Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
Willa
It was the final evening of the Christmas Festival, over a full year after Willa’s return to Mackinac Island, and everything had changed.
There, Willa stood at the Caraway Fudge stall, bathing in the green and red lights from the Christmas lights that hung from one end of the street to the other, watching as tourists flitted in and out of shops, carrying fudge boxes and beautiful gifts.
Not only did the Christmas music not grate on her, but sometimes Willa caught herself singing the lyrics or whistling along.
She couldn’t believe how much time she’d wasted, disliking Christmas.
After nearly three hours at the stall, Willa would soon be sold out of fudge and ready to pack it in.
She was grateful. Now that she was six months pregnant with her first child, her discomfort was mounting, and she sometimes felt like her legs were going to give out.
But she’d been the one who’d agreed to manage the stall!
She’d wanted to be out in the chill, enjoying the Christmas magic. It was all her fault.
I just wanted to see all the happy faces. I wanted to feel a part of it all.
Suddenly, Pascal appeared on the street, all bundled up, moving through the crowd with that funny French smile of his.
Ever since he and Amelie had eloped to Paris, there’d been an even bigger bounce to his step, as though uniting with Amelie had given him more purpose.
In secret, Amelie had told Willa that they were pregnant, too—but they weren’t telling anyone yet.
“But I’ll always tell my twin anything!”
To this, Willa had said, “I already knew.” It was the twin thing.
And to this, Amelie had said, “I knew before you told me, too.” She smiled.
“Amelie says you’re done and I’m taking over,” Pascal announced now, situating himself behind the stall and pointing back toward the fudge shop. “She says you have things to attend to. Sister things. I never know what you two are up to.”
Willa laughed and touched her stomach over her winter coat. It was as if Amelie had sensed her sudden, intense discomfort. Thank goodness.
Willa entered the fudge shop to find her sister behind the counter, selling a few boxes as their younger cousin prepared an order in the corner.
Since Willa and Amelie had returned to the island full-time, they’d enlisted most of the younger Caraways, eager to show them the ropes.
Amelie was the head boss, and Willa pitched in when she could.
Now that she’d started her own advertising firm on the island, she didn’t have as much time as she wanted to.
“There you are!” Amelie cried, finishing with the customer and hurrying around the counter. “How long have you been out there? Two hours? Three?”
“I loved it,” Willa confessed. “You know that.”
Amelie laughed. “Come on. Let’s drink cocoa.”
They sat upstairs in their mother’s old apartment and exchanged stories from their beautiful days of Christmas Festival-ing.
Willa had numerous photographs Marius had sent from the stables, where they were hosting horseback riding for kids and adults.
Marius was tender with the children, showing them how to hold the ropes and where to put their legs.
She knew that soon, he would be just as soft and kind with their own children.
“It’s been quite a year, hasn’t it?” Amelie breathed, adjusting herself on their mother’s bed and smiling at Willa. Her hand was on her stomach.
“The strangest and best,” Willa agreed.
Amelie snapped her fingers. “What time is it?”
It was getting late, and they’d agreed to head up the hill for dinner by seven.
Quickly, they gathered their things, said goodbye to the cousins who’d decided to clean everything up, and headed up the hill.
Willa waddled slightly as she walked, but she chose to relish it.
She remembered all those years in Chicago, when she’d watched pregnant women, wondering how they’d managed to build such a warm and lovely life. Now, she had that kind of life.
As they walked, Pascal hurried up after them, announcing that he’d sold out of fudge and closed the stall down. “Bless you, Christmas Festival! See you next year,” he said.
Amelie and Willa shared a secret smile. They couldn’t wait to show their children the festival next year.
They couldn’t wait to teach them everything Mackinac-related: swimming and sailing, sledding and skating.
They would do it side by side, with their children thinking of one another as siblings rather than cousins.
It was almost exactly as they’d planned, except for one person and their mother.
In the year since they’d learned what really happened the night their mother died, they’d done everything they could to mend their relationship, both with one another and their father.
They’d gone to family counseling, they’d journaled, and they’d spoken about their feelings.
When Willa and Amelie decided to get married, they’d done so with empathy for what their mother and father had gone through, and with the hope that they would be honest and open with their spouses.
“Mom needed space,” Amelie had said several times. “I can’t blame her for needing it.”
But both Amelie and Willa wanted to create marriages and environments that wouldn’t require such space. They were conscious of the future. They tried to make every decision with love.
When they reached the porch, the door opened with their father on the other side.
“My girls!” Frank called. “Mom, the girls are here!”
“Finally!” Grandma Mary said. “They’re ten minutes late!”
Frank opened the door wider and hugged first Amelie, then Willa.
The color had returned to his face, and he moved with agility and strength.
He even worked at the fudge shop two days a week, insisting that he wasn’t fully ready to retire yet.
Of his illness, the doctors weren’t entirely sure.
They said it was anything from long COVID to burnout.
They told Frank not to push himself, and Frank always promised he wouldn’t. He wanted to meet his grandbaby.
Willa and Amelie joined their grandmother and Aunt Violet in the kitchen, where Amelie and the others bustled to finish dinner, and Willa was allowed to sit peacefully at the kitchen table, drinking tea and watching the snow.
In the living room, Pascal and her father were watching sports and arguing about which teams were better this year.
Pascal had fully embraced American sports and had suggested that his and Amelie’s baby would be “the best baseball player the world has ever seen.” Willa couldn’t wait to watch her sister and this funny Frenchman build a life.
“Hey, Willa!” Pascal cried. “One of your commercials is playing! The horse one!”
Willa laughed to herself, remembering the two commercials she’d managed to make for the advertising firm before she’d quit.
Mackinac Island had chosen to use them, eager to highlight “their artist” Willa Caraway Isaacson.
They were good commercials, and she was proud of them.
She guessed the committee would use them for years to come.
As Amelie and Grandma Mary discussed the potatoes, Willa checked her phone to find a message from Gavin, her old contact from the Chicago advertising agency.
GAVIN: Merry Christmas! Still can’t believe you turned your back on all that cash.
Willa sniffed with laughter, remembering her old life as though it were spilled paint. She remembered big paychecks and an empty apartment. She remembered people like Gavin, whom she’d never fully understood. She didn’t write him back.
A few minutes later, there was the sound of a motor outside.
Willa went to the foyer as quickly as she could, eager to throw her arms around the man of her dreams. Marius got off the snowmobile, removed his helmet, and hurried up the stairs to kiss her.
His lips were warm and pillow soft. That morning, when she’d woken up and rolled over, she’d found him already awake, watching her sleep.
She’d said, “Creep!” and he’d laughed and kissed her and gone downstairs to make her breakfast. This, all before he went out to the stables to care for their many horses.
Their baby would know horses, and dogs, and cats, and the island. Their baby would know and love Christmas.
“How did it go?” Willa breathed, lacing her fingers through his.
“It was an exhausting day. But mostly brilliant,” Marius said.
With a shiver of memory, Willa remembered how she’d always said “brilliant,” back when she directed commercials. Did she miss it? She didn’t think so.
Marius came inside and stomped snow from his boots. Some of the cousins’ kids rushed into the foyer to say hello to him, as he was their favorite: the strong, quiet one, whom everyone loved. Willa was lucky because she was loved the most.
Marius had brought wine and lovely baguettes from the French bakery. Pascal said, “If you weren’t already married, I’d marry you right now!”
Marius laughed. “You’re married, too!”
“Amelie would understand. She knows how important baguettes are to me,” Pascal said.
“You should have seen him in France,” Amelie said, rolling her eyes. “How many baguettes a day did you eat? And that’s not to mention the croissants!”
Pascal laughed and hurried to slice the baguette and put the bread on the table.
Soon enough, Grandma Mary announced it was time to eat.
Amelie had set the table, and everyone gathered in the dining room, which offered a beautiful view of the Christmas tree.
Grandma Mary suggested that Frank pray, which he agreed to.
Nobody said no to Grandma Mary. Despite being eighty-five years old, she ran the family.
“Dear God, thank you for this bountiful feast,” Frank began, his voice breaking.
Frank was always one to cry, especially around the holidays.
He’d grown even more in touch with his emotions since the therapy.
“Thank you for bringing my family together again. And thank you for the Christmas Festival, for the community of Mackinac Island, and for the love that surrounds us. Bless us, oh Lord, Amen.”
After that, they feasted. Willa ate everything she could fit on her plate: roasted turkey, stuffing, brussels sprouts in a decadent and buttery sauce, several slices of baguette, plus the chocolate éclairs, torte, and crème br?lée.
Outside as they dined, someone shot out fireworks, which exploded in reds, greens, and yellows over a lake that wasn’t yet frozen. Under the table, Amelie and Willa squeezed their hands together, sharing secrets between them that required no language.