Page 26 of Meet Me at Christmas
“Here you go.” Her mother handed her a mug of tea, the steam dancing above the creamy liquid, but all she could think about was whether she’d done the right thing by running away all those years ago.
It had seemed right at the time. She’d loved Henry so much that she’d wanted to give him the chance to have children with someone else. If he could have a happy life—the kind he’d imagined for himself—it would be worth her loss. If she’d stayed, wouldshehave been happy, with the knowledge of her limitations? She wasn’t so sure she could’ve been. But she couldn’t shake the idea that Henry had never moved on, and if shehadstayed, Henry would still be Henry.
Ten
After a rocky night of sleep, Stella’s very early morning began with a check of the online parade forms she and her mother had begun looking over the previous night. Only eight days away from the big day, they were still missing a few entrants. She looked down at the old list from a few years back she’d found in Pop’s desk and ran her finger down the checkmarks she’d made, comparing this year’s roster with that one. Would they have enough people? She didn’t want to think about what might happen if she couldn’t pull this off. It was more than coming through for the town; she owed it to Pop. This had always been his baby, and if she didn’t make it happen for his memory, she’d never forgive herself.
She hadn’t had breakfast, and after an hour or so, her mother was clinking dishes in the kitchen, but Stella didn’t want to face her with the update on the number of participants just yet. She decided to stay in bed and focus on her next big problem. While working on the parade, she’d been going back and forth with the senior editor atBrain Borders Magazine, Amy Callahan, asking if there was any possible way she could expand upon the single article from St. Thomas’ and scrap the second. She wanted to call Vanderbilt and tell them she didn’t need the research after all or that it was, in fact, a conflict of interest, but her editor insisted that they needed two articles, since they were for different issues of the magazine.
Stella’s next tactic was to ask if they could push back the deadline for the second article until after the holiday. She even mentioned that if they put it off, she’d consider doing a three-month stay in Amsterdam to document research on calcium signals in brain cells that Amy had suggested someone needed to do. But that idea was also shot down. She was skating on thin ice as it was, after reorganizing everything to come home early.
She lay on her belly on the bed and read over the final response from Amy: “The magazine has paid your travel to Tennessee because you were writing the article.You have to write it. And I know you’ll give this your best, since you’re in the running for the President’s Award. They love you so much over here that the whole team is asking to send you to Germany right after the holiday. Given your standing, it would be in your best interest to go…”
She could almost imagine Amy gritting her teeth on the other end of that email, waiting for her to get this done. No matter how Stella tried to spin it, the painful truth was that she needed to get it written.
A knock on her door interrupted her lamenting.
“I thought I heard rustling in here,” her mother said as she peeked her head in. “I’m trying to have breakfast, but I’m lonely.” She gave Stella a little smile. “I put out the Christmas plates and made cinnamon rolls. Want to join me?”
Hungry and needing a break after lying in bed and working for the last few hours, Stella closed her laptop and headed to the kitchen with her mother. The table was set with Mama’s favorite white plates with lace-pattern edges and Christmas trees painted in the centers. Next to them was a steaming tray of her famous homemade cinnamon rolls, the gooey icing cascading down the golden buttery sides and topped with powdered sugar.
Stella sat, then realized she’d chosen the seat next to where the Christmas Diamond still rested on the table. It glared at her, holding the story of the four stillborns and making her stomach sour.
“Mind if I put this away somewhere?” she asked, wondering if she hid it in a box, like Agnes Hastings had, her luck would change.
“If it happens to be real, we should probably keep it locked up in the safe anyway.” Mama set a stack of napkins next to their plates.
Stella picked up the necklace, feeling as if the negativity were burning through her skin. “Good call.”
She took it to the utility area at the back of the house, where Mama’s washer and dryer were located, and over to the safe Pop had installed. She spun the dial back and forth with the combination until it opened and then gently placed the necklace on the velvet floor of the safe. Already feeling lighter, she shut the door, sealing it inside. She wished she could lock up all her problems in that box and focus on the cheerfulness of the holidays instead.
“What’s the latest with the parade?” Mama asked when Stella returned, handing her a warm mug of tea.
Stella took a seat, dropped a spoonful of honey into the mug, and stirred, giving herself a minute to come up with a way to smooth over what she was about to say. But she came up empty, so she just spoke plainly.
“I’ve been going over it all morning, and I’m planning to spend some more time on it after I go to the hospital. But… We have a major issue that needs to be taken care of.”
“What is it?”
“I’ve gone through all the entries. They’re thin this year. And no one signed up to be Santa.”
Mama’s eyes rounded. “No one?”
She shook her head. “Must be busy at the North Pole,” Stella said, trying to make light of the situation when it was yet one more thing sitting on her shoulders. It was as if her father were announcing his absence, putting an exclamation mark on it. “Who could we ask?”
“Ralph Watson is the only one who fits the bill, but he just had a knee replacement. There’s no way he can do it.” Mama served them each a cinnamon roll, the icing running onto the plates.
Stella sipped the warm, vanilla-flavored tea, the sweetness of the honey tickling her senses. “I’m almost certain it’s too late to hire someone. Know anyone else whom we could ask as a favor?”
Mama shook her head. “Not offhand.” Her mother leaned on her fists, her eyes glimmering with tears, and Stella knew she was worrying they’d failed Pop. The dance between doing nothing out of grief and doing it all for the same reason was evidently settling upon her mother.
Stella reached over and grabbed her hand. “It’s okay. We’ll work on finding a Santa.” It wasn’t Christmas without Santa Claus.
Mama nodded, a tear rolling down her cheek.
* * *
A few hours later, Stella entered the hospital tentatively. After her trip to Henry’s cabin yesterday, she wasn’t sure how to act. When she saw him today, part of her wanted to say hello and ask how his day was going so far, but she was supposed to be an observer. Sheneededto be an observer for his recoveryandto get her article finished. Besides, talking to him would only open old wounds. Today, she’d dictate every single minute and then tonight she’d pour over her notes and find an angle for her story.
