But it was long enough. There had been hand-holding and it wasn’t between my parents.

My stomach was in knots.

The rest of the sleigh ride passed without further incident, and Axe and an unrepentant Calliope reached the reindeer barn about the same time we did.

I also noted the breathless, laughing way Dad and Aunt Esha tag-team told Grandma Jo and Dr. Raymond what had happened.

“The whole experience was one I shan’t forget!” Aunt Esha concluded, practically beaming.

My grandmother seemed almost envious, despite the fact we could’ve all been killed.

I suppose I should have been pleased that Arthur’s aunt had found our near-death experience almost fun. That was, after all, the objective, making sure she (and Arthur) had a good time here in Christmas. But I couldn’t get the hand-holding out of my mind, hers with my dad, or mine with Arthur, who, for his part, had been as quiet as I was for the remainder of the outing at Sedgewicks’.

The Moses twins were deeply apologetic about the whole out-of-control-sleigh-ride thing, and when we left, each of us carried a gift bag filled with free reindeer-themed paraphernalia, including some of the smoked cheese, and a coupon for half-off on the next visit.

As we walked to the Jeep in the parking lot, Dad put his arm around my shoulders.

“You okay there, punkin?” he asked. “You’re kind of quiet.”

“I’m fine,” I answered. Then with a glance over my shoulder where Aunt Esha and Grandma Jo were chatting a few feet behind us, I added, “Wish Mom could’ve been here, though.”

Dad’s expression barely altered, but I knew him well enough. Hearing mention of Mom wasn’t easy.

He nodded once then hit the key fob and moved to get in the driver’s seat.

Aunt Esha caught Arthur’s attention. “I think I shall ride back with Jo and Dean,” she said. “Is that all right, Arthur?”

Arthur nodded. He carried his third gift bag of reindeer stuff (I wonder if he regretted his earlier shopping spree).

I moved to sit in the back seat, knowing that would force him up front, beside Dad. I needed the time of the drive back to the inn to regroup. A lot of things were swirling through my mind, and with a couple of text-notification buzzes from my phone, I could add one more: a message from Brody.

hey . . . mias real upset what did yall say 2 each other?? and why arent you txtng me bk?

Staring at his words reminded me how much the punctuation—or lack thereof—in his texts used to bug the crap out of me. It was one of the things he and I used to bicker over, even though I knew it was a sore topic for him, given his dyslexia. I should’ve been more forgiving. But I wasn’t in a forgiving mood.