Page 40 of Through the Snow Globe
That wasn’t necessarily true. Diana and Linus’s relationship had gotten a bit mundane lately. Diana’s fault, of course. She would do better once she rescued him from the delivery truck tonight. “Okay, let me get those boxes for you.” She stood and headed for the second floor to reach Maria’s attic. The ladder was already down and secured on the floor. Again, Diana didn’t just retrieve the boxes for Maria, she also carried them into the living room and set them down at the exact spot where Maria needed them to be. Turning back to Maria, she pointed at the largest carton. “Leave the tree in the box. I will help you set it up tomorrow.”
“But tomorrow isn’t your day to come see me,” Maria objected, eyes going wide.
“I know, but I want to help.” And she wanted to make sure Maria didn’t get hurt doing something that she had no business doing on her own. Not with her current limitations. “Promise me?”
Maria laughed softly. “Fine, fine. I’ll look forward to having you come for a visit as something other than my physical therapist,” she said. “That’s very kind of you.”
Guilt swirled around in Diana’s stomach because she wasn’t actually intending to come over at all. Tomorrow would be Christmas Day if she had it her way.
Diana walked toward the front door, talking over her shoulder. “I’m on my way to see my next patient.”
“The sixteen-year-old?” Maria asked.
“That’s right.”
“Here, give her this from me.” Maria stepped over to a table beside the door and handed Diana pieces of fruitcake wrapped in plastic. “And here is one for you, and one for your fiancé.”
“Thank you. We can have it tonight after dinner,” Diana said, feeling a strange sense of déjà vu. She hadn’t actually gotten to eat that piece of fruitcake last night. Instead, she’d gotten in an accident and had woken up back in December 4th. “See you tomorrow, Maria.”
“I’ll look forward to it.”
The cold air rushed through Diana as she stepped outside and hurried inside her car. She set the fruitcake slices on the passenger seat and took a moment to check her phone. She had one missed call from Linus’s mother. She’d return it later. Maybe.
Setting the phone back in her center console, Diana drove to Addy’s home and parked along the curb. She grabbed the slice of fruitcake and got out to brave the cold once more, hurrying toward the front door. It was decorated with a large cedar wreath accented with holly berries. Diana shifted back and forth on her booted feet as she waited for Mrs. Pierce to finally answer.
“Ms. Diana. Addy’s been waiting for you all morning.” Mrs. Pierce opened the door wider, allowing Diana to enter the home.
“How is she doing?” Diana asked, getting straight to business as always.
“Good, I think. It’s normal for a teenage girl to be moody and not want to talk to her mother, right?” There was a hint of worry in Mrs. Pierce’s voice. “I believe I might have been the same way, even without cancer.”
“I think it’s normal, yes,” Diana agreed, even though she hadn’t had any personal experience to speak from. Her mother hadn’t been around long enough to ignore.
“Oh, good. It’s been so long since I was sixteen.” Mrs. Pierce’s smile wobbled nervously. “Anyway, I’m sure Addy will be happy to see you. Anyone but her mom is on the invitation list into her bedroom.”
Diana offered up the slice of fruitcake. “For you and Addy.”
“You shouldn’t have,” Mrs. Pierce said warmly.
“I didn’t. It’s from my last patient. She’s very generous.”
“Oh, how sweet.” Mrs. Pierce nodded. “Thank you for bringing it over.”
Diana gestured down the hall. “I’ll go ahead in to see Addy, if that’s okay.”
“Of course. Let me know if you need anything,” Mrs. Pierce called behind her.
Diana walked down the dimly lit hall and knocked on Addy’s bedroom door.
“Come in,” Addy called.
Diana twisted the knob and stepped inside the world of purple paint and teen heartthrob posters. “Hey.”
Addy had a tie-dye scarf on her head today to hide her thinning hair. She pulled out her earbuds, giving Diana a pensive expression.
“Something wrong?” Diana already knew the answer.
“Oh, you know. I still have cancer, this house is still my germ-free prison, and I can’t even sneeze without sounding the alarms and having my mom run in here to make sure I’m still breathing.”
