They landed at LaGuardia, Cole once again physically moving her through the packed crowds. She didn’t know how she would ever have gotten out of the airport without him. The only thing her brain had room for was terror at the prospect of going back home. They took the train upstate, to Advent, the closest station to Carrigan’s Christmasland. Advent was the kind of small town that went all out and then some for Christmas, although Miriam wasn’t sure if that was because of their proximity to Carrigan’s, or if Cass had chosen the land for Carrigan’s because of its nearness to an already-established Christmas destination.
Stepping off the train used to mean seeing Aunt Cass, in high-heeled boots, turban, and fur coat, climbing out of her beat-up farm truck with mud splashed up to the windows. Now, it meant anonymously boarding the Carrigan’s shuttle and bouncing along the winding road through the trees. The absence felt like a vacuum had opened inside her.
All of the Adirondacks was riotous in autumn reds, lush and crisp and overdressed. There were glimpses of lakes and flashes of moose. Then the Christmasland came into view over the curve of a hill. The house and its immense lawn sat at the front of the property, with 160 acres of evergreens growing behind it. Little-girl-Miriam had taken enormous pleasure in spending Hanukkah at the Hundred Acre Wood.
Carrigan’s Christmasland was the velvet Elvis version of a Thomas Kinkade painting. They entered through giant double wrought iron gates, in curling filigreeC’s. Miriam had hoped every inch would be draped in greenery and winking colored lights (Aunt Cass was of the immovable opinion that tiny white lights were for suckers and the only correct Christmas lights were the giant colored glass bulbs). But instead there was a dark, empty lawn, like the whole farm was wearing mourning colors. The Christmas Festival started in two weeks, and they hadn’t decorated yet.
Miriam dragged her feet, walking up the front porch. Dilapidated and rumored to be haunted, the original Victorian mansion had been on the property when Cass bought it in the 1950s. Cass had lovingly restored the turrets and balconies and white cake trim while adding large, rambling wings for guests. It wasn’t massive, not a true hotel. There were twenty-five guest rooms, staff quarters, a top floor where Cass lived, and an attic full of strange treasures. Behind the house sat a barn that was mostly for housing hay, reindeer, and tractors, save for the occasional dance. Next to it were stables for the horses, a carriage house, a couple of small guest cottages, and a work “shed” the size of a three-bedroom house.
Miriam hadn’t been inside the inn for a decade. Standing before the front door, she steeled herself against the onslaught of emotions she’d organized her life around running from. Until now, she couldn’t be anywhere that reminded her of her father, even this place that should have been a haven. She brushed her fingers over the mezuzah for strength, expecting any moment to freeze in terror.
But the terror didn’t come. Just grief and the feeling of coming home she’d always experienced standing on these steps.
The front door opened into a hallway that, in any other year, would be draped in garlands. To one side was a massive kitchen, to the other, the great room they used as an event space. From there rose a curving staircase. The ceilings soared up to the second floor, and a fireplace stood in the center of one wall, topped by a massive carved mantel. Carrigan’s wasn’t ready for the Christmas Festival, and it made everything feel so much more real. Cass’s absence hung over every empty spot that used to hold a stocking.
The staircase led to the guest rooms, which surrounded a central landing that had been made into an entertainment area, with comfortable couches and a flatscreen TV. Down the stairs sauntered a tortoiseshell cat the size of a pony with ear tufts as wide as a human hand. It wound its way around Cole’s legs.
“Kringle!” Miriam exclaimed.
“Hello, pretty girl.” Cole knelt down to rub the cat, whispering absurdities about its glorious size and fluffiness.
“Kringle is a boy. He’s a Norwegian forest cat who wandered in one day from the snow.” As she crooned gently to the animal in question, he rolled onto his back, exposing four feet of belly floof.
“All tortoiseshells are girls,” Cole argued.
“Most tortoiseshells are girls,” Miriam corrected. “The ones who aren’t”—she pointed at Kringle—“are magic.”
“I hesitate to ask how much he weighs,” Cole said as he lifted Kringle up to get an estimate—and was engulfed by the monster.
“I’m going to take you home,” he whispered.
“Cole! Do not steal the cat!”
“Did I hear ‘Cole’? Miriam, have you finally brought us the Infamous Cole?”
Miriam’s cousin Hannah came down the stairs, darting in for a quick, hard hug. Her hair was the color of dark honey and looked sun-burnished even inside. It was braided down her back, reaching to her waist. Her eyebrows winged over dark eyes, olive skin, and soaring cheekbones. Miriam’s heart, which she’d thought was already as broken as it could be, shattered into tiny shards at the sight of her.
Hannah, her entire childhood in a person, one-third of the trifecta of trouble that made up every happy memory Miriam had from before she’d left her parents’ house. Her first real friend. Hannah, who she’d relegated to likes on social media posts and rare, stilted phone calls. She’d sacrificed so many relationships to be free of her father, and she’d pretended she didn’t miss Hannah like a hole in her heart, but she couldn’t now.
Hannah turned to Cole. “I’m so excited tofinallymeet you!” She threw her arms around him, and Cole, never a man to turn down a hug, picked her up.
“Mimi, your cousin Hannah looks like the Jewish Mae West? I’m very angry that you’ve withheld this vital information from me for seventeen years.” Cole grinned.
Miriam elbowed him. “I think Mae West was the Jewish Mae West.”
Hannah stepped back and scanned Cole. “You, however, look like Dick Casablancas got put through a Froyo machine.”
“I’d be offended if that wasn’t the exact vibe I’d been cultivating. Is there a room for me, or do I have to sleep on the floor in this miscreant’s room?” Cole asked. “Or in a manger?”
“I think there’s room for you at the Christmasland Inn,” Hannah said, already moving. “C’mon, Casablancas, I’ll put you in Miriam’s childhood room. It still has some of her old Baby-Sitter’s Club books tucked into the back of the closet.”
“Oooooooh.” Cole followed Hannah up the stairs. “I’ll see you in the morning, my love! Claudia Kishi awaits me!”
Hannah looked back over her shoulder at Miriam. The Business Boss mask that Miriam hadn’t known Hannah was wearing slipped, and her face fell for a moment into agony. Realizing she no longer knew how to read her cousin’s face pierced her. Miriam wanted to hold her but didn’t feel she had the right. All the bridges between them were either burned or long neglected and in terrible disrepair.
“Will you be okay finding your room?” Hannah asked. “I put you in the old Blue Rose room.”
Miriam nodded. “I need to go find the Matthewses, first.”