Christmas With Granny McPherson

by Nellie K Neves

  He made his choice. I didn’t rank high enough. The inn was empty before, no guests, no Evan. Now that I have guests, it feels even emptier without him. But I use his cookbook every morning, Breakfast with Granny McPherson. At least I haven’t started any fires. Even the fireplace remains cold. I’ve tried to light it four times since Evan left, but he had the magic touch. No matter of pleading will get a flame to stay lit.

  I straighten the stockings over the fireplace. At least the décor stayed, just like he promised. It’s a bittersweet memory every time I look at it, but I know he meant well. Some people are too conflicted to find peace. It’s not like I can judge. I’ve been so hung up on making my grandparent’s dream come true, I nearly ruined myself in the process.

  At least, because of the Christmas specials, I’ve found some balance. I’m hiring a few staff members, one for the kitchen, one for housekeeping, and another to work the books. It leaves me to manage and deal with the guests. The extra money will allow me to update a few more rooms, and I probably won’t even cringe when the contractors start drilling into the walls. It’s my house now, and I can’t live in the past forever.

  One of the stockings won’t hang properly. The toe sags two inches lower. I pull it from the hook, surprised by the weight. Reaching my hand inside, I find a box. Tied to the bow is a small card.

  “To Brooke,” I read aloud. It’s Evan’s handwriting. He must have left it for me the day of the party. I peel back the cover on the box, curious what he might have gifted me. Nestled in a bed of cotton, a silver necklace catches the light. I twist the ice skate pendant until I can read the writing engraved on a silver tag. “Hang on tight.”

  My heart pulls for that day on the ice. I was trying to put distance between us to keep myself from falling any farther, and poor Evan was trying to keep from falling on his face. I wonder if life is a long line of moments you wish you could have done differently. Maybe we were never on the same page.

  I cradle the pendant in my hands, the heavy chain hanging off the back of my palm. If I’d found this that day he gave it to me, would I have gone through with it? Was he begging me in his own way to stop him? I’ve run that conversation over and over in my mind. He didn’t want to say it. I know that now. At least, I think I do. Obligation forced his hand.

  It was over before we had a chance to jump ship. With every eye on us, not to mention the nation watching, we ran the course and paid the price. I might never know what really happened, or how he really felt.

  Christmas is coming.

  I’m still alone.

  No miracle in sight.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Evan

  “Stop glaring, Evan.” The director, Brad, frowns again. “You’re happy, remember?”

  “I thought I was supposed to be bad.” I tug at the leather apron again. Stupid thing chafes without a shirt on.

  “Bad, but approachable. You look like you’re gonna snap that wooden spoon in half.”

  “I might.” I shift to try to find a comfortable position, but that sort of thing doesn’t exist when you’re half-naked, wearing a leather apron, in front of a camera crew.

  “Let’s take five, people. Someone get some more oil on him. He’s not glistening anymore.” Brad makes some motion with his hand and the crew dissipates. I yank at the apron until it’s a ball of leather on the ground. If anyone comes near me with oil, I’m gonna lose it.

  We’ve been trying to shoot these promos for two days. They want me to fold some egg whites and say something obscene into the camera. I didn’t even whip the egg whites myself. Some other fool did it for me while I was sitting in a makeup chair.

  “Evan.” Andrew comes around the counter into my fake kitchen. “The executives are getting restless. If you can’t shoot this promo, how are we going to get the DVDs, let alone the series done?”

  “I don’t know.” I grab my shirt from beneath the counter and pull it over my head. “If only someone had told you he wasn’t comfortable with this idea. Oh wait, I did.”

  “It’s one shot. One line. It’s not hard.”

  “Then you do it.” I scoop the apron off the floor and chuck it at his head. “This isn’t about cooking. This is selling my body. No one watching is going to learn how to fold egg whites properly. You’re making a fool of me.”

  “I making you a billionaire another couple times over.” He tosses the apron back, but it falls to the floor when I won’t catch it. “I don’t get it, Evan. Why won’t you do this? What’s so bad about being eye candy and selling some cookbooks?”

  “Because I’m not cooking! This isn’t me. Not anymore.” I snap the wooden spoon in half and throw it at the bowl of fallen egg whites. “I need some air.”

  “Evan get back here!” Andrew’s voice follows me as I exit the studio. “Come back here!”

  But I’m not listening. Not this time.

  Chapter 23

  Evan

  I circled the block six times before I parked. It feels stupid showing up to a place like this in my luxury car. I could sell it and feed this neighborhood for the next year. The sign above Manna Meals flickers like it’s barely holding on. More ghosts in my life, but I’m here to bring one back from the dead if I can.

  The bell above the door still jangles as it opens and then as it closes. Eyes turn to me with distrust. I remember watching the suits walk into this place. They’re either here to find a runaway, or they’re here to make promises they can’t keep. Politicians or social workers, but I’m neither. If I make a promise today, I’ll never break it.

  It’s between meals. A few teens play cards in the back corner. The tallest of the bunch stands up and starts toward me. I recognize the look in his eye, the one that says not to cross him. I’m sure he sees it in mine. Hard to lose it after all the years of practice.

  “Can we help you, sir?” He stresses the word until it’s comical, but only his buddies laugh. “Or are you lost?”

  “I’m looking for Santiago. Is he in the back?”

  The young man strokes his hairless chin. I doubt he’s old enough to grow much. “I’m not sure. Maybe you can jog my memory.”

  He’s eyeing my watch. Good taste for a street urchin. I pull it off and dangle it in front of him. “Santi’s alive, right?”

  “I’ll answer that for the watch. I’ll tell you where to find him for your shoes.”

  It’s hard to hide my smirk. The kid has guts. Even I wouldn’t have asked for a rich man’s shoes.

  “The cufflinks are platinum.” I flash one at the skinny criminal. “You should always go for the accessories first. Rich guys don’t walk around in socks. That’s a good way to lose your mark.”

  “Blane! Dustin! What did I tell you about hustling potential donors?”

  I’d recognize his voice anywhere. He hasn’t lost his Latin accent. There’s something comforting in knowing this place hasn’t robbed Santiago of everything yet.

  “You said it’s bad for business when we steal first and ask questions later.” The tall one eyes my watch still hanging between us. He grins at me. “But I did get you Santiago.”

  I toss him the watch. “Deal’s a deal.”

  The little gang of skinny thugs scatter from the room. I watch them leave. My heart runs with them because this place feels more like home than the penthouse where I live.

  “I’m sorry.” Santiago straightens the chairs the boys knocked over in their hasty exit. “You didn’t have to do that, but Blane’s a good kid. He’ll hock it, sure, but the money won’t go to drugs. He’s been trying to rent a space to teach kickboxing lessons to the kids around here. Watch like that will get him all sorts of rent.”

  I stare at my old friend. The years have been kind to him for the most part. More gray at his roots, but he’s still got a head of hair. More wrinkles at his eyes and around his mouth, but I’d wager they’re all from laughing. His hands look worn, but it means he hasn’t strayed from the kitchen. Hardly a cent to his name, but I swear he’s richer than I’ll
ever be.

  “You work with a lot of teens?” I pick up a cloth and wipe down some of the tables. The motion comes naturally to me. We used to clean this place up after every meal. When we finished, Santi taught us how to play poker, but we bet uncooked noodles instead of cash. I think that’s where I perfected my steel face.

  “Yeah. They think they’re bad, and they can make it on the street. I try to keep them safe. Keep the girls from getting pregnant or sold, stop the boys from dealing, it’s a full-time job.”

  “Sounds like good work.”

  “A bit thankless, but I can’t imagine any other way.”

  I wipe the last table, coming up next to him. “Thankless? I’m sure they’re grateful.”

  “In their own way. But it’s like starting a book and never finishing it. One day Blane won’t come back here, and I may never know why. I’ll never know what happened to him. They don’t come home again.”

  I stretch my jaw to the left until the emotion stops building. Clearing my throat, I look up at my old friend. “They don’t all stay away forever.”

  His eyes squint. Sensing something, he fumbles in his pocket for a pair of glasses. He jams them on his face as fast as he can. With the clarity, he sees me.

  “Evan? Evan, is that you? Did you really come home?”

  I can’t stop the tears, but there’s no shame when they’re falling down his cheeks as well.

  “Yeah Santi, I’m home.”

  Without another word, he pulls me close and clasps his arms around me. I dig my face into his neck, relishing the smell of my first family. We cry in each other’s arms for a while, happy to be reunited, as if the years apart never happened. I have to admit, a part of me wishes I’d never left.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Evan

  “Let me get this straight, you hired an old lady to pretend to be you?”

  “Stop laughing.” I’ve told him the story of Granny McPherson at least six times, but this is where he gets locked up every freaking time. “It worked, okay?” I nudge him with my foot. “I sent you checks. You never cashed them.”

  “I didn’t want your grandma fraud cash.” He leans back in his chair. “You know I never wanted to see you hide behind anyone, especially not an old lady.” The thought releases another fit of laughter. I can’t help but join in. My life is in shambles, but if I have an option between laughing and crying, I’d rather laugh. Santi taught me that. It feels good to remember it.

  “And you had a girl, but now you don’t?”

  “We were front page news for a couple weeks, Santi. How’d you miss it?”

  He opens his arms wide. “I’m single handedly trying to end hunger, Evan. I don’t have time for your drama.” He smirks. “But I caught wind of a little bit. She’s a hot little firecracker, isn’t she?”

  “No time for drama, huh?”

  “One or two episodes because the girls were watching it.” His hands come up in his defense. “I didn’t know it was you. I never heard the names. The screen was small.”

  “Brooke was her name.” It still hurts to say it.

  “Was?” Santi pulls a face. “She dead?”

  I kick his boot again. “No, she’s not dead.”

  “Then why say was?” He rolls his eyes. “Unless she’s dead, or she’s changed her name, she’s still Brooke.”

  “Was is because I messed up. We’re the was. She was the best thing that ever happened to me.” I watch Santi’s eyebrows lift in question. I amend my statement. “Present company excluded, of course.”

  “So fix it.”

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “It’s always that simple, it just might not be easy.” Santi leans forward and rests his elbows on his legs. “What’s the hold up?”

  I shift in my metal chair. It still sounds the same as it did when we used to have heart to heart chats like this a decade ago. “She wanted me to take a chance on myself. She said I should tell people my story, the real one, and try to build my career with my own name.”

  “Well that beats leather aprons and old ladies on ecstasy.” Santi smirks. “Sounds like a smart girl.”

  “She is. She’s kind and gentle. She’s tough, but playful. She’s not a total wreck in the kitchen either.”

  “She puts the heat in your burners, right?” His eyebrows flinch, but he doesn’t wait for my answer. “You know I was upset when you told me your plan all those years ago. I think you thought I was mad about you using my recipes, but Evan, I didn’t care. I just didn’t want you to hide who you are.”

  I look around the old building. Paint peels from the walls. Two windows are cracked, but not quite broken. On instinct, I know my initials are carved into the wall in the back corner, not to mention most my friends as well. I thought coming back here would be like visiting a ghost yard, but it’s more like opening an old album and remembering what matters.

  “Evan, forget about getting her back. Focus on finding yourself again. Put your life in order, and the rest will fall in line.”

  He makes it sound easy, but I know it won’t be. Hard decisions have to be made, and there will be casualties in jobs and relationships. But Santi’s right, I need to put my life on the path it should have started on.

  “You ever hear from anyone else? Any of my friends?”

  “Cooper reached out recently. He’s changed his name. And Ari has a pretty bright future, you know she’s always had a way with clothes.” A warm smile spreads over his cheeks. “Actually, I’m proud of all of you, whether you visit or not. You built a life from ashes, and you deserve to inspire others to do the same.”

  I stand up, breathing in the scent of the place I called home for a long time. “I’ll try to come back more often, I promise.”

  Santi nods and tilts his head to the side. “You got a minute?”

  I go to look at my watch, but that’s gone. “Apparently, I have all the time in the world. What do you have in mind?”

  He motions to the kitchen. “Help an old man cook some dinner?”

  I grin. “If you think you can keep up.”

  “I could cook circles around you.”

  “I guess we’ll see about that.” I follow him through the kitchen doors, wondering what the young me would think if he could see me now. Full circle feels good, but circling back to fix it all, that’ll feel better.

  Chapter 24

  Brooke

  I blacked out reservations for Christmas Eve and Christmas day on purpose. After two weeks of nonstop guests, I need a break. The day feels far too chipper for my dour mood. Spending Christmas alone would get anyone down, I think. Even the beautiful decorations feel like they’re mocking me. Sunlight glints off the two feet of snow that fell last night. Probably best that I didn’t offer reservations, I doubt anyone will want to brave the drifts.

  After running through my chores, feeding the animals, and folding a couple loads of laundry, I retire to the living room. I should spend more time on the couch. I tuck my legs underneath me. My fingers capture the ice skate pendant I wear around my neck. He’s close to me, even if it’s an illusion. Spreading a blanket over my legs, I flip on the TV. Might as well sink into an old Christmas movie and pass the time somehow. I flip through the channels, once more struck by the lack of choices in contrast to the price I pay. A banner catches my eye, stopping my channel surfing dead in its tracks.

  Next up, an exclusive tell-all interview with Evan Skruggs, formerly known as Granny McPherson.

  Tell all? It can’t be real. No way would Evan agree to tell everything. Unless…

  I’ve never been this impatient for a commercial to end, but then he’s there, on set, in a chair, facing some journalist named Lyra Perkins. I scoot to the edge of the couch. He looks good, better than I remember. Every time he’s been on camera in the past he twitched, constantly trying to keep busy, but he’s not twitching at all. He’s calm, at peace. He’s not even baking. What changed?

  “Evan, thanks for coming. We’re so happy to have you. W
e’ve spent so much of this holiday season with you, it feels right to interview you on Christmas Eve.”

  He grins as if he agrees. “I have to admit, it’s been a long holiday season for me. I’ve never had family traditions. It’s been fun being able to see what makes this holiday special for people.”

  It’s not blatant honesty, but it’s not dodging at all. My pulse speeds. I ease closer, hanging off his words.

  “Can you talk about that, Evan? There are rumors floating around about your childhood. You made a comment during the Christmas with Granny Holiday Special, and it sparked some interest. Maybe you can cast some light on what you were talking about.”

  “Of course. The last thing I want is for lies or embellishments to circulate.” He clears his throat once and searches for the words. “It’s pretty simple. My parents died when I was four. My uncle was granted custody, but he wasn’t capable of taking care of anyone, including himself. I bounced from foster home to foster home, and occasionally back to my uncle until he lost interest. When I turned thirteen, I figured I could take my chances on my own. I ran away and lived on the streets until I turned eighteen.”

  Lyra presses her hand to her chest. “You were all alone?”

  “Alone is relative. I had other runaways, and we were all looked after by a retired chef named Santiago. He taught us to read, kept our schooling going, and made sure we had a chance at life. He’s the one who taught me to cook. I spent most days working in his soup kitchen he ran to feed the homeless.”

  “Manna Meals, is that right?”

  Evan shifts in his seat. “Yes, that’s the one.”

  “Santiago is here today, isn’t he?

  Evan gives one of his rare wide smiles. “Santi, come on out.” He waves to someone off camera. I wait with baited breath. Evan made things right with Santiago? What has happened in his life since he left me?