32. CHRISTMAS
PANDORA
“Dora, honey, they smell amazing! Aunt Nancy will be asking you for the recipe,” Mom gushes at my cinnamon-and-cranberry cookie creation in the oven.
Since we returned to Rockcastle a few weeks ago, I’ve been on my best behavior. My father promised to leave the apartment in Deepsilver intact on a probationary basis, which is why I’m fighting so hard to be good.
Even my twentieth birthday was a low-key affair, with eight friends coming over for a wholesome meal. “Welcome to Pandora’s Rapunzel-tower celebration,” Mica had whispered to me. “But don’t worry. We’ll make it up to you once we get back to Deepsilver.”
Sometimes, I go stir-crazy. My cabin fever inflates proportionally with the days passing, and last night, I took my heaviest Scheuermann meds for the side effect alone, intense drowsiness. I passed out at 10 p.m., dodging my urge to take off in search of fun. Or trouble.
I sleep in my old room, but I can’t use my walk-in closet anymore. Instead, I keep my suitcases propped open against the wall, clothes sprouting from them in disorganized heaps. To be on the safe side, Shannon and I have an understanding: if I don’t text back within five minutes of her messaging me, she’ll be over to check on me.
“Don’t you love the idea?” my mother prattles on. “Nancy’s always the one to bring the new, fancy stuff. I think we’ve got her beat this year!”
“Good, and I won’t have a recipe to give her either when she asks.” I smile to Mom, who slams her hands together and chuckles gleefully.
I’m pretty good at baking even though I’m not fond of it. My mother perks up with every Christmas detail I manage, so this is an easy way to keep her happy. In the meantime, I occupy myself with the countdown until I can return to Deepsilver.
Eight days.
We’re preparing for the big traditional family get-together with uncles, aunts, little cousins, the whole shebang. They’ll start invading us in a couple of hours, and I hope they plan on an extended visit, because I need the distraction more than ever; it’s the second day of Christmas, and all my friends are gathering at the pier. Even Mick and Les will make an appearance, Destiny told me, the clowns of my graduation class. I’m in dire need of a good laugh, and damn if those two aren’t going to be a blast.
Dominic still texts me every day, a one-way communication. The tenacious, handsome, too-perfect man doesn’t stop calling either, but there’s no way I can pick up.
Today, he texts, How’s Rockcastle?
I think of how futile it is with questions when you never get answers. He’s so stubborn.
So I reply this time. Ask him a question back, even.
It’s okay. Your grandmother?
Dominic doesn’t do emoticons, but at my reply, he sends me the biggest smiley-face back. It makes me smile.
Good, he writes. And then just… Pandora
I hear the sigh in his text. That deep short sigh that makes my heart soften and quiver beneath my ribs.
I send him a heart, because it’s what’s on my mind. Then, I put the phone away.
DOMINIC
I guide Grandma to the car from Harry’s Big’n Tall Men’s Clothing. She’d been a bit quiet when I climbed into the attic to grab her Christmas china, but really, I had no way of foreseeing that she’d slide into oblivion while I was up there.
My little lady’s so fast. Even in her dement state, she bounds off as if she knows she’s about to be chased down. I chuckle, impressed.
After months in Stowden, I’m not in denial anymore. My grandmother has become a twenty-four seven job, and I cannot change the way her lucid periods shrink for each day.
To be honest, her confusion doesn’t upset me as much as it did, because in Alan’s words, my grandma’s a happy senile. When he first said this, I told him to shut the hell up, but after a few weeks of first-hand experience, I had to admit he’s right.
“Sir?” Grandma says politely as I hold the car door open.
“Ma’am, I’ll take you home,” I play along. At the moment, she has no idea who I am, so I’ll be her chauffeur. The two of us might as well enjoy this.
Today, she’s not a five-year-old Pearl. Since she ran straight to Harry’s, I’m thinking she must be her elegant church-lady self, the way she was in her sixties. That’s when her cooking finally took its toll on Grandpa, to the point of making him need fat-man pants.
A sweet smile brightens her expression. “But… I should pick up my husband’s new slacks.” Her eyes crinkle at the corners while she attempts to collect some fleeting thought.
“Miss Pearl,” I say, giving a polite bow. “Harry himself will deliver them on his way home tonight. I think your husband will be satisfied with the adjustments.”
Her smile widens. “Will he now? Well, please pass on our heartfelt thank yous to Harry and tell him to plan for an after-hour cocktail at our residence.”
“Yes, ma’am. Any particular route Miss Pearl prefers?” I keep up our light exchange, causing Grandma to giggle.
“Oh, aren’t you a charmer? Harry sure knows how to choose his staff. Well, as a matter of fact, I wouldn’t mind driving by the golf course. It is quite pretty there at this time of year.”
I can’t help laughing in earnest. The storeowner has never had other employees than his wife, and the golf course is at its winter worst in December. Grandma’s excited, though, which is all that matters, and soon—I hope—she’ll revert to her lucid self, our little exchange forgotten.
Back at the house, she makes herself a glass of hot milk with honey and goes to bed. I shrug. At least I can relax during her impromptu, odd-hour naps. Until she’s up again, she can’t bail in another creative errand.
I call Pandora to hear her outgoing voicemail.
“Hey, you…” she begins, her voice silky and intimate. I sink down on my bed and shut my eyes. She whispers into my ear from the pillow next to me. “Are you there?” her voicemail breathes, like she can’t hear me.
Pandora’s outgoing message is meant to be funny, but it’s not. Not at all. I’m a creeper, and my dick hardens every time. I’ve beat myself off after ‘checking in on her’ this way. If I were the good kind of friend, I’d have told her she’s collecting stalkers instead of laughs, but I can’t. At least not until I’m back in Deepsilver. I need these “chats” with her.
“Ahhh, well,” she pouts to me, and I picture her plump lower lip jut out, ready for me to taste it. “If you don’t want to talk to me, I’m just gonna hang up. Or you can leave a message after the beeeep!”
I do chuckle at the beeeep, though, because she twists up into Smurf register and sings it out in a vibrato on speed.
I’m hanging up when an incoming call from Alan rumbles through. “Dominic.”
“What?”
“It’s happening.”
And suddenly, my heart bounces up into my throat.