Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
Willa
It was around eleven forty-five that night that Willa received the alert on her phone that severe weather was headed for Mackinac Island.
Blizzard conditions. Below zero temperature.
Stay alert. Willa leaped off her office chair, her heart pounding.
Ever since she’d reached Mackinac Island, she’d checked the weather continually, hopeful that she’d be able to get as much commercial footage as she could before Christmas, so that she could break free from the past. A blizzard meant a hold on everything.
A blizzard meant the Christmas Festival might be postponed.
She felt anger toward Mother Nature, toward her career. And then, she felt sorrow for the islanders who’d worked tirelessly to make this an unforgettable Christmas Festival. This far north in Michigan, there was so little you could plan for.
Willa threw herself back in her office chair and groaned.
On her screen was footage from today’s trip to the festival, where they’d filmed plenty of shots of revelers, stalls, decadent foods, white winter snow, and festival rides.
There was enough footage to put together a quaint Christmas Festival commercial that would include a voiceover about how wonderful it was.
In her notes, she’d suggested possible voiceover candidates, actors, and actresses who could illustrate the magic of the season.
But it wasn’t enough. Her contract wasn’t fulfilled.
There was a whole commercial left to film.
Willa went to the window to watch as the snowfall quickened and thickened.
She knew that a snow like this would come on fast and trap her inside her cabin, maybe for a full day or more.
She checked her cabinets for supplies and realized she desperately needed a grocery run, as she was out of wine.
It wasn’t like her to be so ill-prepared.
But you didn’t have to be so prepared in a city with every kind of convenience mere steps outside your door.
Willa thrummed with questions of what to do. She hadn’t seen Marius since the other day, when she’d left him at the most romantic moment possible—right when it had seemed like they might finally kiss. They hadn’t been texting, probably because Marius sensed that she wanted him to stay away.
But I don’t want you to stay away! Willa tried to think at him, all the way down here in her little cabin by the water. I want so many things! I don’t know how to welcome joy into my life!
She wondered, for the first time, if Rosemary had been lonely in this cottage by herself when she was alive. Maybe, when Willa and Amelie had come by to play in her yard, she’d looked forward to the next time, hopeful for the sense of family they’d provided.
Rosemary must have been in love, once. How often had she thought of that love, alone here in the cabin?
Would Willa be that lonely down the road?
Don’t think about that now, she told herself, hurrying for her coat, scarf, gloves, and hat.
Before she could thoroughly think about her plans, she threw some clothes in her midsize bag, along with her laptop, notebook, and a few books.
With the bag wrapped around her shoulder, she was in the garage, drawing her mother’s Schwinn into the swirling snow.
If she waited another hour, she wouldn’t be able to bike through the streets. It had to be now.
She wouldn’t be caught all alone in a cabin in the middle of a blizzard.
Although a part of Willa yearned to bike up the hill to Marius’s stables, she knew it was too dangerous to go that far. It was quicker to go back toward town, back toward her sister.
The sister I was so cruel to today, Willa thought, wincing as she raced through the freezing weather.
Maybe Amelie was at the jazz bar, celebrating with the other revelers, watching the blizzard come in.
Maybe Willa could find it within her heart to embrace that happiness.
She pictured another version of herself on stage, maybe with a microphone, belting out a Christmas song as Pascal and Amelie clapped along.
The vision of it made her laugh and brought tears to her eyes.
But when Willa reached the bed-and-breakfast, she found that the bar was dark and closed up for the night.
Nobody else was on the streets. She parked her bike under the porch awning, wondering if Amelie was already asleep.
But that was when she realized a light was on in the back of the Caraway Fudge Shoppe.
Incredibly, Amelie was already making fudge.
She’d fully embraced tradition. That, or she couldn’t sleep.
Willa hurried across the street, peering through the glass door, watching her sister’s diligent steps.
Amelie wore a look of intense concentration, so much so that Willa hesitated before she knocked on the door.
But all she wanted in the world, just now, was to help her sister make their family’s recipes.
She regretted how dark she’d been earlier, telling her sister that she wanted to leave the island as soon as possible.
It had felt like a lie, pouring out of her mouth.
It was true that she was angry with their father. It was true that she might always be angry. But it was also true that, for two decades, she’d missed her twin sister like a phantom limb. She wanted to make up for lost time. She wanted to stop fighting, for goodness’ sake.
With the third knock, Amelie bucked out of the kitchen, then stopped short when she saw who was on the other side of the glass.
Her eyes swam with confusion. When she opened the door, she was frozen.
A gust of blizzardy wind pushed Willa to the side, breaking Amelie’s spell.
She reached for Willa’s hand, drawing her into the warmth.
“You made it,” Amelie said, as though a part of her had already known Willa was on her way—the twin thing.
Willa removed her coat, gloves, hat, and scarf, remaining quiet. Her heart thudded from the bike ride in. Amelie was playing music over the speakers, not Christmas music, thankfully, but something from the nineties. Willa wasn’t sure if she could handle Christmas music right now.
“I want to help you,” Willa said.
Amelie looked like she wanted to say something, but didn’t know how. Instead, she led Willa into the back, where Willa pulled up her sleeves and began to help her sister.
“We sold out early today,” Amelie said. “I don’t want that to happen tomorrow.”
Willa didn’t want to tell her that there probably wouldn’t be a Christmas Festival tomorrow, that the snow would pile high on the island’s streets, and the ferries wouldn’t bring tourists to buy the fudge. Instead, she fell into a frenzy alongside Amelie, performing the tasks she’d been born to do.
Strangely, she felt as though their mother was in the apartment above the shop, fuming that Amelie and Willa hadn’t “done anything with their lives” besides work at the Caraway Fudge Shoppe.
I did, Mom, Willa wanted to tell her, her eyes smarting.
I’ve had a whole career, and I still feel empty inside.
She often wished she could go back in time and help her mother heal.
When Amelie and Willa finished another batch of peanut butter, Amelie put her hands on her hips and turned her attention to Willa. The speakers were playing a Mariah Carey song, but not the Christmas one.
Amelie said, “I have something to tell you.”
Willa took a step back, as though Amelie’s words would hurt her. Whatever it was, couldn’t it wait? Maybe they could call each other tomorrow. Perhaps she wasn’t strong enough.
“I went to see Dad tonight,” Amelie said. “It’s why I couldn’t sleep. It’s why I came here immediately and started making fudge, like a crazy person.”
Willa narrowed her eyes. The last thing she wanted to talk about was their father. She backed toward the mudroom and put her hand on the doorknob.
But Amelie followed her, saying, “You know, we can’t keep running from this the rest of our lives. It isn’t fair to us. It isn’t fair to Mom.”
Willa’s face crumpled. How dare she say it wasn’t fair to Mom?
“He told me what really happened that day,” Amelie said, her voice just a whisper.
Willa opened the door and stepped into the billowing winds without a coat.
She wanted to howl, Why do you trust anything Dad says?
Immediately, her fingers were rigid with cold.
What was she doing? Why was she throwing herself into the darkness?
Amelie hurried over, pulled Willa back into the mudroom, and closed the door tightly against the blizzard.
“You need to hear it, Willa,” Amelie breathed. “Please.”
But Willa wasn’t sure if she could. She put her hands over her ears, like a child, and inhaled deeply. She thought she was going to have a panic attack.
“Please, Willa,” Amelie said. “Please. Hear me.”
And so, Willa forced her hands from her ears and let them hang at her sides.
It was clear there was nowhere else to go and nothing else to do but listen to this.
Amelie took her sister’s hand and led her upstairs to their mother’s old room, where they sat at the edge of the bed where their mother had slept all those months alone.
It was the only place where they could speak honestly and openly, as the winds howled outside and the snow collected on the windowsills.