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

by Anna DeStefano

  She hadn’t said she’d help Polly forget, either, even though she’d brought Polly home with her. Maybe what she was telling Daddy was that Polly wasn’t going to be able to visit her anymore, at home to see her tree or at the clinic.

  Polly drank another gulp of milk from a glass with some blue cartoon character on it. Ms. Phillips had smiled when she’d given it to Polly, like she really believed this was all going to be okay. Except as Polly rubbed her finger over the blue guy’s white beard and droopy red hat, she could hear the grown-ups talking. They were closer now, on the other side of the kitchen door, maybe, but keeping their voices down so she wouldn’t hear them.

  Her stomach was starting to burn. And she suddenly wanted to throw the happy little smiling man glass across the room so when Daddy got to the kitchen he would talk about the mess she’d made with her milk and her crying at school and yelling at Mrs. Davis, and not about how Polly had said out loud what she never should have said at all.

  She’d thought for sure Ms. Phillips would understand. Only Polly hadn’t asked right, and she hadn’t been able to stay and hear what the school nurse said, and then there’d been so many people in the clinic, and…

  She took another bite of the sandwich Ms. Phillips had made her, just as the door swung open and Daddy was standing there, Ms. Phillips right behind him. He looked so upset, the way he never was before Mommy got sick. Bread and tuna wadded in Polly’s throat, choking her. She fumbled for her drink. It slipped through her fingers and crashed into shards of milk and glass on Ms. Phillips’s white floor.

  The tears were coming again, the ones Daddy couldn’t stand and only Mommy had known how to stop. The really scary ones, not like when Polly was fake crying because she wanted something she’d been told she couldn’t have or had gotten into trouble or was mad.

  These were the ugly tears she hated, pouring out of her eyes and down her cheeks. Feeling them was like being in the middle of a bad dream she couldn’t wake up from, like watching Mommy go away. They hurt so much, but they were always there, and they never stayed inside anymore no matter how hard she tried to make them. She was choking on them now, on her food and the thought of Christmas getting closer and it being awful.

  Then suddenly Daddy’s arms were around her, holding her, squeezing—and somehow his hug didn’t make her feel so alone this time. Because while Ms. Phillips cleaned up the glass and the milk he wasn’t telling Polly shhhh. Or fake smiling and saying it was okay because he needed her to believe it was. Or wiping away her tears wishing she’d make herself stop. He was holding on, like Mommy used to, like he used to hold Mommy when they didn’t think Polly was watching. Like she was the most important thing no matter what, and he’d never let go.

  He smelled so good, felt so good, so much like before, Polly’s tears got worse. She wanted him to tell her she could just cry and stop pretending. She wanted to feel Daddy holding her back and crying, too, like he had that night, the night he’d said Mommy was gone forever.

  After that night he’d never just let her cry and keep crying the way Mommy had let her so many times in the end. Not until today. Only he had to stop. He had to turn Polly loose now or she was going to mess things up even more.

  “Let me go.” She pushed him away, thinking about that last night and how she’d missed Mommy every day since and how it was never going to be the same. “Let me go, Daddy.”

  She was kicking, screaming the words, shoving at him like a baby, like a bratty baby the way she had at school when Mrs. Davis had wanted to be nice, but her It’s okay smile made Polly remember how Mrs. Davis and her mommy used to laugh and smile for real. The way Mommy and Daddy used to laugh and smile and tickle each other and Polly, too.

  “Go away,” she begged her memories while Daddy knelt there next to her, staring at her, and still he didn’t say anything.

  His face wasn’t fake smiling at all. It was just what she’d thought she’d wanted. It was Daddy, feeling just like she was instead of what he wanted her to be. But now that he was, it was awful, and she was the one who wanted to pretend. She was the one who wanted him to stop, needed him to stop.

  She flew to Ms. Phillips, afraid instead of happy. She felt confused instead of safe. She felt alone, even though Daddy was there being a real daddy again and wanting her just the way she was, messing up and all.

  Her neighbor caught Polly and held her, kneeling beside the table and Daddy, too, rocking Polly and somehow making it feel good and easy to be in her arms because there were no memories there. There was just the great way she always smelled, like chocolate and cotton candy, that wasn’t like anyone Polly had ever met before. It always made her want to smile, even when she couldn’t do anything but cry.

  “I don’t want to,” Polly heard herself saying, over and over again. “I don’t want to. I can’t. Tell him I can’t. It’ll ruin everything…”

  Remembering made everything awful, and not just because of other people. She didn’t want to remember. Polly didn’t want to ever remember anymore if it was going to feel like this. She wanted all the awful things to go away so all the good things would come back, and if she remembered that would never happen.

  “You can’t what?” Daddy was beside them sounding like he’d been crying just like Polly, though he never cried. Not once. Not since that awful night Polly wanted to forget most of all. “I’m right here, Polly. You can tell me yourself, and I’ll listen this time. I promise. We have to start talking again. About all of it. No matter how much it hurts. Talking, not forgetting, is the only way Christmas and everything else are going to get better. There’s nothing you can’t say to me, sweet pea.”

  That name. The one she hadn’t heard in forever. Sweet pea. It made her remember so much more. It was what he’d called her every night before, when he and Mommy tucked her into bed. She didn’t want him to call her that now. Hearing it made her tears worse. But she wanted him to say it again, too. Over and over again. It felt so good inside, like hugs and Christmas and her grandparents and school and the other kids and even Mrs. Davis used to feel good.

  It felt like Mommy was there with them when he said it, hearing him call Polly the name only he called her, which was making her nickname feel awful now just like everything else. Because Mommy wasn’t there. She would never be there again.

  “I can’t.” Polly peeked from where she was crying all over Ms. Phillips’s nurse clothes from school. “I can’t remember…It hurts. I don’t want it to hurt anymore. I don’t want to remember…”

  “You don’t want to remember your mommy?” Daddy sounded as bad as Polly felt.

  He was so strong. He saved people every day. And when he’d used to pull the covers up under her chin at night, Polly used to believe he was a prince, her and her mommy’s prince, who’d never let anyone hurt his princesses, not ever. But the cancer had hurt Mommy anyway, and she’d gone away, and so had the old Daddy as if he didn’t know how to save anything anymore. Only now he was saying they had to remember to get better.

  He reached for her hand, uncurling it from where she was holding on to Ms. Phillips’s. Polly tried to jerk away, thinking he was going to pull her back into his arms. Instead he was giving her something cool and smooth and familiar. Then he let her go.

  “Whiskers,” Polly whispered, looking down at her mommy’s favorite pin and remembering every single time Mommy had worn it, and how Daddy had always teased her, and how easy it had been back then to be with him and Mommy and everybody.

  “Your mommy always wanted a cat named Whiskers,” he said. “I’m sorry it’s been so long since we’ve talked about her, sweet pea. I never meant for you to think that you shouldn’t.”

  He covered Polly’s hand, reaching around Ms. Phillips to do it, like they were both holding her. And somehow it didn’t hurt so much, not like when he’d hugged her before. It felt tingly and warm like it used to.

  “She always wished you could have had a pet,” he said. “She knew how much you wanted one. A cat more than anything
. She told me how you loved this pin the most. She talked all the time about getting you a kitty of your own, no matter how much it would make her sneeze.”

  Polly shook her head, not wanting to hear but not wanting Daddy to stop talking, either, like Mommy could still be there with them somehow and it didn’t have to hurt.

  “Ms. Phillips tells me you were pretty mad at the clinic,” Daddy said. “That you were upset with Mrs. Davis. But Mrs. Davis isn’t who you’re really mad at, is it?”

  Polly buried her head against Ms. Phillips’s shoulder.

  Ms. Phillips had given Whiskers to Daddy like she didn’t want to help. But she was holding tight to Polly now. The walls of her pretty kitchen were too close, and Polly couldn’t hear anything but the ringing in her ears and the empty sound of everything she didn’t want to think and feel. But she didn’t want to be anywhere else, either. Her neighbor felt so good. She felt like the last time Polly had cuddled with Mommy and believed it was all going to be okay.

  “I get so mad sometimes,” Daddy was saying, “I can’t hear anything else. I hate the world and everyone and everything in it, because Mommy’s gone. But I don’t want to let anyone else see how much. And that makes me do things I wish later that I hadn’t done. It makes me want to say I’m sorry to all the people I’m hurting when I’m so mad. Especially you, sweet pea. I’m so sorry I haven’t made things better for you.”

  Polly was sorry, too, even though she couldn’t say it. All she could do was hold on while Daddy talked.

  “Is that why you asked me to help you forget your mommy?” Ms. Phillips asked. “Because you’re feeling things you don’t think you should? And you’re scared to let it out like you did today, because of what people will say and think and what it will do to things like Christmas?”

  Polly kept shaking her head, trying to make the words go away. Because she was mad, just like Daddy. She was so mad she wanted to scream at Ms. Phillips like she had at Mrs. Davis. Only it wasn’t the school nurse or their neighbor or the other kids at school or even Daddy who she was mad at most.

  It was Mommy.

  She had to stop remembering Mommy, because she hated her most of all for going away—and herself and the stupid pin she was squeezing too hard right now so her hand would hurt instead of the awful things inside her. She wanted to throw Whiskers across the room. She wanted to throw all her favorite memories away forever.

  “I get so mad sometimes…” Daddy’s voice sounded like he was choking on Polly’s sandwich. He sounded like he had when he’d told Polly that Mommy was gone. “Because…It hurts. Everything hurts, and I didn’t want you to know, Polly. I wanted you to get better, and I was worried you wouldn’t if I didn’t get better first. So I tried to forget what’s making me hurt and mad, only I shouldn’t have. I never should have made you think you had to do that, too.”

  Polly clutched Mommy’s pin even tighter. Or was it Daddy’s fingers pressing around hers that were tighter? Or Ms. Phillips’s arms squeezing Polly closer? Or Daddy’s arms wrapping around them both so he could hold Polly, too? It felt so good, even with the memories coming so fast now.

  “I know I’ve let you down,” he said. “I know I’m not helping enough. But please don’t think you have to give Mommy up to make me or anyone else happy. You should never have to let go of anything that you remember about her.”

  “Don’t want to remember anymore!” Polly screamed, holding tighter to all the arms around her, and pushing them away harder, and curling closer to Ms. Phillips and away from Daddy while she secretly hoped he’d never let her go ever again. Everything was swirling so fast in her mind. “Don’t want bedtime stories or dinner or playtime or her dumb, stupid jewelry or anything. I just want to forget it all so Christmas will be better. I hate it. I hate her. She ruined everything, and now everything’s broken and messed up and I don’t want to remember any of it ever again!”

  She went to throw the pin, Mommy’s favorite thing in the whole world. But the hand holding Polly’s stopped her.

  “What if you don’t have to remember for a while?” Ms. Phillips said. “But you don’t have to throw your mom’s things away, either? You don’t have to hate her, Polly, to let go for as long as you need to. I’ll hold on to Whiskers and any other memory you don’t want for as long as you and your Daddy need me to. But you don’t have to give any of it up, sweetie. You can be as mad and angry as you need to be, for as long as you need to be, until you can remember all the things about your mommy that you loved—until thinking about her feels good again. It’ll all be waiting here for you when you want it back…”

  Polly stopped struggling, stopped crying, stopped everything.

  She looked up at her neighbor, with her kitchen full of magical colors all around them, and stared. Because Ms. Phillips was saying exactly what Polly had wanted all along, deep inside. What she hadn’t known how to say, but Ms. Phillips had understood anyway.

  Polly hated feeling like she hated her mommy. ’Cause she really didn’t. She really didn’t want to forget her, either. She just wanted it to stop hurting, and she wanted Daddy and everyone else to treat her normal again, and act normal again, and she wanted Christmas most of all, like she’d have had Christmas if Mommy hadn’t died.

  “I’ll keep it all safe.” Ms. Phillips took the pin and winked, even though she looked sad, too. “You can leave anything here you need to. I have tons of room. It’s—”

  “Are you sure you want to do that?” Daddy pulled Polly a little closer. “You’ve already done so much.”

  Something inside Polly screamed. Something so soft, so hopeful, she was afraid to let it out. She’d die if Ms. Phillips took back what she’d said.

  “It’s not an imposition,” Ms. Phillips said, whatever imposition meant. She was looking down at Polly and then at Whiskers and smiling, like helping them was making her feel better, too.

  “You left work early today,” Daddy said, “because I haven’t been around enough to help my little girl.” He hugged Polly. “I’m going to be here from now on, for as long as it takes. Today won’t happen again, whatever I have to arrange at work to make sure I’m here for Polly.”

  “My office was the last place I wanted to be today,” Ms. Phillips said. “Really, coming home early was a treat.”

  “We kept you up late last night.”

  “I don’t sleep that much…”

  “Well that definitely makes you perfect for us, since Polly and I have practically turned into creatures of the night.”

  Polly giggled at her daddy’s silliness, and so did Ms. Phillips. And Daddy was smiling now instead of frowning.

  “How about if Polly helps me out around here with some things I’ve had piling up?” Ms. Phillips said. “Would that make you feel better about her coming over when she thinks she needs to?”

  Polly held her breath, holding as still as she could. Please let Daddy say yes. Please…

  “It might make things easier,” Ms. Phillips said. “She’d have a break, and then going home would feel better than both of you staying cooped up together all the time.”

  Polly looked at how Ms. Phillips was holding on to Whiskers so easy, like it was no big deal. “Please?” she begged, turning to face her daddy. “Can I? Please?”

  “Polly…”

  He was going to say no again. She could tell. But then he was reaching for her face, too. His finger rubbing her cheek the way he used to every time he’d called her a princess at bedtime. Only now he was wiping away the tears, and he hadn’t asked her to stop crying.

  “Please, Daddy? I’ll be a good girl, I promise. I won’t cry or anything.”

  “Sweet pea,” he said. “Even if it’s okay with Ms. Phillips, you’re so tired when you get home from school. You’re still not feeling well, and there’s dinner that you need to eat sooner than I’m sure Ms. Phillips eats at night, and—”

  “She can eat here,” Ms. Phillips whispered, as if her voice had gotten tired or something. Then she took a deep breath a
nd smiled a smile Polly had never seen her make before. The kind adults used when something was wrong only they didn’t want you to know it. “If we’re in the middle of something and she gets hungry, it won’t be a problem for me to whip up a healthy snack.”

  “I’ll eat whatever she says I should,” Polly quickly promised. “I won’t be any trouble at all. You’ll see.”

  “Sure,” Daddy said, “as long as whatever Ms. Phillips serves is coated in sugar.”

  “No, anything. Even broccoli.” It was Polly’s least favorite vegetable, but if broccoli meant seeing Ms. Phillips whenever she needed to and bringing over more of Mommy’s things and feeling better at home without having to give Mommy up for good, that’s what Polly would eat. What else could she promise to make them both see how much she wanted this? “You won’t have to get me anything else for Christmas, either. I won’t wish for anything at all from Santa.”

  “Really?” Ms. Phillips’s grin was softer now and more like her real one. “We’ll be fine,” she said to Polly. “And I’ll have slave labor for some of the work I can’t get done on my own around here.”

  “She might be too tired after school to be much good to you as an indentured servant.” Daddy looked funny at Ms. Phillips, like he used to at the puzzles he’d helped Polly work when she was little.

  “Then I’ll help on the weekend, too,” Polly rushed to say. “I’ll go to bed as early as you say on Friday night, Daddy, and help Ms. Phillips all day Saturday.”

  “Well…um.” Ms. Phillips’s weird smile was back. “Saturdays are when I go into Atlanta, and…”

  “And?” Daddy asked.

  He was smiling now, too, bigger than Polly had seen him smile in a long time. And his eyes looked that way they did when he was having a good time teasing one of the friends he and Mommy used to have over to the house all the time. Polly looked back and forth between the adults, more confused than ever.

  Daddy wasn’t saying no anymore. It was really going to happen. So why was Ms. Phillips acting so strange all of a sudden?