Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
Willa
Willa woke up and walked to the window at five in the morning.
Heavy with sleep and with the story Amelie had told her last night, she gazed out at the sweeping snow drifts, marveling at the beauty the night sky had spun.
On the bed, her sister continued to sleep, her arms sprawled the way they always had when they were girls.
Unable to fall back to sleep, Willa crept downstairs, made a pot of coffee, and assessed the fudge they’d made last night.
They’d made far more than they needed, given the storm and the sure state of the Christmas Festival.
If they cleared the roads today, maybe they’d be able to have the festival tomorrow and the one after that.
But there was no telling what the blizzard had done to tourists farther south.
Maybe they’d decided to cancel their plans and stay in for the week, bundled up, warm, with Christmas movies on their televisions and plenty of food in the fridge. Willa couldn’t blame them.
Feeling fidgety, Willa began to package the fudge. It had to go somewhere; it had to be eaten. And she knew it belonged in the bellies of Mackinac Island locals, all of whom would surely be out soon, shoveling their sidewalks and the streets, roaming around in snowshoes and snowmobiles.
At six thirty, Amelie appeared in the kitchen, rubbing her eyes.
Without Willa having to explain herself, Amelie said, “Good idea,” and set to work beside her.
When sunlight spilled through the front room, they could see just how high the snow really was.
Maybe three feet, not so bad. They’d be able to get out the front door at least.
When the fudge was packed and ready to go, Amelie and Willa sat down to put on the snowsuits they’d discovered in the back closet: one of which had belonged to their aunt, they thought.
The other belonged to their mother. When Amelie hesitated, Willa put it on, steeling herself from a rush of emotions at how she loved her mother. How she wished she were still here.
“How are you feeling after last night?” Amelie asked as they pushed open the front door and began to shovel.
Willa thought for a moment. “I’m trying to find compassion for my eighteen-year-old self,” she said. “But it’s hard. I can’t help but think she was cruel.”
Amelie stopped shoveling and reached for Willa’s shoulder. “She was the best person I knew. She was in a difficult situation.” Her eyes, visible over her scarf, were big and blue.
Willa sighed and thrust the shovel into the top of the drift. It had been a long time since she’d dealt with snow like this, and her shoulders were already aching.
“I want to see Dad today,” Willa said finally. “I hope he’ll agree to it.”
“Why would he not?” Amelie asked. “It’s all he wants.”
As they worked, they spoke about Hannah and the Christmas Festival Committee, how they’d drawn Willa back into the fold, hoping that the Caraway girls would return and forgive their father.
“I wish they’d come to Chicago and told me themselves,” Willa said.
Amelie chuckled. “Aren’t you Midwestern? Midwesterners never say what they want to say.”
Willa sniffed with soft laughter. It was true that Midwesterners kept things to themselves, never wanting to reveal their cards or admit what they truly felt. But what good did that do? It led to so many misunderstandings. It forced you to live in fear forever.
“Ironically, my fear of losing my job brought me here,” Willa said. “Now, all I want to do is quit.”
Amelie laughed, throwing her head back. “You’re really going to quit? After all those years at the same company?”
Willa winced, thinking of all those missed holidays, sad evenings alone, writing advertising copy, all those meetings, the annoying bounce of Gavin, the money she’d thought she’d wanted until she had it and realized how empty it was.
“Now that I’m here, I can’t go back,” Willa said, reaffirming herself.
“We can go together to get your stuff,” Amelie said. “I’ve never been to Chicago.”
Willa was surprised. “After all your vagabonding? You never made it to the Windy City?”
“That was your territory,” Amelie reminded her. “I covered the rest of the country. But I never wanted you to feel like I was chasing you.”
Willa nodded, feeling both grateful and sad at the same time. She wished Amelie had banged on her door and demanded to be let in. But Willa knew she wouldn’t have let her.
Not long after they started shoveling, Pascal appeared on the porch of his bed-and-breakfast, his own shovel glinting.
“The Caraway twins!” he called. “I was wondering where you were, Amelie.” He shot through the snow, dropping down in his boots.
His legs were long enough to take him all the way across the street, to the path they’d drawn across the sidewalk.
“You’ve done this before,” he said, impressed.
“I’m slowly getting the hang of it, after so many winters here. ”
Amelie and Willa smiled.
“You’ll get used to it,” Willa assured.
Pascal dropped the shovel and looked from Amelie to Willa and back again, assessing the situation. It was clear that Pascal knew the story their father had told Amelie last night. He was worried.
“We’re going to hand-deliver packages of fudge to people on the island,” Amelie explained, when nobody else spoke. “There are snowshoes in the back room.”
“And it doesn’t look like we’ll have a Christmas Festival today,” Willa said. “We thought we’d bring the festival home to everyone instead.”
Pascal clapped his hands. “That’s a wonderful idea. Oh, but it will take you the entire day!”
“We’re willing to do it.” Willa shrugged. “I need the exercise. And I don’t feel like working at my computer on such a beautiful day.” She gestured at the clear blue sky above.
Just as Pascal was about to say something else, perhaps to offer up his services, a motor sounded from down the road.
Willa turned, squinting through the sunlight, just as a snowmobile whipped down the hill and toward the fudge shop.
It didn’t take long to realize it was Marius Isaacson: black-haired and bundled up and driving directly toward her.
Willa’s heart pounded. It was her turn to drop her shovel, this time with alarm.
“Oh goodness,” Amelie breathed, stepping toward Pascal and drawing her arm through his. “It’s Marius.”
Marius parked the snowmobile and got off, removing his helmet and smiling nervously at Willa. “I just went to check on you at the Rosemary Cottage. I was worried when I couldn’t find you.”
Willa’s heart pounded. It was hard for her to fathom that he’d still wanted to check on her despite the fact she’d resisted his kiss the other night. She swallowed.
“I came here when it started to snow,” she said, her voice soft. “Amelie and I stayed upstairs in the old apartment.”
Marius’s eyes scanned to the second floor. Willa tried to read his expression, to try to fathom what he really felt about her. Did he think she was pathetic? Did he think she was just a potential wintertime fling, one who’d return to Chicago when they were done with each other?
Before either of them could speak, Amelie perked up.
“Marius! Maybe you can help us,” she said.
Marius, Willa, and Pascal turned to look at her. Amelie blushed, as though she’d spoken out of turn.
“We have all this fudge that we want to deliver,” she explained. “We were going to do it on snowshoes, super slowly, but…” She pointed at the snowmobile.
Marius got the hint. “I can’t take all of you,” he said.
“Willa will go with you,” Amelie said. “I’ll take care of everyone within walking distance.”
Willa cast her sister a look that either meant don’t do this to me! or thank you! She wasn’t sure how she felt as she was pushed into Marius Isaacson’s arms.
Don’t overthink this, she thought.
“Unless you have to work at the stables,” Willa hurried to say.
Marius laughed. “I have a few guys up at the stables, monitoring the horses. But honestly, we can’t do much until the snow melts a bit more. They’re fed and watered and warm. I’m free to deliver fudge, if that’s what I’m tasked to do.”
In the sunlight, smiling at her, Willa thought she never wanted to leave his side.
“I’ll load up on fudge,” she said, whirling away from the sidewalk.
Amelie was hot on her heels, following her into the kitchen to gather the boxes. They separated them into two piles and discussed who would go where based on their mode of transportation. Amelie spoke a mile a minute.
Willa was panicking. She put her hands on the kitchen counter.
Amelie stopped her monologue and touched Willa’s shoulder. “Just lean into this,” she whispered. “You don’t have to take anything too fast. Just feel what you need to feel. Just breathe.”
Willa nodded, flaring her nostrils.
Soon, she was on the back of the snowmobile with the sharp wind in her face and boxes of fudge secured on either side.
Marius drove slowly and gently, aware that she hadn’t been on a snowmobile in a while.
They went up the hill and stopped at several houses, ringing doorbells and greeting old friends with fudge.
“Happy blizzard!” Willa said each time the door opened.
Most of the islanders recognized her as a Caraway twin immediately, but not all of them knew that she’d returned to film the commercial. Some of them thought she was Amelie, and she didn’t correct them. She was grateful to have her sister’s face.
A woman in her seventies practically threw herself at Willa, crying out, “Willa Caraway! You look just like your mother. But goodness, that hair! Where did it come from? I’ve always wondered.”
She demanded Willa update her on the past decades of her life, and Willa glanced at Marius, shrugged, and said, “I think I’ll be sticking around for a little while. Maybe we can catch up properly when the Christmas Festival starts up again.”
It took a little more than two hours to hand-deliver the boxes of fudge Willa’d brought from the shop.
By the time she and Marius were finished, Willa sat as close to Marius as she could, her legs wrapped around his body for security as they whizzed down an island lane.
Her eyes were filled with tears, possibly from the cold or from seeing so many people she’d loved all her life.
So many of the islanders she’d grown up with were gone: lost to time, but forever in her memory.
And there were plenty of islanders she hadn’t yet gotten to know. Children of the people she’d grown up with, all of them eager to know her name and laugh with her.
When they returned to the fudge shop, they found Amelie and Pascal already back, cleaning up the kitchen, whistling and laughing. Willa’s heart filled. It was so clear they were falling in love. When would they admit it to themselves, or to each other?
When Amelie realized Willa and Marius had returned, she said, “I saw Dad.”
Willa’s heart shifted. Can I handle this?
“I told him we’ll come up this afternoon,” Amelie said, wincing. “Is that all right?”
Willa steeled herself. “Of course it is,” she said because it had to be.
“The guys are invited, if they want to come,” Amelie said, glancing from Marius to Pascal and back again. “What do you say? There will be plenty of food. Grandma Mary’s cooking.”
“I’m not one to say no to Grandma Mary’s cooking,” Pascal said.
Marius nodded, his face shadowed, as though he knew how important the afternoon was for Willa. “I’ll be there.”