Page 41 of Healing Hearts at the Christmas Inn
The words landed hard. Jane blinked, and for a second, she could see her grandfather standing in the center of the floor,arms spread, calling out to her to “take a lap, Janie!” when she was a kid. He used to say a ballroom was happiest when full of dancing.
“You’re right,” Jane said, barely above a whisper.
Trinity smiled, pleased. “Are you going to decorate it tonight?”
Jane glanced at the box of supplies she’d left beside the door. It wasn’t the box she wanted, as those boxes were still in the attic waiting for her to collect them.
“I was going to.” She smiled at Trinity. “But I need to get the boxes from the attic first. This year…” She glanced around the room, feeling excitement shiver through her. A feeling she hadn’t had in two years. “This year I’m going all out to make it grand.”
“Really?” Trinity’s hand shot up like she was in class. “Can I help?”
Jane’s first instinct was to say no. This was the one thing she let herself do alone, the one tradition she’d kept sacred since the accident. She always worked in silence, putting up the garland and listening to the echo of her own footsteps, letting herself remember every year she’d helped her grandfather. Decorating with someone else, even a kid as sweet as Trinity, felt like inviting another person into a closed room of her heart.
But when she saw Trinity’s hopeful face—so open, so eager—something in her softened. “If you want,” Jane said, already moving to the supply box. “But it’s going to be boring at first. There’s a lot of untangling lights and taping up wires, and sorting through the ornaments to weed out the broken ones.”
“I’m an expert at untangling and weeding out things,” Trinity said, coming to stand beside Jane. “And I can tape stuff. My dad makes me help wrap care packages for his unit, and I’m not allowed to use the bubble wrap anymore.” She giggled. “I just can’t resist popping it.”
“Me either,” Jane confided with a conspiratorial wink.
“But I’m really good with tape,” Trinity said proudly.
Jane grinned despite herself. “That’s the most useful skill anyone can have during the holidays.”
“What’s in that box?” Trinity pointed to the one just outside the door.
“The wrong ornaments,” Jane told her. “Do you mind attics?”
“No.” Trinity shook her head. “I’m fine in them.”
“Okay, then, do you want to help me get the ornaments for this room this year?” Jane found herself asking.
“Yes, I’d love to,” Trinity said, excitedly.
“Okay, then, let’s go to the attic.” Jane ushered them out of the room, smiling as she closed the door gently behind them, leaving the ballroom bathed in soft, golden light. “Do you need to let your grandmother know where you are?”
“No.” Trinity shook her head. “I told her I was going to explore the inn as she was going for coffee with your father, and Aunt Charlie is still working with a client.”
“Oh dear,” Jane sympathized with the tween. “Well, come on then, let's go find those ornaments.”
The attic stairs were narrow and steep, the kind of climb that made you wary if your hands were full or your ankles weak. Jane led the way, balancing a small flashlight and a set of keys. The old banister was cool and slick with decades of polish. She listened for Trinity’s feet behind her, half-expecting the girl to bail before reaching the top. But Trinity was game, bounding up the steps two at a time, her breath clouding in the chilly air.
The attic itself was vast, far larger than the footprint of the ballroom below. The ceiling rose in a perfect triangle, its beams blackened by age, and the spaces between were filled with insulation that resembled matted gray snow. The air was sharper up here, edged with the scent of dust, old cedar, and the faint sweetness of dried orange peels. Every inch of the floor was covered in boxes, trunks, and plastic bins, all stacked in precise rows and labeled in her grandmother’s looping script. It felt less like an attic and more like a warehouse, the inventory of a family that never threw anything away.
Trinity’s eyes went round. “This is like a room of treasures!” she said, her voice echoing off the rafters.
“Treasure and junk in equal measure,” Jane replied, stepping over a stack of faded wrapping paper tubes to get to the far end. “Just don’t touch anything that looks like it could bite.”
Trinity snorted and immediately began peering into bins and boxes. “Do you really keep every decoration up here?”
“Everyone we’ve ever used since as long as I can remember,” Jane said. “Grandma was obsessive about holiday storage. No plastic Santas or discount store junk. If she didn’t like the look of a thing, it got donated before it ever saw daylight.”
She knelt by the first row and pulled out a long, shallow tub. “Ballroom only” the label said. Inside were gold ribbons and lengths of beaded garland, each coil wrapped with tissue. Jane began to set aside the things she’d need: the strands of glass beads, the special velvet bows that matched the curtains, the heavy star that went atop the lobby tree. She worked in silence, methodical, feeling the strange comfort that came from the weight of old routines.
Meanwhile, Trinity wandered deeper into the attic, past the bins, to a wall lined with battered bookcases. She stopped in front of a low shelf, then bent to examine its contents.
“Jane?” Trinity called. “What are all these books?”
Jane didn’t look up from her sorting. “They’re not books. They’re albums. Pictures of every holiday my grandparents ever hosted at the inn.”
