The cookies probably wouldn’t be as good as Mom’s, and Brooke found herself wishing she’d taken the time to whip up another batch of gumdrop cookies to bring along. Maybe it was just as well she hadn’t, though. That would remind them all of Mom.
She’d flipped on the switch for the fireplace, and her father was currently relaxing on his bed with his black boots and his Santa jacket off while Brooke sat at the desk, checking out the notebook filled with glossy pages about the various shops and restaurants in town.
“I’ve heard about this Christmas shop,” she said, turning the binder so her father could see. “We might want to go there tomorrow.”
He nodded. “Looks nice.” He let out a sigh. “Your mother would have loved this place.”
Brooke could feel the sting of incipient tears. It had probably been unrealistic to think they could simply outrun their grief.
Still, Mom would have wanted them to participate in the joys of the season, and this town seemed tailor-made for that.
“Yes, she would,” Brooke said. “And I bet right now she’s up in heaven, smiling down on us.”
For a moment she feared he was going to cry, but he nodded gamely and forced a smile.
Yep, they were having fun now. They needed Dylan and his goofy sense of humor to liven things up. They’d been waiting almost an hour. What was taking him so long to get up here?
She’d called twice but only got his voice mail; she hoped that meant he was somewhere in the mountains and didn’t have reception. If that was the case, at least he was getting close.
As if on cue, there was a knock at the door. Finally. Brooke hurried to open it, but instead of her brother she found Olivia Wallace, bearing a tray with grapes, Brie cheese and crackers.
“Oh, good, you’re here. I thought perhaps you might be when no one answered next door. This is your complimentary fruit and cheese,” Olivia said. “I hope you enjoy it.”
“We will,” Brooke assured her. She was aware of her father scrambling to put his jacket back on so he wouldn’t look like a slob.
But Olivia wasn’t coming in to visit. She wished them “Bon appétit” and then left.
“That was thoughtful,” Daddy said as Brooke set the tray on his bedside table.
As if the woman had done it just for them. “It’s included in the price, Daddy.”
His brow furrowed. “I hate to think what you kids are spending on this.”
“You’re worth it,” she said, and kissed his cheek.
Twenty minutes later most of the cheese and grapes were gone, and Brooke was anxious to get her father out of his room and experiencing the sights and sounds of the town, but there was still no sign of Dylan. She took her cell phone from her purse and called him again.
“Yo,” he answered.
“Where are you?”
“I’m in the lobby checking in.”
“Finally,” she said.
“Hey, I had to work late.”
Dylan was a systems analyst at Microsoft and working late happened sometimes. Everyone couldn’t be lucky enough to be a teacher.
Although her brother never saw her as lucky. “I’d go nuts if I was stuck in a room full of snot-nosed kids making paper chains,” he often said.
Brooke always thought this was ironic considering the fact that, at twenty-four, her brother was the world’s oldest child. He could play video games for hours, never remembered important dates like birthdays and anniversaries and had yet to master the art of wrapping a Christmas present. His idea of a gift bag was a paper sack. Sheesh.
And she did more than make paper chains. She helped young minds discover and learn new things. She loved her job and she could hardly wait to have children of her own. She didn’t want to raise them by herself, though, so that meant she needed to find a man. Why was it so hard to find a good man these days, anyway?
Another few minutes, and Dylan entered the room. He looked like a younger version of their father with a boyish face and a husky build. And, like Daddy, he sported a beard. Only unlike Daddy, his was brown and he kept it trimmed close to his face. In addition to being cute, he was also charming and never lacked for girlfriends. But he was far from ready to settle down.
“Ho, ho, ho. Merry Christmas,” he said.
“That’s my line,” Daddy joked. He got off the bed and came to hug his son.
“Great choice, sis,” Dylan said to Brooke. “This place rocks.”
“Have you seen your room?” she asked.
“Just dumped my stuff in there.” He handed Brooke a plastic grocery bag. “Here’s the eggnog you wanted.”
“Thank you,” she said, and moved to store it in the little refrigerator.
“Never mind the eggnog,” her father said. “Give me my clothes.”
Dylan’s easy smile fell away, replaced by a look of panic. “Clothes? Crap.”
He’d forgotten to go by Daddy’s and get some clothes! She was going to kill him. “Please tell me you didn’t forget.” Why was she bothering to even say that? He had.
“Oh, man. I totally spaced. My bad.”
“Your bad is right,” she snapped in frustration. She’d planned everything, made their reservations, picked up their father. All Dylan had to do was pick up Daddy’s car and bring some clothes for him. How hard was that? “I can’t believe you forgot the clothes,” she wailed. Her well-laid plans, all ruined.
“Hey, there’s stores up here,” Dylan said with a frown.
She knew he hated it when she went into older-sister mode and got on his case. But darn, she hated it when he acted like the baby of the family and got all irresponsible. “There won’t be any stores open by now,” she said, frowning, too. “And Daddy doesn’t want to be stuck in his room all night.”
“I’m fine,” her father said. “I can find something on TV. You kids go have fun.”
The only thing she’d have fun doing was throttling her irresponsible brother and that would hardly make for a warm and fuzzy family Christmas. She let out a huff of exasperation. “I’m going to go ask where we can buy some clothes,” she announced, and yanked open the door.
As she left she heard her brother say, “So, what channels do we get?”
Great. They’d both watch some stupid movie with things blowing up and that would be that. Their first night in Icicle Falls with its snowy streets and pretty Christmas lights and the boys would be watching Bruce Willis save the world. She scowled as she marched downstairs.
The plump and friendly Olivia was not at the reception desk. Instead, a tall man with dark hair receding from his hairline and glasses was busy helping two older women check in. They were both dressed in heavy winter coats, leggings and snow boots. The short one wore a felted red hat over curls still as blond as if she were twenty and not seventy-something. “And in about an hour we’ll have a piano concert down here in the lobby,” he was telling them.
“That sounds wonderful,” declared the other woman. She was as tall and skinny as her companion was short and chunky, and her salt-and-pepper hair hung in a long, lanky curtain to her shoulders. “Didn’t I tell you this was a good idea, Vera? It beats staying home wondering if those spoiled brats of yours are going to come by.”
The