CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
EPILOGUE
THANKSGIVING WAS HER favorite holiday because it meant getting away from the anger at her house and bathing in the love at her grandmother’s. Emma Candler turned her father’s SUV into the lane that ran between their house and her grandmother’s white Victorian homestead on Bliss Peak. Pale, thready, early-morning mist wound between the hardwoods and the pines, drifting to the spires and lights of the resort town below.
Emma parked in the gravel courtyard in front of Nan’s house. Jumping out, she checked her watch and peered down the driveway, down the mountain. Her fiancé had promised to come early, but his family drama often distracted Noah from his promises to her. His father, Odell, tended to choose the big days on the calendar to have his most dramatic meltdowns.
She grabbed her overnight bag, as well as an ironstone bowl of cranberry sauce and another of coleslaw.
If she’d known how to whistle, she would have. The holiday was always filled with Nan’s traditions of cooking and expressing thanks—even for their dysfunctional family. They would eat, then hike, and then eat some more. Pure joy.
As Emma hurried up the stone stairs to the wraparound porch, she noticed that the paint had started to peel. Come summer, she thought, she could help her grandmother hire someone to do the repairs or even do them herself. She pushed the thought to the back of her mind as she opened one side of the double front doors.
“Nan?” she called. “I’m here. Are you in the kitchen?”
The aromas of turkey and spicy pie wafted into the front hall. Emma hurried to the kitchen in the back of the house, where she saw pumpkin and squash pies sitting on the island. Other dishes in midpreparation littered the counter.
But no Nan.
Emma was pushing her own offerings into any crannies she could find in the fridge, when she heard the clomp of feet overhead and voices. Angry voices. She couldn’t make out the words or who the voices belonged to.
She stopped what she was doing and hustled up the back stairs.
From the doorway of the nearest bedroom, she saw her tiny grandmother gripping Odell Gage by the shoulders. His jeans were undone and his shirt was gaping open. “Get out of my house,” Nan said. “Are you both insane? Emma will be here any second. Pamela, I want my key back. You aren’t using my house to... Never again.”
“Louisa...” Odell stumbled, dragging Nan with him.
Emma couldn’t see her mother, Pamela, yet, but her grandmother’s frantic wrestling with a violent man made her rush into the room and plunge between them.
He backed up, his mouth open in surprise.
“Keep your hands off my grandmother,” Emma said. Movement behind him made her look over his shoulder and into her mother’s horrified face. Pamela Candler turned, yanking a sweater over her head. Emma felt sick as she looked back at Odell.
His laughter grated and his breath smelled of alcohol. “Don’t take this so seriously. Everyone in this Podunk town knows your mama needs a little fun.” He yanked his shirt around, the easier to button it. “That’s what I am. A little fun.”
“Get out of this house.” Emma pushed her hands into the back pockets of her jeans as she and Nan followed Odell and her mother into the hallway, where the pair paused to adjust their clothing. Odell had just confirmed her worst suspicions about her own mother.
Nan curled a hand around one of her wrists. No doubt she meant to comfort, but the hallway was too crowded, and Emma too upset to calm down.
Odell turned to Emma and patted her shoulder. “This isn’t your problem, sweetheart. You just arrived at the wrong place at the wrong time.”
Emma took a couple of deep breaths.
“Wait, honey,” Pamela said, her gaze plaintive as she edged closer. “Think about what you do next. Your father...”
“He deserves to be done with you!” Emma said. “Odell Gage, Mother? Odell? Is it because I’m engaged to his son, or was that just a bonus for you?”
“Don’t talk to your mom like that.” Odell’s temper flashed in his dull eyes and a corner of his mouth twitched.
“Dad.”
Emma gasped at the strangled voice. Noah stood on the landing, his face thinned with anger.
“What are you doing here?” Odell moved toward him, but Emma stepped between him and his son, her back to the stairs.
“No,” she said.
Odell looked her up and down, interested, amused.
“Emma,” Noah and her grandmother said at the same time.
“You’re not touching anyone else I love,” Emma said.
Laughing, Odell pushed past her, but their feet tangled. She felt herself falling. She heard her grandmother scream. The plaster ceiling and Odell Gage’s face twisted in front of her as they tumbled, and then sharp pain became nothingness.
She awoke in an ambulance. The EMT at her side didn’t bother to look at her, “Odell Gage said she threw him down the stairs and then lost her balance and fell with him. The guy probably deserved it, but he broke his leg before he hit the bottom, and then her grandmother had to pull his son off him.” The EMT shook his head. “Happy Thanksgiving.”
“He deserved worse.” Emma faded into unconsciousness again. The next time she opened her eyes, she was in a treatment room, and Noah sat next to her bed, his face in his hands.
“How’s your father?” she asked.
He raised his head. “You’re awake,” he said with relief, but then his face hardened. “He’s fine. He was still so drunk, he collapsed more than fell. Are you in pain?”
She ignored the question. “The paramedics said your father claimed I pushed him. Do you think I did?” Emma asked.
“Who do you think I am?”
She sighed. “I’ve never known. I said I’d marry you because I loved you so much. I thought you’d show me you cared as much for me as you do for your mom, and your sister and brothers. But you keep me at bay, as if you’re afraid to.”
His eyes told her he was tired of the same old argument, the one they could never resolve.
She plucked at the stitching on her starchy hospital sheet. “I didn’t push your father, in case you couldn’t tell.”
“I saw what happened, but what were you thinking when you stepped between
