“I’m fine.” I sidle away from her and break for the stairs.
She sticks to me like rubber cement. “Actually, I wanted to ask you a question. You and your father seem so familiar with drug overdoses and opioid addictions. I’m curious. Do you carry Narcan for your father or for yourself?”
“I’m pretty tired right now, and I think we all should get some sleep.”
“You can sleep in these circumstances?” She gapes at me like I’m a freak. “Don’t you find it strange that Poppy overdosed and that your father admitted to giving him an injection before he went to bed?”
“The overdose would have happened earlier.” I swing around and face her innuendos. “He was fine when I spoke to him, and I hear he also talked to Will and Abbie.”
What I’m more worried about is if Poppy got his hands on the medication and decided he needed more for his pain. It was purely negligent that the home health worker left.
She arches an eyebrow. “Someone must have given him another dose during the night. You don’t find yourself wondering who?”
Is she implying Braden went back to finish the job? He was with me all night. Except I was asleep. What would I know?
“I can’t put my finger on it,” she says, still staring at me with narrowed eyes, assessing me. “But you look different. Who are you really?”
I’m supposed to be a confused sixteen-year-old, and I’d better start acting like one.
I stomp my foot and roll my eyes. “Maybe the nurse came back. I’m only a kid. What do I know?”
“A kid who’s both street smart and book smart,” she says. “I’ve got my eye on you, and I’m warning you. Don’t get too smart and do something stupid.”
“You just don’t want me to be with Will,” I wail in a hurt, teenager whine. “I don’t care. Will’s a dweeb and his socks stink.”
Without waiting for a reaction, I huff and turn quickly, running up the rest of the stairs.
“Sammie, wait.” She makes a half-assed attempt to chase me, but since I’m a rotten, rude teen, I slam the door and kick it.
I strip off the sweater and coat I’d hastily pulled on and don’t have the energy to climb to the top bunk. Instead, I roll into Braden’s blanket on the lower bunk and take in what’s left of his scent on the pillow: earthy and manly, like leather and coffee.
It’s no substitute for the real man, and I miss him already. Lindsay might be a witch, but someone had to have given Poppy that last dose. If Braden gave him a half dose, what if Erica had come back and given a full dose without knowing what Braden had done?
Thankfully, Poppy is awake, although barely, and on his way to the hospital. I check the time on my phone and text Braden, asking him to text me when he arrives at the hospital and let me know how Poppy is doing.
I toss and turn for a very long time, unable to catch any winks. When I see a sliver of sunlight through the window, I’m wide awake and check my phone. No updates from Braden.
Had they made it? Even though I don’t want to interact with Braden’s family, I need news.
I dress and make my way down the stairs. The big ranch house is silent without Wolf and Blitz knocking their tails against furniture or panting to go out. The only sound other than my pounding heart is the ticking of the grandfather clock.
Why is everyone hiding in their rooms? Did they all get news without letting me know?
Something must have happened. Why isn’t Braden texting me? I explore the kitchen, finding it empty. The same gingerbread houses Will and Abbie left unfinished are sitting undisturbed. The coffee machine’s warming light is on with a filled pot of coffee—untouched.
The feeling of spiders crawling over my scalp chills me at how abandoned the once noisy and festive house has become. Had they all gone to the hospital without me? What if I’d actually fallen asleep and they didn’t want to disturb me?
After all, I’m the only one who isn’t family.
What if they’re all at Poppy’s bedside saying goodbye to him? Did Braden tell them I’m not related to them? But I care about Poppy too. He must know that.
My heart and mind swarming like a hive of disturbed bees, I wander over to the great room where the Yule log is still sputtering. Damon explained when he brought it in that as long as the log burned, the holidays lived, hence a wet and green log is used to prolong the festivities.
It’s anything but festive with Poppy’s life, and the realization sinks in. He’s sick and dying. The reason we’re pulling the best Christmas ever is because everyone believes it’s his last. The Elfprentice game is a way to give him a distraction, and all of this happy family act is done for his benefit.
Standing in front of the bay window, I survey the blanket of white. The snow had fallen so thick that all footsteps and track marks were erased. Tree branches sag under their heavy loads, looking like sentinels with drooping shoulders. The driveway where the pickup truck idled is completely filled, and snow drapes so high on the shed and barn that they look like boats in a sea of cotton.
It’s a perfectly white Christmas, with sunlight streaming from the bright-blue sky. But looks are deceptive, aren’t they?
