Page 10 of The Christmas Keepsake
Mallory’s throat squeezed so tightly that it was hard to take a deep breath. This too would pass.The show must go on.If Nan were here, that’s what she’d say. She wasn’t here anymore though. At least Mallory couldn’t seem to find her.
“Who are you?” Nan said more forcefully, her cheeks flush.
Closing the diary and setting it down, Mallory patted Nan’s frail hand. “I’m a friend, Nan. A good friend.”
Nan gave her a slightly uncomfortable smile. “I think it might be Christmas soon?”
It was a question.
Mallory swallowed thickly. “It’s just a month away.” Nan’s favorite time of year.
“I’ve always loved the tree farm. Did you know that?” Nan’s smile widened, giving her a girlish appearance. Mallory couldn’t remember Nan ever visiting the local farm, but Nan was confused right now.
“Yeah?” she asked, toeing the line and trying not to further aggravate her grandmother.
“Do you think you could get me a tree for my room?”
“Oh.” Mallory’s mind raced, trying to determine how to respond. She wasn’t sure Francis would allow that.
“Not the fake kind either,” Nan pressed. “Illusions are for the theater, not real life. I want a real tree for my room.”
Mallory stared at her grandmother. She’d heard those words a million times in her lifetime. Right now, Nan sounded like her “old self” again. It gave Mallory hope that Nan was still here, even if she was hard to reach at times. “I’ll see what I can do.”
The Santa Hat Tree Topper
The Santa Hat Tree Topper is where we start this story because I feel like I wasn’t truly alive until I met the other half of me. Sure, there are memories before Ralph, but he was the jump start. Everything before him was just pouring the foundation for what was to come.
Mickey Whaley was originally cast as Santa in the little school play our high school put on. Secretly, I was excited, because I thought Mickey was cute. No one else knew about my tiny crush though. I kept it to myself because I didn’t want my friends to tease me during my scenes with him.
Anyway, it was the night of the dress rehearsal. There was a celebratory mood in the air. We’d put something together that we would present to the town the next night. Something wonderfully merry.
I’m still unsure of what exactly happened. All I know is that some of the guys were roughhousing and the laughter quickly turned to chaos. Because of his unfortunate injury, Mickey had to step back from the play the day before opening night. Since Ralph was the understudy, he stepped up and became Santa to my Mrs. Claus. I’d never wanted to kiss Ralph. He wasn’t my type. I didn’t find his jokes funny. To be honest, he annoyed me.
The theater director at my school, however, adored Ralph. Most people in town did for a reason I couldn’t comprehend. So, even though the original Santa was unavailable, the show went on.
The show must always go on in theater, and in life.
When the curtains opened that next night, I delivered my lines as Mrs. Claus. Nerves made my voiceshake. Then Ralph came onstage, dressed in his red suit, his eyes twinkling just like Santa himself, and I felt this tiny spark inside my chest. And when it was time for him to kiss me, that spark ignited into an inner explosion.
I’d underestimated the tall, thin boy with the goofy grin and Santa hat. When I’d been focused elsewhere, he’d swooped in and stolen my heart. No one finds their true love at seventeen though. Young love derailed lives. My mother had made sure I knew that. Whatever sparkles and fluttery feelings I had would be fleeting.
Even so, this is where the story starts, where the Memory Tree starts, with a Santa Hat at the tip-top.
Chapter Four
Laughter is much more important than applause. Applause is almost a duty. Laughter is a reward.
—Carol Channing
Hollis stepped into his grandfather’s room at Memory Oaks and paused to watch Pop resting peacefully with his eyes closed. At least he looked peaceful. As soon as Hollis pulled in a full breath, however, Pop’s eyes opened with a start, pale blue and just as clear as they’d ever been.
Patients at Memory Oaks struggled with various ailments related to aging, including Alzheimer’s or other forms of dementia. But most days Pop was clear-minded and could tell you anything, including every address and phone number he’d ever had.
It didn’t seem to bother Matt, Pop’s own son, but Hollis hated seeing Pop lose his independence. “Hey, Pop.” Hollis slid into the visitor’s chair next to the bed. Before moving here, Pop had been an active guy. Spending any time during the day in bed was an atrocity, according to Pop. Yet here he was, lying in bed, presumably napping. “How’s it going?” Hollis asked again when Pop didn’t respond immediately.
Pop scoffed. “How do you think it’s going in here?” His tone was answer enough. Using his arms to push himself up into a sittingposition on the bed, he looked over at Hollis and his resentment began to visibly melt away. “How—how’s the farm?”
Hollis knew Pop was okay if he was talking about his business and lifelong passion. “It’s doing well. The trees are more beautiful than I’ve seen them in a long time.”
