Chapter 2 #2
She hesitated. Nora Cassidy. The name was familiar but distant, like a song she’d once known the words to.
“She owns Sweet River Lodge. You remember Nora,” her father prompted.
Of course she did. Nora with the kind smile and the homemade cookies. Nora, who’d sent a handwritten sympathy card when her mother died. Nora, who’d tried to include Tessa in community events long after she’d stopped wanting to be included.
She took the phone reluctantly. “Hello?”
“Tessa Grant, is that really you? I was just telling your father how wonderful it is that you’re home for Christmas. We’ve missed you around here.” Nora’s voice was warm and exactly as she remembered it.
Christmas. It was just a few weeks away. She never celebrated it anyway and typically volunteered for holiday shifts at the hospital to let colleagues with families have the time off.
“I’m just here to help my father recover. It’s not really a holiday visit.” She ignored how stiff she sounded… or at least tried to.
“Well, you’re here, and it’s the holidays, so I’d say that makes it a holiday visit. You simply must come to the lodge’s Christmas festival. The whole town will be there. It’ll be just like old times.”
Just like old times. The last thing she wanted.
“I’ll have to see how my father is feeling,” she hedged.
“Oh, Stan’s already promised to judge the gingerbread house competition.
It’s tradition! Beckett said he’d bring him.
” Nora’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper.
“Such a nice young man, that Beckett. So helpful with your father. And not hard on the eyes either, if you don’t mind my saying so. ”
She felt heat rise to her cheeks. “I really should go, Nora. It was nice talking to you.”
“The festival starts at noon on Saturday. We’ll save all three of you a seat at the Cassidy table.” Nora’s tone made it clear this wasn’t a suggestion but a foregone conclusion. “And tell your father I’ll be bringing some of my Christmas soup tomorrow.”
She said goodbye and hung up, turning to find her father watching her with a knowing expression.
“Nora hasn’t changed a bit. Still organizing everyone’s social calendar,” he said.
“You’re judging a gingerbread house competition?
” She couldn’t keep the disbelief from her voice.
Her father had never participated in town festivals, not since her mother died.
Christmas had become just another day in the Grant household, marked only by their careful avoidance of anything that might trigger memories.
“I lost a bet with Jason Cassidy,” he admitted. “But the lodge festival is good. They do it up right.” He glanced at Beckett. “We’re still planning to go, right?”
“If you’re feeling up to it. The doctor said normal activities are fine as long as you’re not overdoing it.”
“I’ve been looking forward to it.” Her father’s words held more enthusiasm than she had heard from him in years.
“They’ve got that new chalet all decorated, and Miss Judy’s making her famous cinnamon rolls and cookies.
Lots of cookies.” He gave a quick look toward Beckett.
“A few cookies won’t hurt anything. Then it’s back to all that healthy stuff you insist on. ”
She stared at him, trying to reconcile this man with the father she remembered. The one who’d packed away all the Christmas decorations after her mother died and never brought them out again. The one who’d worked through every holiday, leaving teenage Tessa to microwave frozen dinners alone.
“Since when do you care about Christmas festivals?” she asked before she could stop herself.
Her father’s expression closed off. “People change, Tessa. At least, some of us do.”
The rebuke landed exactly as intended. She’d left Sweet River Falls and barely looked back. He’d stayed and apparently built a life that included community events, Christmas festivals, and a friendship with an ex-con who now knew him better than his own daughter did.
“I should check your blood pressure. And we need to review your medications,” she said, retreating to the safety of medical procedure.
Beckett stood and began to clear the plates. “Already done this morning. Numbers were good. 128 over 82.”
“I’d still like to check myself,” she insisted.
Her father pushed back from the table. “Later. I need to rest now.” He reached for his cane, using it to lever himself to his feet. “Beckett, we still on for that card game this afternoon?”
“Whenever you’re ready,” Beckett replied. “I’ll finish up here first.”
Her father nodded and moved toward the hallway, his gait slightly unsteady but determined. He paused at the threshold, not quite looking back at her. “Your room’s yours for as long as you need it. But don’t feel like you have to stay the full two weeks on my account.”
He disappeared down the hall before she could respond, leaving her alone with Beckett and the dirty breakfast dishes.
“He doesn’t mean it like that. He’s just not good at saying he’s glad you’re here,” Beckett said quietly, filling the sink with soapy water.
“You don’t know what he means,” she replied, more sharply than she intended. “You’ve known him for what, six months? I’m his daughter.”
He didn’t react to her tone. He simply nodded, focusing on washing a plate.
“You’re right. I don’t know your history.
” He glanced up, meeting her eyes briefly.
“But I know he kept your room exactly as you left it. And I know he’s got a photo of you in his wallet.
The one from your nursing school graduation. ”
The revelation caught her off guard. Her father had come to her graduation and sat stiffly in the audience. He’d given her a card with a check inside, and his only comment had been that nursing was a practical choice. She hadn’t known he’d kept her photo.
“The whole town will know you’re back by lunchtime,” he continued, changing the subject. “Small-town telegraph is faster than the internet.”
“I’m not staying long enough for it to matter. Just until he’s stable.”
He nodded, accepting this without comment.
“There’s a spare key on the hook by the door if you need to go out.
Grocery store’s still in the same place.
Pharmacy too.” He paused. “Your dad usually naps in the afternoon. That might be a good time if you want to check his medications or ask more questions. He’s less prickly after he rests. ”
The practical advice, delivered without judgment, made it hard to maintain her defensive posture. “Thank you,” she said stiffly. “For helping him. And for calling 911.”
“Anyone would have done the same.” He rinsed the last plate and set it in the drying rack. “I’m going to chop some wood before the next snow comes in. Let me know if you need anything.”
He dried his hands on a dish towel and headed for the back door, leaving her alone in the kitchen that was both achingly familiar and strangely different.
Outside the window, snow had begun to fall again, with light flakes drifting down from a pearl-gray sky. Sweet River Falls looked like a scene from a snow globe. Perfect and peaceful and completely at odds with the turmoil inside her.
She’d come prepared to manage a medical crisis and be a nurse to her estranged father. She hadn’t prepared for Christmas festivals, or community expectations, or the unsettling presence of Beckett, who seemed to have carved out a place in her father’s life that she’d never managed to fill.
The sound of an axe splitting wood came from the backyard in a steady rhythm, which somehow made the house feel even quieter.
Two weeks suddenly stretched before her like an eternity, filled with awkward meals, town events, and the constant reminder that she was an outsider in what had once been her home.
She reached for her phone, briefly considering calling the hospital to see if they needed her back sooner.
But something stopped her. Perhaps it was the memory of her supervisor’s concerned face, or the panic attack that had sent her hiding in the supply closet.
Or maybe it was the photo Beckett had mentioned, the one her father apparently carried in his wallet all these years.
Outside, the snow continued to fall, covering Sweet River Falls in a clean white blanket that hid all the complications beneath.