Chapter Eight ~ Nathan
Honeywell Hollow has been taken over by a film crew overnight.
Well, I guess ‘taken over’ is a bit of an exaggeration, but in all the years I’ve lived here, the only time I remember there being a traffic jam downtown was when a flock of Canada geese thought the middle of Front Street was a great place to convene, causing cars to line up in both directions.
As I turn into the detour lane, I catch sight of Joss.
I pull over and stop in front of one of the newly-erected barricades.
A panicked-looking crew member with a headset and a giant tablet dashes in my direction, waving at me to move on.
The motion catches Joss’s attention, and she smiles brightly when she sees me.
“It’s okay, Jesse, he’s a friend of mine,” she tells the harried tablet-wielder. He scurries away, and Joss strides over to my truck, popping her head in the open window to kiss my cheek.
“Are you the one to blame for all this?” I ask, gesturing toward various large pieces of equipment and the people erecting roadblocks.
“I think you mean thank for all this,” she says.
Joss came to Honeywell last November to escape the press after a nasty divorce, and to hide out for the holiday season.
What was supposed to be a fling with Liam turned into much more, and she now splits her time between Toronto and Honeywell.
Dubbed the ‘Queen of Christmas’ by her fans for the holiday romcoms she’s become famous for over the last decade, Joss was asked last year to co-star in an indie film, and she suggested Honeywell as the filming location.
After several delays, shooting is finally set to start this week.
“I know what you’re thinking,” she says before I can say anything else. “This movie could put Honeywell on the map, and you don’t want Honeywell on the map.”
“I really don’t. The whole quiet, small-town thing is part of Honeywell’s appeal.”
Joss opens her mouth to speak, but I hold up a hand to stop her, already knowing what she’s going to say.
“It’ll be good for the local economy, I get that.
” Liam and I are working on a project at the B now’s not the time to dump my emotional baggage on her.”
“You’re grieving too,” Joss points out.
Now it’s my turn to hum in acknowledgement. “How do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Get me to tell you things just by asking a simple question.”
She ducks her head, laughing softly. “It’s a trick I learned from my therapist. When someone is resisting talking about a subject, sometimes you have to prod them a little, then sit back and wait for them to spill their guts.”
I nod slowly. Our phones chime at the same time, and we exchange a look as we pull them out. “Did you just get a text from Mae?” I ask.
“Inviting us all for dinner? Yeah.” Her thumbs fly over the keyboard of her phone, and her text pops up in the group chat, followed quickly by Liam’s confirmation of attendance. I send mine too. “Guess your days of avoiding Fiona are over.”
“Guess so,” I say absently. “Couldn’t avoid her forever.” I don’t add that I doubt I’ll have to avoid her for much longer since she’ll likely be leaving soon anyway.
A glance in Joss’s direction shows a wash of sympathy across her face. She promptly schools her features. “I’ll see you later at Mae’s.” She leans in to kiss my cheek again. “Give Liam a kiss for me when you see him.”
“Yeah, I won’t be doing that.”
The sound of her laughter follows me as I drive away.
* * *
I don’t realize how tense I am until Mae opens the door and my shoulders drop from where they’ve been bunched near my ears. Despite having most of the day to mentally prepare, I don’t mind another few minutes of avoiding Fiona.
Mae gives me a tired approximation of a smile.
Dark under-eye circles are the only colour in her otherwise pale face.
I hold out my arms, and she moves forward instantly, giving me what I think she intended to be a quick hug, except I don’t let go.
She stiffens slightly and then, with a sigh, she deflates against me, resting her head on my chest, and gripping the back of my jacket as if to hold herself up.
I clutch her tightly, taking as much of her weight as I can.
There have been so many times in the last few months, and particularly in the last few weeks, when I’ve felt like I was barely holding myself together.
I imagine Mae feels the same way, so if I can keep her from falling apart for even a few minutes, I will.
With another shuddering sigh, she drops her arms from around me, and steps back. She smiles at me again, a little more genuinely this time, and blinks back the moisture in her eyes. “Thank you, Nathan.”
“Anytime.”
I follow her through the house, noticing she’s wearing a pair of Murph’s old wool socks with slippers over them. It was so strange seeing her walk around barefoot in the days after Murph died. It was like the seemingly simple act of donning socks or slippers was too much for her.