Page 32 of Grace & Henry's Holiday Movie Marathon
Dr. Butler bites the inside of one cheek like she’s thinking. “If you don’t mind me saying, Grace, you seem good.”
“Yeah?”
She frowns, though, like maybe this isn’t entirely positive. “I’m gonna ask you something. And, for the sake of our work together, it’s important that you’re honest with me.”
I’m nervous suddenly, like I’m about to be in trouble. “Okay.”
“Are you pretending to talk to Tim again?”
“Oh,” I say. “Yeah, no.” I take another piece of candy and try to look like someone who isn’t obviously lying. To his credit, Tim has vanished. “I told you. I don’t do that anymore.”
She holds my gaze long enough to let me know she’s suspicious.
“I mean, I’m not, right?” I say. “But, if I were, remind me again why that’d be so bad.”
Dr. Butler takes a Hershey’s Kiss for herself now. “It isn’tbad,Grace. There is no bad, remember? There’s no wrong way to grieve. No right way, either. The stages aren’t linear. We do what we have to do.”
I wait, knowing, for the most part, what she’s going to say next.
“The risk, though,” she says, chewing, “is that you’ll get so good at talking to him—so good at pretending he’s here—that you’ll never truly be able to accept that he’s gone.”
Despite lying to her just now and not telling her things like how I’m friends with Sad Henry, I really do like Dr. Butler. But as far as I know, that smiling, nice-looking husband in the family picture behind her is alive and well. So, on this particular subject, maybeI’mthe expert.
“Well, that was fun,” I say. “We should shop together more often.”
We’re standing outside Mick’s Hardware. Cal and Kelsey are wearing matching stocking caps.
“Yeah, sorry about tooling on you so hard,” he says. “I deal with guys like Mick a lot, so I gotta maintain a reputation for diligence.”
I hold up my new humane trap. “What, these things aren’t industry standard?”
“Honestly, man, it’s not that they don’t work. It’showthey work.”
“What do you mean?”
He rubs Kelsey’s little shoulders, warming her up. “Kill traps and poison, boom, the mice are gone, off your list. That thing, though? You catch them, but then you gotta deal with them. And you can’t just take them out in the backyard and say, ‘So long, fellas,’ because they’ll just run right back into your house.”
The website I found focused more on the not-dead part of the trap’s functionality. It showed cartoon mice living their best little lives, frolicking, enjoying triangles of cheese.
“Oh,” I say. “Well, crap.”
“I get it, though,” he says. “It’s cool what you’re doing. Helping her out like this.”
We start walking back toward Cal’s truck, but then I stop.
I didn’t notice on the way in, but Mick’s Hardware has an outdoor section. Next to some bird feeders, snow blowers, and a few pieces of lawn furniture, there’s a handful of Christmas trees for sale. The one that stopped me is the smallest of the bunch—spindly and crooked, with a scattering of pine needles around its thin trunk.
Cal sees what I’m seeing. “Hope this one’s on sale, huh?”
Kelsey chatters, like maybe she’s trying to say “tree.”
“You okay?” Cal asks.
I don’t want to get into it here outside a hardware store, so I say, “Yeah, it just reminds me of something.”
“Same,” he says. “It’s like that pathetic little tree from—”
“A Charlie Brown Christmas,” I say.
