Chapter 16

sixteen

CANDACE

The Kirby Falls Holiday Jamboree was kicking off tonight with the annual parade on Main Street. This had always been one of my favorite local events growing up.

Our town had other parades celebrating the Fourth of July as well as the Orchard Festival, but the holiday parade was the only one that took place at night, when everything was bright with twinkle lights and utterly magical.

I remembered the wonder and excitement of staying up late, drinking hot cocoa from vendors, and catching handfuls of candy as they were thrown from passing vehicles and floats. And then later, riding in the back of a pickup truck, representing Judd’s Orchard, my legs swinging off the tailgate while my siblings and I waved to friends and neighbors and visitors.

There was something enchanting about the celebration, and Christmas had always been my favorite holiday.

Being able to participate in the parade tonight was something I’d been looking forward to.

This weekend was probably the second biggest draw for tourists behind the Orchard Festival in September. The Thursday night parade started festivities. Holiday markets would happen Friday through Sunday on the same stretch of Main Street that saw farmers’ market vendors and Orchard Festival attendees. However, the wares would be less fresh produce and more along the lines of handmade gifts. Local artisans would occupy booths and encourage folks to take home hand-thrown pottery, Christmas ornaments, original artwork, and much, much more. Food trucks would be on site as well as vendors selling hot chocolate, kettle corn, candy apples, and peppermint bark.

December weather was unpredictable for an outdoor event in the mountains, but snow this early would be a rare occurrence. Most people would need to bundle up though, especially for the parade tonight.

Currently, we were lined up a mile away from the parade route, over on Elliott Avenue. Streets had been blocked off, and all participants had been directed to follow a twisting, turning map and jamboree volunteers to a very specific location to ensure the procession went as planned in exactly one hour and fourteen minutes.

Mark would be driving the Judd’s Orchard work truck at a crawl while pulling the trailer supporting our float. I was already in my costume and straightening and adjusting the decorations before the rest of my family arrived.

The theme was Santa’s Apple North Pole Wonderland. With Bonnie’s help, I’d constructed a giant sleigh down the center of the trailer. There was quite a bit of glitter involved as well as battery-powered twinkle lights. In the rear of the sled was a raised platform for my parents, who would be assuming the roles of Santa and Mrs. Claus. Twinkle-light reins led from the front of the sleigh to another platform that would hold my sister, Joan, our apple-loving Rudolph.

The sleigh was set in and among Christmas trees from our lot, all decorated with red and green apples and strands of popcorn—courtesy of Bonnie’s Kirby Falls Elementary School art students.

Brady and I planned to walk behind the trailer as apple-worker elves. Our costumes included apple-picking bags that were filled with treats, and our job was to pass out candy to kids, hand orchard coupons to adults, and just generally ham it up for the crowd.

The float behind ours was Miss Sally’s Tiny Dancer Academy. I’d gotten their playlist and routine schedule from my former ballet instructor, so I knew what to expect and didn’t need to play music from our own float. Brady and I had even worked out a short dance routine that I was pretty excited about .

I tapped one bell-topped pointy boot and slipped off my white gloves before reaching into my skirt pocket. With a quick flip to the front-facing camera, I grinned and took a selfie. My eyes were bright with shimmery silver makeup and looked more green than brown in the late-afternoon light. The curved tip of my elf hat dipped down low over my forehead. And you could just barely see the tops of my red-and-white suspenders peeking out from beneath my recently curled brown hair. I looked festive and happy. Santa’s little helper.

But hopefully, this text would put me on the naughty list.

I fired off the image along with a short message just as Mark climbed out of the driver’s seat. He’d been scooting us into position, something we’d had to adjust regularly during the parade setup to ensure everyone was where they were supposed to be. Eloise Carter, the head of festival planning in Kirby Falls, was probably somewhere with a clipboard, devil horns, and a whip—not the sexy kind.

From my position at the end of the twenty-four-foot-long trailer, I watched Mark straighten and pull his phone from his jeans pocket. As soon as his eyes locked on the screen, he smiled—the small, secret tilt of his lips that I loved so much. He hadn’t even had a chance to read the text yet, his thumb just now tapping to unlock it.

That immediate smile in reaction to my name popping up on his screen had me swooning. My heart was room temperature butter, left out on the counter to soften. Destined for something miraculous like a bowl of chocolate chip cookie dough or this man’s love.

Like a sneaky little elf, I observed the change that came over Mark as he read my text. Unaware of my spying, his eyes widened at what he saw on his phone and then he laughed. I was too far away to hear it, but I knew exactly what it sounded like. I could feel the phantom exhale against my neck, the rumble of amusement from his broad chest, like the best sort of memory.

That low sound of happiness was something I’d grown familiar with over the last few months. In the bed of his truck with a camera in his hand, in the firelight glow, in the darkness of his bedroom, his eyes on me.

Mark’s pretty blue-gray gaze found me now, the laughter in his eyes so recent that I could still see the wisp of it before it softened into something aching and fond .

Mark kept his affectionate stare trained on me as he closed the door to the truck and walked my way.

I wondered at the sight and felt certain that anyone who saw him looking at me like that would know in an instant where we spent our nights and how we filled our hearts. It could never be interpreted as anything other than what it was. And I imagined the look I gave him in return answered pretty definitively.

Our expressions fairly shouted our intent, not to mention our body language. It said, these two idiots were stumbling their way into love and hiding it from the world, as if that could stop it. An unobtrusive, weightless fall, despite things like time and place and small-town politics.

When Mark reached my side, I kept my hands—and my lips—to myself when all I wanted was to step into him and make sure all the people lingering in the setup line knew this man belonged to me. And still, we were close to touching, the reckless possibility of it. The way my torso leaned in, like he was a star and the gravitational pull was unavoidable. How his shoulders relaxed and his fingers twitched at his sides, reaching for me reflexively before his brain could catch up and bring him to heel.

Mark’s voice was low and amused when it emerged. “To answer your question, yes, I am very into that costume. Feel free to wear it when you come over tonight.”

I grinned. “That, sir, is the correct answer.”

His smile was a little wicked, and I wondered what he was thinking about doing to me later, but before any truly naughty ideas could materialize, Mark’s gaze snagged on something over my shoulder. He took a big step back and shoved his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. His warmth and his vibrant green scent abandoned me abruptly.

I didn’t have to look to know someone was approaching. A moment later, my brother’s voice, accompanied by jingling bells, identified the reason for Mark’s sudden retreat.

“You know, I didn’t think I was a fan of suspenders, but I look good,” Brady proclaimed with a snap of the red-and-white elastic that matched my own.

I gave him an annoyed look, mostly frustrated that he’d interrupted. “They’re candy-cane patterned. It’s not like you’ll have an occasion to wear them again. ”

“I just meant, now I know I can pull off suspenders. I’ll get a normal pair and wear them to the next wedding or fancy event I have to go to.” My dopey brother frowned at Mark’s clothes. “Sorry you’re stuck driving the truck and don’t get a costume, Mercer.”

“That is fine by me,” Mark said gamely.

Mom and Dad were the next to join us. My mother looked pretty cute in her red velvet dress with white faux fur accents. She even wore a short white wig and had gold-rimmed round glasses perched on her nose. Dad was grinning in his Santa suit, complete with beard, hat, and furry boots.

I showed them where they’d be positioned on the float. I’d tucked a few water bottles out of sight for them and added some cushions for the wooden bench seat to make sure they were comfortable on the platform.

“Honey, this is amazing. Everything turned out beautifully,” my mother gushed as she took in the sparkling display.

“Yeah, Candy Cane,” my dad said, “you did a wonderful job. We’ll be the hit of the parade.”

I smiled. “Thanks, y’all.”

Funny how my family’s nickname wasn’t such a painful reminder anymore. It just felt like a connection to my past, one that I was happy I got to experience again, being home this fall.

Nervously, I checked the time on my phone. Joan wasn’t here yet, and we were twenty-two—no, twenty-one—minutes out from the start of the procession.

Mark gave me a knowing look. “She’ll be here. She knows how important this is to you.”

That was what had me worried. I’d been home for three and a half months, and I didn’t really feel like I’d made any type of progress with Joan. Yes, she tolerated me better at the orchard. I supposed she was less hostile. She didn’t openly question my motives anymore, but she still looked at me like a squatter on her family’s land.

We didn’t have conversations that didn’t involve the farm. She never asked how I was doing or if I wanted to grab dinner. Joan made me feel like an outsider and, at times, even unwelcome and unwanted .

It was eight minutes to five and the sun was setting fast when Joan finally approached, winding her way through the little girls in sequined costumes gathered at the float behind us.

I straightened from where I’d been repositioning some garland along the outside of Santa’s sleigh. Disbelief had my mouth dropping open.

“Where’s your costume?” I asked before I could think better of it.

Joan seemed taken aback by the float, her surprised blue eyes scanning the lights and decorations until she found me right smack-dab in the middle, several feet above her. Her eyes narrowed. “I’m not dressing like a reindeer, Candy.”

“Why not? It’s your part on the float. You’re Rudolph.”

She looked at me like I was insane. “Why in the world do I need to wear a fuzzy brown suit and antlers on my head to sell apples?”

I forced myself to take a deep breath. My sister was a practical person, rarely frivolous or given over to fun or whimsy. “It’s a theme. See”—I pointed to everyone else in turn—“Dad and Mom are Santa and Mrs. Claus. Brady and I are elves. The float is decorated for the theme, Joan.”

“How the hell was I supposed to know that?”

It felt like there was steam gathering behind my ears, and some pent-up, rage-filled, resentful part of me possessed my mouth. “Well, let’s see. There were like twelve family meetings about the parade and float decorating that you conveniently missed. You would have known about the costume if you’d bothered attending.”

Joan sighed like I was the biggest idiot on the planet. “I’m a grown-up, Candy. With grown-up responsibilities.”

“So am I!” I finally snapped. “I haven’t been your bratty little sister in a long time, Joan. If you’d bothered to notice, I’m twenty-five. I have a great credit score and a fucking investment portfolio. I’m not a kid. Stop treating me like one.”

Silence rang in the wake of my pronouncement. I might have been shouting. I didn’t know. All I could hear were my angry heaving breaths and the deafening sound of blood rushing in my ears .

Vaguely I noticed Mark coming over, concern etched between his dark brows, but I couldn’t pay him any mind because I was so mad that I could hardly see straight.

This confrontation with my sister had my heart going a million miles an hour. My sister . Someone I’d loved and respected and admired all my life.

She was staring at me in stunned shock, but then her eyes defaulted to narrowed slits.

I realized suddenly that Joan was not perfect. Far from it. Maybe she was a great daughter and a devoted orchard employee, farmer of the fucking year. But I’d made allowances for her for far too long. I’d taken every single snide remark in stride—all the bitter negativity she’d wielded so subtly.

Since I’d been back in town, my sister hadn’t even given me a chance. It went beyond a pumpkin patch or a parade float. It was the eye-rolls and the constant mistrust. She treated me like an incapable child hell-bent on stealing her inheritance. All these painful realizations were swirling around inside me. I didn’t have room for anything rational.

Joan was selfish and single-minded and astonishingly bad at communicating. She expected everyone to be just like her—just as dedicated, just as hardworking, just as fanatical about the farm as she was.

And I’d committed the cardinal sin. I’d left. I’d devoted my life to something that wasn’t Judd’s Orchard.

But I was done paying for it.

“Maybe we should take a minute,” my father said at the same time my mother cautioned, “Girls, you both?—”

“You know what—” Joan began, but stopped abruptly when she placed her hand on the side of the float to brace herself. It must have been at a crucial, weight-bearing point because the hanging garland dislodged and landed in a sad little serpentine coil at her feet before systematically popping off at the remaining intervals until the entire length of the trailer was garland-less and unadorned.

My mouth dropped open in horror as my hard work was once again dismissed and discarded by my sister.

I heard Brady mutter a low, “Oh shit,” from somewhere .

Logically, I knew that Joan’s harmless touch probably dislodged an already loose staple and the resulting chain reaction had been bad luck.

But whether you were two or twelve or twenty-five, there was nothing logical about fighting with your sibling.

“How could you!” I yelled.

“That was an accident.” Joan held her hands up in the universal sign for hold on a minute, but I would not be holding on for any length of time.

In a fit of blind rage, I grabbed the closest thing I could find—a shiny red Rome apple decorating the Fraser fir to my right—and chucked it at my sister. It missed her by a mile but practically exploded on impact. Bits of apple flesh and juicy innards splintered off the asphalt as my sister jumped to the side.

“Hey!” she shouted.

But I didn’t care. I grabbed another—a Granny Smith this time—and threw it at her head.

“What the hell?” she shouted when it caught her in the shoulder instead. “Great way to prove you’re an adult, Candy. Jesus Christ.”

But I was on a roll. “It’s Candace!” I screeched.

I grabbed apple after apple along with strings of popcorn and plastic snowflakes and threw them all in my sister’s direction. She ducked and shouted and picked up pieces of apple and popcorn from the ground and threw them right back.

I had sticky juice splattered across my face and my costume, popcorn stuck in my hair, and I was pretty sure I’d lost a fake eyelash.

My parents were hollering, trying to intervene, and, at one point, I heard Brady shout, “You have to eat those apples. You know the rules!”

The next piece of fruit was aimed at him. “I will strangle you with those suspenders, Brady. Shut. Up!”

I’d just turned back with my arm cocked and loaded when I caught sight of Mark stepping in front of Joan. He plucked half a McIntosh apple out of her hand and then turned to face me .

“You two are going to stop this right now.” Mark didn’t raise his voice, but he did sound like he meant business, like a teacher at the head of the classroom, disappointed in his troublemaking pupils. “You’re going to ride on this float and act like adults.” He glanced between me and my sister. “And then you’re going to sit down and have a conversation like rational human beings.”

Surprisingly enough, we did stop.

Giving me a death glare and a wide berth, Joan hopped up and took her position at the front of the sleigh without her costume and covered in the remnants of our apple battle.

Brady ran over to Burke Hardware and borrowed a staple gun to fix the garland bunting on the side of the float.

My parents climbed aboard and produced Oscar-worthy North Pole smiles and waves.

Mark plucked the missing eyelash from my hair, handed me a handkerchief for my face, and squeezed my arm. Then he got behind the wheel and shifted into drive.

In the end, we only delayed the parade by six minutes.

However, the event had lost some of its luster. My excitement waned to practically nonexistent due to the fight with my sister. I felt embarrassed by my actions, but underneath the shame and guilt was still a fresh dose of hurt that we’d gotten to that murderous, apple-slinging point in the first place.

I still smiled and waved and tossed candy to children and neighbors. Marveled a bit over the lights and music and the sense of community. But I felt dim around the edges, fuzzy and indistinct—like a chandelier that’d blown half of its bulbs.

When the parade was all over and we’d hauled the trailer back to the farm, my father ushered Joan and me onto the screened porch of the farmhouse and left us there. Side by side, we sat in cold, awkward silence on the wicker love seat. It was dark save for the light coming from the kitchen inside. My mother tossed two blankets at us and told us we couldn’t leave for at least twenty minutes.

I didn’t know what kept my sister from just getting up and going. Maybe it was the fear of disappointing our parents. It was one of the few things that proved we were actually related. Or perhaps Joan was feeling a little bit of the guilt-shame combo that was currently hunching my shoulders and restraining my tongue.

When it was clear she was going to be as pigheaded about this conversation as she was about everything else, I decided to start with honesty.

“I got fired from my job in New York. That’s why I came home.”

In my periphery, I saw Joan turn to look at me. I could feel her gaze, heavy and questioning, on the side of my face.

I swallowed. “Well, I didn’t technically get fired. I was forced out. I got involved with my boss who stole my ideas and passed them off as his own. Then I found out he had a wife and a baby I didn’t know about, and it just fell apart from there.”

Joan was quiet for a moment before saying very matter-of-factly, “That guy sounds like a dick.”

A surprised laugh shot out of me.

The silence stretched between us again, not quite as tense this time. Less like a tightrope between two skyscrapers and more like a game of tug-of-war.

With her eyes fixed forward again, Joan said, “I always wanted to work on the farm, not in the passive way that Brady is involved, like he has nothing better to do. But like I felt it in my bones. I loved the land and working with my hands, being a part of something—a cycle, nature, a legacy. I always knew that this was where I belonged.”

Somehow I could tell she wasn’t done talking, just ordering her thoughts. So I stayed quiet.

Finally, she glanced at me. “I loved it here and you never did. You couldn’t wait to get out of this town, away from the farm. It felt like you needed to be rid of all of us, too.”

Heat flooded my cheeks and shame slithered in my belly. Every argument I could have made died on my tongue. All of what Joan said was true. I had been eager to escape. At the time, making something of myself meant something bigger and better than Kirby Falls. Ivy League, big city, sophistication, career-driven professional. All the things I thought equaled success. A dream that felt juvenile now in the face of Joan’s hard work and dedication .

“You swooped in here this summer with your pantsuits and your big ideas, acting like you belonged here when, for the longest time, you thought this place was the worst place someone could be.”

I considered my determination and my forced positivity over the past few months. I’d been the physical embodiment of fake it till you make it. Joan had seen through all that. Of course, she had.

“But I realize now,” my sister said, “that you were young and...so different than me. It’s hard not to remember the girl you were. Maybe it’s the age difference, but I have a difficult time seeing you as anything but my baby sister.”

I nodded because I got that. “I have a hard time seeing you as anything but my perfect big sister.”

Joan scoffed. “Perfection is just an idea. Something people kill themselves trying to achieve. It’s not any more attainable than world peace or being universally beloved—unless you’re Dolly Parton.”

I smiled. “I guess I thought Mom and Dad already had the best daughter for the farm. I felt like I needed to chart my own path to stand out.”

“I’m sorry that I made you feel like you needed to run away to do that.”

“And I’m sorry,” I said, “that coming home disordered your life and put a strain on things around the farm. I was just trying to help.”

“I know that,” Joan admitted. “And it’s not like I really gave you a chance to discuss stuff with me. I should have told you that some of your ideas made more work for the rest of us instead of being bitter and angry about it.”

I nodded because that was true too. And then because it should be said, I added, “I’m sorry I threw all that shit at you this afternoon.”

Surprising me once more, Joan laughed, the sound a little foreign to my ears. “Actually, I was pretty impressed. You finally stepped up and defended yourself. Stopped acting like a kicked puppy while making me out to be the champion of the kickball league.”

I smiled and looked down. I had let Joan walk all over me.

Now that the adrenaline and anxiety from this conversation had worn off, I was getting cold. I tucked the fleece blanket more securely around my thighs .

“Your accent is back,” Joan said.

“I know.” I chuckled. “I blame being around Mom. When I was in the city and we’d talk on the phone, I’d be dropping g ’s off the ends of words for days after.”

My sister laughed again, still rusty but getting looser.

In the silence that followed, so many memories flashed through my mind. Joan in braces learning to drive the old pickup truck with single-minded focus. Sitting with my parents at Brady’s high school soccer games and hearing my mother gasp every time an opposing player challenged him for the ball. Helping my dad string Christmas lights on the front porch. Listening to my mother hum and roll out cookie dough.

Maybe Joan was remembering things, too, because after a moment she said, “I was hard on you, and I’m sorry for that. Despite what you may have once believed, I’m not perfect. But I sure am prideful. I’ll do better, I promise.”

It meant something that my sister was apologizing. Too often in families, folks just put the past behind them like it never happened. They ignored the hard parts and never talked them out. Never managed to say their sorries. They took for granted their bonds by blood and birth and assumed that connection wouldn’t weather away over time.

I didn’t want to wake up in twenty years resenting my sister because she couldn’t own up to her mistakes. And I didn’t want her to do the same with me.

“How about I’ll stop thinking of you as perfect, and you’ll stop thinking of me as that single-minded teenager who lit out of town on graduation day for greener pastures? It may have taken me some time, but I love my home, Joanie.” I took a deep breath for courage and added, “In fact, I want to stay.”

“Is this the first time you’ve said that out loud?”

“Yeah,” I admitted.

“I could tell.” She grinned. “You look like you’re going to barf.”

I laughed into the cold December night. “Yeah, well, admitting you’d rather go back to where you started feels like a waste of time and money and heartache. Mom and Dad sacrificed so much for my education. At first, I couldn’t believe I’d even gotten in to an Ivy League school. It had felt prestigious, like I wasn’t just some backwoods redneck from the middle of nowhere, not if the admissions folks at Columbia University thought I was good enough. How lucky was I?”

Despite the distance from home, it seemed like looking a gift horse in the mouth if I’d turned down Columbia and went to a nearby state school. It was an opportunity. More importantly, it was in my plan.

“Luck didn’t have a single thing to do with it,” Joan argued. “You worked your ass off in school. You earned that admissions letter. And you went to college and learned and grew as a person. If you’d have turned down Columbia, stayed close and given it up, you would have always wondered. Now you know, right? You know what else is out there. And sometimes that’s what growing up is all about.”

My sister was right. I would have always wondered.

“If you want to stay. Stay,” Joan said simply.

I twisted my fingers nervously beneath the blanket, wishing it were that easy. “You wouldn’t hate having me here?”

“I would not hate having you here. And you know Mom and Dad would be thrilled. You have to remember, your idea of success is unique to you, and it’s even different now than it was when you were eighteen. Why would two small-town farmers who love their community and their family and their life ever think that a career in New York City is the only path to success? They wanted it for you because they love you, and that was always your dream. They’d probably even be proud of you if you were something horrible like a congressman. You could run a pyramid scheme, and they’d say, ‘Look at our baby girl.’”

I’d started laughing at congressman and kept right on going, whacking my sister on the arm.

Joan was smiling too. “Their love is not tied to a college loan payment, Candy—Candace,” she corrected softly. “You’re minimizing a lifetime of love and pride.”

So many emotions battled for dominance: shame, guilt, love, affection, regret, heartache, disappointment. Coming home was complicated, and I’d known it all along, but staying...that might be the simplest thing of all.

My sister was right. I needed to give my parents more credit. And it was okay to change and adapt, remake myself over again. Who the hell knew what they were doing at eighteen, anyway? Holding on to something just for the sake of holding on wouldn’t do anything but give you calluses. I didn’t want to hang on so tight to this one thing that I let everything else go.

I wanted to be in Kirby Falls with my family and my friends...and with Mark.

It was as if Joan had reached into my brain and pulled out the knowledge. “And staying would definitely make your dating life easier.” She gave me a knowing little smirk. “Now that you’ve found a good guy and all.”

“I—I don’t know what you mean,” I managed to stammer out as shock and panic flooded my system. I was one more epiphany away from a hard reset.

My sister rolled her eyes, but she was amused. “Any idiot could see the way Mercer looks at you. Come on now.”

Her words made me feel warm, filled me up.

It seemed to go okay the first time, so I gave her another truth. “I love him. A lot. I’m in love with him.”

“Good,” Joan replied, nudging me with her elbow. “I’d hate to have to kill you for breaking his fragile heart and running off our second-best employee.”

I snorted. “And the best employee is?”

“Me, obviously,” Joan said with zero humility. “Did you think it was Brady?”

I laughed hard at that and she joined in.

This was maybe the longest and best conversation I’d ever had with my big sister. “I was hoping it would be me.”

The sharp edges of Joan’s wicked humor softened, and the smile she gave me was warm and welcome on this cold night. “The ranking system is just for permanent employees. I guess you’ll just have to stay if you want to be a contender.”

Then she bumped me with her elbow again. “You think it’s been twenty minutes yet. It’s like the North Pole out here.”

I cut her a glance, but she was already watching me. “Too soon, Joanie.”

Then we both burst out laughing.

I felt lighter than I had in years.