Page 5 of Mistletoe Season
Even though she couldn’t see him, he waved back, then turned and walked in the opposite direction. In truth he hadn’t been heading her way, but the post office wasn’t that far—nothing in Mistletoe wasfar—and it was good to visit with her for a wee bit.
He turned onto Chestnut Lane to finish his initial errand, picking up two poinsettia plants from Mistletoe Florist. When he was growing up here, he’d always thought it was cheesy that everything was named after the town or was Christmas themed. As an adult, though, he got it. Mistletoe was a charming Christmas destination for people visiting southern Missouri, and with very little industry in the area, tourism was important.
After picking up the flowers, he headed to his compact rental car and got inside, then drove to his mother’s, battling an attack of nerves the entire way. He wasn’t sure what to expect when he arrived at his childhood home. When his father passed away shortly before Kieran’s fifteenth birthday, he remembered several good-intentioned people telling his mother she should sell the house and find something smaller. But she had steadfastly refused. Just as Kieran steadfastly chickened out at the last minute when he’d thought about returning to Mistletoe.
Fifteen minutes later he arrived, pulled into the driveway, and turned off the engine. The outside of the house hadn’t changed much, except that the window shutters were now a warm brown instead of stone gray. His stomach churned as memories flooded him, mostly of his father—how they used to play catch in the front yard, how every spring he cleaned out the flower beds for Mum so she could focus on planting her flowers, how every month he and Kieran washed and waxed the cars. There were bad memories too, like the chewing out Dad gave him after the water tower stunt, and the two months’ grounding he’d gotten for it. Three months after that, his father had died from lung cancer that was detected too late.
He took a deep breath and got out of the car, shoving down the painful thoughts as he went to the other side to get the poinsettias. He’d get his bag out of the trunk later. The red petals and green leaves rustled in their pots as he moved. Inhaling a deep breath, he rang the doorbell. It seemed odd not to just walk into the house. But it wasn’t his house anymore.
The door opened and his mother appeared, her gray hair cut even shorter than Emmy’s. She was dressed in a bright red sweater and forest-green slacks. Her blue eyes widened. “Kieran?”
“Hi, Mum.” He smiled.
She rushed to hug him, then noticed the poinsettias. “You remembered,” she said as she took them from him, tears in her eyes and her smile growing larger. “I can’t believe you’re here.”
A lump formed in his throat at seeing her joy.
“Let’s go inside where it’s warm.”
He followed, and when he stepped through the door, the spicy scent of fruitcake baking hit his nose. His mother was the only person he knew who enjoyed baking and eating it. “How many loaves of fruitcake are you making this year?” he asked as they walked into a modest living room filled to the brim with Christmas décor.
“Thirty. I’m just finishing up the last batch.” She set the poinsettias on the credenza. “There. Now the room is complete.” She turned and threw her arms around him. “I’m so glad you’re home, son.”
Kieran hugged her tight. When he let her go, he kept his arm around her shoulders as they looked at the pretty red flowers. “Dad never forgot, did he?”
“Not a single time. Since our first Christmas, he always brought me two poinsettias. I kept up the tradition after he passed, and now your sister does the same at her house.”
Kieran nodded, but he’d had no idea Sheryl bought poinsettias for her own home. He was so out of touch with his family’s rituals, and since he left Mistletoe, he’d been too busy to create any of his own.
Mum wiped her cheek with her fingers. “After so many years, I can’t believe both my children are home for Christmas. If only your father...”
He drew her close. “He’s here with us in spirit.”
“That he is.” She turned to him with a bright smile. “No need to be melancholy. How about a glass of warm apple cider?”
Glad for the reprieve, he said, “Sounds delicious.”
Soon they were seated at the kitchen table, which was covered in a red, green, and black plaid tablecloth, mugs of sweet cinnamon cider in front of them. His mother put a Christmas-themed plate of sliced fruitcake in the middle of the table. Kieran tried not to blanch.
“When did you arrive?” Mum asked, sitting down across from him.
He took a sip of the cider. “I landed in St. Louis around midnight last night. I just stayed in one of the hotel airports, then rented a car and drove here this morning.”
“You must be exhausted from all the traveling.”
“The jet lag hasn’t set in yet.”
“Where did you get the poinsettias?” She tore off a corner of fruitcake and popped it into her mouth.
“Mistletoe Florist.”
“So you’ve been downtown already.” She smiled. “See anything interesting?”
“I ran into Emmy Banks.”
Mum grinned. “Your senior prom date.”
He recognized the gleam in his mother’s eyes. She had the same look when she suggested he ask Emmy to prom after his date canceled three days before the event.
