Page 91 of The Forever Christmas Tree

Second, after a routine checkup, Cassie ended up in the hospital for another surgery. Having inherited the Rutledge gene for height, his daughter had grown two inches since her last visit and, although the current temporary joint was made of an uncemented, flexible material, it was deemed necessary to replace it.

Most people grew to their full height by age fifteen or sixteen, but some continued up into college. He could only hope that Cassie would be in the former category, and that they could put in a permanent device, earlier rather than later, that would hopefully last more than twenty years.

Third, the biggest crisis in those two months after Christmas, as far as Cassie was concerned, was that she’d broken her iPhone and it took weeks to repair it, and even then her contacts and apps were lost.

Lastly, once the arson case was settled and Cassie was home following the operation, Ethan’s grandmother went on some kind of half-assed crazy strike. She was no longer going to work in the Christmas Shoppe, which was open year-round, though the main business was landscaping in the off-season.

“No big deal! I’ve been urging you to take it easy for a long time,” he told her.

“And no more cooking or cleaning, or laundry.”

Huh? “Okay, I can accept having someone come in more often to clean and do laundry, but cooking? You love to cook.”

“Not anymore.”

“What are you going to do, then? Paint? That’s a good idea.”

“No, you fool, I’m not going to paint. I’m going to dance.”

Another person calling me a fool! “What?”

“Also, I’m moving into Mildred Patterson’s house on a temporary basis.”

Now, that hurt. “Why? Are you that unhappy with me and Cassie?”

His grandmother threw her hands in the air, as if he was hopeless. “I love you two, you know that. But I’ve come to realize that I’m an enabler. That’s what one of Mildred’s new guests said last week. He’s a retired psychiatrist.”

“A dancing shrink?” he joked.

His grandmother didn’t laugh. “Seriously, Ethan, you need to get off your butt and do something about Wendy. Either that, or forget about her, and find someone else. How about that Bonita woman, Raul’s daughter?”

He ignored his grandmother’s attempt at matchmaking. Besides, if she only knew! He’d already dated Bonita, in fact had a short affair, before he’d known it was her father who was living with Mildred Patterson. Bonita was very nice, but not really his type. If he had a type! “Can’t you see how impossible it is? Wendy’s life is in California, mine is here in North Carolina.”

“If I’m not here, maybe you’ll give it more serious thought,” his grandmother went on, as if he hadn’t even spoken.

“That is ridiculous. All I’ve done is think. The facts remain the same. No second chances at love here.”

She shrugged.

“Really, Nana, tell me what this is all about.”

“Sit down,” she ordered.

He sank to a chair at the kitchen table, and she did the same.

“Do you love the girl?”

He felt his face heat. “Yes,” he admitted, noticing that his grandmother didn’t ask if Wendy loved him.

“You know the story of me and your grandfather, and how we got together.”

Oh, crap! That again! “Yes. But that has nothing to do with—”

She put up a halting hand. “I couldn’t . . . wouldn’t move from the Outer Banks. He loved me enough to move here, even though his work was elsewhere.”

“And made a fool of himself perfecting that Rutledge Tree.”

“Is that what you think? That he made a fool of himself? You’re the fool in this picture if you believe that.”