Page 5 of The Christmas Keepsake
As a girl, I watched my grandmother forget. First her address. Then things like her last name. Then she forgot me, which I couldn’t comprehend at such a young age. As an adult, I watched the same thing happen with my own mother. Then, it started happening to me.
I told myself that I was just being paranoid. Whenyou’re young, you assume you’re invincible. That you’ll live forever and remember every moment. But those moments of forgetfulness increased, month by month, year after year.
I’ve always thought of a Christmas tree as a sort of memory album. Each keepsake ornament in this box will probably seem like random things that have no worth, but they’re priceless to me. In the journal, you’ll find the story behind each and every one. I hope that you’ll remember me as you hang these keepsakes on what I like to call the Memory Tree.
You may be surprised by what I tell you in these pages. People have different sides to themselves. Different faces. Different masks. I was so many people in this lifetime. A daughter. An actress. A writer. Friend. Wife. Grandmother. But first and foremost, I was a woman who lived, loved, and made a million mistakes.
When the time comes, I may not remember or be capable of saying so, so allow me to say it here. I’m sorry. I always did what I thought was best for you, and for your mother. Maybe my best wasn’t good enough. Maybe I should have done things differently. All I can say is that life doesn’t have a dress rehearsal. It’s all improv on one big stage.
Dearest granddaughters, memories are the secret to living forever—because even after you’re gone, they live on in the hearts of those who love you most. Some good, some bittersweet, and too many the kind that break you piece by piece. All of the memories are necessary to understand the final product, however, which I hope ultimately will be a life well-lived.
Thank you for being a part of my story. The mind may forget, but the heart never will. I love you always.
Nan
Chapter Two
You gotta have a dream. If you don’t have a dream, how you gonna have a dream come true?
—Oscar Hammerstein II,South Pacific
Hollis swiped his shirtsleeves across his sweaty brow and looked out at the work of the day. His foster dad’s construction crew had made a lot of progress building the frame for the Maynard Farm’s new barn, but it wasn’t quite finished, and Hollis wouldn’t be able to see it through to the end. Since he was seventeen years old, Hollis had been working with Matt’s crew ten and a half months out of the year. The other six weeks, however, Hollis helped Matt’s father, who had a business of his own, Popadine’s Tree Farm.
When Pop went to live at Memory Oaks, Matt had tossed around the idea of selling the farm. Construction was Matt’s passion, not Christmas trees. Hollis had always loved the farm though, even before the Popadine family had taken him in at seventeen. Prior to that, Hollis would trespass on their property and get himself into trouble. That’s what he was well-known for back then. Matt himself had been the one to call the cops on Hollis the last time he’d gone tojuvenile detention. But when Hollis was seventeen, the Popadines took him into their home and treated him like a son.
And Pop had treated him like a grandson. Even though Hollis had never been legally adopted, they were his family.
“Looks good, heh?” Matt clapped a hand along Hollis’s upper back.
Hollis offered a nod. “Yeah. Real good.”
Matt’s gaze dropped to Hollis’s leg, where the bandage that Mallory had placed there had soaked through, leaving a dirty, brown stain. “Better get that cleaned up before it gets infected. I don’t know why you deal with stuff like that.” That “stuff” being anything dog related. “I get that you enjoy training ’em, but some dogs aren’t rehabilitation material.”
“That’s what folks said about me.” Hollis reached for his bottled water on his truck’s tailgate and drained the last sip. Then he looked at Matt. “And look at me now.”
It was meant to be sarcastic, but Matt had a shine in his eyes. Matt Popadine hadn’t just taken on the role of Hollis’s foster dad at seventeen, he’d also given him a job.
“Look at you now indeed,” Matt went on. “I’m proud of you, son.”
Son.Hollis used to hate the term of endearment. Loathe it even. The word was akin to nails scraping along a chalkboard. Now it ran over and through Hollis like a spoonful of thick honey. That was the effect of unconditional love. Back in his young adult years, he hadn’t trusted that it was possible for him to be loved by anyone. It’d taken him a while to understand that the Popadine family weren’t going anywhere, regardless of what he did or didn’t do.
“Want to come over for dinner?” Matt asked. “I’m sure Sandy would love to see you.”
“Thanks for the offer, but I’m actually going to get cleaned up and take Duke over to Memory Oaks to visit Pop.”
“He loves you and that dog of yours. Sometimes I think he lovesyou and that dog more than he does his own son,” Matt joked, referring to himself.
“Not the case,” Hollis said, even though Pop recognized him more often than Matt these days. That was because Hollis made time to visit. In February, Hollis had moved in with Pop, hoping that a roommate would be enough to keep Pop at home where he belonged. Hollis couldn’t be there around the clock though, and it had quickly become apparent that’s what Pop needed to ensure his safety. “I’ll tell him you said hello.”
“Please do. See you tomorrow.” Matt started walking toward his blue Chevrolet truck in the gravel parking lot.
“No, you won’t,” Hollis reminded Matt, stopping him in his tracks. “It’s the Monday after Thanksgiving. Tree season.” Matt already knew this, of course. “And, if you remember, now that Pop is at Memory Oaks, that’s where I’ll be from here-out.” That was the plan Hollis and Pop had made in August, and they’d already let Matt know.
“Oh, come on, son. I need you on the crew. The other guys don’t have your grind. And the Maynard’s barn isn’t even finished. You start a job, you finish a job.”
“The crew will be fine, and so will the Maynards’ barn,” Hollis said, feeling an uneasiness through his chest. “We have loyal customers, and I’ve already secured seasonal help.”
Matt put his hands on his hips and blew out a heavy breath. “Can’t the seasonal help run the farm? And what’s this talk about staying on afterward? What for?”
