Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Amelie
It was the third evening Amelie had spent at the jazz club in Pascal’s bed-and-breakfast, but the most special one by far, because Grandma Mary was behind the keys, showing how wonderfully musical she was, throwing her head around as though she were half the age she was.
The trumpet was roaring; the saxophone was howling; the drummer looked so frantic and alive.
Amelie clapped her hands in time to the music (when the music wasn’t changing time signatures and leaving her behind; she’d never been particularly musical herself) and felt a part of something warm and exciting and creative.
Sometimes she let herself watch Pascal with his saxophone a little too long, imagining a future with him she hadn’t assumed she’d ever have with anyone.
Who was this Frenchman? Why had he “swept her off her feet,” so to speak, when nobody else had in years?
And what about this magical Christmas season on Mackinac had allowed her to feel so much?
When the song cut out, Grandma Mary got to her feet and raised her hands to tremendous applause. Pascal whipped his arm out to introduce her, saying, “I’ve been begging the brilliant Mary to play keys for us for years. I can’t believe she finally came out!”
Amelie hadn’t yet told Pascal that Grandma Mary was her grandmother, but she wondered if Pascal was starting to put two and two together.
He’d been on the island for many years. Maybe he’d heard of the redheaded twins who’d disappeared.
Perhaps that was the reason for all his niceties.
If he did know about Willa and Amelie, though, Amelie wished he would come out and say it.
She didn’t want to find herself a part of any elaborate game.
But as the applause filtered out, Amelie realized that her grandmother’s face had fallen.
Her eyes were pointed toward the back door.
Sensing impending disaster, Amelie had clenched her hands in fists.
Slowly, she turned around, following her grandmother’s gaze to find Willa in the doorway, dressed for the winter chill.
Behind her was handsome Marius, the man in her life who’d gotten away.
He looked deadly serious, his eyes on Amelie.
Amelie guessed that finding them like this had ruined Marius and Willa’s night—that theirs had been a romantic evening of reconnecting.
Willa’s eyes were on their grandmother, captivated by her.
And then, all at once, they fell on Amelie.
Amelie’s heart seized with panic. In Willa’s eyes, she saw so much: memories of the past, all the pain they’d been running away from, their millions of hours of conversations.
She saw the arguments they’d had in Tennessee; she saw Willa’s previous belief that they were better off apart.
Yet here they were, Amelie and Willa, across the street from the fudge shop, together again after so long.
Amelie had “followed” Willa here from her cabin in Big Sur. She’d essentially stalked her twin sister's home. (Was it possible to stalk your twin?)
Pascal, the trumpeter, and the drummer began to play a quieter tune, allowing the audience members to grab new drinks or chat a bit.
The spell was broken. Willa turned on her heel and rushed out of the bar and into the street.
Amelie burst away from her table, reaching for her coat on the hanger.
She wouldn’t let Willa get away like this.
As she fled the bed-and-breakfast, she drew her arms through the sleeves and raced after her sister.
Marius hung back, watching them from the doorway.
But Willa hadn’t gone far.
Willa stood in front of the window of the fudge shop with her back to Amelie.
Snow filtered down, drawing a curtain of white between them.
Amelie’s eyes smarted. To the tune of Pascal’s jazz, she walked slowly across the street, her heart pounding.
What could she possibly say to her twin sister, the person she loved most in the world?
Amelie stood two feet to Willa’s left, following Willa’s gaze into the dark fudge shop. For nearly a minute, neither of them spoke. It sounded like Marius went inside to get out of the cold and give them the space they needed.
Finally, Willa breathed, “I didn’t know you were here.”
Amelie sniffed. “I got here the same day you did.”
Willa flinched and looked at her for a split second before looking away. “How did you know I was coming?”
Amelie shrugged. “I keep up with your career.”
“I keep up with yours, too.”
Amelie snorted, and Willa gave her another look.
“Sorry. It’s just, there isn’t much of a career to keep up with,” Amelie said.
“I’ve read everything,” Willa said, her voice gentle. “You’re a wonderful writer.”
Amelie blinked rapidly, touched. She needed a glass of water, or a glass of wine, or a glass of whiskey. She wanted to calm her racing mind.
“You’re making a commercial,” Amelie said. “For the Christmas Festival?”
“A few of them, apparently,” Willa said. “I felt forced into it. It’s a long story. I met with the committee yesterday. It was strange.”
“I have time for a long story,” Amelie said. “I’ve always had nothing but time.”
Willa was quiet. Amelie wondered if this was too much for her, if she wanted to try for a conversation another night. Goodness, they had so much to uncover, so much to say. Would they find the strength?
When Willa didn’t say anything else, Amelie offered, “I’m going to open the fudge shop tomorrow.”
This caught Willa’s attention. She jerked her head around and asked, “Why would you do that?”
Amelie’s heartbeat escalated. It was true that it felt reckless and strange, but when she’d pitched the idea to Grandma Mary, Grandma Mary had gushed so effusively that Amelie had realized she couldn’t go back on it.
Besides, she hated that the fudge shop was closed.
It made her feel as though Christmas had been canceled, as if the Caraway family no longer existed.
“Grandma said they closed after Thanksgiving,” Amelie said.
“Imagine how much money they’re losing, the shop being empty like this.
And I hate the idea that tourists are coming to the island and can’t buy Caraway Fudge.
It’s the best fudge on the island. Imagine coming all the way here and having to eat, like, Rita’s fudge. ”
“A tragedy,” Willa agreed, her voice low.
“It’s just for the holidays,” Amelie said. “I’m going to start baking bright and early tomorrow morning. I’m staying over at the bed-and-breakfast, so it’ll be an easy commute.”
Willa flared her nostrils. “Why can’t Dad do it?”
Amelie’s stomach heaved. “Grandma wouldn’t say. She just said he isn’t up to it right now. She said I should go see him soon.”
“But you’re not going to,” Willa said, her voice pointed.
Amelie shrugged. “I haven’t decided.”
Willa hung her head and rubbed her temples under her fuzzy hat. It felt bizarre to stand in the window with Willa, staring into a past they couldn’t return to.
“I’m guessing you wouldn’t go with me,” Amelie said.
But it seemed like Willa didn’t have anything else to say. Amelie tried desperately to read her twin’s mind, but couldn’t figure out how. Maybe they’d lost their “twin connection” long ago.
Suddenly, Willa turned back toward the bed-and-breakfast. “I’d better get home,” she said. “I have things to do. Commercials to film.” She swallowed. “I probably need to find a way to get off this island all over again, before it draws me back into its web.”
Amelie nodded, telling herself that this was only step one, that they’d have more opportunities to go over the events of the past and to heal. Maybe. Please, Willa, talk to me, she did not say.
“What’s it like to ride Mom’s bike?” Amelie asked as Willa waved to Marius through the window, alerting him that she was ready to go.
Willa took a moment to consider it, pressing her lips together. Marius came into the dark and chilly night, tightening his scarf.
“It feels like I’m flying,” Willa said with a soft smile. “I love it.”
Marius nodded hello to Amelie, then wrapped his arm around Willa’s shoulders to guide her back to his horse and buggy. Amelie stood on the sidewalk, watching them grow smaller beneath the towering nightlights, before they disappeared in the inky darkness.
A part of her ached with fear: What if that was the last time I see Willa for another five years? She resolved to fix it if she could.
But she had to go inside and rest. Tomorrow at four a.m., she’d be at the Caraway Fudge Shoppe, doing what she’d done for the better part of her life: make fudge for the tourists and delight everyone with a bit of Christmas cheer. It was what she’d been raised to do.
When Amelie returned to the bed-and-breakfast, she found Pascal at the front counter, smiling at her from behind a pile of paperwork.
The trumpeter, Grandma Mary, and the drummer were on the bar stage, jamming out a tune they made up on the spot.
Amelie was surprised that Pascal had abandoned the stage, as she’d come to find that he was addicted to it.
At the look in his eyes, her heart melted.
“So,” Pascal said, tapping the tip of his pen against a pad of paper. “You’re that Amelie.”
Amelie swallowed the lump in her throat.
“And that was Willa?” Pascal asked.
Amelie nodded, suddenly exhausted. “I haven’t seen her in five years.” Tears spilled from her eyes. She tried to mop them up with the sleeve of her coat, but ended up coating herself with snowflakes.
Before she knew it, Pascal was before her, his arms outstretched.
When she flinched into a nod, he hugged her gently and let her cry against his shoulder.
It was the comfort she so needed, the comfort she’d thought would never come to her.
When the guests left for the night, including Grandma Mary, who went home in a carriage, Pascal made Amelie a mug of hot cocoa, carried it up to her bedroom, and told her to come to his room if she needed anything at all.
“You’re in safe hands,” he said. “Mackinac people take care of their own.”