Текст книги "My True Love Gave to Me: Twelve Holiday Stories"

Автор книги: Stephanie Perkins

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Текущая страница: 18 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

“Okay.” Ethan took off his hat and ran his hand through his wavy brown hair. “Tell me your name at least. Please. Just tell me your name.”

Even that question wasn’t as simple as it should be.

“Lydia,” I said after a moment. “You can call me Lydia.”

“Okay. Hi, Lydia.”

“Hi.” I smiled. “So what happens now?”

“Now I’ve got to go feed.”

I looked back at the house full of strangers and questions and gravy. Then I looked at the wide-open sky and the really cute boy. “Want some company?”

*   *   *

The tires of the old, beat-up truck rattled in and out of the deep ruts in the ground. Ethan pushed the clutch and shifted gears, and I thought that it was maybe the single sexiest thing I’d ever seen. He was so confident, so at home and at ease. This was his domain, the cab of this old truck with its big bale of hay and long line of black, hairy cows trailing behind us. They would have followed him to the ends of the earth, I could tell.

But Ethan and I stayed quiet in the cab of the truck that, even with the heater blowing at full blast, was still cold. I could see my breath. I put my hands between my knees. Ethan pulled off his gloves and handed them to me.

Finally, the silence must have been too much because he flipped on the radio and, instantly, music filled the cab. It was supposed to be “O Holy Night” but there were too many backup singers and the tempo was too fast. It made me want to be sick.

“Sorry about the station,” he said. “Emily or the twins must have been in here. They love that teenybopper stuff.”

He turned off the radio and I pulled on his gloves. They were still warm inside. “That’s okay.”

“Do you like music?” he asked.

“I used to. When I was a kid.”

“And now that you’re so old you’re over it?” he asked with a grin.

“Yeah,” I said. “Something like that. How long have you lived here?” Suddenly, I was desperate to change the conversation.

“Well, I’m seventeen now, so … seventeen years.”

“Has your family always lived here?”

“I’m generation number five,” he said, but the words sounded strange—not like Ethan had roots tying him to that place. It was more like he had chains.

“It’s nice that you have a big family. That you all get to live together and work together.”

“Yeah. I guess.”

“Why did you go to Iceland?”

I don’t know where the question came from, but I could also tell that it was the right question—that somehow the answer mattered.

Ethan shifted gears again and started over a ridge. The ranch spread out before us, white and clean and stretching for miles. It was the kind of place most people only see in movies and out of airplane windows.

“I was born here. I’m going to live here and work here for the rest of my life. And, someday—if I’m lucky, a long, long time from now—I’m going to die here. And … well, I guess I just wanted one little part of my life to be not here. And Iceland seemed about as not here as a place could possibly be.”

I looked around at the rolling hills, the distant dots of cattle. “Here doesn’t seem that bad to me.”

“Yeah.” Ethan shifted gears again. He didn’t face me. “What about you? Where is your home? Or is that secret, too?”

“No secret,” I told him. “I don’t have a home.”

*   *   *

“Hey, honey,” Aunt Mary said when I finally returned to the house. She was kneeling on the living room rug while Emily stood on an ottoman with her arms outstretched, dressed like an angel. “We missed you at breakfast.”

“I’m sorry I left without telling you. I—”

“You had to choose between running off with a handsome cowboy you haven’t seen in months or staying in a house full of rowdy strangers…”

“And gravy,” I told her. “I also ran away from the gravy. Which might have been a mistake.”

“Then tomorrow I’ll teach you how to make it. Would you like that, Hulda?” She looked as if she expected me to protest. Or maybe confess. I was officially paranoid.

“I’d probably burn down your house.”

“It takes a lot more than you to turn this place to ash.”

“Aunt Mary, are you done yet?” Emily shifted from foot to foot.

“Stop fidgeting,” Aunt Mary commanded, then pulled a straight pin from the puffy band on her wrist and studied Emily’s too-long costume.

“I’m tired,” Emily complained, but Aunt Mary just cut her eyes up at her.

“You’re not being very angelic,” Aunt Mary said. “So, Hulda, do you have everything you need?”

“Yes.”

“And are you settling in okay?”

“I guess so.”

“And you know you can come to me, right? If there’s anything you want to talk about. Anything at all.”

“Of course.” I smiled. I lied.

*   *   *

If it’s possible for real life to turn into a montage from a movie, that’s what happened next.

Every morning Ethan knocked on Aunt Mary’s door and I went to help him feed. (My job was opening the gates. According to Ethan, it was a very important job.)

Every afternoon I helped Aunt Mary cook and deliver food to the older people in the community who couldn’t get out in the snow. “Here,” she said the first day, handing me the keys. “I don’t drive much anymore.”

Emily and the twins tried to teach me how to two-step.

Clint grilled steaks and we had big, noisy dinners at Ethan’s house with everybody taking turns holding Ethan’s cousin’s baby.

Aunt Mary put me in charge of wrapping presents and the twins let me hold a baby pig.

And through it all, Ethan was there, teaching me how to drive a stick shift in the chore truck, teasing me when my boots got so bogged down in mud that I actually stepped out of them and had to walk back to Aunt Mary’s on bare feet.

He didn’t talk about Hulda.

He didn’t ask me where I was from or why I was running.

He didn’t look at me like I was a liar or a fraud or a cheat.

And, for a few days there, I wasn’t really Hulda and I wasn’t really me. For a few days, I was just … happy.

Because, for a few days, I had a family.

*   *   *

“You’ve got to keep stirring,” Aunt Mary told me. It was the day before Christmas Eve, and even though it was below freezing outside, Aunt Mary’s kitchen was hot. Steam collected on the windows while the brown concoction on the stove boiled and popped like something in a witch’s cauldron.

“Are you stirring?” Aunt Mary asked.

“Yes,” I said.

She eyed the boiling caramel. “Stir harder.”

When the caramel began to splatter, Aunt Mary said, “Oh, hon, you’re gonna get that all over your pretty top. Go grab an apron.”

There was a hook full of aprons in the laundry room and I grabbed one that was pink and covered with white flowers. But as soon as Aunt Mary saw me, something in her eyes made me stop.

“What?” I asked, then looked down and saw the name embroidered on the pocket. Daisy. “Oh, I’m sorry. Is this your daughter’s?”

“Yes, it is. But … you wear it,” Aunt Mary said. “She’d want you to wear it.”

When I started pulling my hair up into a ponytail Aunt Mary asked, “Did anyone ever tell you your hair looks nice away from your face?”

I swallowed hard and nodded. “My mom.”

“Do you miss her, sweetie? We can call her, or—”

“No,” I said too quickly. “I mean, that’s okay. The time difference, you know. It can wait.”

The back door slammed open as Emily yelled, “Aunt Mary!”

“Boots!” Aunt Mary said, but Emily was already pulling off her muddy boots and leaving them by the back door.

“Aunt Mary, do you have any potatoes?” she asked.

“Why?” Aunt Mary sounded skeptical, but Emily cut her eyes at me.

“You’ll see.”

*   *   *

“Surprise!” Emily and Susan yelled in unison when we arrived at Ethan’s house that night.

There was another sign. This one hung in the dining room, announcing Happy Þorláksmessa, Hulda!

“What is all this?” I asked.

“Well, we know it must be hard for you to be away from your family at Christmas,” Aunt Mary said. “The holidays are always hard without your family.”

Maybe I was imagining things, but it felt like the room changed as she said it. For a second, no one could meet anyone else’s gaze.

“So…” Mary went on, “we thought we’d bring a little of Iceland to you!”

“Oh. Yay!” I tried. Only then did I really look around the room.

There were shoes sitting in all the windows. Yes, shoes. Sinister looking Santas lined the center of the table, and a pile of potatoes was arranged on a serving tray like some kind of strangely festive centerpiece.

“Wow. Someone went to a lot of trouble.”

“Well, of course we did, silly. It’s Saint Thorlakur’s Day!” Ethan’s mom said. Then she grew serious. “Am I saying that correctly?”

“Yeah, Hulda,” Ethan said. “Is she saying that correctly?”

“Yes. Very good,” I told her, and Susan beamed. Ethan smiled like he was about to choke on the canary he’d just eaten.

“Sit, sit.” Aunt Mary ushered us all into chairs. “Part of the fun of hosting an exchange student is learning about their home culture. So we thought we’d have you teach us all about Christmas in Iceland!”

“Hulda is an expert on Christmas in Iceland,” Ethan said, moving away before I could kick him under the table.

“We did a little research online,” Susan said. “But we still have so many questions.”

“Yeah,” Emily said. “Like what’s the deal with all the shoes?”

“Yes, Hulda.” Ethan leaned back in his chair. “Tell us all about the shoes!”

“Oh, well…” I started slowly. “The shoes are really fascinating.”

I looked back to the windows, the shoes that sat on every ledge. “We put them in the windows, you see…”

“Oh, we do see.” Ethan nodded. “But why, Hulda? Why are the shoes in the windows?”

“Um … well … that’s because in olden times … people would forget their shoes and … people left extra shoes in windows and that way travelers could find shoes when they needed them. Because Iceland is a hard place to live without … you know … shoes. Land of Ice,” I added seriously.

“I thought Greenland was the one covered by ice,” Clint said.

“That too,” I said.

“Why does Santa look so scary?” One of the twins was eyeing the little red-clad man who sat right in front of her, staring at her like he might be an axe murderer.

“That’s a great question,” Ethan said. “Tell us, Hulda, why does Santa look so scary?”

“That’s not Santa,” Emily said. “He’s one of the Yule Lads.”

“Yule Lads!” I blurted, as if I’d come up with the answer all on my own. “That’s who that is. I guess they’re kind of like our Santa?”

“How many are there?” Clint asked.

“Nine,” I said, but Emily was already crinkling her brow.

“I thought there were twelve?” she asked.

“Well, maybe it varies in different parts of the country,” Ethan said. “Right, Hulda?”

“Right!” I agreed. “Some places there are twelve, but where I live there are nine because … the other three died because they forgot their shoes.”

Everyone at the table nodded as if that made perfect sense.

“Isn’t that exciting? We have our own traditions, you know,” Aunt Mary said. “Nothing fancy, but you can’t live in a community called Bethlehem and not have a few Christmas traditions.” She laughed. “We all meet at the church on Christmas Eve. There’s a live nativity.”

“That means real goats, and lots of small children dressed like wise men,” Ethan clarified as his aunt talked on.

“And we sing carols and read the Christmas story. And everyone gets a sack of candy.”

“That sounds nice,” I said. But something about it made me feel sick. Like I was going to contaminate them all with my presence. With my lies.

“I…” I pushed away from the table. I had to get out of there. I had to get away. “I have a headache. I’m so sorry. I just…”

“Ethan,” Clint said, “take her home.”

*   *   *

Outside, the cold air burned my lungs. The sky was so clear and bright—too bright for three hours after sundown. No matter how long I stayed there, I would never get used to seeing so many stars.

“You okay?” Ethan asked, but I couldn’t breathe, much less speak.

“I’ve got to tell them,” I finally choked out. “They’re so nice. They’re going to hate me. They’re going to hate you! I have to tell them. Right now. Tonight. I’ll—”

“No.” Ethan shook his head, firm in his resolve. “Tell them now and you’ll break Aunt Mary’s heart right before Christmas.”

“She won’t care about that. Her husband and daughter will be home soon and—”

But the look in Ethan’s eyes cut me off. It wasn’t shock. It was absolute sorrow.

“Gosh, Lydia. I thought you knew.”

“Knew what?”

“They died,” he said. “About a year and a half ago. Car accident.”

I heard Aunt Mary’s words: I don’t drive much anymore.

“This is only her second Christmas without them,” Ethan finished, and I felt like someone hit me in the gut. I thought of Aunt Mary’s hugs, her empty house. Of the tree and Hulda’s handmade stocking.

“It was one of the reasons why I thought Hulda coming was such a good idea,” Ethan told me. “Aunt Mary doesn’t like to be alone, and the holidays are so hard.…”

“Yeah. Of course. I wish I’d realized. I would have—”

“No! Don’t change anything, okay? She gets enough sympathy from everybody else. It’s nice having someone who doesn’t treat her like she’s fragile. She hasn’t been this happy since the accident. If you tell her now … it’ll crush her.”

“She’s going to find out eventually, Ethan. It’s not like I can stay here. Eventually, I’m gonna have to leave.”

“We don’t want you to leave, okay?” He ran his hand through his hair again. “I don’t want you to leave.”

I didn’t realize how close we were standing or how warm his hands were on my arms. I didn’t see the way our breath mingled in the cold air. I didn’t realize I was falling until it was too late, probably because I never hit the ground. It was a fall of faith, of hope, of … if you want to be technical about it, love. Or something like it.

And then Ethan’s lips were on mine and I pressed against the warmth of his strong chest, his arms around me, holding me tight. And I wasn’t running away anymore. I was running toward. This moment. This place. This boy.

“Just wait until after Christmas, okay?” Ethan pulled away and stared into my eyes. “Everything will look different after Christmas.”

And I nodded, perfectly content to go on living with the lie.

*   *   *

On Christmas Eve, Ethan picked me up to take me to the church that sat between a wheat field and a pasture. It was tiny and white with a steeple climbing up into the sky. By the time Ethan parked the truck, the church bells were already chiming.

“Come on.” He took my hand. “We’re late.”

Together we ran laughing toward the doors, but as soon as we stepped inside I straightened and stopped. Ethan’s hand was still in mine, though, as we stood at the back of the crowded room.

“Hulda! Ethan!” Ethan’s mom whispered, motioning to where the family was saving us a pair of seats.

“Good evening, everyone!” I looked up and, for the first time, noticed Aunt Mary standing behind the pulpit, a hymnal in her hands. “Merry Christmas,” she said.

The entire congregation echoed her. “Merry Christmas!”

The room was lit entirely by candles and the white twinkle lights of a half dozen Christmas trees. Mistletoe hung on the end of every one of the old-fashioned pews. It wasn’t like walking into a church. It was like walking back in time. The people of Bethlehem had been celebrating Christmas Eve in that way for a hundred years. There was a comfort in knowing they would probably celebrate it that way for a hundred more.

“You okay?” Ethan whispered, and I nodded. At the front of the room, a pianist began to play.

“Let’s begin with hymn number 101,” Aunt Mary said as Ethan and I sat down on the end of his family’s pew.

There was a fluttering of noise as people picked up songbooks and turned to the page, but I didn’t need to see the music. I knew every word. Every note. And yet, when Aunt Mary sang “O Holy Night,” there was no way I could join in.

“The stars are brightly shining…”

Suddenly, I wasn’t in that little church in the middle of nowhere. I was in a hospital room singing for the small, frail woman on the bed. I was picking out the song on my keyboard. I was watching her eyes fill with tears as she asked me to sing it again.

“It is the night of the dear Savior’s birth…”

I was glad for the dim lights and crowded room. No one was watching me. No one noticed how my eyes began to water and my hands began to shake. And, most of all, no one looked at me and expected me to dance or sing. No one in that room cared if I ever sang again.

“Long lay the world, in sin and—” Aunt Mary’s voice cracked. The words faltered. She moved her lips, but no sound came out as her face turned white and she seemed lost, frozen.

“This was Daisy’s favorite,” she said after awhile, her voice so soft it was barely a whisper. It was like Aunt Mary was lost in a fog of memory and regret and the realization that she would never again share that hymn with her daughter. The pianist kept playing, but no one sang. No one moved.

Ethan’s mother wiped her eyes, and I felt the overwhelming wave of emotion that was rushing through the room. It was about to overtake us. And when the pianist reached the chorus, I felt it overtake me.

It was like when I offered Hulda my ticket; I didn’t make the decision to stand. I didn’t will myself to sing. But before I knew it, I was standing, walking to the front of the room.

“Fall on your knees…” The words came pouring out of me, my voice filling the tiny church as I stared into Aunt Mary’s eyes and realized she was no longer crying. She held out her hand, and I took it and sang louder.

“Oh hear the angel voices!” I sang like I hadn’t sung in years.

And I kept singing. I sang just for the joy of it. For the moment and the music and for me. I sang for Aunt Mary and Daisy and for all the people who couldn’t sing anymore. I sang because not singing would never bring them back but singing might make us all remember.

I sang because that is what I do when I am happy and when I’m sad. I sang because it is who I am when I am being the best possible version of me. I sang because I wasn’t alone as I held Aunt Mary’s hand.

I sang because it was Christmas.

*   *   *

When the song was over, I went back to sit by Ethan, who had his phone out. He was looking between it and me as if something didn’t quite make sense.

“It’s you!” One of the twins spun around and looked at me from the next pew, her voice was almost vibrating. “We knew it was you. We knew—”

“Hulda.” Ethan’s voice was cold, and I could tell he wasn’t calling me by my fake name. He wasn’t acting along. Instead, he held out his phone so I could read the message on the screen.

From: Hulda

Tell Liddy they’re coming!

“What are you doing here?” the other twin asked. “How did you meet Ethan? Where—”

But I couldn’t make out the words. The packed room was suddenly freezing. I swear I felt a chill. And when I looked up, I saw someone standing by the back door of the church. His hair had been blown askew by the strong wind. He wore a dark overcoat and a red scarf, Italian loafers that were perfectly polished. He didn’t belong in that place. In that world. But I also knew that there was no way he was leaving.

“Who’s Liddy?” Ethan’s voice sounded a thousand miles away. “Look at me.” He took my arm. “Who is Liddy?”

“I am,” I had to admit.

“You said your name was Lydia.”

“It is. I mean, it was. My mother called me Liddy.” I met his gaze. “Ethan, I’m Liddy Chambers.”

I waited for the words to sink in—for the name to mean something. But Ethan just asked, “Who?” and I could have kissed him. He didn’t scream my name or roll his eyes. I was neither adored nor abhorred by that boy in that moment, and I think I might have loved him for it. Just a little.

“What does Hulda mean, they’re coming?” he asked.

“She’s wrong.” I shook my head and looked at the man who stood by the doors, glaring at me. “They’re here.”

*   *   *

I wasn’t looking as Emily walked down the center aisle, moving to the front of the church, but she sounded like an angel as she began to read the Christmas story from the Book of Mark. The lights dimmed even further. Little boys dressed like shepherds were carrying baby goats and taking their place at the front of the room, but it felt like I was in a trance as I eased away from Ethan and his family, clinging to the shadows before I slipped outside.

The man who followed didn’t offer me a hug. He didn’t ask if I was okay or tell me how worried he had been. No. The first words out of his mouth were, “Did you know you had a show tonight?”

“Didn’t you see? I just did one,” I shot back.

He grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the helicopter that was sitting in a nearby field, waiting for us.

“A helicopter, Derek?” I rolled my eyes. “Really? Subtle.”

“Come on. We’re leaving.”

“No,” I shouted. “I have to say good-bye. I have to—”

“Lydia!” Ethan’s voice sliced through the clear night air. “Wait.”

It was all I could do to pull away from Derek long enough to look back.

“Who are you?” Aunt Mary was half a step behind Ethan and closing the gap between us quickly. “Where are you taking her? That child is my responsibility!”

Aunt Mary looked and sounded like a force of nature, and Derek might have recoiled a little if there hadn’t been so much riding on that moment. Riding on me.

He puffed out his chest and spat, “No. She’s not. And she’s leaving this place. Now.”

“Hulda, what’s going on here?” Clint had appeared at his sister’s side. “Is this man bothering you?”

“Clint, he’s trying to take her away,” Aunt Mary explained.

“Are you her father?” Clint asked, and Derek laughed.

“I’m her legal guardian.” Derek eyed Clint in his starched Wranglers and Carhartt coat. “And you, sir, are going to get out of our way before I have you arrested for kidnapping.”

“Kidnapping!” Clint shouted.

“They didn’t know!” I wedged myself in between Clint and Derek. “I ran away. I pretended to be an exchange student named Hulda. I lied, and they took me in.”

The church was quickly emptying, and it seemed as if all of Bethlehem now gathered around us. I kept waiting for someone to make a “What Child Is This?” joke, but no one said a thing. We had all said too much already.

“My name is Lydia,” I told them. “Liddy. Liddy Chambers.”

The night was clear and cold, and my breath fogged as I struggled to make sense of all that had happened.

And that was when I heard the singing.

It was my own voice, but not the song they play on the radio. It was the version of “O Holy Night” I’d recorded in Mom’s hospital room three years before. It was the song that was played ten million times on YouTube. It was the reason Derek and the record company came calling.

And when Mom got really sick—when we could no longer ignore the fact that she wouldn’t be around to raise me—that song was a big reason why she made Derek my guardian, why she thought she was giving me my dream.

“It’s her!” One of the twins held up her phone, playing the video for everyone to see. “See. It’s really her. It’s Liddy Chambers!”

“No.” Ethan shook his head. “It’s Lydia.”

Derek made a motion in the air and, in the pasture beside the church, the helicopter turned on its blades. Snow began to spin, filling the night sky with a swirling white. Derek started toward the chopper, but I was staring at Ethan and his family.

“Liddy!” Derek yelled. “Now!”

I took a few steps, then looked back. I was glad for the spinning snow and dark night. I didn’t want them to see the tears that filled my eyes as I said, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I lied and—”

“Oh, honey,” Aunt Mary said. “You think we didn’t figure out that you weren’t an Icelandic girl named Hulda? You think we weren’t on to you ages ago?”

“You were?” I didn’t know whether to feel hurt or relieved. “Why didn’t you say anything? Why didn’t you send me away?”

“Sweetheart, when you lose someone, you lose a little bit of yourself, too.” I wasn’t sure if Aunt Mary was talking about what happened to her or what happened to me, but it didn’t matter. It was true in any case. “And that missing piece? Sometimes you have to lose the rest of yourself to find it. Besides”—she cut her eyes at Derek—“I’m pretty sure I would have run away, too.”

Derek buttoned his coat and gathered his scarf as it blew wildly in the air. “I’m her guardian. And she’s coming with me.”

Derek reached for me again, but I jerked away.

“You’re not my guardian—you’re my manager,” I yelled, as if that could make any of them see the difference. “I’m an act to you. A property. I sing and I dance and … my mom was dying. She was sick and scared, and we were broke. That’s why she granted you custody.” Even though it hurt to admit it—not to the people of Bethlehem, but to myself—I had to say, “My mom didn’t know what was best for me.”

“Liddy, get in the chopper. Now! Before I call the authorities,” Derek warned.

“You mean the sheriff?” Aunt Mary asked. Then she pointed to a man in the crowd. “That’s him right there. Let’s ask him. Hi, Ben.”

“Hey, Mary. You need some help?” the sheriff asked.

“No, thanks. I’ve got this.”

“That’s corruption,” Derek said.

“Yeah. Let’s ask the county judge.” Aunt Mary turned to the woman who had been playing the piano. “Your honor?”

The judge gathered her hands together and studied me. “I see no reason to remove this child from your care, Mary. I’m certainly not letting her leave with some man we don’t know. And since the courts are adjourned for the holidays, I see no choice but to allow her to remain with you at least through Christmas.”

“This is ridiculous,” Derek scoffed. “She’s Liddy Chambers and I’m her legal guardian! When the press hears about this—”

“When the press hears what, Derek?” I snapped. “That I ran away from you? That you had no idea where I was for almost a week and never notified the authorities? That my mother was under the influence of so many painkillers when she gave you custody that she couldn’t even remember her own name? Huh? Tell me exactly what you’re going to tell the press. Because there are a few things I’d like to tell them, too.”

“Liddy.” Derek lowered his voice, pleading. “Come with me. Come with me now and we’ll forget this ever happened.”

“Do you want to go with him?” Aunt Mary asked, but it was Ethan who found my gaze and kept it.

“Do you?” he asked, and I couldn’t deny the truth, the reason why I never could stop running.

“If I don’t go, he’ll come back.” I thought about what Ethan had asked me the night we met. “I’m worth a lot of money to them.”

“Oh, honey,” Aunt Mary said, “don’t you know you’re worth more than money to us?”

“You had your little break, Liddy. Now, stop kidding yourself. You want to be a star. You can’t give that up,” Derek said. It was almost like a dare.

“You’re right. I used to love music. I used to love singing and playing and making people happy—that made me happy. But … but I didn’t know what happy was then.”

“And you do now?” Derek sounded like he would have laughed if he hadn’t been so inconvenienced.

He didn’t know what I know. About the way Aunt Mary’s house smells when she cooks bacon, or how the cold wind feels on your face when you do chores at six in the morning, slapping you awake as if, until then, you had been sleepwalking your whole life. If he’d only looked up, he could have seen how big the sky really is and how easy it was to get lost there.

“Now I know what real stars look like,” I told him. “I’m sick of the imitations.”

I felt the townspeople gathering around me, but it wasn’t an angry mob. It was a blanket, a shelter. And, slowly, Derek backed away.

“Enjoy your Christmas, Liddy. I’ll be back,” he called. “I’ll be back to get you.”

The helicopter rose and disappeared in the blackness as I stood, surrounded by the entire town of Bethlehem. The stars were so bright overhead that a part of me couldn’t help but wonder if they’d led me there, guided me to that place and time.

“So, Liddy,” Aunt Mary said, “I was thinking that—if you wanted—you could stay with me permanently. The judge thinks we can get your custody situation changed. If you want that. You don’t have to decide right now, of course. It’s just that—”

“Yes!” I felt tears sting my eyes again. This time for entirely different reasons. “Yes, please.”

Aunt Mary pulled me into a tight hug, but I couldn’t stop looking at the boy standing just over her shoulder.

When Aunt Mary released me, he said, “You’re staying.” It wasn’t a question.

“I’m staying,” I said.

“No more running.” Ethan shook his head and stepped closer.

“No more running,” I said, and then he kissed me. And then he held me close and I looked up at the stars over Bethlehem, knowing I’d come home.