Stella walked over to the couch. “Don’t be silly. You and Mom take the bedroom. This will be fine for me.” She insisted until Bob finally carried his clothes back into the bedroom.
Marilyn sighed. Time to make the best of the situation. Surely this could be salvaged somehow. She would just have to reconnect with Bob another way.
She followed him into the bedroom to unpack. Looked at the suitcase on the bed. “Bob, where is the overnight bag I used at Stella’s?”
He carried his shirts to the bureau. “Oh, I left those bags at Stella’s. We needed room in the trunk for her cello. I figured we could pick them up again when we drop her off.” Bob gave a shrug. “Why, was there something important in it?”
She forced a smile at him, trying not to wince.
No big deal.
Nothing that important in the bag.
Only her intimate-cabin-for-three-appropriate pajamas.
She gave herself a mental shake. Her nighttime attire wasn’t what was important here. After all, neither one of her family members was exactly speaking to her. She needed to repair her relationship with Stella, find out the mystery behind her daughter’s canceled trip, and save her marriage.
Standing there in the silent bedroom, she realized what she really needed was a Christmas miracle.
CHAPTER 3
TUESDAY, 2:05 P.M.
As it turned out, the small cabin wasn’t too small after all.
Bob rubbed his chin as he placed another piece into the puzzle in front of him. Marilyn was napping in their bedroom, and Stella had been gone most of the day. After a quick breakfast, their daughter had practically run out the door. Maybe she was still embarrassed about burying the car in that snowbank yesterday.
She’d gotten home from grocery shopping wearing a sheepish look. “We were about to call the police,” Marilyn had said. “You were gone for hours.”
“It was no big deal, Mom. I just got delayed because the car got…sort of…buried in a snowbank.” Stella had placed two bulging plastic bags on the table and shot her dad a look full of pleading.
Bob had taken the hint and retrieved the rest from the car. He’d given the car a once-over, and everything looked intact. He’d come into the cabin to hear Stella again.
“Romeo helped dig me out.”
“The snowplow driver?” Marilyn didn’t have her hands on her hips, but she might as well have.
Stella rolled her eyes at her mother, then softened. “Look, I’m sorry for worrying you. Forgive me?”
“Of course we forgive you.” Bob stepped between them and put an arm around each of his girls.
“Absolutely.” Marilyn smiled at Stella and all seemed well.
Stella had then left to thank Romeo…and still hadn’t returned.
Now the small space echoed with silence. He considered putting some music on from his cell phone, but he didn’t want to bother Marilyn. She’d invited him to join her in her nap, but he’d declined. He didn’t feel sleepy—more like restless.
This puzzle was fun, though. Challenging. A field of hot air balloons against a blue sky, hovering over a field of flowers.
Idyllic. He didn’t begrudge Marilyn her nap. She worked so hard, sometimes harder than him. She deserved to have a break. This trip away would be just as good a rest for her as for him. They both needed time away from the church.
He remembered the last time they’d taken a vacation. Two days in, they’d gotten a call that the chairman of their church council had been killed in a farming accident. Of course, they were on the road back home as quickly as they could pack up their bags.
Things like that were part of the job as a pastor, and he didn’t resent it. In fact, he felt privileged to be part of people’s lives in this way.
No, he wasn’t resentful. He was tired.
Maybe even the kind of tired that meant he should quit.
A rustle from the bedroom indicated that Marilyn would be out soon. A moment later, she appeared in the doorway. She tugged at the hem of her shirt, smoothing out the sleep wrinkles.
“Have a good nap?”
“Yeah. It was good.”
“Do you want to take a drive into town?”
Her smile cleared the rest of the sleepiness out of her countenance. “I’d love that. Just let me grab my coat and shoes.”
A few minutes later they were tooling down the road.
“Do you think there is something wrong with Stella?” Marilyn asked.
“Not really, why?”
“I don’t know. Maybe I’m imagining things. But she canceled her trip, and she was off her game at the recital. And she hasn’t wanted to spend any time with us up here. After we unloaded the car, she practically jumped at the chance to go to town.”
“Let’s not read too much into the trip being canceled. Plenty of people had their flights canceled and their trips changed. And going into town probably felt more interesting than sitting around with us reading books and putting together puzzles.”
“True enough.”
They settled into a gentle silence as he piloted the CR-V into town.
Deep Haven was an interesting little town. Several art shops, some touristy places, a few restaurants, and of course, a great view of Lake Superior. As they drove along the main street and passed by the library, Marilyn grabbed his bicep.
“Did you see that?”
“See what?” His heart rate picked up.
She gripped him tighter. “Turn around.”
At the next corner, he pulled a U-turn—the streets were deserted—and headed back the way they’d come.
“What’s wrong? What am I looking for?”
“Nothing’s wrong. There!” Marilyn pointed at a sign hanging outside the library. “Look! They’re having a candlelit snowshoe event tonight.”
That was what she’d nearly given him a heart attack for?
He looked over at her, hot words on his tongue. The expression on her face pulled him up short.
Her eyes shone.
It had been a long time since he’d seen that light. Or maybe he hadn’t been looking.
Sure, he wanted nothing more than to go back to the cabin, climb back into his sweatpants, and fit a few more pieces into his puzzle.
But.
He didn’t want to be responsible for putting out that light. And really, a moonlit stroll through the woods sounded fun. A break from his regular routine, for sure. “Let’s do it.”
The light in her eyes spread to her whole face.
“Let me just get directions.” She punched at her phone a minute. “Okay, it looks like the Wild Harbor Trading Post is only five minutes away. We have a little time to kill before we need to go get signed up.”
“How about we find a bite to eat?”
“It’s like you read my mind.”
They found a little bistro called Trailside and ordered a Reuben sandwich to split. On the walls, Bob spotted several newspaper clippings featuring a local hero. Looked like some sort of dogsled racer.
The waiter caught him staring at one of the clippings. “That’s Nick Dahlquist. He’s the son of the owners. He ran the Iditarod last year.”
“They must be proud of him.” Bob indicated another clipping. “His photo is everywhere.”