Don't Promise (Don't 3)

“Pumpkin, you ready?” my dad called from the hallway. He was holding an extra scarf and gloves. “Your mother laid these out for you.”

“I’m ready.” I grabbed the extra layer and looped the scarf around my neck. “Where’s Mom?”

“Oh, she’s next door. Everyone is meeting at the Greens’ and she wanted to take over one of those pumpkin loaves she baked.”

“Oh, ok.” I followed him to the kitchen and noticed the lights were on in the guesthouse in the backyard. “Why are the lights on in the guesthouse? They weren’t on this afternoon.”

My dad fumbled with the buttons on his leather jacket. “You know. For…” His voice trailed off. “Come on, they’re waiting for us.”

I looked out of the window again. I was certain I saw the outline of a Christmas tree in the window. My parents loved using the guesthouse when company visited. There was one bedroom, bathroom, and an open room that included a couch and kitchenette. They decided long ago it made the guests happy and family visits went a lot more smoothly when everyone had a little more space.

Dad was acting strangely, as if my question had made him uncomfortable.

He acted like I never mentioned the guest house. “I’ve been working on my Let it Snow rendition for this year.” Dad shuttled me out of the door and across the lawn to the Greens’ driveway.

I couldn’t believe the snow hadn’t started yet, but the air felt thick and heavy as if flakes would start descending on us at any second.

“Kaitlyn!” Charlene Green ran over and pulled me into a hug. “How’s Texas?”

I smiled. “Hotter than this.”

“We’re so glad you’re back home. Where’s this boyfriend of yours, though? We need to have a conversation with the guy who is responsible for you being so far away.” She waggled her finger at me. “I heard it’s one of Ryan’s friends?”

Well, shit. I turned around.

“Well, well, well. Look who’s home for Christmas.” My parents across-the-street neighbor, Alex Turnwell beamed.

“Hi, Mr. Turnwell. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas to you. I’ll have to tell Peg you’re home. She’s going to want a visit while you’re here.”

“Absolutely. I’ll stop by and see her tomorrow if that’s ok.” Peg Turnwell had been on the upswing of a long battle with cancer. My mom kept me posted with her health updates. When I was a little girl she used to make dresses for my dolls. The Turnwells never had children of their own and I always thought of them as adopted grandparents.

“Looks like we’re all here. I think we should start at the cul-de-sac and work our way up and down the side streets,” Charlene Green shouted over the crowd.

“You mean like we do every year?” The comment came from the neighbor wise-cracking know-it-all, Bertie Spence. I wasn’t sure why she attended events when she was obviously annoyed with all of us.

Mrs. Green ignored the comment and led us to the edge of the driveway where she passed a lit candle around along with a box of tall pillar candles. We learned long ago, the tapered ones dripped wax all over our hands even with those little stoppers, the thick pillars lasted all night.

My dad draped an arm over my shoulder. “Ready for Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer?”

I nodded. “Sure am.”

I didn’t care that we did the same song order every year or that we followed the same street route, or even that bitter Bertie joined us when we all knew she’d rather be at home watching Jeopardy. There was something comforting and reassuring being surrounded by people who had known me my entire life.

My feet hurt after walking all the neighborhood streets in my boots. I didn’t wear them nearly enough. I pulled on my heels and tossed them next to my suitcase. I heard the hall linen closet open and peeked my head out of the door.

“Mom, what’s going on? Why are taking ten towels out of there?”

“These? I’m just-just clearing out a few things.” She hurried down the hall. She was definitely up to something.

My throat felt dry after all the singing. My dad was always trying to get me to join him for a hot toddy. I walked to the kitchen to start a hot pot of water for some tea and rummaged through my dad’s liquor cabinet. I would ju

st have to pretend I added the liquor.

I looked out of the kitchen window and saw my mom in the guesthouse. There was a Christmas tree in there. The white lights glittered through the main window. As soon as the teapot whistled I poured the steaming water in a mug.

A few minutes later Mom walked through the deck door, brushing off the first traces of snow from her shoulders and arms. “Oh hi, honey. I didn’t see you there.”