Behind the garage, across from the motel, is another new business, the Pine Harbour Brewery.
And then there’s nothing but forest.
We curve south along the lake. A drive I’ve done hundreds of times, starting in high school when I’d wait for Rory after class just for a chance to give her a ride home.
This might be the last time I ever deposit her on the doorstep at the Pine Harbour Little Tree Farm.
My throat squeezes tight.
I can feel her tensing up, too. And I know why. Her parents are going to open the door and smile likeeverything’s fine, like their eldest daughter is home with her steadfast boyfriend. As ifweare still a singular unit.Rory and Garrett are here!
RoryandGarrett.
That’s what we’ve been for more than a decade.
No wonder she hasn’t told them yet.
There are two entrances to the farm. The first one is for the public, and as we pass it, I can see the lights strung up throughout the rows of Christmas trees are still on, so someone is working the stand.
One less person to worry about telling in person. But also, one less person who will hear it from me, ergo making them Rory’s problem alone.
Her mom opens the front door before we even make it to the porch. The golden glow from inside spills out onto the snow, warm and inviting. Damn it. I don’t want to miss this farm. I don’t want to think about the memories attached to this place.
I follow Rory, her backpack in one hand, my gift for the Minellis in the other, ready to execute my plan:Merry Christmas, we broke up, it’s amicable, here’s a nice cutting board.Then I’m gone.
The plan disintegrates before we even step across the threshold.
“I should warn you,” Carmen Minelli says to Rory, her voice low. “Your sister’s just arrived and she’s upset.”
“Jules?”
Carmen shakes her head. “She’s not getting in until tomorrow.Cassieis here.”
I slow to a stop behind them. Cassandra, the middle Minelli daughter, lives just outside of Pine Harbour with her husband, Nate, a helicopter pilot. He’s a decade olderthan her and Rory had misgivings when her younger sister got married, but I thought they were happy.
Carmen lowers her voice even further, but I still catch her words. “And she’salone.”
Rory races ahead. I’m right behind her, and my heart sinks as I watch her clock the miserable tableau in the kitchen.
Cassie leaning against the counter, mascara streaking down her cheek, their father hovering helplessly with a dish towel. An oversized, overstuffed suitcase next to the entrance to the hallway.
Rory spins around and gives me a desperate, pleading look I’ve only seen a handful of times over the last ten years. “Garrett, babe, can you take our bags upstairs?”
Babe?
Ourbags?
Fuck me.
“I need a minute with my sister,” she adds, her voice tightening up, as if she’s worried that I might bail on her.
Probably because I told her that her unhappiness was unbearable, and now her entire family is unhappy at the supposed-to-be happiest time of the year.
Part of me resents that she doesn’t know I’d help out in this moment. That she doesn’t know I still care about her needs.Haven’t I fucking shown that over the last four months?
And it’s not like she’s shown a fucking moment of caring aboutmyneeds.
WhatIneed is to get in my truck and drive to my cousin’s place. I need distance and boundaries and probably several beers. Sono, I can’t takeourbags upstairs, because where the fuck am I going to put them?
