“Ruth left the property solely to Nora.”
Twenty-three faces turned toward me.
For the first time in my life, they all seemed to remember I existed.
By December, the messages began.
Can’t wait for Christmas at the beach house.
We’ll need the upstairs rooms.
Tell the cleaning lady to come early.
No one asked permission.
They simply assumed.
On December 23rd, I drove to the house before sunrise.
By noon, four rental vans rolled into the gravel driveway, packed with suitcases, coolers, gifts, and relatives who had not invited me anywhere in fifteen years.
Aunt Patricia climbed out first.
“Nora,” she said brightly. “Open up. It’s freezing.”
I stood on the porch with Sheriff Callahan beside me and an envelope in my hand.
“No,” I said. “This year, you’re not coming in.”
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My cousin Blake laughed from behind a stack of luggage.
“Come on, Nora. Don’t be dramatic. It’s tradition.”
