Running her fingers along the arm of the swing, where she and Blue had carved their initials so long ago—they were almost invisible now—she let her brain play leapfrog. From Noelle’s curves and warmth and interest in her art to Tara’s calming no-nonsense steadiness. Miriam and Tara had been texting over the past few days. Brief check-ins about minutiae, “The cheese guy at the farmer’s market said hi, do you want a cheese tray for the shop opening?” and “Do you need me to pick up a dress for my parents’ party or do you have one?”
Nothing that touched her heart or gave her butterflies. Nothing that exposed the pain she was processing or that bittersweet mixture of joy and deep regret at coming home only to realize she’d missed all those years for no good reason.
To be fair, she wasn’t talking to Noelle about those things, either, but she could imagine it. She’d shared a lot of secrets on this porch, once, and Noelle fit there so perfectly that it was easy to picture. It should have scared her, how tempting it was to let Noelle close. She spun her engagement ring until it bit into her palm.
Dating Tara was easy, in a lot of ways. They had their agreement: they lived their separate lives and showed up for the other as needed. The sex was good, if not world-changing, and the company was pleasant. Miriam could travel to her friends’ shops all over the country, shut herself in the workshop with podcasts for three days, spend the weekend with Cole, and Tara never asked for specifics. Miriam played the interesting trophy fiancée, a part she’d been groomed for all her life, and got to use that training for good instead of evil, which was a nice fuck-you to her dad. She had the financial backing to build a career for herself, and a place to land if it didn’t launch.
Maybe Tara never said, “I miss you,” but she often asked, “Do you need anything?” She liked Tara precisely because she knew she would never be in danger of falling in love with her. Out here in the quiet Carrigan’s night she could almost hear Cass’s voice, telling her that was baloney and to get it together. Cass believed in love writ larger than life, which was rarely comfortable, it seemed to Miriam.
Maybe she’d been comfortable for too long.
In the old days, Halloween at Carrigan’s had been a three-day masquerade extravaganza culminating in the opening of the festival, and the Carrigan’s season, on November 1. Guests would stream in for the start of the revelry, and leave with a tree and a hangover on All Souls’ Day. This year, none of the staff was ready to do the event without Cass. Instead, on Halloween day they made sure every last item was in place for the festival tomorrow.
And that night, they put on animal footie pajamas, opened giant bags of miniature chocolates into a bowl, and talked about what they wanted to do for Halloween next year.
If there was a Carrigan’s next year. There was going to be. Miriam was going to make sure of it, so that she could say, “Next year at Carrigan’s,” and mean it.
“What if you had a spooky burlesque show?” Miriam asked, lying upside down on the sectional on the landing, her legs over the back and her hair hanging over the seat. “Or one of those trunk-or-treat events that churches hold, but for adults.” She waved the candy bar in her hand, thinking about the possibilities. “There could be hard cider from local breweries, and we could put a screen up on the inside of the barn and project horror movies, orThe Rocky Horror Picture Show. It would be such a great way to connect with other merchants—” She cut herself off when she saw Noelle and Hannah staring at her.
Noelle took the bowl of candy away. “I think you’re drunk on Butterfingers,” she chided playfully.
“I was imagining something small,” Hannah said from where she was starfished on the floor, “maybe inviting local kids for a costume party. Elijah told me it’s hard to find a place in driving distance to take the twins to show off their costumes since trick-or-treating is so spread out among the farms, and we could be that place. It would be helpful to remind the townspeople of their childhood nostalgia, both around Carrigan’s and Halloween in general. People are open to collaborations when they feel warm and fuzzy.”
“I don’t remember Halloween being a warm fuzzy time,” Miriam said, sitting up and tucking her knees underneath her. “My dad only let us do things that looked good for his business, so we were always in expensive tailored costumes at a company party. But I assume for people not raised by abusive narcissists, it’s a happy childhood memory.”
She bit her lip. She never talked about her dad, especially not blithely about his abuse, but something about the two women—the cousin who was almost a sister and the stranger who already didn’t like her, even if theyhadgeeked out about art together—felt like they had given her permission to open the floodgates. The two certainties, that she could neither lose Hannah’s love nor win Noelle’s regard, set her free.
Noelle handed her back the candy bowl. “Never mind, you earned these,” she said, a line between her brows, her voice a low grumble. “I vote burlesque.”
“I finally get you two to agree on something and it’s naked women?” Hannah groaned.
Miriam and Noelle looked at each other, and a tiny corner of Noelle’s mouth lifted. Miriam found herself suddenly very interested in her candy.
On All Saints’ Day, they officially opened the Christmas festival to business. The animatronic cherubs played “Joy to the World,” while the lights in the trees out front flashed in time to the music. Ziva reappeared, just in time to preside ostentatiously over the proceedings. A line of townies stood outside, wanting first pick of the trees as soon as Miriam’s mother ceremoniously flung the gates open. Most families would buy on Black Friday, but the people who lived nearby knew to avoid the tourists and snag the best trees early.
Miriam livestreamed all of it for the Bloomers, who were starting to ask uncomfortable questions about why she was still in New York. She tried to distract them with pomp and circumstance, since she definitely wasn’t planning to give them any real answers.
It was Miriam’s first taste of working Carrigan’s, talking to people about the attributes of various fir trees, taking payments, directing customers to the seasonal workers. Business stayed slow but steady (and grueling) in those first few weeks. She often found herself working shoulder to shoulder with Noelle, usually while Noelle picked up a giant tree like it was made of air and carried it to a customer’s car.
Miriam absolutely did not swoon every time, even if Noelle’s shoulders bunched under her flannel and her tattoos rippled where her sleeves were rolled up. They were sniping at each other less since their conversation on the porch swing, but they hadn’t had any more authentic interactions. Noelle grouched about having to help the newbie learn the ropes but also smiled at her a few times—a miracle. Miriam wanted to believe Noelle was being nice for her own sake, although she suspected it was to avoid Hannah’s wrath.
Hannah might be the organizing force behind Carrigan’s Christmasland and the Matthewses might be the backbone, but Noelle kept all of them from working until they collapsed. Miriam kept catching Noelle forcing bottles of water into Hannah’s hands or shooing Mrs. Matthews out of the kitchen or showing up just when Mr. Matthews needed a second pair of strong hands. She wondered who was taking care of Noelle. Not that she wanted to volunteer, since she had her caretaking hands full fielding emergencies from the Old Ladies even from here.
But she hoped someone was making sure Noelle hydrated and slept and felt looked after.
As the days wore on, Miriam became increasingly convinced that Noelle and Hannah had conspired to show her how hard a Christmas season at Carrigan’s was to work. She didn’t know if they were testing her or trying to drive her off, only that they were keeping her so busy she collapsed into her bed every night with very little energy left for scheming about visions of a New Carrigan’s. She’d taken to carrying a little pocket notebook in her work apron, and she wrote down ideas as she walked around the farm, listening to tourists talk about their plans for winter break. Wine tasting and local chef pairings? Carrigan’s could host that. Holiday craft market? That would be easy to add to one of their existing events.
Most days saw Miriam stationed out front when business opened, welcoming people as they came off the shuttle. Her resemblance to Cass was a blessing and a curse, as it both put people at ease and brought their grief to mind. It seemed that anyone who’d ever so much as spoken to Cass in passing loved and missed her. Miriam got used to hearing, several times a day, how startlingly like her aunt she was.
After two weeks of this, her head was too full of the farm, and her ideas, and her feelings, so she ducked into the kitchen to call Cole.
“Babe,” she said, “I have terrible news. I need you to help me process some emotions.”
“Gross! We don’t have those.” Cole laughed. “Hit me, I’ll see if I can remember how feelings work.”
“Everything here is somuch. All these people who’ve known me all my life, who loved Cass, all these memories, all these regrets. Even the wallpaper feels like it’s heavy with memories. I feel like I’m being rubbed raw.”
“And it makes you want to come home to hide again?” Cole guessed.