“Maybe you'll be visited by the ghosts of Christmases past, present, and future,” she teases too and I love her for it.
We go back downstairs and the cozy little kitchen smells like nutmeg and bread when we step inside. Gran hands me a warm toddy made with apple cider, cinnamon, and Scotch and I am in love.
She offers Juliet one too and Juliet says, “I’d love one, but hold the Scotch.”
Gran gives her a loving smile. “Never much of a drinker.”
What makes me laugh is that Gran is. She puts a healthy amount of Scotch in her own drink and I already love her company. We take our drinks into the living room with a plate of cookies that Gran grabs as we walk out of the kitchen.
“So you're killing the library during Christmas?” Gran goes straight for the jugular.
“Well, I won't be able to kill it by Christmas, but we are creating a housing complex with amenities and entertainment that I think you and your friends at the library might enjoy instead.”
“You touch that library and you're annihilating the community’s spirit by ripping out its heart. You tear down their homes, you displace them, you’re destroying their legacy. You’re taking their humanity and their lives.” She’s straight up.
I look outside the window of her small neat home and wonder how I might escape this, but the storm is unrelenting. I’m stuck here, forced to face my villainy.
Gran doesn’t gush or fawn. She doesn’t beg for the library. She treats me like a man she doesn’t particularly like, but one she’s willing to feed and offer booze. And somehow, that small gesture lands harder than any business deal I’ve ever made. Juliet stands beside her grandmother, protective and proud. Gran hands me a cookie without a word, like an unspoken truce and I’ve never felt more like a Grinch.
An alert on my phone blares announcing that all the roads are closed. Everyone is ordered to shelter in place. There's a website with a list of places that are accepting people and the gravity of this storm finally hits. This is real. I text my driver to make sure he made it home and I get a thumbs up on my query. There’s a level of relief there. The news anchor on TV calls it “the worst storm in a hundred years.”
“Roads are closing,” Gran says, sitting down at the couch with her cocktail. “No one’s going anywhere tonight. You’re in the guest room, Marcel. I’ve got clean sheets on the bed and fresh towels in the linen closet. No one leaves here without my permission.” She’s something, this wonderful old lady.
Juliet sits next to her grandmother and I take the seat across from them, wondering what is next for me. Will I be flogged? Burned at the stake? Forced to watch endless Christmas rom-coms about evil corporations taking oversmall town, family owned establishments? Turns out neither. The three of us linger in Gran’s living room for hours, the fire popping and hissing while Gran regale us with stories of the families in Eaton and the tales of hardship and triumph that lead to their successes. I enjoy the stories of Juliet’s childhood, and find myself laughing more than scoffing, but then I’m three cocktails in and Gran likes a heavy pour.
We do watch one rom-com about a bakery that is being taken over by an evil bank. The bakery wins, the evil banker learns to manage the bakery, but never really learns to bake. He kisses the girl in the end and trades his suit and tie in for ... an ugly Christmas sweater. I’m literally sweating thinking that this is somehow a precursor for the rest of my life. After the movie ends Juliet announces that it’s late and excuses herself. The house feels smaller without her in the room. The storm’s fury rattles the old windows and threatens to blow the roof off.
I clear my throat. “Would it be ... inappropriate if I asked how Juliet grew up? What was she like? I loved the stories of her sneaking cookie dough out of the bowl and befriending squirrels, but as a person, was she curious? Did she get good grades, did she date boys?” I’m pressuring Gran, I know, but I’m desperate to understand Juliet.
Gran narrows her eyes, considering, then sighs. “Don’t you break her heart, Dubois.”
“I have no intentions of dating your granddaughter.”
“I kick liars out in the snow,” she glares at me.
“Just give me a few pointers.” I relent, throwing up my hands. “I’m way out of my league.”
“At least we can agree on something tonight. She was a good kid, a bleeding heart. She has no idea how beautiful she is, she’s got freaky good genes, the rest of the family—apart from her cousin—are not as hot. She legitimately wants to see the world become a better place and I hate to disappoint her, but the world is shit.” Go, Gran for calling it as it is.
“You can tear down the library and be a real Grinch. I’ll find my friends again and we’ll rebuild our lives, but you’ll break her heart. There is no coming back from that. If you go up those stairs and enter Juliet’s room tonight, you better fucking bring a white horse with you or you’ll never step foot in here again. Merry Christmas.” She gives me a wink and I nearly hug her.
Chapter Thirteen
Juliet
There are heavy footfalls on the stairs that creek under Marcel’s weight. Gran doesn’t come up the stairs much anymore and I’m expecting Marcel, because why would he suffer to be in Gran’s home without trying to seduce me? There’s a gentle knock at my door.
“Come in.”
As much as I don’t want to admit it, I want Marcel to spend the night with me. I know that makes me almost as horrible as he is.
The door cracks open and golden lamplight spills across the worn carpet. I’m standing at the window, watching the storm. I find it fascinating how dangerous life can become in an instant. Trees are blowing with the heavy snowfall and some are nearly parallel to the ground. Snow starts to cover windows and doors on the first floor trapping the residents in their homes. Luckily most of the buildings and houses on this block are multi-story.
Marcel steps into the room. “I keep telling myself I should walk away from you,” he says in a soft voice. “That I’m going to leave you bleeding. I’m not a Grinch, Juliet, I’m a serial killer when it comes to romance. You’re the Who from Whoville whojust won’t leave the serial killing, Christmas stealing, heartless Grinch be. And I’m tired of denying the fact that I want you.”
“You mean you want me or you’re just horny and you’re bored becauseIt’s A Wonderful Lifejust turned into a snowmageddon?” I eye him, wanting an honest answer.
The storm howls outside, but in my room, it’s too warm. He stalks toward me and a sudden rush of fear shivers every nerve.
