Home For Christmas. Catherine Lanigan

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       CHAPTER THREE

      JOY HAD JUST deplaned at O’Hare Airport when her cell phone rang. “Hello, darling.”

      “Darling? Who’s that?”

      “That would be you, Chuck. Us being engaged and all, I was thinking we should have endearments for each other.”

      “I don’t like it.”

      “How about ‘baby’?”

      “Nope.”

      “Sweetie? Cutie? Chuckie?” she joked.

      “Don’t go there. Look, Joy. Seriously, talk to me. The Taylor account…”

      She shouldered her way into the throng of people moving toward baggage claim. “The Taylor account is on your desk. I sent an email to Lessings Acoustics, too. They’ll contact you directly. Until I get back.”

      “When will that be?”

      “I don’t know, but not long.”

      “This is putting a lot on me, you know,” he groused.

      Joy rolled her eyes. Looking up, she saw huge Christmas wreaths above the concourse. An enormous Christmas tree with thousands of lights rivaled the Rockefeller tree. Surrounding the bottom of the tree was a sea of lush, tropical poinsettias.

      Joy pulled to a stop, her roller bag banging the backs of her legs. She felt the jagged edge of sorrow in her heart as hundreds of loving moments with her grandfather flashed across her mind’s eye. Her head dipped, and she let her tears drop to the terrazzo floor. She pulled out a tissue and blew her nose, remembering that Chuck was still on the phone.

      “Joy? Joy? What’s going on?”

      “Sorry. Big crowds.” She glanced up at the signs directing her to baggage claim. It would have been easy to fall apart, but she needed, no—had to stay strong now. She couldn’t lean on Chuck.

      “So, how long till you get to Indian Lake?”

      “An hour and a half. I hired an Uber.”

      “Call me from the car. I have half a dozen more accounts to go over with you.”

      “Sure.”

      Chuck hung up without another word. Joy got on the down escalator. She held the phone up to see that the call had ended.

      “I love you, too, Chuck.”

      Joy shoved the phone in her purse and saw the Uber driver at the bottom of the escalator, holding a sign with her name on it.

      She walked up to him. “Hi! I’m Joy Boston.”

      The middle-aged man nodded. “I’m Roy. Happy to see you. I’ll take your bags for you. Do you have more luggage to claim?”

      “No, this is it. I won’t be staying long.”

      “Oh, that’s a pity,” Roy said, as he politely ushered her toward the outer door.

      “Why’s that?”

      “Indian Lake is so lovely at the holidays. So many decorations and activities. The Christmas Concert. The symphony. The children’s Christmas pageant. The caroling parties. The Candlelight Tour…”

      They walked outside to the cold. “They still have all that?”

      “Of course. I take my grandson to the Christmas parade every year, and then we mail his letter to Santa at the Elf Mail Station.” They walked to Roy’s black SUV, and he put her bags in the back as she got in the back seat.

      As much as Joy had struggled to make a new life for herself in New York, with new friends and new holiday traditions, the old days and the old ways of celebrating flooded her.

      Just thinking about Indian Lake released anger she hadn’t felt in years. Anger toward the townspeople for their apathy—laziness that directly caused her parents’ car accident. She hadn’t been able to forgive them then or now. The pain of her long-ago scars resonated in her. She would go to town, do her duty, find a buyer for the greenhouse and leave as quickly as possible.

      She forced her mind to redirect to happier times.

      She remembered her mother and father working alongside her, tending the poinsettias. The week before Thanksgiving, enormous delivery trucks would roll into the parking lot and they’d unload red, pink and white beauties. Just thinking about those gorgeous tropical flowers caused Joy to wish for faraway adventures, sandy beaches and palm trees, places she’d planned to explore with…

      “Adam.”

      She sat up straight.

      Adam hadn’t crossed her mind once since she’d got the news of her grandfather’s death. But there he was. She remembered his wide shoulders, his thick raven hair and how he’d forget to cut it, so it would hang down, nearly covering half his face as he worked furiously on yet another machine that never reached “functionality.”

      She’d known Adam was smart and was convinced he hadn’t yet found his groove. She’d urged him on, believing his genius would pay off one day. The time when he’d lost the state science fair championship, he’d been despondent and distant, but Joy had kissed away his tears and forced him to envision a golden future filled with success. He said he believed her.

      They’d had a romantic senior year together, stealing kisses in the greenhouses. Learning how to cross-pollinate and СКАЧАТЬ