Must Love Mistletoe

Chapter 14

Tracy clutched an armful of glossy papers to her chest as she hurried toward the recycle bin beside the hibiscus hedge. She wanted them out of her house and off her mind. She wished the same thing for the man who had put them on the porch. Dan had left her, so now he should leave her alone!

She reached out to lift the plastic top, then froze as she caught sight of her neighbor, Alice Jacobson, on the other side of the hedge. Her heart gave a painful squeeze. Finn’s grandmother looked two sizes smaller than she had a month ago and she was walking with short, cautious steps. The elderly woman had a stack of newspapers under her arm and was heading for her own matching blue can.

“Alice! How nice to see you,” Tracy said, hoping her smile hid her dismay. “How are you?”

The older woman’s answering smile was still bright. “I’m feeling all right. How are you this beautiful morning?”

Tracy glanced around, for the first time aware that the morning was lovely. There’d been fog during her first cup of coffee, but the sun had burned it away, leaving blue skies and twittering birds.

She inhaled a breath of the clean air. “I hear congratulations are in order. A great-grandson?”

“Ten pounds, three ounces.”

Tracy winced. “Mom’s okay?”

“Hale and hearty. So is Miguel Finn Jacobson-Vasquez.”

“Oh, named after his uncle Finn. Cute. A big baby like that needs a big name.” Tracy shook her head. “Harry was not quite nine pounds and I thought he was a monster.”

Alice lifted the top of her bin. “How is our Harry?”

“Taking to college like a duck to water. I’m so happy for him.” As with all her friends’ living-away children, the cell phone kept them in amusing and constant contact. He’d called twice the day before. Once to ask if he could bake chocolate chip cookies in a microwave oven. The second time had been to relate in detail the storyline of a Family Guy episode he was certain she’d like. She hadn’t understood a thing about the TV show, but she’d laughed anyway. And later awarded herself a virtual medal for not nagging him about studying instead of watching TV.

“How about happy for you?” Alice asked, dropping her papers and shutting the bin. She rested her hands on top of the heavy plastic.

“Happy?” Tracy echoed. “Me?” She’d been working so hard on not feeling anything.

“I remember my daughter-in-law had a tough time when her youngest, Janet, went away to school. She said the house was too quiet.”

Tracy’s gaze shifted to the older woman’s hands. How frail they looked, the skin papery and the nails bluish. There were bruises on her forearms too. Tracy remembered how fragile her mother’s skin had become as she aged, the slightest bump causing a wound or discoloration.

She dropped the papers she carried on top of her bin to make a quick once-over of her own flesh. It was a little dry, maybe, but still unblemished. All the bruises were on the inside.

“It looks like you’re planning a trip.” Alice nodded at the colorful pamphlets spread out on the top of the bin. They covered the gamut from Las Vegas to Lichtenstein.

Tracy flushed and gathered them up again. “Dan picked them up at an agency.”

“Travel would be a lovely treat for you.” Alice beamed.

“I don’t think I’m much in the mood for a treat,” Tracy admitted. Then she thought of Bailey, whom she’d dragged back home as her second marriage deteriorated. And worse, whom she’d likely traumatized during the demise of her first. “And probably not deserving of one either.”

“Nonsense,” Alice said. “It’s time for you to celebrate Harry’s launch.”

Tracy shrugged. “Winter isn’t a good time to travel.” She didn’t want to admit that any trip she’d take, she’d be taking solo. Though it was probably all over town that Dan had dumped her, Alice was ill and maybe unaware of what was really going on next door.

“There are other seasons, Tracy.”

“Sure.” She tried to smile. “Spring, summer, fall.”

“Other seasons of your life. Maybe you’re grieving for the end of one, but soon you’ll walk out of that grief and into the next phase.”

“I’m not sad.” She wasn’t anything. She was carefully collecting all her hurt and sending it to that locked-away place she’d told Dan about. Safely hiding it behind secret doors. In her head she pictured herself writing in the center of a piece of paper “divorce,” “Dan,” “empty nest,” and then folding it into an origami figure-a protective lion, or maybe a bird that could fly it away. Better yet, an ant, the painful thoughts minimized to bug size.

“Then what are you, dear?” Alice asked.

Tracy whispered the first thing that popped into her head. “I’m not anything.” Her gaze jerked up to the older woman’s, expecting to have shocked her. Tracy was shocked herself that she’d spoken the words aloud. But it was the truth. And more shocking, perhaps, was that she was beginning to like the buffer of immunity that nothingness provided.

Alice only smiled. “I’ve known you since you were born, Tracy. I have great faith in your capacity to bounce.”

Her eyebrows drew together. Bounce? “Huh?”

Alice was already turning back toward her house. “Go in and make yourself a cup of tea.” She waved. “You’ll see I’m right.”

Shaking her head, Tracy turned too. A cup of tea didn’t sound bad. As she approached the back door, she could hear the phone ringing.

Harry, probably ready to wheedle her into putting more money on his Starbucks card, again, or maybe he needed to know what else he shouldn’t try in a microwave. As she reached for the receiver, she realized she was still holding the travel brochures close to her heart.

Rolling her eyes with disgust, she dumped them on the kitchen table, then picked up the ringing phone.

Harry didn’t know how to manage a coin-operated laundry. As she started walking him through the details, a disturbing thought came to mind. He’d been gone how many weeks?

To calm herself, she started paging through the glossy pictures, and found herself thanking Dan instead of cursing him. A week on Corfu provided a worthy distraction to mental visuals of three-month-dirty sweat socks.

Bailey Sullivan’s Vintage Christmas

Facts & Fun Calendar

December 15

The custom of the Christmas bonus was brought about in 1899 by department store owner F. W. Woolworth, who wanted to ensure his employees worked hard during the busy season. Five dollars was given for every year of service, not to exceed twenty-five dollars. It was considered a nice sum at the time.