Page 211 of How My Neighbour Stole Christmas
My house will remain dark now because I’m retreating to what I know best.
Becoming that recluse, ignoring the holiday season, and enveloping myself in rage-filled anger.
Storee
“Can we talk?” Taran asks as I move through Aunt Cindy’s house, looking for the keys to the car.
After I banged on her door, Martha ushered me into her house out of the cold, and I told her what happened. The entire thing. From the fake relationship to the not-so-fake relationship, to what Taran did…to how I feel about Cole.
There was a lot of gasping, a lot of heart clutching, a touch of anger, and then at the end of it all she pulled me into a hug, letting me cry on her shoulder for a solid five minutes.
After that, she told me to pull myself together because we had some lights to hang.
I started with putting some real clothes on, dressing for warmth, and then going outside to Cole’s porch where I started untangling his lights in earnest.
And then slowly, Martha showed up, then Mae, then Frank and Thachary…some of the Dankworth children. Then Jimmy and Ursula…and even Beatrice.
Together, we worked hard, and we hung up his lights. We twistedthem around his porch and strung them around his yard on top of the snow. Jimmy went up on the roof and did a zig-zag pattern. We hung them all.
And to my surprise, Taran brought out hot chocolate for everyone.
It was a group effort, and now that we’re done, there’s just one person I have to see.
“Please, Storee, we need to talk.”
“I have nothing to say to you,” I reply as I find the keys and then move toward the front of the house.
“I want to say I’m sorry.”
“Too late,” I say as I move to the front door, only to be stopped by Aunt Cindy who is now standing tall without her walker or her cane.
“Girls…we need to have a conversation.”
“I’m sorry, Aunt Cindy, but I don’t have time.”
“You will make time for this.” She points toward the living room, and I know there’s no way I can say no, so I let Aunt Cindy lead the way. And lead the way she does, not a hitch in her step, not an ounce of pain in her posture.
“Why are you walking so well?” I ask her.
“That’s what I need to talk to you about. Please…sit down.”
Confused, I take a seat on the couch, and Taran does as well. Aunt Cindy remains standing as she clasps her hands together in front of her.
“I’m afraid I haven’t been as truthful as I should have been. You see, back in the summer of this year, I had a conversation with your mother. She was concerned.”
“Concerned about what?” I ask.
“About you two. She sensed that you were drifting further apart with each passing year and worried that if we didn’t intervene, you might lose touch just like I did with my sister. Like your mom and her own mother. So we devised a plan.”
“Please don’t tell me your hip was never broken,” Taran says.
“Unfortunately, that is the case.”
Taran bows her head and presses her fingers to her brow as I try to comprehend what she’s saying.
“We thought that if I faked an injury and you two were forced to come take care of me, we could possibly mend the fissures in your relationship.”
“There were no fissures,” Taran says. “We were fine.”
