Page 1 of The Nutcracker

Chapter One

Main Street was a mantle of white, barely a tire track in the snow. It seemed as though all of Coopers Mill had squirreled themselves away for the holiday. Like blossom petals on the breeze, perfect pristine flakes fluttered through the sky, lighter than air. The festoon lights that had been strung from one snow-capped lamp post to the next twinkled as the daylight slipped away. Even Bing Crosby was crooning about sleighbells in the snow on my grandmother’s favorite radio station.

And yet it didn’t feel like Christmas Eve at all.

“Slow down, Jordy. Watch out for the deer. You never know when a deer might suddenly leap out onto the road.”

“Grandma, we’re on Main Street, not some mountain pass.”

“It’s happened before. Poor old Maybelle Maynard got the fright of her life just last week when a big old buck galloped straight across the intersection in front of her as though it had right of way.”

“Grandma, Maybelle passed away last summer.”

“Well no wonder. That deer probably scared her to death. Oh, did you remember to let the Hendersons know we’ll be out of town for the holidays?”

“Grandma, the Hendersons haven’t lived next door for ten years.”

“Really? I wondered why they’ve been so quiet lately.”

I rubbed my grandmother’s shoulder. She sat small and frail in the passenger seat of my car, her head turning to look at the shops on Main Street go by; shops she had driven past thousands of times in her long and happy life here in the sleepy town of Coopers Mill. And yet the shimmer in those bright blue eyes of hers would make anyone think she was seeing those stores and street signs and festoon-lit lamp posts for the very first time.

“Oh look, Jordy. A hat store. I’d love a new hat this summer. Something with flowers on the brim. What do you think?”

Mrs. McCafferty’s Millinery had been around since the fifties. It was run by Mrs. McCafferty’s grand-niece now. My grandmother had taught her in school. “I think flowers will look lovely on a hat. Maybe sunflowers?”

“Oh yes. I love sunflowers.”

My grandmother did love sunflowers.

Sometimes she remembered the little things… sometimes she didn’t.

The road was slick from a fresh fall overnight. I took extra care slowing to the stop sign at the intersection of Main and Partridge so the suitcase wrapped in plastic sheeting and strapped to the roof racks wouldn’t slide off. That’s when Grandma looked at the abandoned store on the corner with the windows boarded up and the dusty old ‘For Sale’ sign nailed to the front door. “Would you look at that? When is someone going to do something with Mr. Hanover’s old toy shop. Such a lovely store it used to be.” She turned to me and added, “Do you remember how excited you used to get every Christmas, racing to the store to make your list for Santa?” A smile of delight warmed her face. “It was all those model trains and bridges and tiny little building sets you loved best. You couldn’t wait to open them on Christmas morning. You always constructed them with such love. Such care.” She patted my knee. “Santa was good to you.”

I had to take a deep breath.

Those moments of clarity—when they came, so vivid and out of the blue—made me hope that perhaps it was all coming back to Grandma. Those moments made me hope in vain that the Alzheimer’s was a misdiagnosis or something she and only she could overcome… something that might one day become a distant memory too.

But then, as always, those moments left us.

“Shall we roast some chestnuts tonight? You and that gentleman who sometimes drops by, you both love my roasted chestnuts.”

‘That gentleman who sometimes drops by’ was my grandfather, Jerry. He had died fourteen years ago. Since the Alzheimer’s had begun to set in my grandmother couldn’t remember his name. She couldn’t even remember she had been married to him for almost forty years.

My grandmother could remember Mr. Hanover’s toy shop…

But she couldn’t remember the love of her life.

How was that fair? How was any of this fair?

“Grandma, we can’t roast chestnuts anymore.”

She looked confused. “What do you mean?”

“Because your new home doesn’t have a kitchen.”

“Then how on earth are we supposed to eat?”

“I mean, your room. There’s no kitchen in your room for you to cook in. Someone else will be cooking all your food now.”

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