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JESS

This part of Canada is in a different time zone, but I can’t stop thinking that it’s strange o’clock.

In Cobbiton and during the travel I’ve done with Liam, fans notice him and ask for autographs and selfies. But they don’t give me a second glance.

Here, he’s a hometown hero and while I’d happily remain invisible, I feel eyes on me, people wondering, and wearing curious looks.

More than that, I’m still processing.

The Ellis family thinks I’m KJ’s mom and he didn’t correct them.

Grandma Dolly, as expert as a lip reader as she is, didn’t seem to notice the mistake. Or, if she did, she didn’t comment.

Plus, she’s in hockey heaven, having been to more live games these last few months than in all the years she’s been a Knights fan.

As we leave the city behind and head north toward Sir William Bay on Lake Huron and then on to Brookking Sound, the landscape changes from big city to countryside with water to one side and rolling green hills to the other.

The islands remind me of turtles and the many boats in the port area represent a different kind of life than in Cornfield, USA, aka Cobbiton.

“This could be a postcard,” I say, taking it in.

“It is,” Liam says.

When we reach Brookking Sound with its town square and picturesque main street lined with quaint shops and restaurants, I spot Tucker’s Coffee across the street from Daisy’s Bakery. Phew, my caffeine needs will be met.

Though, I can’t shake the feeling I’ve been here before. “This looks familiar.”

Liam grunts as if charming towns like this are a dime a dozen. It’s similar to Cobbiton, but with the proximity of the water and the northern location, the air and light are different, silver rather than gold. Liquid rather than amber waves of grain.

“Oh, and it boasts the Rainer Ellis Hall of Fame. We’ll have to take a field trip there,” Liam says as we pass through a neighborhood.

He turns onto a sunny street bordered by shade trees and onto a sprawling property with a three-story cedar shingle and stone house with loads of windows and multiple chimneys. The wraparound porch hosts rocking chairs, welcoming everyone from the Ellis family to their guests to stop and chat for a while. It’s delightful. The various cars we caravanned with are already parked in the driveway.

“This is where you grew up?” I ask.

A nod in reply is all I get from Liam.

Sometimes I just want to shake him … like a jar of glitter.

“It’s the kind of place I would’ve wanted to live in when I was a kid,” I breathe, recalling the numerous apartments and houses I shuffled between. I bet there’s a big tree in the backyard to climb. Maybe a play set. A fort or tree house. Lots of room to wander and dream.

We have a welcome committee waiting for us, including an older woman who looks like she’d join Grandma Dolly for cards and another woman who resembles Liam’s mom. They dote on him like he’s royalty while Mrs. Ellis pulls me in for a hug. It’s my third one. Yes, I’m counting. It’s not every day you meet a mother who is so warm and welcoming, rather than “smothering.” Yes, I’m thinking about Sorsha.

Belinda ushers me inside. “We’re so glad you’re here. Let’s get you settled in. It looks like my mother and sister have absconded with Liam, Dolly, and KJ. You’ll be staying with us. We have a full house with Ingrid and company, plus when she’s here, Hendrix and Colette will often spend the night because we’re not the only ones who spoil the nieces and nephews.”

“Thank you for hosting.” My voice sounds small which is how I feel. Not because of anything the Ellises have said or done, but because of who I am and where I came from.

“But of course.” Mrs. Ellis goes on to tell me the faucet in the bathroom can be a little fussy because the house is old. No, it’s perfect and I am not. I don’t feel worthy of this big whirlwind of a family. They’re wonderful. The kinds of people portrayed in movies, but this is real life.

Liam’s parents live in San Diego now, but I imagine the interior of the house has remained the same for the last thirty years. It’s relatively traditional with timeless décor—a leather couch topped with throw blankets and pillows, several inviting sitting areas, and bookshelves. Custom window treatments frame the mutton-bar glass and family photos top the mantle. It smells like lavender, faintly of toast, and just like home.

I love it.

… and I’m staying in Liam’s room while he bunks in the TV room.

Crossed hockey sticks cover the blue wallpaper and a photo of his high school team hangs over his bureau. It takes me a moment to find him, but when I do, high school me has an instant crush on high school Liam.

Tucked into the mirror over his dresser are multiple photos of him at games, his graduation tassel, and other memorabilia.

The bedding is deep gray with blue stripes. It might seem weird, but I press the pillow to my face to see if he’s always smelled the same—soapy clean and masculine.

Pucks fill a basket on the floor and a balled-up shirt sits on a wooden chair like he left it there during his last visit.

I spin in a circle, wondering how this place and his sweet family produced such a broody man.

After freshening up, I find Liam and his dad downstairs, discussing the game. The mood is slightly more subdued than when Hendrix is in the mix with his more boisterous temperament. Mr. Ellis is somewhere in between, easy to smile but also has a serious side, especially when it comes to the family sport.

Grannie Bell, Aunt Goldie, Grandma Dolly, and a combination of children are on the back porch blowing bubbles on the unseasonably pleasant day. It’s a Norman Rockwell painting with the sun a gilded splatter of peachy melon fading into lavender on the horizon backed by a soundtrack of laughter.

My heart could explode.

When I get outside, KJ hugs my legs and asks me to blow bubbles with him. I’ve never seen him so happy, not even at nursery school. It’s as if he inherently knows this is his family.

It probably helps that everyone fusses over him like he’s the hockey star and not his dad. Liam seems to prefer it that way.

The woman who could be Mrs. Ellis’s twin brings out refreshments and Grannie Bell asks, “Did you bring the fudge?”

“Do you think these kids need sugar right now?”

They’re racing around the yard with the bubbles, seeing if they can make one big enough to jump through. It’s a joyous sight.

I glance over my shoulder. Liam is still inside. I wonder if he was the kind of kid to jump into the mix or if he hung back.

I always did until I met Grandma Dolly and realized that I had to create my own fun.

She samples some of Grannie Bell’s fudge and passes me the container while pointing out the different flavors. German chocolate, peppermint, butterscotch, and peanut butter.

I opt for a mocha and my eyes all but roll back in my head. “It’s so good. You could open a shop in town and sell it.”

“Too much competition. Fudge is popular around here.”

I speak and sign, “That makes me love Brookking Sound even more. I was telling Liam this place looks familiar.”

Grandma Dolly signs and I translate, “Like it was in a movie.”

Not skipping a beat, Grannie Bell answers with her hands and voice, “It was the set of Cookie Cutter Christmas most recently—coming next holiday season to the big screen nearest you—and several other sweet holiday romance movies before that.” She names a few titles.

Grandma Dolly and I clap our hands together because we both watched one of those sweet films on Christmas Eve together while she was in Cobbiton and I was in Los Angeles. We did a video chat, each made snacks and cocoa, and gushed in all the right places.

“Where are my manners? Here I am telling you all about the fudge and I didn’t properly introduce myself or my other daughter. I’m Belinda and Marigold’s mom. You can call me Grannie Bell if you have room for another.” She smiles warmly at Grandma Dolly.

The younger woman and Belinda’s lookalike also signs while she says, “Around these parts, I go by Goldie, but Liam isn’t too big to still have to call me Aunt Goldie.” She pats his arm as he steps in front of the sunset.

To his grandmother, he says, “I didn’t know you could sign.”

“That’s like suggesting I don’t know how to read. Of course, I know how to sign,” she says, all while signing.

“You should’ve taught me.” He helps himself to a piece of peppermint fudge.

“Your hands were too busy with that hockey stick. Now, where was I?” She regales us with a tale about learning ASL when working as a nurse while stationed on a Royal Canadian Navy ship.

“I didn’t know that either,” Liam mumbles while dropping down onto the wicker sofa next to me. The sudden warmth distracts me from Grannie Bell’s story.

“The young petty officers would always come to me with their maladies.” She rolls her eyes. “Headaches, itches, and phantom pains that would miraculously resolve after visiting me in the infirmary. But there were long hours with not much going on. I read the Art of War three times, can do sutures blindfolded, and learned how to sign.” Grannie Bell also relays that she taught her daughters sign language basics when they were younger and she adds, “Communication is key whether on a flotilla in the middle of the ocean or at home.”

Too bad she didn’t pass that lesson along to Liam, King of Few Words.

Aunt Goldie playfully nudges her mother’s arm. “She didn’t mention that she gave those petty officers fudge.”

Grannie Bell blushes. “I was their favorite.”

“And one of the few females on the ship.”

“This was before I met your grandfather.”

Just then, Hendrix appears and dips into the now-empty fudge container. “Who ate all the fudge?”

The kids boisterously provide the answer.

Quickly moving on, he holds up his hand for his brother to slap. Do they have a secret handshake? Hendrix bellows, “The Beast. You dominated the game, but too bad you didn’t win.”

Liam, elbows resting on his knees, grunts.

Hendrix squeezes his shoulder. “How about a little rematch, Ellis family style?” Then to the group at large, he asks, “Who’s up for pickleball hockey?”

Collette, a school teacher, says, “The kids could stand to burn off some energy before dinner.”

“We’ll be the cheerleaders,” Grandma Dolly and Grannie Bell sign and speak, respectively.

“And kid corrallers,” Aunt Goldie adds.

Ingrid appears and says, “Jess and I are going to stay here and have a sisterly chat.”

We are? My stomach tumbles. I sign to KJ, reminding him to use his manners and stay with the grownups.

Ingrid says, “The kids will be fine. There is one grandma and auntie for each.”

Liam gets to his feet and Ingrid instantly takes his place.

A wave of nerves shoots through me. Am I going to be given the third degree? Questioned under a bare lightbulb in a cement cell? It’s silly, but sisters, whether big or small scare me. Ingrid is just over six months into her pregnancy, her belly is wonderfully round and she’s significantly taller than me. It’s like Brookking Sound is the land of giants. There must be something in the water up here.

I edge over, giving her some room.

To her brother, Ingrid says, “While you two battle it out on the pickleball court, Jess and I are going to get to know each other.”

As if somehow picking up on my apprehension, Liam doesn’t move a muscle except the one twitching in his jaw.

Ingrid rolls her eyes. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to lead her out onto the dock and push her into the water. It’s still freezing.” She turns to me. “But do you know how to swim?”

A growl builds inside Liam.

“I’m joking and super pregnant. I’d be lucky if I floated. We’re just going to get to know each other.”

I cannot fathom what I might say to Liam’s sister … and am afraid of what she might say to me, namely that she sees right through the fabrication his parents so readily bought we didn’t officially agree to sell.