Page 30 of Sweet Silver Bells

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE.

H unter’s mom was always a force to be reckoned with, but watching her in a state of emergency was an entirely new matter.

“Why would a tree just fall over, that seems like incredibly poor city planning to allow such large trees to be planted within such a small lot,” she said throwing her hands into the air as she marched back and forth in Hunter’s living room while he stared at her from the couch, Olivia leaning heavily into his side.

The paramedics had come and gone after they got a piece of her mind, and the firefighters had reluctantly taken off as well. After lots of yelling, the parade of neighbors who stood in their driveways pretending to be good, concerned citizens, also departed.

“I’m an adult,” Hunter reminded Minerva. “You didn’t need to interfere.”

“Nonsense, Hunter. You have a supportive family. I urge you to be more grateful for that. Where can I find your collection of tote bags?”

“I can’t say that I collect them.”

“Well, what else would you pack some things in?”

“A suitcase?” Hunter suggested.

Minerva threw her hands up in the air again. “Well, let’s get that. We need to pack for a few nights, though it’d be better to plan through New Year's at least.”

“And where is it that we are packing for?”

“My house, of course. You cannot stay here. Do you know how to contact your homeowner’s insurance? We will want to do that right away.”

Hunter stood. “No need. We can stay here. The bathroom and kitchen are intact.”

Minerva wasn’t hearing it, though, and stomped off towards the hallway. Hunter stared at Olivia, who smiled as they listened to his mom wrestle with leaves and branches, rustling, snapping, and polite curses audible in the not-too-distant background.

“What is she doing?” Hunter pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I think it’s sweet how much she cares about you,” Olivia said. “You should let people take care of you, Hunter.”

“Why is that?”

“Because it’s often not about you at all. They offer for reasons that are often entirely self-serving. Don’t deny her something that she so desperately needs.”

Hunter thought about it, and maybe Olivia was right.

He didn’t go back to the forest because he was worried about Olivia.

Initially, he’d gone back because he couldn’t handle his conscience, the guilt of never knowing what might have happened to her.

His mom had been overbearing the moment he moved out, needing to be involved in every detail, from planning his wedding to Sarah to even helping them buy this house.

“You could be right,” Hunter said.

Maybe Mom needed this.

“Right then, it looks like we get to spend Christmas together.” Minerva popped back in, holding a suitcase that looked stuffed to the brim and one of the bags of clothes that she had just bought for Olivia.

“I’m convinced that you hadn’t put all of this away yet,” she said, beaming as the shiny rectangular bag swayed in her hand. She moved over to the kitchen and began sorting through a stack of papers on the counter, separating them into piles.

“Mom, you’ve got to stop,” Hunter rolled his eyes.

“Nonsense,” she said, putting one of the stacks into the top zipper pocket of the carry-on-sized suitcase.

“I’m your mom—this is my job. Now come on, we may be able to make it back before your father drinks all the coffee I brewed this morning.

You both look like you could use a shower and a nap. Chop chop!”

Hunter held his hand out to Olivia, and she stood up.

“Yes, sleep would be great,” Hunter said, his head throbbing.

“By the way, don’t think I haven’t noticed how much effort you’ve put into the holiday plants I left last time. Olivia, you must have a seriously green thumb,” Minvera said, marching towards the front door.

“I suppose.” Olivia smiled, following, pulling Hunter behind her.

Thirty minutes later, Hunter found himself in the backseat of his mom’s car, the white leather smelling like it had recently been detailed. They had pulled into the long driveway of his childhood home.

“You haven’t come home in so long.” Minerva sighed with relief. “To have this house filled with some life again is so needed.”

It was true. He hadn’t been back since Sarah died.

Closing himself off in his modest home for such a long time had made him really see the opulence in which he’d grown up.

The lot in itself was at least an acre. No neighbors packed in, everyone in the neighborhood was certainly too occupied with their own success to be nosy, to even notice if something was off in their community.

They drove through a gate made of thin black metal rods supported by brick pillars, their family name plated in gold and molded onto the face of the left brick post.

Trimmed hedges frosted with ice lined the way up the rest of the driveway, showing them the way until his mom pulled up to the multistory lilac-colored home with large white support beams framing the entrance to the home.

A detached garage sat beside them, along with his father’s black Toyota Tacoma.

“Welcome to the Gunnan family compound,” his mom trilled, turning off the sedan and opening her door.

“Oh, I wonder if it's too late to have the caterer bring a holiday ham now that we have the extra people. Now, don’t worry about gifts. You’ve been through a lot, and I’ll make sure that everyone has items to unwrap. ”

“Gifts?” Olivia repeated, confused.

“Tomorrow is Christmas Eve, dear,” Minerva said. “Come on now, Hunter, your father will be happy to see you.”

He moved out of the backseat and up to Olivia’s door, opening it for her. If his mom saw her opening her own door, he imagined that he would get an earful later.

“What do you think?” Hunter asked her as she blinked at him from her seat. He leaned over her lap, his hand sliding up her thigh and her hot breath against his neck. He reached down until she heard a click, his hand pushing down to let her seatbelt free.

“Let’s go, kids,” Minerva shouted behind her, her heeled boots stomping on the stone-paved path covered in salt. “You can kiss later.”

“Don’t mind if I do,” Hunter whispered, letting his lips find Olivia’s in a swift, sweet moment.

Minerva stood waiting for them up the three steps leading to the home's entrance, large potted plants scattered around the edge catching Olivia’s eye.

“Nice to see that you’re still a gentleman,” Hunter’s mom said before turning and opening the double doors into the home. “This house, Olivia, has been in my family for a few generations now. One day it’ll belong to Hunter, and then his children. I’m assuming there will be many.”

This was it; this was when he murdered his poor, overeager mom.

“Not presumptuous at all, Mom,” Hunter said through his teeth.

“What do you think?” Minerva asked, completely ignoring Hunter. She pulled Olivia’s attention away from the plants by grabbing her arm and dragging her inside.

“About what?” Olivia asked, staring up at the open vaulted ceiling, the banister railing, and the elegant staircase that greeted them.

“Well, about children, of course,” Minerva laughed, taking her coat off and hanging it on the rack in the entryway.

“I was a child before,” Olivia said.

Hunter had to turn his head over his shoulder to prevent his mom from seeing him laugh. He grunted a few times.

“Excuse me, something in my throat.”

“Hmmm,” Minerva said, displeased.

“Honestly, Mom, I feel like I might fall over at any minute. What room should we use? We need some rest.”

“You’re not even going to say hello to your father?” Minerva scoffed. “Mark, Hunter, and his ... friend ... are here. I picked them up because a tree fell on his house.”

“I’m about to step in the shower, welcome,” Mark shouted back from somewhere upstairs, a door closing.

“Well, I guess that’s that,” Hunter said. “What room?”

Minerva sighed. “Second on the right upstairs.”

“Thanks, Mom,” Hunter said, kissing her on the cheek. “I appreciate everything you’re doing for us.”

He had to give it to her. She was killing herself from the excitement of him being here, and his words worked—she seemed to perk right back up.

“Go rest. When you two come back down, I’ll make sure there is a bounty of food. I’ll have your father grab your bags and put them by your door when he’s ready for the day.”

Taking Olivia’s hand, Hunter led the two of them upstairs.

The soft beige carpet melted under their feet, and the walls were lined with acrylic paintings of oranges and limes.

He entered the room that was once his childhood bedroom, now turned into a posh guest room with purple bedding and seasonal winter flowers sitting atop a dresser in the corner.

“She can be a lot,” Hunter apologized.

“Your mother? How lovely it must be to have a mother.”

Hunter put his arms around Olivia, and the two fell into bed, closing their eyes while wrapped around one another.