Chapter 1

1

December

My mother, Adela Holly, was waiting for me when I arrived at baggage claim at Burlington Airport in Vermont. She opened her arms without a word, and I allowed myself to be enveloped into one of her big, strong hugs.

“Welcome home.”

Vermont hadn’t been my home in years, of course. But it would be now, again.

Fortunately, mom had room when my life pretty much fell apart.

I pulled back and gave her a smile. “Thanks, Mom.”

She gave my arm a squeeze. “The board thingy says the bags should be coming out in a few minutes. How was the flight?”

“Long. And I couldn’t even sleep. Never can.”

“Nope, me either. But you’ll sleep good tonight I bet. I’ve got your room and bathroom already for you. As closed off from the rest of the house as I could manage to give you some privacy.”

The household was going to be made up of Mom—Dad had passed away ten years earlier—me, Mom’s new male friend, Jonathan, his dog, and Mom’s three cats.

I’d grown up in that house, but it had changed since then. When I’d left to make my life in California, many years ago now, Mom and Dad had redone a lot of the place. I was an only child, and the house originally had three bedrooms. They’d made the two smaller bedrooms into one, and put in another bathroom, as the small house had only one. It was the remade room and bathroom where I’d be living. For the foreseeable future, anyway.

Mom and Jonathan, of course, had the master bedroom suite.

“Great, but I hope you didn’t go to too much trouble.”

Mom waved this away. “Jon’s handy so it wasn’t too problematic. And we used the side door as your entrance. You remember, the one that used to lead out to the side yard where we put the trash cans. We keyed it and everything so you can come and go as you please.”

“Thank you. Jon didn’t come with you?”

“He’s getting the house ready.”

“Ready?”

“Getting the Christmas tree up and ready so we can all decorate it together.” She smiled her warm smile. “It’s been years since you and I got to spend Christmas together.”

“Yeah. I…sorry about that. All of that.”

“Water under the bridge, as they say. I’m just excited for this year.” The conveyor belt began to power up. “Looks like it’s time.”

* * * *

Think it was Thomas Wolfe who said you can’t go home again, but that’s exactly what I was doing.

I had been fortunate to have supportive parents when I came out as a teenager. And they’d even supported me, sorta, when I decided to make the trek to California to get into the movies. Or television. I didn’t care much.

That dream hadn’t happened. Not the way I’d wanted it to, anyway. I never became a heartthrob actor. I was among thousands who’d wanted such a future. And likely thousands who hadn’t made it to that dream.

I’d gotten bit parts, but those dried up after a while and I fell into screenwriting. I’d been moderately successful writing episodic television, and it was then that I met my mentor who would later become my lover and then, ultimately, my husband.

Ex-husband now. He’d moved on to someone younger and cuter than I was.

He was more famous as a screenwriter, and while he didn’t exactly keep me from getting work, he didn’t help either.

Anyway, here I was, riding with Mom, headed to Willowbrook, Vermont, to see where life would lead me now. But at the moment, she and I had agreed to have a family Christmas, then I would concentrate on what I planned to do come January.

Willowbrook was a small community just outside of Middlebury, barely making most people’s maps. Adela (nee Carrington) and Charlie Holly had both grown up there in a time that seemed reminiscent of Normal Rockwell art. They were childhood sweethearts and had been the only loves each other ever had, until Dad’s passing, and now Mom had Jonathan Watley.

“Streets look wet,” I commented as we pulled out of the airport parking lot on our way home. It would take only about an hour to get to Willowbrook. The sky was clear above.

“Yep, rained this morning. Supposed to turn real cold in a couple days. Maybe we’ll be lucky and have a white Christmas.”

In my opinion, it was already cold enough and I huddled down into my coat. I’d become used to California weather and I really wasn’t eager for a Vermont winter.

She was quiet at first and so was I because of it. I hadn’t stayed away entirely; I’d been back a few times over the years, like for my dad’s passing, but never in the winter, at the holidays.