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

by Anna DeStefano

  “You loved them.” Mallory fought to keep her voice even. That degree of devotion and dedication and unrelenting love was mesmerizing. No matter how terrified and devastated Sam and the other adults in her school must have been or how many of the parents who’d died had been personal friends, she and her colleagues had stayed for their kids.

  “I couldn’t…” Sam put the book on the small table to the right of the couch. “After that day, I couldn’t see them again. Any of them. Not even my coworkers. I couldn’t…” She watched Mallory hug a sleepy Polly. “I miss it sometimes. Especially around the holidays.”

  Mallory’s mind spun with Sam’s story and what little she’d learned about the Perry family. Sam’s obvious desire to stay connected with people despite her trauma, through things like living where she did and hosting the party rocking away downstairs without her, might just be the bravest testament to resilience Mallory had ever encountered. Her neighbor looked like a fragile Christmas ornament—huddled in her corner of the couch about to break from the strain and confusion of getting through everyday things everyone else took for granted.

  “I haven’t been able to feel the holidays since I was a little girl Polly’s age,” Mallory blurted out, wanting to say something in that moment to let the other woman know she wasn’t alone. “I want to. I keep trying to. I’ve always tried to. But it just doesn’t work for me. I’ve never had a Christmas since…”

  Sam sat a bit straighter and stared at Mallory as if she hadn’t heard her right. “Ever?” She looked beyond the office toward the jolly sound of revelry reaching them from below. “You’ve never…”

  “Been able to enjoy this time of the year? No, not that I can remember. I grew up on the streets, wanting nothing more than a magical tree and a Christmas morning full of presents and a happy family and dinner at a beautifully set table. If I could make that perfect moment happen, everything else would be okay, you know? My grandmother tried after I returned home. But I could never…snap back from what I’d been through. I guess I still haven’t, or I wouldn’t be up here with you tonight, would I?”

  “You were—”

  “Homeless.” Mallory raised an eyebrow, stunned more than her neighbor by how easily the admission had rolled from her lips. You’re wanted here, just the way you are…“For six years, until I was twelve.”

  “Like your mommy?” Polly peered up from Mallory’s lap. “Like the lady we saw downtown last weekend?”

  “Your mother’s still on the streets?” Sam was absolutely riveted, focused on Mallory now instead of her own demons.

  “I don’t know. She left me with my grams when I was twelve, and she never came back.”

  Mallory’s throat closed up with the conflicting waves of rage and guilt and longing that came with her memories, and now everyone on Mimosa Lane and at Chandler Elementary would know. She hugged Polly a little tighter, grateful to her soul when she felt the little girl cuddle up, her soft hair tickling Mallory’s neck and chin. Sam’s features had softened with an encouraging smile.

  Give us a chance…

  “I…” Mallory said. Her voice snagged on the fear of being seen so clearly for who and what she was. She cleared her throat. “I looked for her when I was younger. At some point I had to stop, or I’d always be looking back. But that woman I saw in midtown last week…She could have been in Atlanta for heaven knows how long, and if I’d only been trying to find her—”

  “You couldn’t.” Sam’s voice was fierce, overflowing with conviction. “Not and save yourself. You had to save yourself and get away from what you needed to, to survive, even if that meant not looking for a mother who clearly didn’t want to be found. You did what you had to do, Mallory. You survived.”

  Mallory felt Polly nodding her head. She realized she was silently doing the same as Sam’s understanding beat away at the guilt of seeing her mother in such deplorable shape, still wandering the streets. No matter how furious Mallory still was with her mama’s choices and refusal to accept the help she needed, she still felt responsible for the woman. And that destructive compulsion to fix problems she was never going to be able to fix was what she’d moved to Chandlerville to distance herself from.

  “Sometimes,” Sam said, “when there’s nothing anyone else can do, you have to be your own hero.” Her voice was fragile again. Shaking. “Don’t you think?”

  Time stood still around them. Holiday noises and ghosts from the past and unfulfilled expectations for the future couldn’t touch any of them in that moment. An unspoken connection grew, tying Mallory to this brave woman and the remarkable child between them.

  Heroes could look like Pete at work as an EMT or like the parent volunteers swooping into the school to help with a flu outbreak or even like Mallory dressed in her Glinda finery entertaining kids so they wouldn’t be scared of getting their shots. But sometimes, for some people, when the decision that had to be made was so terrible no one else could make it better, the only hero who could save you was yourself.

  It had been an unspoken, unconscious mantra for Mallory for so long. And for Sam, too, evidently. So much so, being alone and protected and separate had become a lifestyle for them both.

  “How’s girl talk?” a feminine voice asked from the doorway.

  Julia Davis stood there, smiling gently at whatever she’d heard.

  “Are you escaping, too?” Sam’s fondness for the other woman was clear as she waved Julia in to join them. “Have things really gotten that crazy downstairs?”

  “They’re perfect, as always.” Julia relaxed into a nearby club chair with an ease that hinted that this was a regular pattern between them—Mimosa Lane’s outgoing, bubbly social maven settling in for an intimate chat with her introverted friend. “I missed you, and I was jealous. You always have the best time up here, and I didn’t want to be left out of the fun.”

  Polly, preening that she was evidently at the best place in the party, offered Julia the plate of cookies. “I brought all the good ones up for Mrs. Perry.”

  “Of course you did, angel,” Julia said. “Because the hostess of such a fabulous extravaganza deserves no less than the very best of everything, right?”

  Polly nodded enthusiastically. Her happy grin grew even wider, and then she looked up at Mallory “Help Daddy and me do a New Year’s party for everyone. Then you and me could be the hostesses, and everyone could bring us things!”

  Mallory gave a startled laugh at the thought of her and Pete and Polly hosting anything together. Or that the people she’d just met downstairs would converge on this hypothetical event bearing gifts, because she’d of course execute things as flawlessly and beautifully as Sam.

  “Um…” she hedged.

  “That sounds like a wonderful idea,” Julia replied.

  “I’m in,” a deep voice said from the doorway.

  Pete, leaning against the doorjamb with his arms crossed, smiled at the sight of them sitting there talking as if they were lifelong friends.

  “Daddy!” Polly shoved her plate at Mallory and bounded off the couch into her father’s outstretched arms. “Can we have a New Year’s party for everyone? Really?”

  “Do you want a party at our house?” Pete smiled down at his child, basking in Polly’s excitement.

  He’d been intrigued but oddly not surprised to find Mallory so at ease with Emma’s two closest friends. It shocked him all over again how completely he’d misjudged his extended family on Mimosa Lane. Being with them again tonight had felt as easy as coming home after a particularly grueling day at work.

  Seeing Mallory in these ladies’ midst, listening to her caring response to learning about Sam’s situation and witnessing her willingness to give Julia a second chance and finding his child curled up beside her, relaxed and part of the group the way Polly had always joined in when it had been Emma sitting on Sam’s couch talking, keeping her friend company during a party…

  He felt Mallory Phillips claim an even bigger piece of his heart.

  “A
party,” he told Polly, “will mean kids crawling all over your room and the basement playroom, and the house swarming with everybody who’s here tonight and maybe some of my friends from the station and your mommy’s from school.”

  The best part of a party, Emma had always said, was mixing people from all parts of their lives, not just those they knew on the lane. Before she’d gotten sick they’d entertained at least once a month, opening their home to music and movies and games and as many people as it could hold, the fun often spilling out into the backyard or the cul-de-sac until it became more of a block party.

  Once Emma became too fragile to handle that kind of exuberant craziness, their home had gone quiet, visitors arriving to see them in ones and twos, voices hushed and careful, no more music or games or out-of-control laughter. For the sake of his daughter’s fraying nerves since her mommy’s death, he’d expected to keep things that way indefinitely, never dreaming Polly would want anything different.

  She nodded enthusiastically now. “Can we have pizza and an ice cream cake and bake cookies that everyone can decorate themselves and do sparklers outside and let the kids draw all over the driveway with chalk?” She was rattling off her year-round party favorites, no matter that it was finally freezing outside and the weatherman was warning that they could see snow by Christmas.

  “You got it.” Pete would set up their water slide on the front lawn if she asked for it. “It’ll be the best party we’ve ever had.”

  He grinned at the ladies who were listening to them. There were some suspiciously teary eyes to go along with their enjoyment of Polly’s enthusiasm. His daughter yawned and nestled her head against his shoulder, reminding him of his original excuse for sneaking upstairs and spying on whatever was going on in the office.

  “I’d better get her to bed,” he said, “so she can dream up even bigger New Year’s plans.”

  Everyone else pushed to their feet, Julia and Sam hanging back as Mallory stepped to Pete’s side and took the hand he offered her. He drew her fingers to his lips and kissed them. He couldn’t help himself. She smiled and took an instinctive step closer.

  He didn’t actually remember walking down the hallway and stairs. They were simply at the front door suddenly, him realizing that in just a few short minutes they’d be back at his house and tucking Polly into bed, where she’d started to sleep again a few nights ago—real sleep, instead of merely dozing with him on the couch. Then he and Mallory would have the remainder of the night to themselves.

  Julia had disappeared, mingling once more among their neighbors. But Sam was there to see them off. Brian had joined her, his arm protectively encircling his wife’s waist.

  “It was great to have you here.” He shook hands with Pete. His smile widened as Mallory hesitated, then she let go of Pete’s hand to shake as well. “I’m glad we finally had the chance to meet you. Everyone’s blown away by Pete and Polly’s tales about your selfless, costume-wearing volunteer work. It sounds like we have a real-life fairy godmother in our midst.”

  Mallory ducked her head, her cheeks turning pink. “Thank you,” she said. Her attention shifted to Sam. “I…I bet you’d be great with some of my midtown kids, if you’d like to come for an hour or two one weekend. It might be a fun way to get back some of what you’ve been missing so much. You know, working with kids who’ll adore any time you can give them without having to commit to an entire class of them. And you wouldn’t be connecting with any of them long-term. It might feel…safer somehow, you know?”

  Pete saw Sam tense and Brian’s embrace tighten, as if they were both bracing for one of the debilitating panic attacks she still suffered, often with little or no warning. Then Sam’s head tilted to the side as if she were suddenly considering the world in a way she never had before—a state of awareness he was beginning to suspect was an everyday occurrence for whomever fell under Mallory’s spell.

  Sam nodded, slowly, looking up to her husband for reassurance. Brian’s easy, hopeful grin must have been exactly what she’d needed to see.

  “I’d like to try that,” she said in a voice that was determined, if a bit unsure.

  “Maybe sometime after the holidays,” Brian added.

  “Anytime,” Mallory offered. “We’d be lucky to have you with us.”

  “Maybe…” Sam straightened from where she’d been leaning against Brian. She focused on Pete. “If you need any help planning your party…”

  “Party?” Brian asked.

  “I’m doing New Year’s at my place,” Pete said.

  “Wow,” Brian replied.

  “And I’d like to help,” Sam added. “Maybe I could come over the morning of and get the food sorted out.”

  “Wow,” Brian repeated. “Maybe I could wave a magic wand and produce the genie who’s magically pulled the two of you out of your shells all of a sudden.” His confusion evaporated at the site of Mallory’s hand tucked within Pete’s grasp and the relaxed way Polly was sleeping in Pete’s arms. Brian gazed at Mallory with admiration. “Then again, maybe you’re a genie, too, when you take time off from your fairy godmother duties.”

  Brian winked as his wife elbowed him in the ribs. He opened the front door so Pete and Mallory could escape into the frigid quiet outside. Mallory laughed at Brian’s statement, warming up even more to the neighbors she’d been so nervous to meet.

  “Night,” Pete said to them, steering Mallory down the lighted walkway and across the street to his place.

  They stepped inside, into the warmth of the foyer. The front door closed behind them, and he was home. But he could sense Mallory giving in to the nerves she must have been feeling from the very start of the party. She stayed by the door as he walked toward the front stairs.

  Would she still be there after he came back down from tucking Polly in? Or would she have disappeared behind her fence and her windows and expect him to leave her alone to rationalize away the ever-tightening connection growing between them? The pull of it had him shaking. It must be scaring her to death. But if he didn’t feel Mallory in his arms again soon, he was going to lose his mind.

  “Help me put Polly to bed?” he asked, knowing his heart was in his eyes. His pulse stumbled at the thought of her refusing.

  Her hands were behind her, wrapped around the doorknob. “I’m not very good at this,” she said.

  “Looking terrified of reaching for what you want?”

  “Playing at being part of a family.”

  Regret pulsed through him for how long she’d deprived herself of consciously needing and depending on anything beyond herself.

  “Then stop pretending,” he said. “Let yourself feel something good, Mallory. Just because it’s good. You deserve to feel every good thing in this world. Don’t overthink this. Stop protecting yourself from me. From us.” He jostled Polly’s head higher on his shoulder. “We’re not going to hurt you.”

  He reached out his hand, desperate for her to believe how much he cared, the same as he was certain her grandmother had longed to make a bigger place for herself in Mallory’s heart.

  Mallory stared at the floor, torturing them both as she hesitated. Then she raised her head, her bottomless need to love and to be loved shining freely in her gaze. She let go of the door and walked across the foyer. Her hand gripped his, and she let him lead her upstairs.

  Chapter Seventeen

  That till I loved

  I never lived Enough…

  “Daddy, we need to give Mallory her Christmas,” Mallory heard Polly mumble as Pete tucked his daughter into bed.

  He’d already pulled off the little girl’s clothes and stuffed her into her nightgown. Forgoing bath time and brushing teeth for the sake of letting sleeping princesses lie, he’d simply settled her under her covers and kissed her forehead.

  “She wants one so bad.” Polly rolled onto her side, her sleepy eyes opening to stare into her daddy’s. She clearly didn’t realize that Mallory was standing only a few feet away. “Let’s give her her Christmas, Daddy.
Better than she ever dreamed of, with a real tree and presents and everything. Okay?”

  From the doorway Mallory looked around the princess-perfect room full of every material possession a happy little girl could want. Draped across a puffy white chair was the secondhand Tinker Bell robe Mallory had given the child the first night Polly drifted over to her place. It warmed Mallory now to think that a part of her had been there comforting Polly all this time.

  She drank in the site of the brave if floundering father kneeling beside his daughter’s bed. He’d been amazing the last two weeks, helping Polly learn to feel good things again—because he’d been strong enough to feel all of his little girl’s bad things right along with her.

  “Okay,” Pete said. “We’ll make it the best Christmas of her life.”

  He turned to look at Mallory. Polly’s eyes were closed again. She’d drifted back to sleep. It was only him and Mallory now. He’d been speaking to her—directly to her heart and to every dream she’d ever had. Mallory shook her head, fighting the urge to run.

  Everything inside her that still believed in the same kind of storybook magic as his daughter craved what he was promising. A life where second chances, or third or fourth chances, really did work out and new starts weren’t wasted time and tomorrow really could be all that you wanted it to be, if you’d only let yourself believe long enough to get there. Wanting all of that as badly as she still did terrified Mallory.

  Pete was standing in front of her now. His strong hands cupped her face in that way she loved. His lips were feathering over hers, silently asking her to let him touch her more deeply, then demanding it as his kiss hardened, sweeping away her doubts until there remained nothing but an answering ache. She kissed him, her mouth making demands of her own. She wanted to know this man, all of him. She wanted to know what it was like for him to want her and keep wanting her, no matter how different they both were from everything they were used to.