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That was hard to argue with. Now that her mother was out of sight, and it was just her and Noelle in an empty, musty hall, her anger bled out, and she was tired. “Moms are complicated, you know?” Miriam leaned against the wall, and Noelle leaned next to her.

“Oh, I know so, so well.” Noelle smiled sadly.

Miriam wanted to know what was behind that smile, but she was sure Noelle didn’t want to tell her. “I still talk to her generally because it’s easier than dealing with the drama she would kick up if I tried to cut her off. Today, specifically, she ambushed me. I don’t know. She’s a victim of my dad’s abuse too, even if she could have left more easily than I could. She was the only person who was in our home with me who might ever be able to understand how bad it was, if she would ever admit she was being abused. It’s…”

“Complicated,” Noelle finished for her.

Miriam nodded.

“She seems to be trying to repair things, in her own unskilled way,” Noelle observed.

“She would like people to believe that, certainly,” Miriam snorted. “She and I both know she just let yet another Yom Kippur go by without making any attempts at restitution. It’s all for show.”

“If you grew up with that kind of mom, it might be hard to trust your own instincts,” Noelle said quietly.

That was exactly it. It was so hard to trust her instincts when all the adults in her family, except Cass, had told her that what she was feeling and experiencing wasn’t real.

She felt way too exposed by Noelle’s insight. Her brain yelled “Danger! Retreat!”

“I’m sorry,” Miriam said. Dumping her family’s bullshit on Noelle was unfair and wouldn’t get her anywhere. It’s not like Noelle cared. “I shouldn’t shout in the hallways.”

Noelle propped one booted foot behind her on the faded wallpaper. “You know, you don’t have to forgive her for all that, even if she was abused, too.”

Suddenly angry again, Miriam pushed off the wall, balling her fists hard enough to dig her nails into her palms. How condescending for Noelle to act like Miriam couldn’t handle her mom on her own or had never considered cutting her off. “Thanks for your unasked for input, strange woman who hates me! I’ll file it right next to my mom’s unwanted advice,” Miriam replied.

“Whatever,” Noelle said behind her, as she walked away.

The next day, driven by spite at her mother, she called a meeting with Hannah and Noelle. Instead of Hannah’s office, she asked them to meet her in what she thought of as neutral territory: the library. Tucked into an architecturally improbable room at the back of the inn, the library was so filled with memories that walking inside felt like being punched in the solar plexus. Built-ins lined the walls, jammed with all sorts of books people read on vacation and then left behind to make room in their luggage.

The books were not organized in any perceivable way, instead piled, jammed, and inserted wherever there was room. Discovery by a reader was left entirely to happenstance. This was the room Miriam had spent all her winters curled up in. This was where she’d met Miss Marple and decided to be her when she grew up. It was the place she went to in her head when nothing felt safe in her life. Her parents never ventured there, which was how it had become her go-to childhood haven.

Her little pocket notebook was full of ideas, and they had coalesced into a plan—or at least the start of one. She needed the others to finish rounding it out. She had sketched out a calendar on butcher paper on the wall in her room: Twelve Months in Christmasland, and pinned it with cards she’d gathered from area artisans, tiny renderings of social media ad runs, and printouts of other event destination farms with details about how much they charged.

When Hannah and Noelle arrived at the meeting, she handed them each a sheet of bullet-pointed ideas.

“Wow, you really are Hannah’s cousin,” Noelle observed.

“I have the beginning of a plan, maybe,” Miriam said, standing nervously as they sat down. “Not a whole plan! That has to be all of us together. But hear me out. I know I have a lot to learn, and some of these ideas might not be workable or might make things worse instead of better. That’s why I’m bringing them to you, the experts.”

Hannah and Noelle had a silent conversation with their eyebrows, which Miriam couldn’t interpret. Noelle gestured for her to keep talking.

“Okay, I know this is a terrible name, but my idea is basically Carrigan’s All Year. Make this a tourist destination in spring for Easter egg hunts or a fancy-dress Matzo Ball for Passover. A food truck festival in June and a Fourth of July carnival—no fireworks near the trees, Noelle—a Purim parade, weddings, bachelorette weekends. We need to be an event destination.”

“Where are we going to have all these events, that I assume I’m going to plan?” Hannah asked, sounding unconvinced.

“In the barn?” Miriam ventured.

“Where are the tractors going to live, if we have weddings in the barn?” Noelle said.

“I don’t have all the answers yet! But given Elijah’s explanation of Cass’s vision of a new Carrigan’s, and the downturn in Christmas business, I started thinking about ways to get people up here. I thought about classes local experts could offer, and seasonal experiences we could host, ways to partner with businesses in Advent. We have so much to offer, it doesn’t have to just be Carrigan’sChristmasland.”

“You’re talking about a complete overhaul of everything we’ve ever done, our entire relationship with the town of Advent, and moving our whole focus away from growing and selling Christmas trees.” Hannah began chewing on the end of her braid thoughtfully.

“No,” Miriam disagreed quickly, trying to keep them both from immediately dismissing the idea, “the trees are crucial. I just want to add things during the other ten months of the year. I know it’s a huge departure from what we’ve always done, but it’s a pretty normal business model.”

Hannah scrunched up her nose. “This feels really risky, Miri, and the Rosensteins and the bank want a feasible plan. We don’t have any experience planning an event calendar on this scale. And by we, I mean me.”

“You love work,” Miriam pointed out. “You’re happier the busier you are. Think of how many things you could be in charge of! How many people you could boss around! The spreadsheets it would require!”