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

by Anna DeStefano

  Mallory smiled as Pete introduced her to Brian, Sam’s husband. She held tightly to Polly’s hand amid the bustle of adults and kids of all ages milling around the spacious first floor of the house. Polly had been so excited about the party when she and Pete had shown up at Mallory’s place. Now she appeared to be as rattled as Mallory was by the mayhem they’d walked into.

  Did this many people actually live along the twisting turns of Mimosa Lane?

  Pete swept them into more introductions. Mallory shook with her free hand and smiled, ever aware of the clinging weight of the little girl who was sticking to her like glue. Polly’s hold on Mallory grew tighter and tighter by the moment. And through it all, the half hour it took them to complete the entire circuit of the party, Mallory felt her own anxiety deepen as she tried to relax into everyone’s exuberance for the holiday season.

  There were snowmen and Santas and elves adorning every flat surface. Each room had its own Christmas tree, some more than one, in all shapes and sizes and styles. Some were live trees, while others ran the gamut of what was available on the artificial end of the spectrum. And each tree had been designated its own theme.

  Victorian, animals, snowflakes, modern, fishing, baked goods, pets, and the list went on. One even sported miniature garden implements and flowers and so forth, and Mallory was guessing that one was Sam’s favorite. And in the media room, which also seemed to function as the Perry boys’ playroom, was the tree that was Mallory’s favorite above all the rest.

  Cade and Joshua, the adorable yet already wanting-to-be-grown Perry boys who were playing foosball with some of their buddies, had made a typical mess of most of the Christmas art they’d done over the years at school—the kinds of projects teachers had students create as presents for their parents. But Sam and Brian had clearly treasured each Popsicle stick, construction paper, and macaroni creation as if it were cast from gold.

  A floor-to-ceiling artificial white tree boasted the collection of mostly red-and-green ornaments. There were some turkeys, created for Thanksgiving but nonetheless included in the mix. The rest of the decorations consisted of every possible Christmas-themed project that could be made from snapshots and handprints and footprints and poems, garlands and popcorn and dried berries and nuts. All hastily crafted and colored the way most boys attacked artwork, as if they were speeding to be finished first and competing to see who could act as if they cared the least about the quality of the result. But each and every lovingly hung ornament was breathtakingly beautiful to Mallory.

  “They do this every year,” Polly said beside her, speaking for the first time since they’d arrived. She let go of Mallory’s hand to step closer and finger several of the ornaments hung low enough on the tree for her to reach. “The boys get their own tree, and they mostly act like it’s a pain to have one in their game room. But last year Mrs. Perry said they wouldn’t put it up if that’s what Cade and Joshua really wanted, and Cade went and dug the tree out of their storage room in the garage and pulled it out himself. He’s the oldest,” she said in awe, as if the older boy who looked to be around twelve were closer to twenty-one. “He said he didn’t want to make his mom sad, since she’d miss having it. But I think he secretly likes it as much as she does.” Pete had stepped a few feet away to talk with Brian and another man—Julia Davis’s husband, Walter. Mallory knelt beside Polly and reached out to touch a red-and-green-painted, glitter-adorned paper plate that had been hacked up to resemble a snowflake. Turning it over, she read the inscription on the back. It had been written in a teacher’s steady hand.

  LOVE YOU ALWAYS, JOSHUA. CHRISTMAS 2009.

  She smiled, watching Polly until the little girl looked over at her and smiled, too.

  “You guys have no idea how much the littlest things mean to your parents,” Mallory said.

  Polly nodded, gazing at the years and years of Christmas that had been draped over every inch of the tree. “My mommy kept a whole box of mine. She kept everything. Daddy would tease her about it, but she said she found him looking through the box some nights when he couldn’t sleep and he didn’t think she would see. Maybe I could…”

  She brushed her hand over the tree as if it were infinitely precious and fragile.

  “Maybe you could what?” Mallory asked.

  Polly looked around at the crowd of people filling the one room. Most of the dads were there, watching sports on the flat-panel television behind the bar. Cade and Joshua’s friends seemed to be playing every game the boys owned—pool and air hockey in addition to foosball, board games, and there was another group slouched on the sectional sofa playing the video gaming system attached to a smaller TV, loudly cheering one another on.

  “Maybe next year,” Polly said, cringing closer to Mallory as the noise level in the room rose and rose with no limit in sight. “Maybe I could ask Daddy if a tree like this would be okay in my room.”

  Her own tree. One that her parents had never put up or decorated themselves. Something for the holiday that would be Polly’s alone, her very own private perspective of what Christmas meant.

  Mallory hugged her close, thinking that sounded like a wonderful idea. “You keep believing that you can have Christmas exactly the way you want it, however you want it. I’ve gone for too long thinking the holidays were for other people, and that I’d never have a real one.” She once more took in the rowdy, comfortable, friendship-filled room. “I’ve never let myself have one that felt as real as this.”

  “Because you didn’t have a mommy?” Polly’s eyes teared up. It was hard to tell if her emotion was for herself or for Mallory.

  Mallory nodded. “The way I lost her…”

  “Made it hard to want Christmas anymore?”

  Mallory nodded again, facing her own truth the way she’d tried to help Polly face hers. “It was hard to want holidays and birthdays and family and, well, people in general, thinking about how much wanting them could hurt if…”

  “They all went away, too?” Polly nodded. “I want…But I just can’t…”

  “You can’t want everything you had before?” Mallory finished for her this time. “Not this year? That’s okay, sweetheart. You just lost your mommy. It’s okay not to want anything right now but your Daddy and the things you and he need to do with each other to get better. But dream about what your Christmas will be like next year. Let your daddy and people like Mrs. Perry and even Mrs. Davis help you make that happen when the time’s right.”

  “And you? You’ll help me, too? You have the best tree on Mimosa Lane. You’ll help me when I’m ready, won’t you?”

  “Oh, sweetie. That’s my I-don’t-have-a-clue-what-I’m-doing tree. I’d give anything to be able to have a Christmas like the Perrys. One like the ones I thought I’d have when I was a little girl, once everything was better or I was old enough to do what I wanted. Somehow I’ve never figured out how to do that.”

  “So you’ll let people help you do what you want next year, too. Maybe Mrs. Perry would help you. And me and Daddy, too.”

  “Maybe.” Mallory hugged the child, wanting that dream of a magical holiday to come no matter how many Christmases past she’d failed to make special. “I hope so, sweetie.”

  She looked around a little desperately for something to distract them from their impromptu heart-to-heart. It suddenly dawned on her that she hadn’t seen Sam, and they’d been there for close to an hour.

  “Where is Mrs. Perry?” She eased away and gave Polly a watery smile the kid eyed suspiciously.

  “Upstairs. She’s like you and me. She doesn’t like so many people anymore. Not as many as come to a Christmas party.”

  Mallory took in the playroom again and the clamor of nonstop Christmas cheer filtering in from the rest of the party. “But she’s done such a beautiful job. It must have taken her days to get all of this ready.”

  “All week. I helped some. Tuesday night, she let me decorate some of the Christmas cookies.”

  “Then…Why wouldn’t she want to enjoy her
own party?” Sam had created this amazing, perfect thing that Mallory would love to be able to pull off on her own. And the whole world seemed to have shown up to help her celebrate. Yet the beautiful mother of two wasn’t there in the middle of her triumph, laughing and enjoying herself along with her heartthrob-handsome husband.

  She’s like you and me.

  “I think it scares her a little.” Polly fussed with the red bows on the front of her emerald-green dress, revealing nothing more. Maybe she didn’t know any more about where Sam’s fears had actually come from. And maybe—no, definitely—it didn’t really matter. “But I think it makes her sad. Not being able to be like everyone else and feel happy like normal people do.”

  Mallory took the little girl’s hand, stopping Polly from picking one of the bows undone completely. “Do you think she’s upstairs where it’s quiet because it’s easier for her not to be down here?” When Polly nodded with a touch of longing, Mallory squeezed her fingers. “Do you think she’d mind if you took her up a Christmas cookie so she wouldn’t miss out on all the fun? I bet she had a great time having you over for a while on Tuesday. I bet you guys had a blast decorating, cooking, and being quiet and just enjoying being with each other.”

  Polly nodded, slowly at first. Then she smiled. The ribbons holding her hair in ponytails flew. She grabbed Mallory’s hand and dragged her toward the door. “Come on. The cookies will be in the kitchen.”

  Mallory glanced over her shoulder to make sure Pete knew they were heading out. He was tracking their escape. He nodded that it was okay while a worried sort of smile curled at his lips. She tamped down on the impulse to join him for another of the soft kisses he’d given her at her front door. Torn, sharing Polly’s enthusiasm to run, she gave him a wave and consoled herself that they’d have more time together later. And that it, like coming to the party, would be worth the risk she was taking in getting closer.

  She’d worked in the city all that morning at a shelter closer to Piedmont Park, distracted and agitated because there was still no news about her mother. She’d missed having the Lombards with her, she and Pete agreeing that a day downtown would have been too much for Polly on top of the Perrys’ party. Now she had them close again—Pete and his smile and the promise of his touch and his kisses, and Polly, whose hand held Mallory’s trustingly as they wound their way around happy groups of their neighbors.

  They ignored the curious glances cast their way and the polite attempts to say hello. Polly was on a mission, heading straight for the cake stand on the rustic kitchen table. There were multiple layers of tiny brownies and chocolate-covered strawberries and hand-decorated cookies.

  Polly dove in, picking out the most garish creations of the bunch, no doubt the cookies she’d adorned herself with red and green and white icing, plus sprinkles and sparkly sugar crystals and tiny silver balls. Her youthful enthusiasm for the holiday seemed to have exploded all over the snowmen and reindeer and Christmas bells and Santas she selected.

  Mallory grabbed a cut-glass plate and an embroidered napkin, charmed by her young friend’s selection. “I think that’s good for now,” she said when Polly would have dived back in for more. “We don’t want to send Mrs. Perry into sugar shock.”

  Polly giggled. She glanced around Mallory at Julia Davis and a pair of other women Mallory recognized as some of the moms on the lane. They were headed their way from the living room. Polly grabbed Mallory’s hand and giggled again as they made their grand escape, darting up the staircase at the back of the kitchen. They tiptoed like thieves across the second floor’s plush beige carpet.

  Christmas was everywhere up there, too. Mallory glanced into each bedroom they passed. The decorations were more charmingly done, more subdued. But this was clearly a holiday the Perry family reveled in, milking the weeks between Thanksgiving and New Year’s for all the goodness they could charm out of them.

  “Wow,” was all she could say.

  “Mrs. Perry says it takes weeks to put everything away,” Polly said. “She keeps it all organized so Mr. Perry can find stuff again next year and put it all back out again after Thanksgiving. He doesn’t mind, he says. Anything that makes Mrs. Perry smile makes him and Cade and Joshua happy, too. She doesn’t smile so much, you know?”

  Polly checked to see if Mallory did in fact know. And while she didn’t exactly, Mallory nodded mutely, because they’d stopped at the end of the hallway, and the woman sitting on the pillow-covered couch in the office to their right was staring at them. Sam had heard every word Polly had said. With little girl innocence, Polly grabbed the plate Mallory was carrying and rushed toward their stunned neighbor, thrusting the treats at her.

  “We brought you some of the party,” she said with a proud grin. “Because we understand why you don’t want to be around people even though you love Christmas as much as we do.”

  “There are too many people for us down there.” Mallory approached more cautiously, trying to gauge whether the silent, composed, casually dressed woman wanted them to turn tail and scamper back down the stairs to rejoin the rest of her guests. “Polly and I needed a break, and she wanted you to have the best of the cookies before they’re all gone.”

  Sam swallowed. Her pulse pounded away at the base of her neck. Mallory could only imagine the tantrum Sam’s heartbeat was making beneath a navy-blue sweatshirt that boasted an embroidered over-jolly, rosy-cheeked Frosty the Snowman. Her ensemble made Mallory feel better about the gaudy Rudolph sweater she’d chosen to wear herself, having no idea what would blend in at her first neighborhood party.

  Sam looked at Polly and it was as if she fell in love with the child all over again. She took the plate, then opened her arms to receive Polly’s smothering hug.

  “Thank you, sweetie,” she said. “You know I think each of your creations is an absolute masterpiece. I was hoping there’d be one left later when I headed down.” She cast Mallory a welcoming grin. “Have a seat. Only the very brave venture this far upstairs. You’ll be safe here until things quiet down a bit.”

  Mallory crossed to the couch. Picking up a book that sat open on the cushion, she sank gratefully into the rose-emblazoned upholstery that staked the other woman’s definitive claim on the room. Looking down, she saw that she was holding a yearbook—from Booker Primary, the cover said, the 1999-2000 school year. LEARNING LARGE IN THE BIG CITY, the tagline read. The words floated over one of the world’s most recognizable skylines. She flipped back to the pages the book had been lying open to, a retrospective of the preschool holiday program.

  “How cute.” She handed it to Sam while Polly crawled onto the couch to sit between them. Mallory’s thoughts ran toward her own preschool experience—it had been the year just before her mother had taken her away from her grandparents. “Did you—”

  “She used to teach school in New York,” Polly said, which went a long way toward explaining the uniqueness of Sam and Brian’s accents.

  And now she hid herself away in her house, and apparently couldn’t tolerate the bustle of a sedate place like Mimosa Lane? Sam studied Mallory’s silent reaction. Then she sighed, closing the book and rubbing her hands over the raised image on its cover.

  “I was right out of college,” she said. “This was my first class of students all my own. Pre-K. I taught in a private elementary school. At the time, it was located across from the Twin Towers. Of course they’ve moved now, several blocks away from the reconstruction.”

  1999-2000.

  Learning Large in the Big City.

  Sam’s second year of teaching would have started in the fall of 2001, right across from the World Trade Center.

  Mallory suddenly couldn’t breathe.

  The reality of what her neighbor had just shared sank in like an anvil landing on her heart. A school of young boys and girls, little more than babies, learning in the shadow of one of New York City’s largest business complexes. Mallory thought of the kids she’d gotten to know in just the few months she’d worked at Chandler Elementary, th
en of the threat of anything happening to them.

  “We got all the children out just fine,” Sam explained, keeping the details cryptic enough for them not to affect Polly, who sat happily between them munching on one of her cookies. “The city was shut down that day, of course, once it happened. No cars or public transportation in or out. We had to walk them off the island and wait in one of the boroughs for family to come for them. But all along, we knew…Most of their parents worked in the towers. And it was only a matter of time before we began to hear…”

  “You were there?” Mallory wanted to pull Polly into her lap. She wanted to sit closer to Sam, maybe take her hand. As if that could dissipate the trauma of what the other woman had been through, the effects of which Sam was clearly still dealing with more than a decade later. “You saw it all happen?”

  “We heard them hit.” Sam flinched as if reliving the shock of hearing planes tear through buildings and lives and futures. “We kept the kids inside…until it was over, but we heard the buildings come down. Then when they told us to evacuate, we had to…walk through all of the debris, even though our school wasn’t right at Ground Zero. And all my kids…”

  Mallory couldn’t imagine. She was startled when Polly chose that moment to crawl into her lap. She hugged the little girl’s sweet, healthy body close.

  “You were their hero that day,” Mallory said, thinking of the fire and rescue warriors, like Pete, who’d given so much—some of them had given their lives—to keep so many safe. Hadn’t Sam and her fellow teachers, little more than young girls themselves, done the same thing for their students?

  “It wasn’t enough,” Sam said. “Their parents…Most of them didn’t make it. It took us all day to get to Brooklyn. Brian met me there, but I couldn’t leave. Not until everyone had family to go home with, my kids that year and the ones I’d had the year before.” The story was tumbling out now, flowing from Sam’s memory in a jerky rush as she clung to the yearbook. “It took forever, but…”