Miriam and Noelle held hands under the weight of a returned, and immoveable, Kringle, talking into the night about going to therapy together, about what they might do if, or more rightly when, Richard resurfaced, and how to face it together. They talked about their worries for Hannah and Cole, and how to keep themselves from interfering too badly in their best friends’ love lives. They put Dolly on the Bluetooth speakers Noelle had installed and sang at the top of their lungs, because they weren’t inside the inn and no one could complain.

In the witching hour, Miriam stole downstairs to the studio, running her hands over half-finished pieces she’d started in Charleston and would finish here. She lovingly patted her chain saw and her industrial-size glue barrels. The eerie moonlight, under which she’d painted La Llorona, revealed something she hadn’t seen before.

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Noelle had stenciled on the giant windows. Miriam’s knees gave out underneath her, and she sat on the floor, weeping.

She didn’t know how long it would take her to get used to feeling this happy or being this open and present with the people she loved. She didn’t know how long it would take for the voice in the back of her head to stop telling her to run away, shut down, and not risk all of this. She knew it was going to be a lot of work and being in love with Noelle wasn’t going to cure everything that was broken inside her. Not even Carrigan’s was that magical. But in the deepest part of her, in the marrow of her bones, Miriam believed she belonged here, that she deserved to be happy and home.

She was going to fight for this. To run Shenanigans with Hannah, to fight with Blue when he finally got here, to learn to braid challah from Mrs. Matthews and light Shabbos candles with Mr. Matthews. She was going to stay, be planted, and grow roots. She was going to make Noelle Northwood happy beyond her wildest dreams.

And she was going to cover so many Christmas trees in glitter.

Epilogue

Epilogue

The week of Passover came to Carrigan’s cold and bright.

Work on Carrigan’s All Year had continued frantically. Every month had events that put Carrigan’s front and center: writers’ retreat weekends, summer camp field trips, collaborations with several town councils to host fundraisers. The wall-sized calendar in Hannah’s office was color coded to within an inch of its life. All three women felt hopeful about the year, with the caveat that (a) one of their core group had disappeared down under and (b) their fourth shareholder was still unseen.

“Does anyone else notice that the men have conveniently disappeared in the middle of the real, sustained work?” Noelle asked during their weekly business meeting.