Page 95 of I'll Carry You

As much as he wanted to text her, he wasn’t here for that. And he wasn’t going to disrupt her life.

But he was determined not to spend Christmas Day completely alone without family, either.

Within minutes, he’d pulled up in front of Mildred’s dilapidated house. The split-level home wasn’t ugly—just old and devoid of upkeep. Maybe he’d stretch his visit next time to address some issues. He didn’t know a damned thing about home improvement, but Mildred didn’t seem to like the suggestion that he’d hire people to help. He’d learned a long time ago that anything he wanted to learn to do, he could learn from watching videos online or reading—even if he didn’t do it perfectly.

He popped the trunk and swung around to the back of his car. Grabbing the crates, he lifted them. The canvas sheet that covered them flapped in the cold breeze.

He made his way to the front of the house and rang the bell.

No one answered.

He rang it again and...still nothing. At last, he tried the doorknob. It opened.Didn’t Mildred lock the door?

“Hello?” Jason’s deep voice echoed against the large face of the wall over the steps that led to the lower level. He slipped inside, using his foot to edge the door closed. What if something had happened to her? She wasn’t young, by any means, and she lived alone.

Setting the crates down by the top of the steps, he looked around. Not a single Christmas decoration.

“Mildred?” he called out.

At last, he heard a soft voice call, “Back here.”

He moved down the hallway. At the end, on the right, a closed door led to the small master bedroom. Jason opened it. Mildred was sitting on the edge of her bed, zipping up a long blue robe. She gave him a surprised look. “What are you doing here?”

His relief at seeing her was greater than he’d expected. “Were you still asleep?”

She rubbed the sleep out of the inside corners of her eyes. “Yes, sir.” Clearing her throat, she stood. “I wasn’t expecting company.”

Jason crossed his arms and leaned against the door frame. “I wasn’t sure I’d find you here. Thought you might be at church or someone else’s place for the holiday.”

“Went to church last night.” Mildred slipped her feet into slippers. “And I had a few invitations but...let’s just say Christmas isn’t my favorite holiday anymore. You ruined my plans to stay in bed all day.” Despite her words, a pleased look shone in her eyes.

Jason’s mouth turned up in a smile. He took a few steps into the room, then sat on the edge of the bed. “I aim to ruin things for you. There I was, sitting in my apartment like Ebenezer Scrooge, all alone and miserable, and I thought—now who can I share this misery with?”

She ducked her chin at him. “You came to the right place.”

Even though they’d never had the type of relationship that included hugging, he gave in to the urge to slip his arms around her frail shoulders and pulled her in for a hug. “Merry Christmas, Gran.”

She returned his hug. “I like the sound of that.”

“Oh, the presents don’t end there.” Jason stood and held out his hand for her. “I have something else for you. Something I remembered last night while I was on my journey with ghosts of Christmases past.”

“If you stretch the metaphor too far, it loses its impact.” Mildred grinned at him. “But what do I know? I’m just a backcountry old coot. Did I ever tell you I taught high school English for forty-six years?”

He blinked at her, clasping her hand. “No, you didn’t. But I have a feeling we have a lot of catching up to do.” He led her out of the bedroom, feeling more certain than before that he’d made the right decision to come down here.

Imagine if he hadn’t? Mildred would have spent the whole day in bed, alone and lonely.

He guided her past the crates, then onto the worn paisley-patterned sofa in her living room. “One sec.”

Jason left her there, then went back for the crates. Setting them down beside her, he knelt in front of them. He was practically at eye level with her this way. He pulled the canvas back. “I went to my grandfather’s attic for these last night—I had a faint memory of my grandfather storing them there after Mom died.”

The crates were filled with art canvases, neatly fitted inside.

Mildred eyed the canvases suspiciously. “What are these?”

Jason pulled one out, running his thumbs over the text of the dried oils. The smell of them brought him back to another era. Entering his mother’s dark rooms, her silhouette against a window.

The sharp sting of turpentine, the paints smudged on her hands.

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