Page 13 of The Christmas Keepsake
The corners of his eyes crinkled. “I don’t think so. Far as I know, Nan has never forgotten me.”
After leaving Memory Oaks, Hollis drove home and fed the dogs, taking a few extra minutes to work on his bond with Buster, the scraggly lab-mix who offered scared, brown eyes when Hollis slid a bowl of kibble in his direction.
“It’s all right, buddy. I’m not going to let anyone take it away from you. The food is all yours.” Hollis wanted Buster to feel safe withhim. Having another dog in the vicinity might be threatening, but Duke was well trained and Hollis was keeping them crated in separate areas of the house as Buster adjusted.
Slowly, Buster edged toward the bowl and sniffed before lowering his head and snapping up the food pebbles hungrily.
Hollis’s injury on Thanksgiving hadn’t been Buster’s fault. Hollis had moved too quickly, forgetting all his dog training skills that he’d gotten during his seven months of juvenile detention as a teen. The program was a way to build job skills as well as confidence in the young juveniles. Hollis hadn’t expected to gain anything from those seven months, certainly not a lifelong passion.
He loved working with dogs, but his mind had been on other things Thanksgiving Day, like opening season for the tree farm and his hope of moving forward with the plans that he and Pop had made together. Not many knew about what Hollis and Pop were planning. Hollis had hoped to leave Matt’s construction crew next year and start working full-time at Popadine’s Tree Farm with Pop’s full blessing. Did Pop’s decline in memory change that prospect? Hollis had even entertained the possibility of inviting some of the teenagers at the juvenile detention facility to learn under him. There was a lot of satisfaction in learning how to teach a dog the obedience skills that made the dog more appealing to prospective owners and often led to the dog being adopted.
“You’ll find your forever home,” Hollis promised Buster as he watched the dog continue to eat. The food was nearly gone.
Buster’s gaze lifted to watch Hollis as he continued eating, showing a bit of territorial food behavior. It was easy to see that Buster wasn’t quite comfortable around humans. He also needed to get used to being around other dogs and possibly cats. Animals who could tolerate other pets and the loud, unpredictable behavior of children were more adoptable.
The gash on Hollis’s leg ached at the memory of what hadhappened on Thanksgiving when Buster had lunged at him. He needed a bandage change, but it’d have to wait until after dinner because he was hungry too. After Buster finished eating, Hollis led the dog outside where there was a small fenced-in area. Pop never had pets, but when Hollis came to stay with him last year, Pop had insisted on getting a fence for Duke. Out of respect, Hollis hadn’t taken in any other fosters. Respect and a lack of time, because Hollis had shifted his focus to Pop for a while. Things were different now though. Pop lived at Memory Oaks, and Hollis now lived here alone.
Leaving Buster in the fenced area, Hollis headed inside and placed a Hot Pocket in the microwave. Living alone equaled convenient dinners that usually tasted like cardboard. As long as it extinguished the hunger. Three minutes later, Hollis dropped the steaming Hot Pocket on a paper plate, grabbed a canned soda, and headed toward the back door that led to the porch. Before he could step out, the doorbell rang.
Who would be visiting right now?
He wasn’t expecting anyone, and there weren’t any neighbors for miles. He peeked through the peephole before opening the door. “Mal. What are you doing here?”
Mallory wrung her hands as she stood on the wood plank porch. “Sorry for stopping by so late.”
“It’s fine. Everything okay?” He’d just seen her earlier at Memory Oaks, and she hadn’t looked as shaken as she did now.
“Something happened earlier,” she said. “Can I come in?”
“Of course.” He gestured her inside and closed the door behind him, leading her to the sofa. He took a seat in the recliner across from her. “What’s going on?”
“Something happened when I was with Nan this afternoon. After you left.”
“Okay.” Hollis had no idea what she might tell him. “Is she okay?”
“Yeah, yeah. She’s fine. I mean, as fine as she has been.” Malloryreached inside her purse and pulled out a leather-bound book that Hollis had never seen before. “This is Nan’s book.”
“Nan wrote a book?” he asked.
“Well, kind of. It’s a journal obviously, but she wrote the story behind each of the ornaments for her Memory Tree.”
Hollis nodded. Nan had mentioned her Memory Tree to him last year, briefly explaining its purpose when he’d helped her pick out the perfect tree on the lot, which just so happened to be the smallest.
“Tonight, I read her one of the journal entries, and she remembered,” Mallory said excitedly. “It was only for a brief second, and I’m not sure if the memory was real or fake. That’s why I’m here.” Mallory rolled her lips together, looking uncharacteristically nervous. “Do you know anything about the first play that Nan was in?”
Obviously, Hollis hadn’t been alive when Nan started acting. He’d grown up going to the Bloom Community Theater every day after school though, and Nan had always told him stories of her younger theater days over milk and a plate of cookies before giving him chores at the theater. As he grew older, he helped construct the stage sets.
“The first play your grandmother was in? You mean in high school?” Hollis asked, trying to think back to all the black-and-white photos from past productions that hung on Nan’s office walls. “The first play wasMerry Little Santa, I think.” He shrugged. “Or something like that.”
Mallory leaned forward, and when she did, Hollis caught her floral scent.
“Who played Santa? Do you know?”
Hollis had rarely ever seen Mallory, typically so composed, so worked up. She was normally professional. At least since being an adult. The younger Mallory that he’d grown up with, though, had been energetic, and she’d loved the theater just as much as Nan. “I couldn’t tell you. Why? What’s up?”
Mallory was glowing, visibly trying to contain her excitement.“I’m not sure. This evening when I was reading Nan an entry from her journal…” Mallory shook her head. “I can’t confirm that any of what she said is correct, but she seemed to remember something.”
“Wow. That’s great, Mal.”
