Ivy settled back in her car seat but didn’t slip her arms into the straps. “Will we be back in time for Jessica’s birthday party on Saturday?”

“I don’t see why not.”

Ivy watched the rearview mirror, waiting for her mother to meet her gaze. “That’s five days from now.”

“I can count.” She pressed the radio button several times, returning to the original station.

When Mama lied, she always found something to fiddle with or do with her hands. But Mama had once said her lies were kindness more than a sin. Telling people what they wanted to hear kept the peace. And it worked, until Mama couldn’t take it anymore and broke up with a boyfriend, moved them out of an apartment, or quit a job.

“How many more miles?” Ivy asked.

This time the mirror reflected her gaze. “Just a couple.”

“What’s the emergency?” Ivy asked.

“What do you mean?”

“You told Jessica’s mom that you had a family emergency. You never told me.”

Mama fished dark sunglasses out of her purse and slid them on. “It’s nothing.”

“How can it be nothing? All our stuff is in the back seat, and we’re going to see Ruth. We never go to see Ruth except in summer.”

“We need to see more of her. You need to get to know your grandmother.”

“Why now?”

“It’s Christmas, Ivy. Families see each other at Christmas.” She adjusted her sunglasses, which hid most of her face.

“But you two never talk.”

“We talk.”

Ivy recognized the cautious tone in her mother’s voice. “When?”

“Lots of times.”

“But we never visit except in the summer.”

“You just pointed that out. Now we’re visiting Ruth.”

Ivy looked out her window at the shuttered business windows and signs that read: SEE YOU IN THE SPRING. “Santa’s not going to find us, is he?”

“Stop asking so many questions, Ivy. It’s giving me a headache.”

Mama had headaches a lot these days, and once one started, she got unhappy very fast. So Ivy folded her arms, slumped her shoulders, and counted the cottages as they rolled past.

Mama drove past the Seaside Resort, and Ivy thought for a moment she had changed her mind and they were going back home. Mama changed her mind a lot. But being home meant Santa would find her and she could go to Jessica’s birthday party.

But Mama muttered a curse, pulled into a parking lot, and turned the car north again. This time when they approached the hotel’s empty parking lot, Mama flicked on her blinker.

“Home sweet home,” Mama said as car tires rumbled over the rough pavement.

Ivy sat a little straighter, curious about the place that only existed for her in summer. The lot was empty, and the collection of small aqua bungalows was the lone source of color now under the slate-gray sky.

Parking, Mama shut off the engine. “Ready?”

Ivy was wary of the grandmother she knew so little about. “I guess.”

Mama got out of the car, adjusted her sunglasses, and straightened her back. Ivy came around, tugging her quilt around her shoulders, and together they crossed the lot as an ocean gust rushed them.