Page 22 of The Forever Christmas Tree

“You mean Cassie? No, she doesn’t have MS. Just some kind of congenital hip problem that will eventually be handled with a hip replacement. They don’t like to do those on children until they’re sixteen or something. Growing bones and all that.”

Wendy tried to imagine how Ethan would have handled all these issues at the time. And since then.

“So, Cassie was in a wheelchair today? That’s not usually the case. More often she uses crutches, or just limps along. I believe she was scheduled for some rehab at the hospital in Hatteras today. They must have worked her especially hard and wanted her to stay off her feet for the rest of the day.”

Wendy was not surprised that her aunt knew all these details. It was a small town, after all. Everyone knew everyone’s business, and not always in a bad way. Her aunt, and others in the community, had probably been over there offering to help wherever they could.

“Did you say that you talked to Ethan?”

“Not exactly talked, more like we snarled at each other. I’m still floored about what you’ve told me about Beth Anne and the child. I hesitate to ask what else I’ve missed over the years.”

“Well, you have two weeks to catch up, honey.”

“One more thing. What’s with that billboard on the edge of town? ‘GET GRINCHED! WELCOME TO BELL COVE!’”

Aunt Mildred laughed. “It’s the funniest thing. The town was a little short of money for street lighting, and someone suggested a novel method for raising funds. Ironically, they’re raking in cash like crazy as everyone votes against someone else to avoid being the winner themselves. And I must say, I never saw so many cheerful people, not even at Christmastime. Sickeningly sweet, some of them are.” She went on to explain the details of the competition.

Wendy was smiling as her aunt finished. “And Ethan is on this list?”

“At the top.”

As Wendy finally agreed to rest for an hour or so—dinner wouldn’t be served until six thirty . . . clam chowder with corn biscuits—she imagined Ethan as a grinchy man. That’s not the way she remembered him, but then he’d been a boy of eighteen back then. The man she’d met on the boat today . . . was he grinchy?

Absolutely.

Wendy suddenly sensed a bit of grinch in herself. She knew where she was going to be spending twenty dollars tomorrow . . . for a good cause. Maybe fifty.

Chapter 6

A what kind of love? . . .

Ethan was eating a big fisherman’s breakfast—two eggs, bacon, corned beef hash, home fries, four slices of toast, and coffee, lots of coffee—when his grandmother started in on him. He rarely ate lunch once he was on the go, and his work was strenuous, especially this time of the year. Food was energy. But he wasn’t sure his digestion could take all this intrusion into his private space.

It was a sign of how buzzed the old lady was over the latest bee in her bonnet (her expression, not his) that she didn’t even object when Harvey came sneaking into the kitchen from the sunporch where he’d been banned for punishment. He’d gotten loose yesterday and hightailed it (literally) next door to “visit” the neighbor’s poodle. The neighbors were not happy, having already suffered the consequences of one of Harvey’s previous visits, him being of mixed breed and a big galumph of a beast, at that. Being a responsible pet owner, he’d had the old boy fixed since then, but apparently neutering doesn’t completely wipe out the sex drive in some cases. Besides, there can be non-sexual reasons for males to hump, his veterinarian, Jake Mellot, liked to tell him, always with an annoying grin, daring him to explain. Ethan couldn’t imagine what reasons and refused to ask.

His grandmother also hadn’t mentioned the two cats in the kitchen, one on top of the fridge, and the other shedding hair all over the rug in front of the sink. The rescue rabbits in the hutch out back were a sore point with her, too, but nothing she could complain about since he and Cassie handled their care.

Ethan loved animals, as did his daughter. Not so much his grandmother.

“Wendy is back in town. It’s time you mended fences,” she pointed out, not for the first time since he’d entered the room or numerous times over the past few days.

After twelve years of Wendy’s name being taboo in this house, suddenly I’m being bombarded. Ever since she made peace with Mildred Patterson. Wendy this. Wendy that. Mildred said that Wendy . . . I wonder if Wendy . . . Bet Wendy looks different now that . . . blah, blah, blah. If she wasn’t my grandmother, and if I didn’t owe her big-time for all she does for me and Cassie, and, yeah, if I didn’t love the old bat, I would tell her to fuck off. Instead, he remarked, “What fences? I don’t have any fences.”

“Boy, your fences are a mile high and stone-hard.”

He gritted his teeth. “Mind your own business, Grandma.”

She hated when he called her Grandma, much preferring the more endearing Nana, but she didn’t react to the jab this morning, having other, more important things on her mind. Like interfering in my life. “Boy, it’s time for you to talk to the girl about what happened and get some closure so that you can move on.”

I’m hardly a boy, at thirty, and Wendy is certainly no longer a girl. That ship sailed a long time ago. “I already talked to Wendy on the ferry, and, for your information, I got closure twelve years ago. Furthermore, Nana, I have no intention of moving anywhere. Let’s drop the subject, please.” He glanced pointedly at his daughter who loved to eavesdrop on adult conversations.

Cassie, who had been pretending to nibble on a buttered English muffin, dropping little bits for Harvey, but was following the conversation with too much interest, asked, “Is she the lady with the short hair, Dad? She’s pretty.”

“Wendy has short hair now?” his grandmother inquired. “Ah!” she added, as if that change of hairstyle was meaningful.

It was.

“Mom told me about Wendy,” Cassie said.