Page 14 of Reeve
“Yeah,” I say. “It’s a four-year program. The best in the state.”
“I don’t doubt it,” he says softly. “But January’s soon. And four years is a long time.”
I nod at him.
“Who else knows?” he asks, tilting his head to the side. “Besides me?”
“No one,” I whisper. “Just you.”
“Wow,” he says, releasing a held breath. “Wow. Okay. Whoa. They’re not gonna like it.”
“I know.” I shrug with a bravado I don’t necessarily feel. “But I can’t do anything about that. I want this.”
“You have to tell them.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “I know.”
“Soon.”
“I will!” I insist, just as Rufus returns with Ivy’s gorgeous engagement ring nestled in a lovely white leather box.
“Are we pleased?” asks the Scotsman, winking at me.
“We are.” Sawyer beams at the ring, handing over his credit card. As Rufus runs it, my brother turns to me. “I’ve got your back, little sister, but you’ve got to tell them soon.”
“The day after Christmas,” I promise. “I’ll tell the whole family on the twenty-sixth.”
Chapter 3
Reeve (and Tanner)
When McKenna was a little girl, her Mimi would take her to Bellevue Square, a shopping mall near Seattle, every December to have pictures taken with Santa Claus.
The way McKenna describes it sounds like something out of the movieElforMiracle on 34thStreet—in the center of the shopping mall, there’d be a beautifully-decorated throne where Santa held court with a bevy of elves and cheerful Mrs. Claus. Hopeful children would line up to sit on Santa’s lap and tell him their dearest Christmas wishes, while parents would snap a bunch of photos for their holiday cards and newsletters.
When McKenna gave birth to Madden Garrison—named for her Mimi, Madeleine, and our father, Garrison—she told Tanner, in no uncertain terms, that no matter what, she wanted Madden to have his picture taken with Santa Claus every year. She was happy to give up the other comforts of Seattle, she said, but she wouldn’t give up an annual photo shoot of her child with the Big Man.
The problem with this request, however, is that we live in Skagway, Alaska. We have no department stores or shopping malls. The closest thing we have to a drivable city is Whitehorse, the capital of the Yukon Territory, which is two hours north of Skagway on the Klondike Highway. But there’s no three-story glass and marble mall up in Whitehorse like they have in Seattle. No beautiful throne with photo-ready decorations. All you’ve got is a few strip malls, a Walmart Supercenter, and a Starbucks. It’s useful, sure. But picture-perfect? No.
McKenna’s dream of a candy-scented mall Santa seemed like a non-starter, until my father reminded us of an annual event we’d all forgotten about, the Yuletide Express!
“Don’t you remember?” he’d asked at dinner, turning to Harper expectantly. “We did that ride a few times with your mom when you were little.”
Now, I’ve never personally been on the Yuletide Express, but I have seen pictures. Apparently, Santa Claus appears in downtown Skagway at the festively decorated White Pass and Yukon Route Rail Depot the first Saturday morning in December. And after pictures with Santa in the depot, you can take an hourlong round-trip train ride from Skagway to Clifton and back.
From what I’ve heard, the antique train cars are completely decked out in Christmas cheer—pine roping, red bows, and white lights. And while aboard Skagway’s very own Polar Express, you can purchase hot cocoa and apple cider donuts. Santa and Mrs. Claus walk the aisles, handing out candy canes and promising gifts on Christmas morning for good girls and boys. And Christmas carols piped-in on the overhead speakers lead to many a merry sing-along. But more than anything else, as the train weaves its way through the snow-covered mountains outside of Skagway, I’ve heard it’s just a really pretty ride.
When asked by McKenna, I couldn’t ever remember riding on the Yuletide Express. Tanner, on the other hand—once reminded of it—had very clear, very fond childhood memories of taking the train at Christmastime.
“I loved it!” Tanner said. “I can’t believe I forgot about that!”
“It was magical,” agreed Harper, elbowing Joe in the ribs. “I can’t believe we haven’t taken Wren yet!”
Tanner had turned to McKenna with hope in his baby blues. “What do you say? It’s not a mall Santa, but you’d still get a festive photo of Mads with Santa!”
“It sounds perfect,” McKenna had agreed. “But I think Reeve should come with us. Why should she be the only Stewart who’s never been on the Yuletide Express?”
“Oh, thanks,” I’d said, feeling more like the family baby than ever before. “But I don’t need to—”