She’d already messed this conversation up once; she didn’t want to do it again.
Just let her know you don’t blame her. That none of it was her fault.
That’s what Gabe had told her last night. She’d gone to bed sick to her stomach over the look in Josie’s eyes in the kitchen, and Gabe, as he always did, wrapped his arms around her and read her mind.
“Honey,” Gabe had said, kissing her head. Her shoulder. “She was seventeen. Doing what seventeen-year-olds do. You were the adult. You and Max…you made your choices. And, frankly, so did Cameron.”
She wanted to bristle. Argue in defense of the twenty-two-year-old boy she hadn’t argued for hard enough at the time.
And Alice wanted to protest that she’d done all that. She’d had that conversation with Josie in the weeks that followed her birthday.
But Alice was fifty years old and she could now admit this to herself, if not out loud. When she’d had that conversation with Josie all those years ago—Alice had blamed the girl. Just enough that everything she’d said probably sounded like a lie.
And she was embarrassed by it. But she’d been worried and scared and so very, very angry. And she’d tried to swallow it all down and be the adult in the room but…well, she’d never been very good at that.
But it was Christmas now.
And Helen was having a baby and Josie hadn’t been home in years and Alice didn’t even know where Cameron was right now.
And Josie was hurting. Was still hurting.
Last night in the kitchen, seeing the tears in Josie’s eyes had been a shock. That Cameron had never been in touch with her…well, shit. That spoke to a pain on Cameron’s part that Alice didn’t even know about. The past wasn’t quite in the past for Josie, as it was for Alice. The postcards from Cameron helped. And seeing him once a year—always away from the inn, but still. Knowing he was out there and doing well. The same Cameron he’d always been. That Cameron and Josie hadn’t been in touch in all these years—that was just wrong in a lot of ways.
And Alice felt pretty responsible for that.
Josie backed up out from underneath the landing with a plastic smile on her face, and Alice wanted to hug her and tell her she wasn’t fooling anyone. She wanted to hug Josie and tell her everything was okay. But the girl could hardly stand to be around her; she practically jumped out of her skin every time Alice glanced her way.
It was lemon in a cut.
God, I messed this up.
Alice picked up the stepladder and started down the stairs toward the tree.
Josie followed with as many of the boxes as she could carry into the large windowed area where the tree was set up. Usually this place was full of comfortable seating, all arranged so people could look out the window or stare into the giant stone fireplace, but the couches and chairs had been pushed back to make room for the tree.
Gabe would come and take some of the chairs away and arrange the rest of them to face the Christmas tree that now dominated the space.
“You know,” Alice said. “I never sit in this room after dinner unless it’s Christmas.”
“You like looking at the tree?”
“Yeah, it’s like I wait all year for those weeks when I can turn on the Christmas lights and play ‘Carol of the Bells.’”
“Oh my god,” Josie said with a smile. “I forgot about you and that song.”
“The single best Christmas carol ever written.”
“’O Holy Night.’”
“Not even close.”
“’Santa Claus Is Coming to Town’?”
“No way.”
“Sung by Springsteen.”
“Well…that might be second.” Alice smiled at the girl, and for a second, one quick second, everything was all right.
“I can’t believe you waited for me to put up the tree,” Josie said, setting down the boxes of ornaments.
“Really?” Alice said. “Once we got word you were coming home, your mom put a hold on Christmas. No preparations until you got here.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s not…you don’t have to be sorry.” Alice took a breath. “We’re so happy to have you home. It’s been so long, Josie.”
Josie made some noise in her throat and went up for more boxes. Alice hung her head for a second.
“Do you have any guests for the holiday?” Josie asked, coming down the stairs with the last of the ornaments. Her cheer was bulletproof, and Alice understood that the poor, ravaged girl from the dark kitchen last night would not be coming out again. Not around Alice.
Unless Alice pushed.
And that seemed so mean.
And un-Christmassy.
And hard.
“We have some of the cabins booked on Christmas Eve through the New Year,” Alice answered. Happy to step back into familiar conversation. Easy conversation.
“That’s nice. Is the restaurant doing Christmas dinner for everyone?”
“Not this year. Boxing Day brunch. The family is getting Christmas Eve and Christmas Day off. Helen was kind of a pest about it.”