I tugged at the bottom of my damp T-shirt, which clung to my skin. The last two hours had gone by so fast, something I hadn’t experienced since high school. Being on the court and scrimmaging with a group of girls. Laughing and encouraging one another. Being part of a team, even if it was only for tonight.

  Sydney shrugged into her coat. “What were you and Katelyn talking about after practice?”

  “She was frustrated because she felt like she hadn’t played as well as she wanted to the last couple of practices—like she was missing too many blocks.”

  “So what did you tell her?”

  “I told her I remember feeling the same way. That everybody has off days. And that you just have to work through them. Keep showing up. That she’s a good volleyball player.”

  “You’re doing a great job with the girls, Payton.”

  “Just telling them what you told us.” I dug my car keys out of my purse as Sydney tried to juggle the multiple cards and gifts the girls had given her when practice ended. “Do you need any help with all of that?”

  “Thanks, but I can manage.” Sydney set the bags on the metal bleachers and stuffed the cards into her purse.

  Why did the days after Thanksgiving and leading up to Christmas always seem to be in fast-forward? While Christmas Day loomed too close, Thanksgiving was the flash of a memory, the scaled-down dinner with just my parents and Jillian squeezed in between Festivities events. Johanna had spent the long weekend with Beckett in Wyoming. My oldest sister’s absence meant a reprieve from our emotional standoff. Geoff’s absence meant no running string of jokes punctuated by bursts of laughter.

  With a quick shake of my head, I returned to my conversation with Sydney. “I remember Christmas seasons with the team. The annual party—”

  “Those are always fun. We’re going out of town this year to visit my husband’s family, so we’re going to do a team party after the New Year. You’re invited, you know.”

  “Thanks.” I nodded toward the pile of gifts. “I would assume you’re restocked on your gift cards for the next few months.”

  “I hope so.”

  “Pepper and I usually opted for Starbucks.” The small memory from our former volleyball years was pleasant, not painful.

  “Believe me, I appreciated every single one of those gift cards.”

  “This looks a lot like the gifts I’ve gotten for my family.”

  Sydney’s eyes widened. “This? What do you mean?”

  “Gift cards. All gift cards.”

  With a loud metallic click, the lights in the gym shut off, dousing Sydney and me in darkness and signaling us to move to the rec center lobby.

  Sydney picked up the conversation again. “Is work so busy you don’t have time to go Christmas shopping?”

  I wasn’t about to go into the long, drawn-out why. “Yes, but also I’m just not a good shopper.”

  “It’s not that hard. I mean, shopping does take time, of course.”

  “Agreed.”

  “Have a little fun with me here.” Sydney dumped her armload of bags and her purse on the lobby counter.

  “How, exactly?” I rubbed at the stiff muscle in my right shoulder. How many times had I served the volleyball?

  “Tell me something about your dad. What does he do? What does he like?”

  “My dad? He likes to grill out. And he’s a die-hard Broncos fan.”

  “Then you buy him a chef’s apron with a funny saying. Or a Broncos T-shirt.” She cut me off when I started to say something. “Doesn’t matter how many T-shirts he has. Football fans can always use one more. Did you ever count up how many volleyball T-shirts you had?”

  “Good point.”

  “What about your mom?”

  That was easy. “She collects carnival glass. And she likes to bake.”

  “Easy again. A nice piece of carnival glass. Or a cookbook.”

  “I don’t suppose it matters that she has a gazillion cookbooks.”

  “Nope—kind of like T-shirts. Buy her a bestseller. Sisters?”

  There was no need to mention Johanna wasn’t speaking to me. “My oldest sister likes vintage jewelry. A bracelet or earrings?”

  “See? You’re catching on.”

  I paused, envisioning Jillian’s office. “I just found out Jillian likes watercolors. She had a collection of abstract hearts in her office at work.”

  “That’s unusual. Check out Etsy online.”

  “I’m familiar with Etsy. Kimberlee and I use it for some of our parties.”

  Sydney tried her best not to look shocked. “Then why are we even having this conversation?”

  “Because I didn’t make the connection between Etsy and Christmas shopping?”

  Sydney accepted my more than lame excuse. “Well, now you have.”

  For years, Sydney had coached me about volleyball. And now she was coaching me on gift giving. I was twenty-six years old. I should be capable of buying my family Christmas gifts.

  “That reminds me . . .” I pulled a red envelope out of my purse. “This is for you.”

  Sydney laughed as she tucked it in among the other envelopes. “Starbucks?”

  “If I tell you, it’s as good as you peeking at a gift before Christmas.”

  “True. I just figured you were consistent.”

  “Well, maybe I surprised you and went with a Chick-fil-A gift card.”

  “I happen to love Chick-fil-A.”

  “Who doesn’t?”

  The lights in the lobby dimmed, and Sydney regathered her things to lead us outside. The winter air fingered the damp hair on my neck. The dark sky overhead sparkled with hundreds of tiny white stars. But instead of heading to her car, Sydney matched me step for step to mine.

  “I wanted to ask you a question.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Just promise me that you’ll think about it for a few days before you give me an answer.”

  “Fine. I’ll think about it. And the question is?”

  “You know club season starts in a couple of weeks. I was wondering if you’d consider being a backup assistant coach for the sixteens team.”

  “What? Did Alex quit or something?” Even as I asked, my chest tightened.

  It was just a question. I could say yes. Or no. Sydney couldn’t force me to say yes. There was no reason to struggle to catch my breath.

  “No, she didn’t quit. But it looks like she’ll be traveling with her job this spring, so she’s not sure how many games she’ll be able to get to. We’ve been talking, and we thought you could come to practices and be another assistant coach.”

  I leaned back against my car and gripped the door handle, the metal cold against my fingers. “But I’ve only come to a few practices . . . and I haven’t really done volleyball in years. . . .”

  “The girls like you, Payton. And you know volleyball. And remember, you promised to think about it.” Sydney paused. “You okay?”

  I had promised to consider her question. Which meant, as much as I wanted to say, No, absolutely not, I couldn’t. I had to wait at least one day before telling Sydney no.

  “Yes. Just hungry. I probably needed to eat and drink a little more before I came tonight.”

  “Well, you didn’t know I was going to throw you into the scrimmage against the other team. I’ll let you go. . . . You’ll think about what I said?”

  “Yes.” As Sydney wrapped her arms around me, I hugged her back. “Merry Christmas.”

  “Merry Christmas, Payton. I’m so glad we’ve reconnected.”

  “Me, too.” And as I said the words, I realized just how much I meant them.

  As much as Sydney said the girls liked me, the truth was, I liked them, too. Walking into the gym and onto a volleyball court with a bunch of enthusiastic teen girls was almost like time traveling. For two hours, I went back ten years to high school, when my life was all volleyball, all the time.

  I allowed myself to embrace something I’d walked away from . . . something that, even now, I was afraid to admit I missed. Something I still wanted to be a part of my life.

  25

  “MERRY CHRISTMAS, PAY.”

  “Merry Christmas, Pepper.”

  Christmas morning. My sister and I sit in front of the family Christmas tree, the multicolored lights causing all the ornaments to glimmer and glow among the branches. We wear matching pajamas—soft-gray bottoms with coordinating red tops, not unlike the matchy-matchy pj’s my parents gave us every Christmas. When we were younger, we’d find them waiting on our beds when we woke up, exchanging the old for the new before running downstairs to ransack the presents waiting for us under the tree.

  I fingered the soft flannel fabric of my sleeve. Where did these pajamas come from?

  “What’s wrong?” Pepper’s question was a normal one. Nothing probing about my life choices.

  “You don’t think this—” I motioned back and forth between us—“is a little weird?”

  “What? It is Christmas . . .”

  “No. You. Me. Wearing identical pajamas.”

  “We always used to do this when we were kids.”

  “But we’re older now.”

  “You’re older. You’re even older than me. Now that’s weird. We always thought we’d be the same age. But you’re twenty-six and I’m . . . not.”

  “Things are so different than we ever expected. I tried to help Jillian and probably made things worse . . . and I told the truth and now Johanna isn’t talking to me. . . .”

  Pepper selected a present and handed it to me. “Sometimes you just have to forget all the other stuff and remember we’re sisters.”

  I tossed and turned, pulling myself from the dream, my heart pounding in my chest. My pillow was on the floor, my blankets tangled around my legs.

  Why? Why was Pepper still showing up? I’d done what I needed to do. What Pepper asked of me. I’d confessed the truth to my family.

  My heart rate slowed to a dull thud. For a few years after Pepper had died—before I’d turned my back on that part of my life—I’d wanted to see my sister again . . . to find some way to connect with Pepper. And now all I wanted was for her to go away. To stop appearing in my dreams. To stop asking questions. To disappear.

  For someone to tell me what more I was supposed to do so Pepper would stop haunting me.

  Christmas Day stretched ahead of me and I was already exhausted. I needed to shower. Get dressed. Drive down to my parents’ house, after declining their invitation to stay overnight on Christmas Eve.

  My improved pile of gifts sat on the couch, next to my purse. Gone were the tiny foil bags containing impersonal gift cards. Everyone would now receive a more personalized gift, as well as the original gift card. Thank you, Sydney. Thank you, Etsy. Even Beckett, who was making a rare appearance for Christmas, would receive a custom pen made from California redwood. I’d tucked something extra into Johanna’s bag. Whether she’d accept it or toss it back in my face . . . well, I wouldn’t know until later.

  There was no white Christmas for Colorado this year. I skipped the Christmas music as I drove south on I-25 to my parents’ house, the highway mostly deserted. One of the few cars I passed was decorated to look like a Rudolph, complete with two brown antlers and a big red nose centered over the front grill.

  Why didn’t the holiday feel different this year? Why wasn’t I looking forward to spending time with my family, now that everything was out in the open? The truth should grant me some measure of freedom, right? But I was no happier than any other Christmas since Pepper had died. Granted, Johanna and I were at an emotional standoff, but I was hoping to change that.

  The sound of my phone ringing startled me, but I welcomed the interruption, activating my Bluetooth.

  “Merry Christmas, Payton.”

  Zach.

  “Merry Christmas.”

  “I hope it’s okay that I called. I don’t want to interrupt you if you’re with your family—”

  “No, you’re fine. I’m driving down to my parents’ house right now.”

  “Are you having a good day? I imagine Christmas might be hard for you.”

  “Thanks. It’s going to be different . . . I think.”

  “Okay. Should I ask what that means?”

  “Why not? You’re partly to blame.”

  That didn’t come out the way I meant it to.

  “Let me start over.” I flexed my fingers on the steering wheel. Made sure I was driving the speed limit. “After I told you about what happened the night my sister died—how I talked her into switching places with me—I realized it was time to tell my family the truth too. And I did—back in October.”

  “That’s fantastic.” When I didn’t respond, Zach lowered his voice. “Isn’t it?”

  “Yes. And no. I mean, my parents and Jillian were amazing. They responded better than I ever imagined. But Johanna—”

  “Your oldest sister, right?”

  “Yes. She . . . didn’t understand.” Did I say more? Go into all the details of our argument?

  “I’m sorry. Maybe you just need to give her time.”

  “Maybe. Although Johanna and I have never been close, so things may never change no matter what I do.”

  I stopped. This was an intense conversation when all Zach had done was call to say, “Merry Christmas.” Time to backpedal a bit. “Are you having a good day?”

  He took the change in topic well. “I’m at the airport.”

  “The airport? On Christmas Day?”

  “Yep. At the gate, waiting to board my plane.”

  “Are you going to see your parents?”

  “For a few days. I’ll be back before New Year’s Eve. Don’t want to leave Laz for too long.”

  “Is he in a kennel?”

  “No, a friend is watching him for me. Kelsey loves taking care of Laz.”

  Kelsey. Why had it never occurred to me that Zach probably had a girlfriend? I bet she was some cute, Christian girl—just perfect for him. Why did it matter to me, anyway?

  “Sounds like fun.” And that comment made no sense at all. What sounded like fun? Kelsey watching Laz? “I’m almost at the exit for my parents’ house.”

  “I’ll let you go then. Merry Christmas.”

  “You, too.”

  “Talk to you soon—and maybe we can do coffee or something when I get back.”

  “Sure. Great.”

  Now on top of everything I had to untangle myself from an unexpected, and unnecessary, snarl of jealousy toward Zach and some woman named Kelsey.

  Could I just go back to bed and push restart on this day? Or skip it altogether?

  As my parents’ house came into view, expectations burdened my heart again. I wanted more for my family. But maybe that was a bit like asking for a Christmas miracle, not unlike Frosty the Snowman coming to life and dancing through the town.

  Mom’s “maybe” seemed to linger as I entered the house.

  “Maybe, maybe we can figure out what our family looks like now.”

  But how could we do that without changing? Without acknowledging that we were different—that what had happened changed us?

  After Pepper died, we’d maintained our traditions. The same music my parents had played for years in the background, a mixture heavy on classic Frank Sinatra and Bing Crosby and light on more contemporary songs. Brunch, complete with Mom’s eggs Benedict and mimosas and continual rounds of coffee. With the silence continuing between Johanna and me, maybe she wouldn’t comment on my sugar addiction. My parents seemed oblivious to the underlying tension threaded throughout the day. It was as if we’d been pulled into the holiday movie where toys were outlawed and everything was tinted gray.

  My new and improved collection of presents tucked a warm sense of contentment inside me—each one was a sign that I was trying. Opening gifts waited until after brunch, everyone settling around the room, the packages piled beneath the tree. But before my parents could begin to distribute the gifts, Johanna stood and moved to the center of the room.

  “Can we break with tradition today—just a little bit?” She scanned the family, her gaze settling on Jillian. “I know we usually open presents youngest to oldest, but I thought we could just give each other our presents. And I’d like to start with Jillian.”

  If anyone was going to break a family custom, it would be Johanna.

  And of course, she didn’t wait for approval from anyone. She was holding a card in a bright-red envelope, ready to present it to Jillian. The palm of one of her hands rubbed against the back of her other hand.

  Just like our father did when he was nervous.

  How had I never noticed that before?

  Johanna sat beside Jillian, who now wore a knit cap to cover her bare head. She clung to her corner of the couch like she was stranded on a desert island, waiting for someone—Geoff, maybe?—to come rescue her. But he was absent—and so were his easygoing manner, his corny jokes, and his boisterous laugh. We all missed him, but the loss had erased any hint of joy from my sister.

  A tiny smile curved Johanna’s lips as Jillian opened the card. Removed a small plastic bag. Held it up, turning it around.

  Jillian’s brow furrowed. “What is this?”

  “It’s a piece of my hair. You need to read the note that comes with it.” Johanna undid her chignon. Her hair, which used to fall almost to her waist, skimmed her shoulders. “Merry Christmas, Jilly. I donated my hair to Locks of Love in your name.”

  “You what?” Jillian covered her mouth with her hand. “No . . . you can’t do that—”

  Johanna ran both hands through her hair, shaking her head. “It’s done. And I don’t regret cutting it at all.”

  My oldest sister donated her hair to charity? That was like Rapunzel cutting her own hair—and if I was honest, I often considered Johanna more like the evil not-really-Rapunzel’s-mother in the Disney remake.

  A small chill coursed through me. Here I was hoping for my relationship with Johanna to improve and I was still thinking such awful things about her. Where was my Christmas spirit?

  Jillian wrapped her arms around Johanna, pulling her close, and Johanna held on, tears streaming down both their faces.