“Just hope I can get everything together in time, I guess,” Miriam said, chewing on the side of her thumb.

“Well,” Tara drawled, “don’t be a stranger.”

And she hung up.

Miriam stared at her phone. She would have to call Cole, too, before he talked to Tara and got cranky that Miriam hadn’t told him first. He would probably be thrilled and try to move in to Carrigan’s full time. And she had to call the Old Ladies, to tell them she would be postponing her check-in visits.

An alarm rang on her phone, reminding her to post to social media. Being a full-time self-sustaining artist didn’t allow for weeks off to figure out her life. She had a brand to maintain.

That, she could do. She couldn’t yell at Cass for not telling Miriam she was sick, she couldn’t fix the years she’d missed with Hannah, and she couldn’t convince Noelle to stop hating her, but she could make content for her fans. She knew how to turn her real self off and put her Bloomer Face on.

Pointing her phone camera at herself, she started a new video.

“Hi Bloomers! Welcome to my family farm, Carrigan’s Christmasland!” Her voice sounded hollow to her ears. “You all are always asking for more insights into my life, and I can’t wait to show you one of my favorite places…”

She smiled at the camera, back on steady ground. With internet strangers who never asked her hard questions or accused her of failing her family.

Miriam and Noelle spent the next very unpleasant week trying everything in their power to not speak to each other. While Noelle transformed the front lawn into a winter wonderland and Hannah trained seasonal workers, Miriam was put in charge of the in-house decorations. This was work Miriam excelled at. She knew what Carrigan’s was supposed to look like at Christmas. When they were done, the half-abandoned ghost of a hotel was once again the Christmasland Inn of her memories.

It was magnificent.

As visitors drove through the gates, animatronic cherubs with horns blasted “Carol of the Bells.” A cacophony of trees, decorated in every theme imaginable, stretched out on either side of the lane, taking up the whole lawn. There were trees with giant bows, trees with popcorn and cranberry garlands, trees dripping with cut glass icicles. Among them were statuary—elves, reindeer, snowmen.

Inside, evergreens hung off every surface, punctuated with holly berries, clusters of white LED candles, and smaller statues in gold and silver. There were more Christmas trees in every size, grouped improbably into corners, under stairwells, on verandas. Wreaths hung from the staircase, mistletoe in every door frame.

The mantel in the great room was now home to a collection of antique nutcrackers. As a child, Miriam had named them all Steve. Big Steve, Little Steve, One-Armed Steve, Ballet Steve. Even the TV was draped in tinsel.