Page 60 of 12 Days of Mistletoe

Thank you for providing such a sweet home for me and the others who live in the Cherry Plum apartments. I’ve lived in a couple different places in this city, but this is the nicest. It feels like home. I especially love the trees out front.

I blink. I helped Gramps plant those trees. My chest blooms with warmth at Bonnie’s mention of them. I glance once at Gran, who watches me, then continue.

I just wanted to let you know that the people you are serving appreciate you. You’ve made our lives better by caring.

You are loved this Christmas season.

Thank you!

Bonnie Miller (B4)

I feel emotional with the sincere and kind thank-you she thought to give my grandmother. Has anyonebefore or after her shown this kind of appreciation to my hardworking gran?

“Just one month later, I got this card.” She reaches in, and without even looking, pulls the next card from her envelope. There’s a cow in a party hat on the front. A word bubble has him saying, “Happy MOO Year!”

It’s ridiculous enough to get a small chuckle out of me.

I open it up, without direction this time, and read another sweet note, top to bottom, from Bonnie. She tells Gran how she always makes one New Year’s goal she knows she can accomplish and one that’s far-fetched. She rarely meets it, but she always has fun trying. She asks questions—ones that I doubt Gran ever answered—and signs the exact same way: Bonnie Miller (B4).

“B4—when I came to you and told you about Bonnie’s dog, you knew exactly who B4 was.”

“I did,” she says without bothering to look at me.

“You told me to work it out. And you wouldn’t allow me to send her any kind of official notice.”

Her brows raise just before she dumps the rest of the cards into my lap. “I’ve saved them all. Many came at a time when I felt a little low. They always picked me up.”

There must be thirty cards here.

“When you find the card with the llama, show it to me.” She titters out a chuckling sigh. “That one always makes me laugh.”

Each card has a joke on it—one that I never would have thought to send to May Elliot. And yet, she enjoyed them, she laughed at them, and they made her feel seen.

My chest warms, and I am more anxious than ever to see Bonnie.

I open another—this one not in order, as it’s dated just last year. But it’s signed the same, Bonnie Miller (B4).

“Why didn’t you tell me you knew her personally when I came to you?”

“Two reasons,” she says with a bob of her white head. “One—I had never met Bonnie Miller in person. Two—you think you were the first to turn her in for having a dog? You are not, my boy. But I like her. I have since she sent that first card.”

Someone might as well have smacked me with a brick. “Whoa. Hold up. You knew about Noel?”

“I did,” she says unapologetically.

“But you didn’t say a thing. You could have told me you already knew. Did you even care about the dog? Why tell me to ‘handle’ it?” I stare down at the myriad of cards in my lap, my head reeling.

“I’m eighty-five, Elliot. I will say whatever I want to say.”

“But what did you want me to do? What was the point?” I tilt my head, waiting for her to answer.

She gives one small shoulder shrug. Before I can ask again—there’s a knock at the door.

Bonnie is here.

THIRTY

bonnie

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