The Christmas Keepsake, page 22
“No sugarcoating. Just say it,” Hollis said after ten minutes of holding his breath and floating up prayers.
“His condition is serious,” she said gently. “I think he’s stable for now, but I’ll need to keep him here. I need to sew up some of the deeper gashes, and with all these wounds, there’s a risk of infection.”
Hollis nodded numbly.
“He was definitely attacked by something,” Dr. Lynch continued. “Where’s…” She hesitated.
“Buster didn’t do this,” Hollis said, even though the thought had crossed his mind. He was ready to insist that Buster was a good dog. Buster hadn’t shown any aggressive tendencies since coming home with Hollis.
“I’m not saying he did,” Dr. Lynch said. “I’m still assessing the nature of the injuries. I’ve got this though, Hollis. Duke is in good hands with me. You know that.”
He nodded. “I do know that.”
She forced him to meet her eyes. “You need to go find Buster right now. Because something happened while you were gone. If Buster isn’t responsible for Duke’s condition, he could be injured too. Or…” She trailed off again.
Or worse. Yeah.
Hollis nodded. “Right. I need to find him.” He didn’t move though. Not until Dr. Lynch reached out and laid a hand on his shoulder.
“I’ll call you as soon as I have more information on Duke. Trust me.”
He did trust Dr. Lynch. He’d been working with her for years through the rescue and with his dog training clients. “Thank you,” he said quietly. Then he turned and forced himself to leave the vet’s office when all he really wanted was to stay by Duke’s side.
The Star Ornament
The Star Ornament is in the box labeled with a 12. Inside, yes, you’ll see a sparkly, glittery star. Usually, the star goes on top of a tree, but not this one. This one is hung twelfth down. It was a gift from the Bloom mayor, if you can believe it. An honor and a treasure, and the reason my play became a Bloom holiday staple.
Here’s the story.
That first year of motherhood with my baby girl, I felt like I was stumbling through a thick fog, never quite sure if I was doing anything right. Every cry, every sleepless night, every moment of uncertainty chipped away at my confidence.
I remember standing in the nursery one night, my daughter wailing in my arms, and feeling completely overwhelmed. The theater, my pride and joy, felt like a distant memory. My dreams of Broadway stardom seemed laughable now. In that dark moment, I considered running away from it all—my husband, my child, the theater. Everything.
That feeling lingered for days until my mother, bless her heart, took me aside. She must have sensed the exhaustion and seen the doubt in my eyes. “Nannette,” she said, using my full name, like she always did when she was being serious, “good mothers always feel like they’re doing things wrong. It’s a sign that you care and that you want the best for your baby girl.”
Those words were like a lifeline. They didn’t magically make everything easier, but they gave me the strength to keep going.
Mickey, my dear sweet husband, was a rock through it all. He’d get up in the middle of the night to tend to the baby, insisting that I needed my rest. “You’ve got a theater to run, darling,” he’d say with a wink. “And you’re doing it with a baby on your hip, literally carrying the load all day. Let me handle the midnight feedings.”
Not all women are as lucky to have a spouse who understands how hard it is. I’d direct rehearsals while bouncing Daisy in my arm and rewriting scripts one-handed while she napped on my chest. The actors and crew were wonderfully understanding, cooing over her between scenes and offering to watch her when I needed a moment.
It certainly wasn’t the life I’d envisioned when I’d set off for New York with stars in my eyes and Broadway dreams in my heart. But as the months went by, I realized it was so much more. The theater became not just my passion, but also a second home for my little family. My daughter’s first steps were on that stage, her giggles echoing in the wings as she watched rehearsals from her playpen.
Being a mother changed me in ways I never could have foreseen. It softened my edges, making me more patient, more understanding. It gave me a new perspective on the stories we told onstage, a deeper appreciation for the complexities of human emotion.
That first year flew by in a blur of sleepless nights, baby giggles, and theater productions. Before I knew it, my little girl was toddling around, babbling her first words—many of which, I’m proud to say, were theater terms she’d picked up from all the time spent there. As the next Christmas approached, and the one after that, the town folk asked about our annual production of Santa, Baby. They didn’t just ask—they practically demanded it. The mayor came to me personally because Santa, Baby had been the topic of a town meeting. The town wanted the play to continue. As if I might say no, the mayor brought me a gift. A beautiful brass star to represent what he said I was to Bloom—a shining star.
Who needed Broadway when they had the entire town of Bloom as their fan base?
I think it was more the play that had struck a chord than me, actually. Santa and Mrs. Claus having a “real” marriage? The kind that all married couples knew. The well-kept secret that kept hopeless romantics believing the fairy tales they’d grown up believing. My debut play had become such a beloved tradition in such a short time that it drew people from neighboring towns every year, more and more as word of mouth spread.
The rest, as they say, is history. Bloom history. Santa, Baby became an annual tradition, one that would shape our little town for years to come. It was more than a play; it was a piece of who we were, a testament to the power of family, community, and the magic of theater.
Looking back now, I wouldn’t change a thing. My daughter grew up in that theater that was our wonderland. And then my granddaughters too—but that’s a different story. More plays came along, some that stuck and some that didn’t. But Santa, Baby continued. The magic captured in that script was what got me through the darkest moments. That magical feeling spoke to the town as well.
It brought the community together for a shared experience each year, to laugh and cry and catch that glimmer of hope that shimmers brightest during the holidays. And, if you ask me, that’s the real magic, the kind that lasts long after the curtain falls.
Truthfully, I think the reason that play resonated was because of the leading man—the one in my head when I’d written the story. It was this imaginary story of me and my first love. The only place we ever got to exist after that whirlwind romance in high school.
Chapter Twenty-Three
To be an actor you have to be a child.
—Paul Newman
Mallory’s fingers drummed against the steering wheel as she navigated the winding road to Memory Oaks Nursing Care, her conversation with Maddie echoing in her mind. It wasn’t like Mallory to let her emotions get the better of her, but Maddie’s insistence and vastly differing opinion about something so sentimental stung.
But Maddie did have a point. Selling was the only answer to being able to afford Nan’s continued long-term care. She was wrong about Mallory not wanting to deal with the theater though—even with the now-necessary repairs.
Mallory pulled into the parking lot of Memory Oaks and took a deep breath, trying to push aside her discombobulated feelings. Nan was sensitive to everything around her. Mallory didn’t want to set Nan off, especially tonight, with the holiday celebration happening in the community room.
As Mallory entered the facility’s lobby, she took in the festive decorations, garlands draped along the reception desk, and the small Christmas tree twinkling in the lobby’s corner. Mallory checked in with Francis at the front desk.
“Is Hollis here yet?” she asked.
Francis shook her head. “Not yet, but he told me earlier that he was coming.”
He’d told Mallory the same. And if he said it, he meant it.
“Nan is already in the community room,” Francis told her. “I’m sure she’ll be happy to see you.”
Mallory knew Francis meant well, but they both knew that wasn’t always the case. “We’ll see. Thanks, Francis.” Mallory followed the noise down the hall to the open double doors of the community room, where residents and staff were milling about. Christmas music played softly in the background. The large, beautifully decorated tree from Pop’s tree farm dominated one corner, its branches laden with an eclectic mix of ornaments in addition to Nan’s for the Memory Tree.
Mallory looked around until she saw Nan sitting at a table near the tree. A half-eaten cookie with red and green sprinkles was on the plate in front of her. Her silver hair was neatly combed, and she was wearing a red sweater that Mallory recognized as one of Nan’s favorites from years past. Nan had always loved crazy Christmas sweaters, which contradicted the rest of her simple, yet classy wardrobe.
Nan’s eyes brightened with a spark of recognition when she saw Mallory approaching. “Hello there, dear.” Nan’s voice was warm but slightly uncertain. “Are you here for the party?”
Mallory managed a smile as she sat down next to her grandmother. “I’m actually here to see you, Nan. It’s me, Mallory.”
Confusion deepened the soft wrinkles on her face. “Mallory, you say? My, that’s a lovely name.” Nan averted her gaze and scanned the room. Her brow crinkled the way it used to when she was focused on outlining a script or rearranging stage directions during the rehearsals of a play. Then she turned back to Mallory. “Do you like the theater?”
Nan hadn’t talked about the theater in months. “I l-love the theater,” Mallory finally managed, surprising herself because her answer was sincere. “I practically grew up in one.”
Nan’s face lit up. “Oh, that sounds nice! I used to run a theater, you know.”
Mallory nodded. “That sounds nice too.”
“It was…” Nan said, hesitating as if reaching for the exactly right words. “It was the most magical place in the world.”
Mallory blinked back tears. “I bet it was magical.”
As they talked, Mallory found herself slipping into the rhythm of conversation with this new version of her grandmother. Nan might not remember their shared history, but her love for the theater shone through in every anecdote, every enthusiastic gesture, as she described her favorite plays.
Alzheimer’s was such a complicated illness that Mallory still didn’t understand, even though she’d exhausted Google researching it. Even though she was a nurse. Deep down, Mallory knew that Nan probably wouldn’t hold on to this sudden knowledge of theater. Tomorrow, she might not remember the theater at all.
After a while, a staff member announced that it was time for residents to hang their memory ornaments on the community tree.
Mallory reached into her bag and pulled out the next ornament in Nan’s story. “I brought you something special.” She held up a pink baby bootie. “Look how cute this is.”
Nan turned her gaze and took in the ornament. “A sock?” she whispered quietly. “That’s an ornament?”
“Unusual, isn’t it?”
Nan stared at it intently. “I think… I think that meant something to me.”
Mallory’s heart nearly stopped. When Nan had a good day, she really did have one.
Slowly, Nan reached out and touched the ornament, her finger tapping it and causing it to sway gently like the pendulum of a clock. “Did you know that I had a daughter? Her name was… Daisy.” Nan narrowed her eyes. “She looked like you. Are you—are you my Daisy?” Nan’s eyes filled with tears. “Oh. Oh, my. You are, aren’t you?”
The hope in Nan’s eyes broke Mallory’s heart. She wanted to tell her yes, but she didn’t want to lie. She’d never lied to Nan, and she wasn’t about to start now. “No, Nan. My name is Mallory.”
“Oh.” The light in Nan’s eyes was like a star burning out as it fell from the sky. Nan looked down at her lap.
Mallory gently placed the ornament in Nan’s age-spotted hands. “Here. Let’s hang the bootie ornament on the tree.”
Nan held the ornament, but she didn’t move. “I’m not as sprightly as I once was. I don’t think I can hang it on my own.”
Mallory stood and took control of Nan’s wheelchair, steering her toward the front of the room. “That’s why I’m here. I’ll help you.”
“Such a sweet girl.”
Once they were standing in front of the tree, Mallory locked the chair’s brakes and guided her grandmother to stand.
Nan’s hands shook as she reached out to hang the ornament, but her face was serene, almost reverent. “Daisy grew up in the theater just like you,” Nan said, talking to herself as much as to Mallory.
Mallory was encouraged that Nan was still engaging in the same conversation that they’d started five minutes earlier. “Daisy must have been such a happy child.”
“Of course. Even an adult can feel like a child again in the theater,” Nan quipped. “I always did, at least.”
Mallory had too. And she’d felt freer lately than she had in a long time.
As Mallory helped Nan settle back into her chair, they admired the tree with all its ornaments and lights, tinsel and garland. Then Mallory turned to take Nan back to her spot at the table but noticed Pop sitting at the opposite corner of the room. Hollis’s grandfather looked small and somewhat lost in an oversize armchair. He was a newer resident here, and she imagined he didn’t quite feel at home yet.
Mallory glanced at the large clock on the wall above Pop. Where is Hollis? It wasn’t like him to be late, especially not for something involving Pop.
“Hey, Nan, would you like to say hello to Pop?” Mallory gestured toward the elderly man.
Nan’s gaze followed the direction of Mallory’s pointer. “That man’s name isn’t Pop.”
Mallory frowned, afraid that Nan’s moments of clarity were gone. “It is. He’s a good friend of mine.”
“Oh, he’s a friend of mine too. Or used to be.” Nan craned her neck to look at Mallory behind her pushing the wheelchair. “His name is Ralph.”
Mallory stopped in her tracks, her breath catching as she looked at Nan and then Pop, sitting by the window. No. No, this was just Nan’s memories blurring. Mallory wasn’t sure who the man in Nan’s journal entries was, but surely he wasn’t Hollis’s grandfather. “Well, he looks like he could use some company. Let’s go say hello?”
As they crossed the room, Mallory pulled her phone from her pocket and quickly typed out a text to Hollis:
Mallory: Everything okay? We’re at Memory Oaks for the tree decorating. Pop’s here, but no sign of you yet.
Pop’s weathered face broke into a small grin as he saw Mallory and Nan approach. “Well, hello there, Nan,” he said, his voice rough but warm. “Come to join a brooding man in the corner?”
Nan laughed, the sound light and carefree. “Now, now,” she chided. “No brooding allowed at Christmas. Have you hung your ornament yet?”
“My grandson is supposed to bring me one,” he said, making a show of looking around. “Hollis must be caught up in something more important than an old man like me. Maybe he’s found himself a date. I gave him a few pointers the other day,” Pop added, smiling at Mallory and offering a wink.
Mallory laughed quietly and listened as Nan engaged Pop in more conversation. They talked like old friends, which warmed Mallory’s heart. This was a wonderful place for Nan. Safe and joyful despite the pain and frustration that the patients’ ailments brought. The joy on Nan’s face right now was priceless. Except it did have a price. One that Mallory was having a difficult time affording.
Mallory’s phone buzzed. That must be Hollis. Mallory reached inside her pocket for her phone, disappointed when she realized the message was from Savannah.
Savannah: How’s Nan? Tell her hello for me.
Mallory was always happy to hear from her best friend, but growing concern niggled in her gut. Hollis had been attending events like these at Memory Oaks long before his grandfather moved in. Hollis brought his therapy dog and his charming personality. What was keeping him tonight?
“Oh, look.” Pop pointed across the room as the staff gathered along the wall wearing red Santa hats. Then they broke out in song. “Carolers.”
Nan hummed along, occasionally using her full voice for a line or two that she seemed to remember.
Watching and listening, Mallory felt a fierce protectiveness well up inside her. She had an impossible choice to make, but there really was no choice. Keeping Nan at this facility was the most important thing. Mallory could only work so many extra shifts at the hospital before she burned out completely.
Nan touched Mallory’s arm, her eyes clear and bright. “Having you here means more than you know.”
“I wouldn’t be anywhere else, Nan.” Mallory’s gaze jumped to Pop. Hollis wouldn’t be anywhere else either. Not if he could help it.
The niggling concern hit a discordant note in the otherwise harmonious evening.
Where is he?
Chapter Twenty-Four
No matter what they tell you, words and ideas can change the world.
—Robin Williams
“Buster!” Hollis had searched the inside of his house, calling Buster’s name until his voice was hoarse.
Buster was nowhere to be seen.
Hollis had followed the trail of Duke’s blood through the kitchen and onto Pop’s back porch. He’d searched the entire backyard and beyond. Now he climbed the back porch steps and sat on one of the metal chairs. Leaning over his knees, he lowered his face into his palms, sending up the millionth silent plea to the Big Guy upstairs. Almost immediately, his phone buzzed in his pocket. No way God was on the line, answering his prayers. Hollis guessed he’d surpassed the limit of answered prayers. Instead of pulling his phone out of his pocket, he left it there to vibrate. He wasn’t in a conversing mood, and there was no one he wanted to speak to right now.
Not Sandy and surely not Matt. He knew Mallory was concerned, but he didn’t want to talk to her either. Ever since his earlier conversation, Hollis had been wondering if Matt was right. Maybe Hollis had fooled everyone, including himself. The last thing Mallory needed was a romantic partner who would let her down. The kind of guy that Matt had painted Hollis to be. Nan was wrong. Mallory didn’t need him. She would be better off without him.
