super smart kid and I work so much. When she got into that science school I couldn’t say no.
But I think maybe for a long time she was keeping me from drowning in my own darkness and I didn’t even realize it until she was gone. Now she barely even remembers to call me.
I guess that’s a good thing. It means she’s happy.
“Off you go, boy,” Grandpa says, rousing me from my own thoughts. “Maybe I’ll see you two later this afternoon.”
I head out through the lounge. There are guests here now—kids are playing with the miniature Christmas village at the center of the lounge while the adults sit on the sofas chatting or helping the little ones write letters to Santa that they’ll put in the mailbox with the candy cane striped post that’s near the front desk.
I don’t make eye contact with anyone, hoping no one will slow me down from taking the first step to enact my definitely well thought out idea of a plan.
I don’t like lying to my grandfather. I don’t like lying to anyone really. I pride myself on being a straight shooter.
But seeing him at peace at the end of his life will be worth me feeling a little uncomfortable. This isn’t the kind of lie that hurts anyone.
Except maybe me, if I let myself forget it’s a lie…
But I won’t. I can’t.
It’s freezing outside and somehow even colder in the SUV. I start it up and pull out onto the winding road that leads down the mountain and back into town, not waiting for the heat to kick in.
Second thoughts begin to circle again, so I tap the button for the stereo and I’m instantly surrounded by a choir singing “Carol of the Bells.” I’m a music lover and this is my favorite Christmas song, so I bump up the volume and let it wash over me as I continue down the mountain with the view of snowy trees out the window.
The little town stretches down Celestial Lane, which winds around the curves of Angel Mountain following the creek all the way out to Angel Lake.
When I was a kid, my grandpa would sometimes put a few dollars in my hand while he drank coffee at the diner with his friends. I would wander down Celestial Lane, stopping to play at the park, buy ring pops at the general store, and step into the cool, shadowy halls of the Lenni Lenape Museum, where Paula Littlewolf, the older lady who volunteered as curator, would show visiting children displays of Native American tools and clothing, as well as the incredible miniature Native American town behind a glass wall that you could see from both sides if you took the winding trip through the whole museum.
Just half a block from that museum I remember a nice jewelry store. I’ve obviously never been inside—I didn’t have much use for jewelry that you couldn’t eat back then—but I assume that now that we have city people moving into the chalets they’ve got some inventory along the lines of what I’d like to give to Darcy.
I feel another pang of guilt that I don’t even know what she’ll spend the windfall on when she sells it again.
I’ve been picking up clues for years, and until yesterday I would have said I know everything about her.
Now I have to admit that I only know everything about her that she wants me to know.
How can you spend all your time with someone, admire them and rely on them, and still not know anything about their dreams?
But Darcy’s job is to tend to my wishes, and she’s so good at it that she’s actually made it hard for me to know what her own wishes are.
As I park in front of the jewelry store—thankfully still there, I push the wandering thoughts out of my mind. I have a job to do and I need to focus on that right now.
A sign hanging outside saysBells and Baubles, and there’s a beautiful Christmas display in the front window.
“How may I help you?” a pretty middle-aged lady asks pleasantly when I walk in.
