Chapter 8 - The Ghost of Christmas Past
Summer came and went in a blur of green and gold. Grace grew two inches, her hair bleaching out to a light honey brown from the hours she spent helping Arthur in the outdoor nursery. My freelance work had stabilized; I had secured three long-term contracts with technical firms that allowed me to work regular hours and finally open a savings account that didn't feel like a countdown to zero.
Then, in late November, the first snow fell.
It was a light, powdery dusting that covered the town in a clean, quiet white. The smell of the flower shop changed again, shifting from the heavy perfumes of summer roses to the sharp, festive scent of pine boughs, cedar wreaths, and cinnamon sticks.
It was December 22nd. Exactly one year since Grace had walked into the kitchen with the note.
I was upstairs, wrapping a few early Christmas presents for Grace, when the landline phone in the kitchen rang. We rarely used it; most of my clients called my cell phone, and Arthur usually just shouted up the stairs if he needed me.
I picked it up without thinking. “Hello?”
A long pause on the other end. Then, the sound of a ragged breath.
“Jessica?”
It was Bella.
Her voice didn't have the sharp, arrogant edge it had carried in the flower shop eight months ago. It sounded thin, cracked, and infinitely tired.
“Bella,” I said, my hand tightening on the receiver. “I thought I made it clear that we don't have anything left to say to each other.”
“Please, Jess,” she whispered. I could hear the sound of a child crying in the background—her youngest son, Leo. “Don't hang up. Please. I... I don't know who else to call.”
“Call Mom and Dad,” I said coldly.
“They won't talk to me,” she sobbed, the performance finally dropping away to reveal a raw, ugly desperation. “Dad hangs up the phone every time I call the facility. Mom... Mom doesn't even recognize my voice anymore. Jess, the bank took the house in Ohio. Mark left me last month. He took the kids’ college fund and moved to Chicago with his assistant. I’m... I’m living in a motel room with the boys, Jess. We don't have enough money for the second week’s rent.”
I stood in my warm, bright kitchen. The smell of Arthur’s pine wreaths drifted up through the floorboards. On the table lay a half-wrapped box containing a beautiful new winter coat for Grace—one with a soft faux-fur collar, bought with money I had earned with my own hands.
“What do you want from me, Bella?” I asked.
“Just... a loan,” she pleaded. “Just two thousand dollars. To get an apartment. For the boys. For Christmas. I swear I’ll pay you back. I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll sign a contract. I’ll apologize to Grace. Please, Jess. Don't leave us out in the cold.”
Don't leave us out in the cold.
The irony was so heavy it felt physical. One year ago today, Bella had been sitting in her warm colonial house, drinking eggnog and helping my mother draft an eviction notice that gave a nine-year-old child six days to disappear before Christmas. She hadn't cared about the cold then. She hadn't cared about the motel rooms or the empty cupboards.
“No, Bella,” I said.
“Jessica! Please! They’re your nephews! They’re innocent!”
“They are innocent,” I agreed, my voice completely calm, completely free of the anger that used to poison my thoughts. “And because they are innocent, I am going to give you the number of a women’s shelter in Columbus. They have resources for families in transition. They will help you find housing and food. But I am not giving you money. And I am not letting you into my life again.”
“You are a monster!” she screamed, the old, venomous Bella suddenly breaking through the tears. “You’re just like you always were! Selfish! Cold! You ruined this family!”
“The family was already ruined, Bella,” I said softly. “We were just excellent at pretending until the winter came. Good luck.”
I hung up the phone.
I stood there for a moment, looking at the receiver in my hand. My heart wasn't racing. My hands weren't shaking. The ghost of Christmas past had come back to haunt me, but when I looked it in the face, I realized it had no power over me anymore. It was just a small, sad thing screaming in the dark.
May you like
I walked over to the window and looked down into the alleyway. Arthur was down there, wearing his heavy wool cap, sweeping the snow off the steps of the shop. Grace was next to him, holding a small shovel, laughing as she threw a handful of snow at his boots.
I smiled, picked up the wrapping paper, and went back to work.
