Christmas in Charlevoix (Charlevoix Dreams #1)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

SAMANTHA

W hile her eyes were pinned to the snowy highway, “Jingle Bell Rock” blasted in Samantha’s ears. She didn't feel like rocking. This trip to Charlevoix was a command performance, and she wasn’t looking forward to it. But how could she say no to Aunt Cate? Instead, she’d work on a serious attitude adjustment on this trip north. She had to get into the Christmas spirit. The snow should help as it pelted the windows, but she still felt edgy. This wasn’t Chicago snow; it was more like Michigan snow. Thick and heavy, it clung to the windshield of her SUV like cotton candy.

The banks of white heaped along the highway had grown deeper with each mile. Would this let up soon? The skies were a leaden gray. Why hadn’t she listened to the weather more closely last night? Maybe her brain had been fried after that conversation with Kurt, her ex-husband.

Was the windshield blurry or was she crying? Straining to see, she didn’t feel much hope. Yes, they’d said the area was slated for snow but this much? Her wipers worked hard to keep up with that strained, rubbery sound. The frantic movement was rattling her. She was headed for Charlevoix, up near the northern tip of Michigan. If the snow was this bad in the Chicago area, she didn’t even want to think about how bad it could be up there.

Maybe she should have her head examined. But Aunt Cate’s call had been a surprise and a plea she could not ignore. “Your sister needs you.”

Okay, but this? The snow was slick beneath her tires and she was glad she’d had them changed out recently. Bogart sent up a plaintive wail from his cat carrier in the back seat. He’d always had good instincts. Maybe Bogart knew they were headed into a bad situation.

Had she even thought to tell her sister Isabel that she was bringing Bogart? Well, they’d always had pets at the Charlevoix house. Sam’s cat probably wouldn’t upset her baby sister. After all, chaos was Izzy’s middle name. In the past she'd veered from one disaster to another.

What was it now? Their aunt hadn’t really said.

Izzy had seemed surprised by Sam's call. “You’re coming for Christmas?” Her question had sounded like a mixture of surprise and dismay, but maybe Sam was imagining things.

Why hadn’t Sam reasoned with her aunt when she’d called? But their Aunt Cate could be so persuasive. “Your sister needs you, honey. Isabel will be delighted that you’re coming. Isn’t it about time? When did you last visit Sunnycrest?”

That was a touchy question. Sam had planned to visit the family summer home last year, but things had come up. What about their sister Marlowe? Hadn’t she invited Izzy and Sam to come to Florida last spring to see her new place in Naples? That hadn’t worked out either. They were all too busy. Sam often got news about Izzy through her aunt.

This trip felt way too mysterious. Thank goodness many of the healthcare clients for Ramsey and Quinn Marketing took time off for the holidays. Her assistant Donna had been given instructions to call if anything hit the fan while she was gone. She didn’t want Kurt to think she wasn’t holding up her part of their agency, which specialized in pharmaceutical companies.

Kurt had made plans to be in Ibiza this Christmas. Swallowing hard, Sam didn’t want to think about her ex and his new girlfriend.

Traffic thinned when she crossed into Michigan, leaving Chicago behind. When she spotted a car up ahead having trouble, Sam tapped the brakes and her car jerked. Bogart protested in the backseat with a testy “meh!” before resettling onto the old towel she’d added to the carrier for warmth. The sound of spinning tires cut through the frigid air. Her throat caught as she watched the car ahead of her spin sideways before righting itself with a jerk. Sam exhaled. “We’re okay, Bogart.”

But was she comforting him or reassuring herself? Why hadn’t she watched the weather report more carefully? Soon the road narrowed to one slippery ribbon. Where were the plows? The salt? Her neck tensed and her toes turned numb in her Totes boots.

Bing Crosby crooned “White Christmas” over her FM station, as if a snowy Christmas was the best thing ever. How crazy was that? This snow was dangerous, not peaceful. Did she even want to go to Charlevoix? The old family home was full of memories. Although they’d grown up in Chicago, they often headed to their mother’s family summer home in Charlevoix. Dad had been in his element when they’d gone to that rambling house for the holidays. No snow in Chicago? Let’s head to Sunnycrest!

Mom would fill the kitchen with smell of spritz or molasses cookies. The three girls eagerly waited to decorate them with colored sugar, chocolate sprinkles or tiny silver balls. Their father would drag in a towering tree from the tree farm up the road. The tree would stand inside the garage until it dropped its snow in wet rivulets. One year they’d laughed when their mother plugged in a hairdryer out in the garage to hurry the process along. When the day for decorating the tree finally arrived, it took all five of them to get it straight in the green and red stand.

Keeping her eyes on the road ahead, Sam remembered the holiday meals her mother would cook. A turkey or a ham would be roasting in the oven, along with scalloped potatoes with a bubbling cheesy crust. Cookies would be spread out on paper bags to cool. They always baked enough for their neighbors and the church cookie exchange.

Memories. Sunnycrest was filled with memories, some good and others, not so good. So why had she agreed to come after all this time? Maybe this trip was a bad idea.

A truck passed her and Sam tightened her hold on the steering wheel. She had to shut these memories down fast. They belonged in a scrapbook. Now she was here, taking a long drive up to the family home she hadn’t visited in years. If the snow kept up like this, the journey would take more than six hours. The windshield wipers swiped faster.

Aunt Cate had roped her in again. Darn it. Dry heat blasted her face. She loosened the red scarf that felt like a noose. The oldest in the family, she was tired of fixing her baby sister’s mistakes.

What new dilemma awaited? Her stomach knotted.

Christmas music continued to play over the radio, but the lilting tunes sure weren’t improving her mood. The snow had hardened to ice and when a truck went rumbling past with authority, she cringed. Samantha hated to drive on the highways next to trucks, and she tended to hunker down in the right hand lane. There was only one lane now. The truck disappeared into the driving snow up ahead.

When “I’ll be Home for Christmas” came on, that was a little too much. The song was a sad reminder that her parents wouldn’t be there. After all these years, Sam still missed them terribly.

Punching some buttons, she found the Margaritaville station. Wasn’t Jimmy Buffett known for lifting people’s moods? As the music played, Samantha chuckled to herself. Could she ever imagine herself “wasting away again” in Margaritaville? The idea was ludicrous. She rarely drank and always carried ten extra pounds. And she had way too many responsibilities to lounge around in some beach bar.

The agency was going gangbusters. Their support staff was very competent, allowing her to get away. But the divorce had changed the marketing agency she'd developed over the years with Kurt. Had she been mistaken to think that she could still make their business work when the two owners had split up? Her throat stung when she tried to swallow. One glance in the rearview mirror told her that Bogart must have fallen asleep.

Eventually, she passed Grand Rapids and turned onto Highway 131. The plows had taken care of the road up here and two lanes were cleared. Her shoulders relaxed. Cars passing on the left were packed with wrapped gifts. She would have to shop once she reached Charlevoix. In her hurry to tidy up all the active projects, she’d had no time to think about presents for her family. Her clients had come first, receiving large boxes of holiday wrapping paper, bows and gift cards. That traditional gift had been sent out promptly after Thanksgiving. And this year, just for continuity’s sake, she’d sent them to all the clients, even those now under Kurt.

Izzy might have appreciated a box too. And maybe their sister Marlowe and Aunt Cate would have liked one. Now it was too late and Sam felt embarrassed that the great idea hadn't even occurred to her. Of course back then, she thought she’d be home in Oak Brook for Christmas. She’d pictured herself having dinner with friends at the club and then watching her favorite Christmas movies on TV. “Home Alone” still made her laugh and so did “Elf.” Did Izzy have Netflix at the Charlevoix house? Since her baby sister was living at Sunnycrest full-time, those decisions always fell to her.

A small girl in a bright red jacket waved to her from the rear window of a passing SUV. Samantha smiled and waved. Sometimes she thought it would be wonderful to have a little girl to buy gifts for at Christmas. A doll, certainly, and a red or green velvet dress. Bows for her hair and shiny patent leather shoes with white ruffled socks.

But how ridiculous. She was letting her mind wander. Time to focus on the road while a lighter snow swirled around the car. When she passed a car that had slid into a ditch, she was relieved to see a tow truck helping the young couple. How miserable that would be, standing out in the cold.

Her father had taught her how to deal with the snow. Samantha knew how to rock a car out of a rut. How to tap the brakes and turn the wheel into a skid. But she hoped she wouldn’t have to use those skills today, not if she was careful.

On her way out of Oak Brook she’d driven through a Starbucks. During the holidays, she loved their peppermint mocha coffee. But she’d been so busy concentrating on the road that she hadn’t had a chance to drink much of it. When she lifted it now and took a sip, she found the coffee lukewarm. But the peppermint still danced over her tongue and the mocha flavor made her wish for more chocolate. Yes, with no one around to comment on her love of chocolate, she could now indulge herself.

Sam had to dwell on all the positives of no longer being with Kurt. For instance, she could pick up and go up to Sunnycrest whenever she liked. When she was growing up with her two sisters, they’d loved this stretch of highway, lined with what they used to call “the forest.” Now the trees were laden with snow. Even the billboards were edged with white.

Christmas. Sam felt Christmas all around. The Margaritaville music somehow seemed almost sacrilegious. Sam pressed buttons until she found a station where Vince Gill was singing “O Holy Night.” His voice was reassuringly hopeful and Sam’s tense shoulders eased a little more.

She needed that sense of peace. Maybe when she reached the house, she would begin walking again every day. When she’d lived in Chicago with Kurt at the beginning of their marriage, they’d gone walking a lot in the evening. But once they moved farther west to Oak Brook, that had changed. You needed sidewalks to walk safely, or so Kurt thought. The fitness center they joined didn’t have a track. Kurt had bought a treadmill, that still sat in their family room downstairs.

Humming along to the music, she felt her heart swell with confidence. She could handle this. No matter what the problem was, she could fix it for Izzy. As the oldest girl, Samantha was known for that. Of course her aunt couldn’t call Marlowe to help with Izzy. Marlowe lived in Florida. She would have had to fly in and her real estate business was flourishing. Did people look at homes during the holidays? Samantha imagined that they did. When had she last spoken to Marlowe? Thanksgiving?

For a short time the snow became mild flurries. Maybe things would be better up ahead. Snow removal salt hit the bottom of the car, but at least the snowplows had been out. Sam settled more comfortably in the seat as she passed the exits for the small beach towns where Chicago people had their summer homes.

When a sign came up for a rest stop, she pulled off the highway to use the bathroom and get some warm coffee. The restroom felt cold and the mirror made her wonder when she'd gotten so pale. In her hurry to leave, she hadn’t paid much attention to makeup.

The coffee machine was a disappointment. One sip and she pitched the cup into the trash. Soon she was back in the SUV with only memories to keep her company. Staring at her ring finger, she wondered. How had this happened? Izzy had asked her about Kurt during their brief conversation a couple of days ago. Sam had been evasive. No, he wouldn’t be coming. There would be plenty of time to explain what she really didn’t understand herself.

Sam had just turned forty-one and the only thing giving her life structure right now was her work. Maybe she’d take a trip with some of the women friends she’d met in the Chamber of Commerce. But where would she go? What did she long to see? Kurt had always dictated any trips. A golf course in Scotland or the familiar Caribbean cruise. Another car passed, stuffed with presents and family. The children in the backseat seemed to be singing. Sam smiled and waved.

The wind had turned blustery, sending sheets of snow over the fields and onto the highway. When she was a little girl, this would be the time when her mother would pull out some games to keep them busy. She’d pass back books of stickers and they created pictures of brides and the clothes for their honeymoons. They’d count the yellow signs along the road or maybe the green ones. Samantha liked to look at the distance markers, while her sisters counted the signs by color.

As she drove, questions percolated in her head. Her aunt hadn’t told her very much. Sam hoped that her sister wasn't sick. That would be a real downer, but certainly Aunt Cate would’ve told her if that were the situation. Wouldn’t she?

“Your sister could use a level head right now,” Aunt Cate had said.

A level head. Is that what Sam was known for?

In any case, it had been a while since Sam had seen Izzy. They weren’t that close. After graduating from high school, Izzy had been the first to marry. Skipper Malone was a boy she’d met on the beach in Charlevoix. To everyone’s dismay, the marriage hadn’t lasted two years. Then came Chuck Dalton. Three years and that marriage also ended in divorce. Thank goodness they hadn’t had children. Why, Sam still thought of Izzy as her baby sister.

The farther north she drove, the worse the snow got. Traffic narrowed to one lane again, and cold winds rocked the car. Checking her rearview mirror she saw that Bogart was a tight ball of fur in the corner of his carrier. “We’re going to make it through,” she told her pet, but she was really reassuring herself. The car ahead of her had turned on their emergency blinkers and she did the same. What she would give to be tucked in front of the fireplace in the Charlevoix house, holding a cup of hot cocoa. That is, if Izzy had kept the fireplace operational.

The line of cars had slowed. If one of them met with a mishap, they would all be stuck here. Her parents had taught them to always travel with extra blankets and a thermos of cocoa or coffee. Sam had nothing and hoped she wouldn’t get a migraine from the stress.

This storm was exactly the kind of situation that would bring on her dreaded headaches. Whenever she had a deadline to meet, she could count on her body betraying her. The headache would start and no matter how much yoga or meditation she tried, the aura appeared, and the pain began. The blinking emergency lights ahead of her might bring on a headache.

In the early days of the agency, Kurt had taken over when a migraine hit her. He would sequester her in the comforting darkness of their master bedroom, assuring her that he’d meet their deadlines. And in the early days he had. More recently Donna, her assistant would insist that she go home.

Michael Bublé was singing “It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas.” She tried to sing along, but the lyrics wouldn’t come. How long had she been driving? Four or five hours? Sam was cocooned in a world of white. But the windshield wipers were still moving, skipping when they hit trails of ice. Sam was used to driving alone. But this snow? “Everything is okay,” she told her pet through chattering teeth.

Inching along at twenty miles an hour, they passed Cadillac and Fife Lake. Desperation prompted her to keep singing, if only to reassure Bogart. Although she’d always felt that “The Twelve Days of Christmas” was way too long, the carol felt short that day. She could have used a few more verses.

Finally, the snow did let up and the sun came out, blinding her when it glanced off the snowy landscape. But to her relief, the migraine didn’t develop. She welcomed the scrape of the snowplows coming up behind her in the left lane. Sure, they threw snow and salt at her as they passed. But the plows were clearing the road and giving her some traction. Moving into the left lane, she kept her speed down. By the time she pulled into Charlevoix, her head was throbbing and she felt weak from lack of food. Why hadn’t she thought to pack a sandwich?

Thank goodness the snow had stopped completely by the time she reached the house, but the driveway hadn’t been cleared. Izzy’s old sedan was parked at the end so Sam edged her SUV over to the side of the road. Flickering white lights peeked through the snow on their mailbox wreath.

Thank goodness she’d worn her boots. Climbing out of the SUV, Sam managed to keep her footing. Yanking open the rear door, she leaned in and grabbed the carrier. Bogart gave a pathetic meow as the carrier tipped. “Such a good boy,” she said to soothe him. “Wasn’t that a long trip? But we’re here now. Home.”

Although the walk hadn’t been shoveled in a long time, somehow she made it up the steps by gripping the metal railing with her free hand. “We’re home now.” She looked up at the two-story structure that dripped with icicles and loosened shingles.

Sunnycrest hadn’t changed. But she had.