Chapter 4
Chapter Four
SAMANTHA
W hen Sam woke up, she had no idea where she was. Her mouth was paper dry and her eyes felt gritty. Licking her lips, she looked around. The room felt cozy and familiar. The Christmas tree towered in the corner. Reality seeped back into her consciousness.
Home. She’d come home for Christmas.
Feeling a heaviness, she tried to pull her feet up and then realized that the weight was Bogart, her darling boy. Huddling with her on the sofa, the poor guy must wonder where he was. The tree lights brought it all back. She'd been decorating the tree the night before with Izzy when she began to feel sleepy.
Scrubbing both hands over her face, Sam struggled to wake up. She'd had a terrible dream that she was lost in the snow and didn't know where she was. Which direction was home? The dream had left her with a horrible feeling in her chest. Well, she’d come here to forget the mess back home. She settled back into the sofa and pulled the Christmas afghan up.
The fire had died, leaving glowing embers. Sam loved having a real fire but they’d never had time at their house outside Chicago. Kurt had talked about installing a gas fireplace that they could easily flick on but they'd never gotten around to it. Oh, they'd had big plans for that Oak Brook house. But when the recession had struck years ago and Kurt lost his job at a promotional agency in the city, they’d decided to open their own agency. It hadn't taken long for them to realize that when you own the company, there is no such thing as “time off.”
But Kurt seemed to be taking a doozy of a vacation right now. Ibiza? She wouldn’t think about it.
A snap in the fireplace startled Bogart. His entire body rigid, he sat up, ready to leap down. “It's all right, Bogart. Come see Mom. That’s just the pine sap catching fire.” Her father had loved tending the fire, as he called. Someplace there was a wire basket for popping corn over the flames and long metal picks for roasting marshmallows. Dad had been an expert at making s’mores. She hadn’t enjoyed one in years. Bogart crept closer and she ran one hand over his silky fur. Purring, he settled onto her chest and gave her a good sniff, as if he had to make sure that she was really his mom in this strange place.
Sam ran her other hand over her flat stomach. Maybe she’d gain some weight over the holidays. Although she hadn't intended to get this thin, she didn't have any appetite anymore. A frozen turkey dinner had been more than enough for her the night before she’d left for Charlevoix.
Izzy must have left the tree lights on and Sam was glad. The tiny lights reflected on the ornaments, casting a glow in that corner. Her poor sister seemed to be flying in several different directions at once. That was how she worked. Projects might be half done, but Izzy took them on with enthusiasm, like the science project Marlowe and Sam had finished for her in grade school. Izzy was great at starting projects but completing them had always been a problem.
Now she was babysitting as well as handling her coffee shop? How did she do it? The house was so still now. Sam imagined that the mother had come to pick up her baby. How often did Isabel babysit? Her sister’s energy amazed her.
An open cardboard box had been left on the coffee table. Gently pushing Bogart aside, Samantha inched closer. Reaching inside, she found the stockings that her mother had made so long ago. The red felt was trimmed in a furry fabric that had once been bright white. Under that furry edge her mother had scripted their names in gold glitter. Some of the glitter was gone now but the stockings were all still there. Izzy’s stocking rested on top, probably because she’d used it each Christmas. Digging through old tissue paper, Sam found the other stockings for herself and Marlowe.
Well, she really didn't need a stocking but she took out the other two. Below were the ones for Aunt Cate and Uncle Monty. But Sam couldn’t remember the last time they’d all been here together. In the early days, Izzy would come to Sam’s in Chicago. Other times they would both head to Marlowe’s place in Naples, Florida. One year all three sisters had gone to Aunt Cate’s in New York. But that was later, when Izzy was older and could fly with her big sisters.
Together. After their parents’ fatal accident, that’s all they wanted. They wanted to spend the holidays together, but they’d avoided spending Christmas at Charlevoix. Maybe the memories were too painful. Her parents’ accident had happened here. Maybe it was time to move beyond that loss. But where to begin?
Sam kept digging. In the very bottom were the two stockings for Mom and Dad. Izzy could be so sentimental. What do you do with stockings for people you’ve loved? Throwing them away or giving them to Goodwill would be unthinkable. Sam tucked them back into the box.
In the corner of the cardboard box was a styrofoam container. She hadn't seen this in a long time. Lifting it, Samantha pried the white block open and found the glass snowball with the beautiful angel inside. When she shook it, snow cascaded over the angel with gold wings. This snowball had fascinated her as a little girl. Sam wound up the key on the bottom, and the music box played “Hark the Herald Angels Sing.” Although the sound might be tinny with age, it still struck a chord in Sam’s heart.
As she sat on the floor, a wet nose nudged her hand and she jumped. But it was only Bogart, who’d left his perch on the couch. “Are you feeling neglected?” she said smoothing one hand over his forehead and down his back. He snuggled into her side. At least Piper didn’t appear. It might take a while for Bogart to warm up to the dog.
“Looks like we've got the place to ourselves.”
Although she would have liked to sit here in the living room for a while, Sam didn't know what the next day would bring. Picking up her phone from the coffee table, she saw that it was just past midnight. And she desperately needed some rest. Heaving herself to her feet, she crossed the threadbare Oriental carpet that should have been replaced decades ago and tapped the button that turned off the tree lights. The fire had burned down to gray ashes.
Glancing around, she wondered if Izzy left a light on down here. Walking out into the hall, she found a nightlight burning. That should be enough. When she twisted the etched metal knob on the massive front door, she found it open. Their dad had always joked that no one locked the door in Charlevoix. But times had changed. She turned the bolt.
“Come on, Bogart. Time for bed.” One hand on the banister, she walked softly up the stairs. The sixth stair up still squeaked, and she chuckled. That summer when she'd been sneaking out to meet Josh McCall she'd wanted to nail that step down but was afraid her dad would notice.
When she reached the second floor landing, everything was so still. How could Isabel stand to live here with all these memories? Maybe she didn't have any place else to go. Sam had tried to persuade her to move to Chicago after her marriage to Skipper Malone went off the rails. But Izzy wouldn’t have it. Was Izzy afraid that they would all want to sell the house if it was empty? No way would they rent it out. So Izzy stayed here, trying one job after the other. After working at the crystal store, waitressing at the Harbor View Cafe and doing a short stint cleaning cottages, she’d finally settled on Coffee and Cupcakes. Maybe this time she'd found her place.
The upstairs hall was quiet. Bogart led her right to their room, as if he knew that’s where his litter box and food were. When Sam reached her room, she cautiously closed the door behind her and flicked on the light. Nothing happened. The bulb must be out and the room was cloaked in darkness. Feeling her way over to the bed, she eventually found the small turtle lamp on the side table. When she pressed the switch at the base, the light came on, bathing the bed in green and blue.
That four poster bed sure was high. Too high for Bogart, who no longer leapt onto a bed with ease. Feeling that she had stepped into a time warp, Sam opened the closet. The damp smell told her that this closet was rarely opened. Pushing back the hangers holding old clothes, she was glad to find the small portable staircase their father had bought for one of their dogs years ago.
At the time they’d had a small black Scotty called Brianna. A tiny thing, she could never make it onto Sam’s bed. The darn thing was too high. “She could hurt her back trying,” Dad had said and he’d found the stairs in a catalogue.
Dragging the staircase back to the bed, Sam positioned it to one side. Bogart had disappeared under the bed but maybe he’d get the idea of the staircase when he needed it.
Slipping into some long pajamas and woolly socks, she climbed up onto the bed. The sheets were cold at first, but she wouldn’t have any trouble getting to sleep. This had been a very long day. Before plugging her phone into the charger, she set her alarm for seven in the morning. She wanted to surprise Izzy the way her mother had so many years ago. When they were little, they always liked to wake up to the smell of sugared bacon. Bogart evidently had decided to use the stairs and settled at her side with a sigh.
But when the alarm went off the next morning, Sam struggled to remember where she was and why she was there. The smell of pine lingered in the air. The sound of Bogart digging in his litter box brought her fully awake. She wasn't at home in the large Oak Brook house with every modern convenience. No, the rattle of the furnace in the basement told her that much. Dry air blasted through the metal floor vents and her skin felt like paper. Outside a plow must be coming down the street. She heard the grating sound of metal on asphalt and smiled. Today she would have to dig out that driveway leading up to the garage or risk her car being totally buried by the snowplow. That had happened one year and her dad had been furious.
Tossing back the blanket, Sam shivered as she rummaged through a drawer to find the gray track pants and hoodie she’d brought with her. Then she pulled on warm Christmas socks one of her girlfriends had given her in their yearly exchange and yanked her hair back into a ponytail. She filled Bogart’s bowl with food and set the bag back in the closet. “Now you be a good boy.”
One hand on the doorknob, Sam hesitated. Should she leave the door open? Would Piper come bursting in here and scare the heck out of Bogart? But sequestering the cat for a week or so would not be easy. “You're on your own,” she told the cat as Bogart slowly made his way down the staircase to munch the dry food, pretending not to hear her. “If Piper comes in this room, run under the bed.” Bogart kept eating. His nose was no doubt out of joint. He’d rather be home, watching TV with her in their family room.
Family room? Now it was only her. No family.
The second floor was dark and quiet as she opened the door. Creeping along the worn runner in her stocking feet, she took the back stairway to the kitchen. Was the heat on? The kitchen felt cold when she reached it. When she flicked on the light, ice laced the lower edge of the kitchen windows. Going into the hall, she saw that the thermostat was set to sixty-eight and pumped it up. What did it cost to heat this old house? She’d have to ask Aunt Cate. Sam’s understanding was that Aunt Cate split the bills with Izzy. Sam was always glad to help and so was Marlowe. Too bad Marlowe wasn't going to be here. They really should talk about the Sunnycrest expenses.
But right now she had work to do and Sam began to carefully assemble what she would need. She found bacon in the freezer and set it on a paper towel in the microwave to thaw. Thank goodness Izzy had eggs. The multi-grain bread may not be fresh but once it was toasted, it wouldn’t matter. As she worked to pull the breakfast together, she fell into the old rhythm. This was something she hadn't done in a very long time. Kurt had always been on a diet. He would grab a cup of coffee in the morning and sip it while he shaved. Now it felt good to be fixing breakfast for someone.
By the time she heard Izzy on the stairs, Samantha had the waffle iron out and ready. She had a cup of batter in her hands when her sister appeared in the doorway, the baby in her arms.
“Oh, I thought Holly's mother had picked her up last night.” She couldn't believe the lengths Izzy would go to for others. Sam had to admire her for that. Giving up a night's sleep to tend to someone else's baby wouldn’t be easy.
Even without makeup, her baby sister was so pretty. Some of Izzy’s golden curls with the green streak were held back in a barrette while the rest spilled over her shoulders. She might have sleepers in her eyes but they were still big and blue like their mother’s. But right now those blue eyes darkened. “Samantha, you might as well know. Holly is my baby.”
Later, Samantha wouldn't know how it had happened but the waffle batter ended up all over the floor.