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CALISTA
ON MONDAY MORNING I KNELT next to the guest room bed, on the plushest carpet in existence, and kissed Quinn’s head before the light of day. She was curled into herself, hugging one of my pillows. She hadn’t crawled into bed with me since she was a little girl, but the last few nights I’d woken up to find her cuddling up to me. I didn’t mind in the least bit.
She opened her beautiful sleepy eyes. “Are you leaving for work?”
I heard the plea for me to stay. If I could have, I would have, but it was my first day in the ER, and I knew my godmother, Deidra, had put her neck on the line recommending me. Although I came highly qualified and the hospital I’d worked for in Phoenix loved me, I’d left behind a reputation in Aspen Lake—and not the good kind.
“Yep. For a twelve-hour shift.” I shuddered for effect.
She squeezed the pillow tighter. “That’s a long time.”
I smoothed her brow. “I know, but as soon as I get home, we are having a mega Cary Grant marathon with as many homemade Oreo shakes as we can down. I’m thinking of trying to break my record of four,” I teased her.
She offered me the tiniest of smiles.
She was breaking my heart. I was so tempted to stay home with her until she went back to school the week following the Thanksgiving holiday, but I knew Deidra would wring my neck. And the ER staff was counting on me. “Honey, I know nothing I can say will make any of this better right now. I even wish I could tell you that time heals all pain, but that’s just a lie.” I knew that from personal experience, losing my own parents and … well … some nonexistent life form whom I was never looking at again. “But … I promise that someday you won’t feel like someone punched you in the gut, and you’ll find yourself laughing and smiling again.”
Her eyes filled with tears. “I wish you were my mom and Uncle Tristan was my dad.”
I faltered a bit, feeling like I’d gotten one of those punches in the gut. Sure, I would love it if Quinn were my daughter, but her uncle need not be a part of the equation. No one should even use our names in the same sentence. “Quinny, why would you say something like that? Your mom loves you.” Yes, Stella was an emotional train wreck, but I knew she loved Quinn. And even though I hated to admit it, I knew Jonathon had loved her too. The way he’d looked at her before he died said exactly that. He’d cried like a baby as he enumerated all his regrets and wishes that he had been a better father and husband. Sadly, it was too late for any of that.
Quinn sniffled. “Because you and Uncle Tristan are the only ones who love me.”
“Oh, Quinny.” I threw my arms around her. “That’s not true. I mean, there’s no denying I love you best,” I joked, kind of. She was breaking my heart. Soon, Stella and I were going to talk. No child should feel like her parents didn’t love her.
She tittered. “Uncle Tristan would disagree.”
“Well, he’s … never mind.” I was going to call him an idiot, but I swore to myself I would never bad-mouth him to Quinn. That would mean I cared about what he thought, and I didn’t, because he didn’t exist. Even if he had tried to talk to me after the funeral. It would be a lie if I said I hadn’t thought about the weird exchange on Saturday while I visited my parents’ graves. It was unnerving, as if he’d wanted to drive the knife he’d left in my heart just a little farther. Why he felt the need to remind me exactly what he thought of me, I didn’t know. Other than he was a jerk. He needn’t worry. I got the message loud and clear thirteen years ago—I was just a bad habit to him.
She leaned away from me, tilting her head. “What happened between you two? And don’t say it’s because you’re allergic to him. I’m old enough to know better now. And … my mom told me you used to date.” She bit her lip. “She said you loved him. Is that true?”
Grrr. Stella. As soon as she was out of mourning, I was giving her the what for. For years, I had Quinn convinced I really was allergic to Tristan. It was kind of true. I felt itchy and I often couldn’t breathe around him. That fib worked until she was around nine. After that, I just told her I didn’t like him. Which was more than true.
I let out a deep breath, placed my hands on her cheeks, and smushed them, wishing I could make up some other ridiculous response. “Quinny, that was a long time ago.” I kissed her forehead. “I need to go to work. I love you. Text me if you need anything. I’ll see you tonight.” I stood before she asked me any more uncomfortable questions.
“Aunt Cal, I want to have an old-fashioned Christmas this year. The kind you always talked about having when you were growing up, with a real tree and homemade ornaments, sledding, making cookies, and roasting marshmallows in the fireplace.”
Her request surprised me. I wasn’t sure if she or Stella would want to celebrate Christmas this year. Not that they ever had real holly jolly affairs in their home, as far as I could tell. I was pretty sure that last year Jonathon just handed Quinn his credit card and told her to get anything she wanted.
Honestly, I could do with a good old-fashioned Christmas. It had been a long time. Medical school and residency had kind of put a damper on the holidays. “Okay, honey. Whatever you want. I’ll make it happen.”
“Whatever I want?” she asked innocently.
“Of course.”
An evil glint appeared in her eyes.
I recognized it because it was the same glint I had when I was hatching some kind of crusade. “What do you want?” I asked, suspicious.
“To be happy,” her voice cracked.
Oh. She pierced my heart with that one. “I promise with everything that I am, you’ll be happy.” I leaned down to kiss her head. “Tonight, we will plan the most epic Christmas. One that will make your grandma Vera proud.” My mom always loved this time of year. We never had expensive gifts. Usually, just a new book and a new outfit. But it wasn’t about the gifts. It was all about love. Maybe this is just what Quinn needed to start the healing process.
Quinn gave me the first genuine smile I’d seen from her in a long time.
“I’m off to save lives now.” I grabbed my backpack off the stately blue chair in the guest room. The place looked like a presidential suite, an upholstered bed with luxurious sheets and a claw-foot tub in the bathroom included. I really needed to get a place of my own, but it was hard to find a rental that didn’t cost as much as my student loans every month. Besides, Quinn needed me here, at least through the holidays. I could put up with stuffy luxury for another month or so.
I was heading for the door when Quinn threw a zinger at me. “I’ll invite Uncle Tristan tonight to help us plan.”
