Let It Snow: Three Holiday Romances Myracle, John (the lemonade war series txt) 📖

gingerbread men displays in the window of the bakery. And yet, lots of people would take that as a sign that someone was unhinged. One person’s crazy is another person’s sane, I guess. Plus, I thought I was being pretty crafty by describing Stuart as one of “two kids” instead of “some guy I met at a Waffle House with plastic bags on his head.”

“Are you still there?” she asked. “What about your train?”

“I think it’s still stuck. It got caught in a snowbank last night, and they had to turn down the power and the heat. That’s why we got off.”

Again, pretty clever to say “we” as opposed to “just me, wandering across a six-lane interstate during a blizzard.” It wasn’t a lie, either. Jeb and the Ambers and Madisons had made the trek themselves, just after I blazed the trail. Being sixteen means you have to be a genius conversational editor.

“How’s . . . ” How do you ask your mom how jail is?

“We’re fine,” she said bravely. “We’re . . . Oh, Julie. Oh, honey. I am so sorry about this. So, so sorry. We didn’t mean . . . ”

I could hear that she was about to completely lose it, and that meant that I would soon lose it if I didn’t stop her.

“I’m fine,” I said. “The people here are taking really good care of me.”

“Can I speak to them?”

Them meant Debbie, so I called to her. She got on the phone and had one of those mother-to-mother talks where they express concern for children as a whole and make a lot of scrunched-up faces. Debbie was well up to the task of reassuring my mother, and in listening to her talk, I discovered that she wasn’t going to let me go anywhere for at least a day. I heard her shoot down the idea that my train was going anywhere, that there was any chance at all I was going to make it to Florida.

“Don’t you worry,” she said to my mom. “We’re going to take good care of your girl here. We have lots of good food, and we’ll keep her nice and snug and warm until things clear up. She’ll have a good holiday, I promise you. And we’ll send her right back up to you.”

A pause while my mother made high-pitched sisterly devotions of gratitude.

“It is no trouble at all!” Debbie went on. “She’s an absolute pleasure. And isn’t this what the holidays are all about? You just take care of yourselves in there. We Flobie fans are rooting for you.”

When she hung up, Debbie was wiping at her eyes and writing a number on her “Elf List” magnetized refrigerator notepad.

“I should call about my train,” I said. “If that’s okay.”

I couldn’t get anyone on the phone, probably because it was Christmas, but a recorded voice said that there were “substantial delays.” I looked out the window as I listened to it cycle through menu choices. It was still snowing. It wasn’t as end-of-the-worldly as last night, but it was pretty steady.

Debbie lingered for a bit but then drifted off. I dialed Noah’s number. He picked it up on the seventh ring.

“Noah!” I said, keeping my voice low. “It’s me! I’m—”

“Hey!” he said. “Listen, we’re all about to sit down and have breakfast.”

“I’ve kind of had a rough night,” I said.

“Oh, no. Sorry, Lee. Listen, I’ll call you back in a little while, okay? I have the number. Merry Christmas!”

No “I love you.” No “My holiday is ruined without you.”

Now, I felt myself losing it. I got all choked up, but I didn’t want to be one of those girlfriends who sob when their boyfriends can’t talk . . . even if my circumstances were a little beyond normal.

“Sure,” I said, holding my voice steady. “Later. Merry Christmas.”

And then I ran for the bathroom.

Chapter Nine

You can only spend so long in a bathroom without arousing suspicion. Over a half an hour, and people are staring at the door, wondering about you. I was in there at least that long, sitting in the shower stall with the door closed, sobbing into a hand towel that read LET IT SNOW!

Yeah, let it snow. Let it snow and snow and bury me. Very funny, Life.

I was kind of terrified to come out, but when I did, I found that the kitchen was empty. It had been cheered up a bit, though. There was a Christmas candle burning on the middle bit of the stove, the Bing Crosby tunes were rocking out, and a steaming pot of fresh coffee and a cake were waiting on the counter. Debbie appeared from the laundry room next to the stove.

“I had Stuart go next door to borrow a snowsuit for Rachel,” she said. “She outgrew her last one, and the people next door have one just her size. He’ll be back soon.”

She gave me a knowing nod that said, I know you needed some private time. I have your back.

“Thanks,” I said, sitting down at the table.

“And I spoke to your grandparents,” Debbie added. “Your mother gave me their number. They were concerned, but I set their minds at rest. Don’t worry, Jubilee. I know holidays can be hard, but we’ll try to make this one special for you.”

Obviously, my mom had told her my real name. She pronounced it carefully, as if she wanted me to know that she had taken note of it. That she was being sincere.

“They’re usually great,” I said. “I’ve never had a bad holiday before.”

Debbie got up and poured me some of the coffee, setting the cup down in front of me, along with a gallon of milk and a massive sugar bowl.

“I know that this must be a very rough experience for you,” she said, “but I believe in miracles. I know it sounds corny, but I do. And I feel like you coming here has been a little one for us.”

I glanced up at her as I poured milk into my coffee and almost flooded the cup. I had