Grandma Jo’s scrubbing got harder and she muttered, “I had to deal with that same crap at Wellesley.” She shook her head, probably at some memory. Then she stopped her scrubbing and looked at me very firmly. “I’m going to give you some insight into bitchy people that I wish someone had told me when I was your age: Their behavior is never about you. It’s always about them and whatever deficiency they harbor.”

“Feels like it’s about me,” I mumbled.

“That’s what bullies do, they project. Usually on the person they think will let them get away with it, whether it’s because they think they’re weak or, more often, because the person doesn’t want to stoop to their level.”

“So are you saying I should stoop to their level?”

“No. But you should stand up for yourself. Which is hard. Believe me, I do understand . . . My mother”—Great Grandma Beryl, aka GGB—“was always on me to be nice to everyone and fit in and not make a scene or embarrass her, and I did as she wanted. Well, mostly. Your dad was a bit of inadvertent rebellion. And buying the inn. She didn’t think a young, single mother should have done such a thing, but I went ahead anyhow. But there were other areas when I should have stood my ground, and I didn’t. And I regret it to this day.” I watched her jaw muscles clench.

“That doesn’t sound like you, Grandma,” I said in surprise.

“That’s because GGB passed when you were six and you’ve only really known me since then. Trust me, Finley. No matter how old we are, we’re all our own continuous projects in evolution.”

Another knock came at the door.

It was Dad this time, informing us to “Hurry up. We’re fixing to leave on the sleigh ride.”

Nine

I’m not quite sure how it happened, but I wound up beside Arthur in the sleigh’s back row.

I don’t know what his feelings were about it, but if the return of his Queen’s Guard posture was any indication, he was as uncomfortable as I was.

There was enough room for us to have a six-inch gap between our legs if we both hugged the sides, which we did, so there was no touching.

At least while we were stationary.

Happily, Grandma Jo succeeded in ridding my boots of reindeer reminders and even spritzed them with a travel-sized room deodorizer, scented in orange peel and clove. Which contributed nicely to the holiday ambience. Go figure.

Drakk handed out a couple of green-plaid woolen blankets to us. “It’s gonna get cold as a witch’s tit out there,” he explained.