Page 44 of The Healing of Christmas

Charlotte still had her work cut out for her. Van breezed in and out of the kitchen to check on her, dice garlic, stir potatoes, or give Charlotte a report about who else had arrived.

“I haven’t even met all of these people,” Van said as she placed Ethan back in his bassinet. “But they all have Summers family features. One of them, your cousin Frankie, looks so much like me!”

Charlotte hadn’t seen Frankie in more than twenty years. She gripped a wooden spoon and considered Frankie, remembering her wide forehead, and intense eyes. But a moment later, Frankie appeared in the kitchen itself, revealing herself to be Van’s gorgeous, older twin. Frankie scooped Charlotte into a hug and said, “There she is! Our brilliant children’s writer!”

Charlotte blushed. “Didn’t you hear? I might be an innkeeper instead.”

“Here? At the Cherry Inn?” Frankie’s jaw dropped. “Oh, Charlotte. Wouldn’t that be a dream?”

“You should move back to White Plains to help out!” Van suggested.

Frankie gave a wry laugh. “I don’t think I have the temperament for hospitality. Besides, I’ve traded in my New Jersey identity for an Oregon one. I don’t think I could give it up.”

“You always have a home here,” Charlotte assured her. “Just in case.”

Frankie crossed her arms over her chest and leaned on the counter, turning her head to take in the kitchen, the adjoining living room, and the photographs of their grandma and grandpa. Her breath quickened.

“It’s like I’m ten again,” Frankie said. “I feel like Grandma is going to come out of her bedroom and insist we help her bake cookies.”

“I felt like that when we first arrived,” Charlotte said meekly. “But gradually, the apartment transformed into a little home for us.”

Van nodded. “It’s the first home my son has ever known.”

Frankie toyed with her necklace, her eyes still on their grandma and grandpa’s bedroom door. It was as though she felt if she stared at it long enough, she could return them to the past and bring their grandmother home.

The bedroom door burst open, and Grandpa Hank stepped into the shadows of the hall, wearing a sleepy smile.

“Grandpa!” Frankie rushed around the counter and charged into a hug. She had all the energy of her childhood self.

“My darling Frankie,” Grandpa Hank breathed, holding her close.

“Grandpa, it’s so good to be back,” Frankie said. “All the way here, I was dreaming about your Christmas Eve story.”

Grandpa Hank winced and closed his eyes. It occurred to Charlotte that telling that story was like poking his old wounds over and over again; it was a reminder of the tremendous love he’d lost.

“It was always so magical to hear it,” Frankie hurried to add. “That’s all.”

Charlotte poured Grandpa a glass of water and placed it on the counter, watching Grandpa Hank as he walked slowly toward the kitchen. His skin was gray, and the circles beneath his eyes were heavier than ever. It was as though he hadn’t slept in days, even though Charlotte had been sure he’d been napping.

“Grandpa? Are you all right?” Charlotte’s voice wavered.

Grandpa Hank drank his water and set the glass back down with a loud clack. “I have to tell you something, Charlotte. Before it goes on any longer.”

Charlotte’s stomach twisted. “Okay?”

“This morning, I went for a walk with my friend Mike,” Grandpa Hank went on, “and I was approached by two men from the city. They asked to buy me a cup of coffee to talk something over. I’m a friendly man. I knew they weren’t accustomed to White Plains, and I wanted to show them a good time. We stopped by the diner; Louise wasn’t working. And it was there that they outlined their plan to flip the Cherry Inn into something truly sensational. Something luxurious. Something that could make everyone a whole lot of money.”

Grandpa Hank wet his lips. Charlotte remained speechless.

“The number they wrote down was astronomical,” Grandpa Hank said. “It’s the kind of money that would change the rest of my life. It’s the kind of money that could send my great-grandchildren to prestigious universities. We could take family vacations together somewhere spectacular. There are so many places I never went to, Charlotte, because I was always needed here at the inn. The Cherry Inn was my life’s work— but it took and it took from me. It took my time and my health and my money.”

Charlotte’s eyes filled with tears. She recognized the fear in her grandfather’s eyes. It was never easy to tell your family the truth.

“Of course, thinking about some city folks ripping up the inside of the Cherry Inn has me upset,” Grandpa Hank went on. “Your grandmother and I refurbished so much of this place. It’s our blood, sweat, and tears. But the only necessary thing in life is change. And I believe these men coming to town and offering me this opportunity is God himself, telling me it’s time to move on.”

Charlotte wanted to cry out, to tell him this wasn’t God. This was materialism. This was capitalism. This was the quest of very rich men to make even more money than they’d had before. They were never satiated. There was never enough.

For a moment, Van, Charlotte, and Frankie held the silence. Grandpa Hank looked as though he was confessing something horrific, as though he’d just committed a crime.

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