Christmas on Mimosa Lane (A Seasons of the Heart Novel) Page 8

  She closed the door and struck of across the oversized family room toward the kitchen.

  “I wanted her to stay home.” He followed until they stopped in the empty dining area. He was struck again by the sparseness of her furnishings. The minimalist decor didn’t match either the boldness of her personality or her rainbow-bright kitchen. “I tried to change Polly’s mind about going to school. I was ready to call in sick, but she insisted she was okay. That she had to go. She’s been so skittish at the bus stop all fall. I thought it was a good sign that she was eager for this week to start.”

  They were standing near her swinging kitchen door, a replay of their midnight encounter. Except in the daylight, with the sun falling over them through her uncovered windows, Mallory’s features looked even softer, more inviting, her complexion almost translucent in that rare way some fair-skinned women had of making a man want to touch them to be certain they were real.

  “Polly came to school to see me, I think.” Mallory picked up his hand and placed something cool and shiny in it.

  His body tensed at her touch, his senses clamoring. It took several seconds for him to realize what she’d handed him. Her fingers slid away. He stared down at the sparkling object and froze from the inside out.

  “Where did you get this?” he managed to ask.

  Mallory flinched at the harshness of his voice, but she stood her ground the same as she had when she’d faced down his anger last night.

  “It belonged to your wife,” she said. “Didn’t it?”

  “Where did you get this?” he demanded again, his hand shaking. “I haven’t seen it since before Emma…”

  He couldn’t finish the sentence.

  For six months, he hadn’t been able to utter the words.

  Mallory didn’t rush to cover the uncomfortable pause that followed, the way others would have. It settled easily between them, the overwhelming grief and the silence most people who knew him couldn’t tolerate. He exhaled into that void, feeling as if he’d been holding his breath forever.

  Last night he’d been furious at the way Mallory’s questions kept triggering memories of his wife. It felt almost natural now, standing there beside his neighbor with his heart pounding and disjointed pieces of his life flashing across his mind’s eye like an out-of-control slide show. Him. Emma. Polly. All of them happy. Then sad. Then broken in ways that might never mend.

  Mallory didn’t smile or tell him it would be okay. But she didn’t back away either, her quiet acceptance helping him weather the wave of emotions sucking him down. Just as her calm, in-control demeanor on the other end of the phone earlier had helped him make the decision about work that he should have come to weeks ago. It was as if when he was with her, talking with her like he hadn’t with anyone else on Mimosa Lane, he could see his life clearly for the first time since everything fell apart.

  She waited as if she knew for certain that his next strangling breath would come, and then the next. He inhaled, filling his constricted lungs, then let the breath out so loudly his ears rang with his battle to regain control. He nodded, hoping she’d understand it was an apology he couldn’t put into words.

  “Polly gave that to me at school,” she finally said. “Before she ran inside from the bus lane, she handed it to me and told me she wanted to forget her mom so you two could have Christmas this year.”

  She didn’t ask about the vintage pin in Pete’s hand. She evidently wasn’t going to, not this elusive, complicated woman whom his child was opening up to. Pete looked down at the tiny metal cat he held. It was only a piece of costume jewelry, but it was a treasure. Fashioned out of gilded brass or bronze, its gold finish was worn around the edges, darker metal peeking through from beneath. Its eyes, red dots, were fashioned from paste. Its black nose was a sweep of some type of composite. Tiny wire whiskers were bent in several directions at once, giving the creature a slightly maniacal expression.

  Emma had worn it every chance she got, gladly sharing the priceless story behind how she’d inherited it from her grandmother with whomever noticed it and asked where she’d gotten such a unique piece. She’d cherished it and all her antique pins for as long as Pete had known her, accessorizing with them in her own whimsical style. She’d begun passing them to Polly almost from birth, eventually hoping they’d become a way to keep the two of them connected even after she was gone.

  “My wife was allergic to animal hair, all kinds of it.” He remembered like it was yesterday the way her eyes had swollen practically shut not long after he and Emma had begun going steady in junior high, after she’d petted the new puppy his parents had brought home. “She desperately wanted a cat but could never have one. Her mom and dad would get furious when she wasn’t able to keep her hands off some creature she passed on the street. It made her sick every time, but that never stopped her. Her grandmother had a million trinkets like this, all kinds of animals. Every holiday and birthday a pretty box from her nana would show up under the tree with Emma’s name on it. Inside was a beautiful animal that Emma could wear. When Caroline ran out of her own jewelry, she and Emma scoured flea markets and garage sales looking for more. When we were sixteen, Emma’s nana died the week before Christmas, and Emma’s mother found one final present in Caroline’s bedside drawer, wrapped in holiday paper and tied with a big red bow—it was this little guy.”

  “He must have been very special to her.” Mallory’s smile was as sad as it was wistful.

  “She treasured her collection. This one pin especially. It made her feel like her nana would always be thinking of her, spoiling her, making sure she had whatever she needed to be happy. Emma told Polly the story so many times, every holiday and celebration when she’d give another piece of her nana’s jewelry to our daughter. Once we accepted how sick Emma was, she started inventing everyday reasons to give even more of them to Polly. They’d sit together for hours sifting through the ones in Polly’s jewelry box, and the ones still in Emma’s. This cat was supposed to stay with Emma. She wore it every trip to hospital. In the end…She liked having it pinned to her nightgown or her robe, especially when company came over for a visit. Of all the jewelry she owned, this was her most prized possession.”

  “She was giving Polly a piece of her heart to keep always.”

  There were tears in Mallory’s eyes when Pete came back from the past. Instead of pity, which was all his friends seemed to feel these days when they looked at him and Polly, in Mallory’s gaze he saw longing.

  “I looked for it after…” He cleared the lump that had risen in his throat, holding the pin higher so that it twinkled as brightly as Mallory’s tree. “I wanted Emma to wear it when we buried her. But I never found it. I guess I should have known Polly had taken it, that she wouldn’t want to let it go. But I haven’t seen her go anywhere near her mother’s things since Emma died. I don’t even know where her own jewelry box is. It’s disappeared, too.”

  “Like Polly disappeared when she came here last night?”

  His gaze narrowed at the odd correlation. “Why would Polly give this to you now?” he asked. “What did she mean about forgetting her mother?”

  “I don’t know.” Mallory’s expression clouded up, striking him again with how much this seemed to be affecting her personally. “She seemed almost panicked when she got of the bus and ran over to me. I was surprised to see her smiling. She handed me the pin, and her words rushed out as if she’d been waiting all night to say them. She seemed so sure that I would help her.”

  “Help her forget Emma?” Pete’s knees threatened to buckle.

  “I know how that sounds. But at least she’s talking about her mother. Has she done that before now?”

  “Neither of us has,” he said. He’d give anything not to be talking about it even now. “Nothing I say helps. It only seems to do more harm. The doctors recommend keeping things positive and trying not to upset her until she settles down.”

  Mallory’s nod of understanding helped keep some of his guilt at bay. She’d m
astered the same calm detachment as the fire and rescue professionals he worked with. He got the sense that no matter how difficult an obstacle, this woman simply faced it—or more likely climbed over it to get to whatever she wanted on the other side.

  “Something you said last night has been on my mind all day,” he admitted.

  “If I was out of line, I—”

  He silenced her with his finger, pressing just the tip of it against her lips. He dropped his hand when her words stuttered to a stop.

  “You were right”—he grinned at the smirk of triumph that blossomed on her face—“about how I’ve been messing up at bedtime. Instead of listening to Polly when she gets agitated and can’t sleep, I’ve been pushing her to get better. I’ve needed her to get better so I could stop worrying about her. She’s changed so completely, and I want my little girl back. I haven’t been listening to her at all, not the way you do.”

  “Because I’m not dealing with the same loss,” Mallory said in a near whisper. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. She needs you to want her the way she is now, that’s all. You’ll figure out how. You already are. Just keep fighting for her, and you’ll make it. I promise.”

  “I asked for an extended leave of absence from work,” he admitted. “I should have made Polly my only focus before now. I’d convinced myself that keeping to our regular routine was best. But I…needed the work, I think. It’s an escape, and I wasn’t ready to surrender that, too.”

  “Is…?” Mallory’s brow wrinkled. “Can you afford to…?”

  “How can I afford not to?” And his captain had said to take all the time he needed. “My daughter wants to forget the mother who loved Polly more than her own life.”

  “She has to be ashamed of how she’s feeling,” Mallory said, gutting him all over again. “Whatever is going on, don’t let her think you disapprove of anything she says or feels. She has to figure this out, not worry about how it’s affecting you. Has she seen a therapist?”

  “Her reaction when we tried was similar to what I heard over the phone this morning.” They’d gone twice, before the therapist had agreed that Polly wasn’t ready to talk. They needed to give it a little more time. That had been at the beginning of the summer, and Pete hadn’t bothered to schedule a follow-up visit. “Do you really think she’s been trying to erase Emma from her mind all this time? Thanksgiving with Emma’s parents was impossible for her. Emma was all anyone was talking about. Her parents want to be sure Polly doesn’t forget her mother.”

  “It’s not that unusual a reaction for a child her age. Kids read others’ emotions in a very personal way. They feel responsible for things they shouldn’t, including making their parents feel better. There’s something about you mixed up in all of this, not just her mother.”

  “Me?”

  “Why else would she think she had to forget Emma so the two of you could have your Christmas? She loves you so much. You should have heard her yelling at Julia Davis when the woman criticized you. She’s scared and angry. Finally letting some of that out is a good thing. But it’s easier just to wish ugly feelings away, instead of dealing with what’s causing them. Neither of you can afford to let that happen.”

  “Yeah.” He rubbed a hand over his face, dreading the conversation he’d have to have with Julia eventually.

  “You can’t let Polly think she has to keep everything inside and give her mother’s things away in order to be okay. She has to need what she needs and trust the people around her to help her.”

  “She trusts you,” he pointed out. And last night he’d despised her for it.

  Somehow she understood his daughter’s trauma infinitely better than Pete did. He gazed at her crazy Christmas tree, then around what he’d assumed was a carelessly unfurnished home. He found himself wondering at the real meaning behind the way his neighbor chose to live her life.

  “I’m not as vital to your daughter’s sense of well-being as you are,” Mallory said.

  “I’m not so sure about that.”

  “You’re everything for her, Pete. You’re all she has left. Dealing with losing her mother, especially if she’s wondering if she’s somehow upsetting you by how she feels, must be overwhelming. It can make a kid do and think all sorts of things. Her coming to me first with this isn’t a sign that she doesn’t need you or that you’re not doing everything you can to help her. It’s a symptom of how much Polly’s entire world is wrapped up in the two of you being okay.”

  “It’s a sign that you can give her something she isn’t getting at home.” He fought back another surge of petty jealousy.

  She shook her head as if she weren’t going to respond. She was looking over his shoulder in the direction of her tree, only her gaze seemed much farther away.

  “I’ve just listened until you two found each other again,” she said. “Until she was ready to start figuring out what she really wants. She’s found a way to be brave enough to do that now. She had to know on some level that I’d call you.” Mallory gestured absently at his hand and Emma’s pin. “This was her cry for help. All you have to do is take it from here. Don’t try to fix Polly’s feelings. For now just listen to them and help her understand what’s happening.”

  Without Mallory, she seemed to mean.

  Pete experienced a moment of panic at the idea of once again dealing with his child alone. An answering look of regret crossed Mallory’s face as if she wanted to keep helping them regardless of the distance her words were creating.

  “Whatever happens next,” she said, “know that there are adults in this world who can’t face what Polly’s trying to. Some people never consciously work through the kind of trauma a child endures when she loses a parent. Be proud of her for trying. Then be there for her, no matter what, and you’ll both be fine.”

  Her rock-solid confidence made Pete almost believe he could manage the rest of this on his own. It was utter bullshit—he was a medical professional who’d lost his wife to a disease that no amount of prayer or expensive treatments or holistic alternatives could defeat. He was a man who understood that the world was primarily beyond anyone’s control—especially his. And he hated everyone for that reality, himself most of all.

  He needed help, he accepted fully for the first time. But if this was as far as Mallory could go, if she still needed to back away as much as she seemed to last night, then he’d be forever grateful that she’d done as much as she had.

  “I’ve pretty much been a blind bastard.” It felt good to say it, and to see her easy smile of agreement. “And Polly’s paying the price.”

  “She’s an angry little girl.” Mallory winced. “You could have heard her all over the school, yelling at Julia how much she hated everyone and wanted us to leave her alone.”

  “Even you?”

  “I was holding her in my lap. I don’t think she was aware of it, but she was holding on, too. She wasn’t running or shoving at me or trying to get down, but she definitely didn’t want to be there. Has she had a problem with Julia Davis before?”

  “Julia is—was—one of Emma’s best friends. Sam Perry from down the lane, too. Polly used to love both of them as if they were second mommies, and they’re terribly worried about her. But she won’t even look at them now. She’s afraid of them, just like she is of everybody else.”

  “You should ask her why when the time is right. She’s probably finished her snack. Any other kid would be crawling all over us by now, trying to interrupt because they’re bored or feeling left out.”

  “She’s afraid of me most of all.”

  It was unforgivable how he’d let Polly’s grief drag on unchecked for so long. A million years could pass, and he’d never want to deal with what losing Emma had done to them. He’d promised his wife she didn’t have to worry. Now he was petrified to open a door and try to pull their precious child into a hug.

  “What if she still won’t talk to me?” he asked.

  His wife had been his entire world since he’d been little more than a bo
y himself. According to the well-meaning friends who’d come to her funeral and the house afterward, he’d lost her so she could go on to a better place, so he and Polly could move on from the horror of watching her suffer. He should be grateful she was finally at peace.

  But how could you move on when you were the one left behind? Where was the gratitude in knowing his daughter thought she had to forget Emma so they could have Christmas? As if she knew a part of him wanted the holiday to go away, too, and leave him alone to curse every sacred thing he’d once believed in.

  “She’ll talk,” Mallory assured him, “once she knows you’re really listening.”

  “Wanna tell me how I’m going to convince her that I finally am?”

  Mallory’s touch closed over his fingers, covering Emma’s vintage pin.

  “I think she’s already told you how.”

  Pete’s gaze locked onto their hands. It was on the tip of his tongue to beg her to keep helping them. But something about all of this was clearly unsettling her on a personal level. She had a right to do what was best for her, while he manned up and became a better father all on his own.

  If he didn’t convince Polly to let him share her sadness and help it get better, he might lose her for good.

  No more running.

  No more hiding.

  For either of them.

  Chapter Six

  If recollecting were forgetting,

  Then I remember not;

  And if forgetting, recollecting,

  How near I had forgot…

  Ms. Phillips hadn’t talked much on the way home from school. She hadn’t given Polly Mommy’s pin back, so they could pretend she hadn’t said anything. She hadn’t asked Polly about what she’d said, even though Polly knew the school nurse was probably talking to Daddy about it right now, since Ms. Phillips had left the kitchen to answer the door and hadn’t come back yet and it had been a really long time.