Page 87 of The Christmas Keepsake
I reached out and held Daisy’s hand, finding her skin cold and clammy. “You have given them everything you can. The best thing you can do for them is to take care of yourself.” I dipped my head to meet her eyes and hold her gaze. “I am your mother first. I’ll always be here, and if you should want help getting sober, I will find the best professional help that you need.”
Daisy was right. Mallory took it the hardest. She was inconsolable for months after Daisy left. I was at a loss for what to do, and then an idea struck me.Santa, Babywas coming up on its nineteenth run, backed by the community’s insistence for an encore year after year. As the screenwriter and director, I decided to write a new role into the story. What if Santa and Mrs. Claus adopted a young girl? I tailor-wrote the role for Mallory.
When I told her about it, she shied away until I revealed I’d also written a part in for Hollis, who I knew she had a crush on. Suddenly, Mallory was fifteen again, straddling the line between childhood and adulthood. There was a skip in her step again.
I knew Hollis was troubled. I knew that “hurt people hurt people.” Especially when they’re young. I knew that Hollis Franklin was still a threat to Mallory’s fragile heart, but he was the only solution to her sadness. A temporary solution. And, in hindsight, a big mistake.
But that is a different story. And a different ornament.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Memory is not an instrument of exploring the past, but its theater.
—Walter Benjamin
Mallory closed Nan’s journal and looked out at the bustling energy of the cast and crew as she sat on a bale of hay. Tonight wouldn’t be the first time Nan’s play had been performed in the Popadine barn. That was a detail Mallory never would have known if not for her grandmother’s journal. There were so many facts that might have been lost along with Nan’s memories if they hadn’t been written down inside this book.
Placing the journal back inside her bag, Mallory glanced at her watch and felt a twinge of anxiety. In just a few hours, the curtain would rise onSanta, Baby—the play that she wasn’t just directing but had somehow also found herself starring in, thanks to Hollis.
Hollis. Her heart ached, and a sudden rush of emotion threatened to overtake her. There was no time for that right now though. She had a play to put on. Pushing thoughts of Hollis aside, she placed Nan’s journal back in her bag and focused on her lines and cues. The show must go on. With or without him.
As the rest of the cast arrived, Mallory slipped out momentarily and headed to Memory Oaks. Even though Nan might not understand what Mallory was doing for her tonight, she wanted to visit and let Nan know that she’d kept her promise. She also hoped to draw strength and inspiration from her grandmother’s presence.
The familiar halls of Memory Oaks greeted her as she walked along, admiring the festive decorations adorning every surface. When Mallory didn’t find Nan in her bedroom, she changed direction and spotted her in the common room, sitting by the window, a blank expression on her face.
“Hi, Nan,” Mallory said softly, settling into the chair beside her. “It’s me, Mallory.”
She instantly regretted that greeting, knowing Nan would have no idea who she was.
Nan turned to her with unfocused, confused eyes. “Hello, dear… Are you new here?”
Mallory tried not to take it personally. As a nurse, she knew the lucid moments were unpredictable and fleeting. “No. Just visiting. I actually came to tell you a story, if that’s okay?”
“Really?” Nan looked delighted. “I do love stories.”
“Me too.” Taking a deep breath, Mallory pulled out Nan’s journal and turned to the page for next entry. “It’s a love story, actually. About my grandmother and her husband, Mickey.”
As Mallory spoke, she realized it was a love story, but not necessarily the romantic kind. It was a story quilted together, square by square, ornament by ornament, about the kind of love that existed in families, and among friends too.
She began to read, taking her time and looking up every now and then to analyze Nan’s expression. Or lack thereof. There was no spark of recognition, no hint that Nan realized the story was about her own life. But there did seem to be genuine interest.
Mallory’s eyes stung as she described, through Nan’s lens, thelast time Daisy ran away from home, leaving Mallory and Maddie behind once more, and how Mallory stoically mothered her younger sister. Then she read about being cast alongside Hollis and how Nan had regretted that decision.
As if sensing Mallory’s pain, Nan reached out and patted her hand.
“She sounds like a strong young lady,” Nan commented.
Mallory blinked back tears. “Why is it that people consider all the pain we endure a sign of strength? Why is it spoken of like it’s a good thing to be taken advantage of, lied to, to have our hearts broken?” She felt the tears slip onto her cheeks. “I don’t think that’s very fair.”
Nan watched her, still holding her hand. Then she offered a gentle squeeze as her eyes cleared for just a moment. “Because we need to think there’s some good to come out of all the bad things we go through. If thinking the pain makes us stronger is what helps us heal, then so be it.”
There.There was the wisdom of the grandmother Mallory needed so much right now.
She choked back a sob and leaned forward to hug Nan, knowing it might break the moment of clarity, but she didn’t care. She needed Nan so much it hurt.
Nan’s arms enclosed around her, soaking in the hug that was all too brief.
When Mallory finally pulled back, Nan’s gaze lowered to the book in Mallory’s lap.
