Once Upon a List Read Free Page A

might remain in Boston this year for Thanksgiving.
    â€œNo way. Not happening, sweetheart,” Libby had threatened, worried more than ever about her depressed daughter’s increasingly withdrawn behavior. “If you believe for one second that you’re spending the holidays alone, I’m telling you right now that you’re mistaken. I am not going to let you wallow in misery doing God knows what. You may be thirty-four, but you are still my baby, and I will drive to goddamn Bean Town, throw you in the goddamn backseat, and drag you back to River goddamn Pointe myself if I have to. Do you understand me? I am not messing around,” promised Libby.
    â€œYeah. I got that,” Clara had snapped.
    Libby inhaled a slow, deep breath. When she spoke again, it was with a softer, milder tone. “ Believe me , Clara-pie . . . I’ve been where you are now. I lost a husband. I know how difficult the holidays are. And I know how much it hurts not to have Sebastian here. I honestly do. But, I’ve got news for you. Like it or not, you are going to have to get back in the swing of things and get on with your life. Take it from one who knows. And trust me, it will be a hell of a lot easier if you stop isolating yourself and let the people who love you in , rather than insisting on going it alone.”
    â€œThat’s not what I’m doing,” countered Clara, growing short on patience.
    â€œOh, that’s exactly what you’re doing,” Libby assured her.
    Sebastian had been gone for eight months now, though to Clara it felt more like an eternity, each gloomy day blending into the next. And the last thing she had wanted to do was discuss it with her mother. “Fine,” she muttered, trying her best not to dwell on the tragedy that had taken her soul mate—her anchor—away from her, leaving her drifting and unglued.
    â€œThere’s been an accident near Logan Airport,” the solemn-sounding Boston police officer had told Clara during the haunting telephone phone call that forever altered her world. “An accident . . .”
    â€œJust please stop this annoying soap opera speech, Libby. I can’t take any more talk about Sebastian, okay?” Clara’s chest ached with excruciating emptiness even to conjure her fiancé’s name. “You made your point, and I will see you at Thanksgiving. Happy? Gotta run! There’s someone at the door.” Clara hung up the phone abruptly.
    There wasn’t really someone at the door.
    Now, in the warmly lit foyer of the home Clara grew up in, she remained locked in her mother’s tight, organ-crushing embrace.
    â€œIt’s such a relief to see you,” Libby said, beaming.
    â€œNice to see you too,” Clara responded halfheartedly.
    About thirty seconds later, when Libby still hadn’t let her go, she silently mouthed “Help!” to Leo, who stood nearby beside her suitcase.
    Obviously amused, he warned their mother, “Careful, now. You break her, you buy her. House rules.”
    Libby loosened her grip on Clara, but did not release her. Instead, her hands explored the length of Clara’s spine, vertebra by vertebra. Then, suddenly, they moved to both sides of Clara’s protruding ribcage, patting it up and down before she gasped, “You’re a bone ! Let me look at you . . .” Finally letting her daughter go, Libby stepped backward, an alarmed expression spreading across her face. “Jesus Christ. And you’re pale as a ghost. When was the last time you ate?” She paused, gawking. “ August? Honey, I have never seen you this small before.”
    â€œI can assure you, I’m the same size I’ve always been,” Clara muttered. “You just haven’t seen me in a while, that’s all.”
    â€œI can assure you , that ain’t it, kiddo. Try again. You’re practically emaciated.” Turning to Leo with one hand