Page 59 of The Christmas Keepsake
Here’s the story behind it.
The first draft is never the final one. All writers know that. The first draft ofSanta, Babywas actually very different. It was merry and exactly what you’d expect from a holiday play. It didn’t feel like the truth anymore though. As I healed and leaned into being a new wife, the seed of an idea in my mind formed. What if Santa and Mrs. Claus weren’t always the jolly couple? They must have had their early years, right? The ones that determined if they, as a couple, would stick or fall apart. No couple is exempt from those times.
The edits poured out of me like honey onto the pages, and many of the pages of that original notebook have watermarks from my tears. In every bad situation, there’s a blessing if you look for it. I felt like Sylvester Stallone writing my own script the way he did forRocky—thus the boxing glove. I think Sylvester wroteRockyin a week. It took me more like two and a half weeks to completely transform my original play. And when the script was done, I stood from my desk and walked through the house. It was late at night, so Mickey was sleeping. I tapped his shoulder, stirring him awake.
“I’m done.”
His eyes widened as he woke up faster than I’d ever seen. I guess he thought I was leaving again.
“No.” Shaking my head, I put my hand on his arm. “I’m done writing that story. I’m ready for a new one. I’m ready to fight.”
That got his attention. “What’s wrong?”
I remember laughing at him. “Nothing’s wrong. I want to fight for my life. To get back to living. To be your wife again.”
“You never stopped being my wife,” he said.
“I want to have a baby with you,” I told him, my eyes welling. I’d wanted it so badly that it hurt like nothing I’d ever experienced. I wasn’t going to allow myself to roll around in my sorrow or self-pity though. “We will. We’ll try for a baby together,” I said with determination. “Not now, of course. Dr. Webber said it’ll be a while before my body is ready to hold another baby.” I assumed it wasn’t even possible. “But we can practice.”
He looked at me, and I can only wonder what was going through his sweet mind. “Now?”
That’s not exactly what I meant, but I wanted to feel his arms around me, wrapping me in love and making me feel safe. “Or we can put on the boxing gloves,” I suggested, “and fight for real.”
“I do have a pair,” he admitted, leaning toward me. “But I’m more of a lover than a fighter.”
During my life, I’ve been equal parts lover and fighter. You have to fight, especially when you’ve been knocked down. If you lose the will to fight, then you also lose the will to love. That’s what Santa and Mrs. Claus taught me in the rewrites.
So, darling granddaughters, put your gloves on. Channel your best Rocky. Live. Love. And fight for what matters.
Chapter Eighteen
Those who say it can’t be done are usually interrupted by others doing it.
—James Baldwin
As Hollis finished cleaning and closing up the barn, he headed outside, where Savannah was still waiting for Evan, who’d stayed around to help Hollis with a few things.
“You made my best friend happy this afternoon, and for that, I owe you,” Savannah called out from where she was seated on Hollis’s tailgate.
As he grew closer, Hollis noticed Savannah’s slightly pink cheeks. After finding out about Savannah’s autoimmune disease last year, he wondered if she was in another lupus flare. Stress could induce one, and the holidays were nothing if not stressful.
She seemed happy though, and he knew Evan would take good care of her if that were the case. Savannah and Mallory were best friends but complete opposites from his point of view. Savannah had kept her lupus diagnosis hidden when she’d first returned to Bloom, but she hadn’t shunned help. In fact, allowing Evan to help her with her aunt Eleanor’s library after a summer storm was whathad brought them together. Opposites often attracted when it came to friends and lovers.
Stop right there, Hollis Franklin. His mind was already feeding him the ways that he and Mallory were different. Good girl, bad boy—at least once upon a time.
Savannah narrowed her eyes as she seemed to be reading his mind. Leaning in, she said, “You can deny it if you want, but I can tell when a man has a crush on a woman.”
“Any man with two eyes, or even one, would have a crush on Mallory.” He held up a finger and clarified. “Any man that’s not already married, of course. And any nonmarried man with a single working brain cell. Because it’s not about her looks. Although she’s gorgeous.” He cleared his throat. “But she’s smart too. She’s great.”
Savannah grinned, her blue eyes sparkling in a knowing way. “If you’re trying to convince me that you don’t have a thing for my best friend, you’re failing.”
Hollis looked away momentarily.
“So, Evan and I are considering getting a puppy,” Savannah offered, changing the subject. “Did he tell you that?”
“No. He didn’t.” Hollis was surprised, because Evan had just gotten a new puppy last year for his teen daughter, June. “Another dog?”
Savannah shrugged. “Well, maybe it’s more me than Evan. I’m trying to convince him that Monday needs a friend.” Monday was the name of Evan’s daughter’s puppy—a nod to the dog in theAnne of Green Gablesseries.
