“I love tinsel,” said June. “The way it catches the tree lights and makes everything sparkle.”
Ellie smiled. “Are you going to make popcorn strings for your tree this year?”
“I hadn’t thought about it. It takes so much time. But it’s so much fun.”
“Maybe we could do it together, with all the kids. Like a popcorn party. We’ll put on a Christmas movie or something.”
“Yeah.”
“Junie, look at this ornament! It’s two angels, singing together. This one looks like you, and this one looks like me!”
“Oh, that’s so funny!”
“Let’s each get one for our trees.”
“Yes! Let’s.” June stood a moment, seeming lost in thought. Then she turned to Ellie, her tired eyes filling with tears. “You know you can’t fix everything, right?” she said.
Ellie’s eyes welled up with tears, too. “I know.”
“Thank you for trying, though.”
“You’re welcome. And don’t worry. I won’t hug you or anything.”
June wiped her eyes, sniffled, then held up the ornament.
“I love this. It’s perfect.”
They left the mall with a number of unplanned baubles and trinkets; a dress for Cynthia, complete with red jelly shoes; and matching mother/daughter velour Christmas dresses for Ellie, Meredith, and Melody. The girls had complained about being “matchy-matchy,” but Ellie knew one day they’d thank her for these precious memories.
The girls talked, and giggled, and squealed, and sang in the backseat. Then, after a few minutes, “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” came on the radio.
“Look,” said Melody teasingly. “It’s your song!”
“Shut up, Mel,” Meredith said, with uncharacteristic anger. Cynthia went quiet. “It’s bad enough that they say stuff like that at school.”
“Sorry,” Melody said. “I didn’t think you were so sensitive about it.”
“Melody,” said Ellie, in a warning tone.
“I don’t get it,” said Cynthia.
“The kids at school found out my name is Meredith Christine, and now they call me ‘Merry Christmas’ constantly in the hallways and ask if my dad is Santa. It’s so annoying.”
“I’ve never heard them do that,” said Cynthia.
“Well, they do.”
“You know,” said Cynthia. “I think your name is really cool.”
“You do?”
“Yeah . . . Christmas is the best. I’d love it if people thought of it every time they heard my name. You guys both have really cool names. All together, it’s like, ‘A merry Christmas melody.’ How awesome is that?”
Meredith laughed. “I guess I never thought of it that way. But it is pretty awesome.”
“Oh, we could start a Christmas band!” said Melody. We could have red and green hair!”
“And guitars shaped like Christmas trees!”
A moment later, they were all laughing and singing together again. Ellie looked over at June, who was smiling to herself.
“Okay, who wants Abba again!” shouted Ellie.
“Nooo!” the girls shouted.
“Too bad! Driver chooses.”
It was a wonderful afternoon all around, but Ellie’s favorite part was listening to June sing along to “Take A Chance on Me.”
Eleven
June
“Would you like some more coffee?” June asked Frank.
“Um, no, you just poured me this cup about five minutes ago. But thanks. It’s really good.”
June looked at him thoughtfully. He was a handsome man, with dark wavy hair, a well-trimmed beard, ruddy cheeks, and soulful dark-brown eyes that looked just like his son’s.
He stared into his coffee cup nervously.
“Do you know Miss Simmons well?” June asked.
“We’ve had a conversation or two here and there. Adam has struggled with being in a new school, and she checks in with me from time to time to make sure things are moving in the right direction. She looks out for him. It’s nice. She’s nice.” His cheeks grew redder.
“She is.” June took a sip of coffee to hide her smile. “She looks out for Cynthia, too.”
Henry, who had been tinkering with something in the garage, popped his head in. “Is there pie yet?”
“No, Henry. We’re waiting on Miss Simmons.”
“Okey dokey,” he said, before disappearing.
The doorbell rang. “There she is,” said June.
She went to open the door. Miss Simmons stood on the other side, her tall, shapely frame towering over June’s. Her full, pink lips were set in a small smile, and her blue-green eyes flickered with nervous anticipation. She wore an emerald-green top that looked vibrant against her pale skin and contrasted beautifully with her waist-length reddish -brown hair, which hung around her shoulders in loose, shining waves.
June couldn’t help feeling a little plain next to her. She shook the feeling off. She hadn’t invited Miss Simmons there for a beauty contest.
“Hi, Mrs. Winters,” Miss Simmons said warmly. “How are you?”
“I’m good, and you?”
“I’m good!”
“Please, come in. I made pie, And coffee.”
“Oh, thank you.”
Miss Simmons stepped into the house hesitantly. June led her to the breakfast table. Frank stood up quickly when he saw her come in.
“Hi!” he said, holding his hand out for her to shake.
She took his hand. “Hi, Mr. Thompson,” she said, her eyes shining. “Nice to see you again.”
“You remember me!” he said. “I mean, you remember my name. Of course you remember me. I mean, not of course. You do have a lot of students. And they have a lot of . . . you know. Parents.” He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jeans and looked at the ground.
She laughed, and her eyes sparkled. He looked back up at her hopefully.
“I remember your name, and I remember you.” she said. “You minored in English lit. You’re a fan of Jack Danger novels. And you wrote me that thoughtful note about how much my kindness meant to your son. It’s not every day that I get notes like that.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and smiled at him.
“Oh. Well, I meant it. I’m obviously better at writing things than saying them.”
“That’s okay. I like to read.”
June chewed her lip in an attempt to stop herself from grinning.
Henry popped his head back in. “Pie, yet?”
“I’m just about to serve it, Henry. Come meet Miss Simmons.”
“Well, hello!” said Henry. “Nice to meet you. Cynthia talks about you all the time.”
“She’s a bright and talented young woman,” Miss Simmons said. Henry beamed. “A little chatty, but nothing I can’t manage.”
“Excellent,” said Henry.
“Go ahead and sit down, and I’ll bring out the coffee and the pie.”
June went into the kitchen and set the coffee carafe on a tray with two mugs, cream, sugar, and spoons. She poured Henry and Miss Simmons a cup of coffee, then turned to Frank.
“Nope, still working on mine,” he said.
“All right, then,” said June. She put the carafe down and went back for a second tray with four slices of pecan pie on dessert plates, along with four forks and four napkins. She served the pie and sat down.
“Oh, this is delicious!” said Miss Simmons. “It tastes just like my granny’s!” June beamed at her. “So,” Miss Simmons continued, a nervous flicker in her eyes. “I understand you want my help with my uncle. I didn’t quite understand the whole thing when you called me on the phone.”
“Well, we know it’s an odd situation, and a difficult position to put you in,” said June. “But we really need your help.”
“Okay, sure. I know Uncle Harold can be difficult at times. Just tell me what the problem is, and I’ll see what I can do.”
June resisted the urge to tell her about the snowman, and Pinky, an
d all her trials and tribulations, and instead gave her an abridged version of Mr. Krantz’s surliness and cantankerous behavior. Then she gave her an eyewitness account of what happened with Frank’s ball, and he explained why the ball meant so much.
Miss Simmons listened carefully, her brow furrowed in concern. When they finished talking, she spoke up.
“I’m so sorry about the trouble you’re having. I’m especially sorry about your ball, Mr. Thompson. Taking a ball from a kid, especially when it’s that special . . .” She shook her head. “I don’t know what he’s thinking. He’s always been gruff and a little cranky. But he’s never been this bad. To tell the truth, I’m a little worried about him.”
June pinched her brows together. In her opinion, Miss Simmons should be worried about the people who had to deal with Mr. Krantz.
“I will definitely talk to him for you,” Miss Simmons continued. “In fact, I’ll go right now.”
“I’ll go with you,” Frank said.
“I just hope we’re not interrupting him during his writing time,” said Miss Simmons. “He gets pretty crabby about that.”
“He’s a writer?” asked Frank.
Miss Simmons smiled at him mischievously. “He sure is! So, are you ready?”
“Totally ready.”
“I’ll go, too,” said June.
Henry shook his head.
“But--”
“No, Bee. He does not like you. You’ll only make things worse.”
“We’ll let you know how it goes,” Miss Simmons said sympathetically, before walking away with Frank.
June frowned at Henry, but knew he was right. She sat there until she heard the front door close, then she set another piece of pie in front of him and poured him another cup of coffee. As soon as he started eating, she murmured something about needing to do something in some other room. Then she quietly slipped out the back door and crept through the yard toward Mr. Krantz’s house.
It was only six o’clock, but it was already dark. Mr. Krantz’s snow abomination lit up the back side of June’s house, so she kept to the wall to stay in the shadows of the eaves. It was a cloudy, moonless night, so she was able to walk down the side of the lawn easily.
She ran into trouble when she got to her own porch. The porch light was on, creating a square patch of light on the lawn, and Cynthia and Adam were sitting on the porch swing talking. June waited until neither of them was looking in her direction, then deftly, little by little, she skirted the illuminated space on the ground. Then, heart pounding, she slinked into Mr. Krantz’s yard.
She crept up close to Mr. Krantz’s porch, staying close to the side of the house, eventually settling in behind a bush and a giant sparkly lollipop. She was near enough to the front door to hear what happened, but tucked away enough to avoid being seen.
“You know, you can call me Frank,” she heard Frank say.
There was a pause, then Miss Simmons spoke. “All right. And you can call me Anna. But only outside of school. You know, if we should happen to run into each other.” She laughed softly.
“Sure. If we should happen to do that.”
She paused as if waiting for him to say something, then cleared her throat. “He should be home. His car’s here. Let’s try one more time.”
The doorbell sounded, and there was a long silence. Then the door opened.
“Anna!” Mr. Krantz said. “What are you doing here?”
“Hi, Uncle Harold. How are you? How’s your book coming?”
“I’m doing okay,” he said. “The book, maybe not so much. I’ve made progress, but not enough. How are you, hon? Everything okay?” He said the last part softly, a note of concern in his voice.
“I’m good,” she said.
“So, what’s this guy doing here? Is he with you? Wait . . . is he with you? Do you have something to tell me?”
“No, Uncle Harold, not . . . no. But he is the reason I’m here. Did you, um, take his ball?”
“Those brats next door hit it into my yard.”
“Hey, you’re talking about my kid!” said Frank.
“All right, easy,” said Miss Simmons. “Uncle Harold, did it hit your window or something?”
“No, but it could have.”
“But it didn’t.”
“Why does everyone keep harping on that?”
“Because it matters,” Miss Simmons, in the patient, but firm voice of someone accustomed to dealing with overwrought twelve-year-olds. “Uncle Harold, are you sure everything’s all right with you?”
“I’m sure. Why?”
“I’m hearing that you’ve been really difficult to live with lately. I don’t want to believe it, but you took a sixth-grader’s ball! Which makes you a mean old man cliché. You hate cliches!”
Mr. Krantz sighed. “Yeah. This time of year . . . well, it’s a little hard, is all.”
“I’m sure it is. I see you’re taking still care of the garden you made in Aunt Sadie’s memory.”
“Yeah.”
“And you put all her Christmas decorations up.”
“I did.”
The snowman on the roof is new,”
“Yeah. That one is my own special touch.” June could practically hear his evil grin.
“I really get that this is hard. It’s hard for me, too. Aunt Sadie and I were very close. But Frank has nothing to do with it. So, could you please just give the man back his ball?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Come on. His son is distraught. And it was a gift from his late wife.”
Mr. Krantz went silent, but June could hear Frank murmuring in protest. Miss Simmons murmured back at him.
“All right,” said Mr. Krantz.
The door shut. After a minute or so, it opened again. “Here it is,” he said. “You, your kid, and your stuff need to stay off my property from now on.”
“Fair enough,” said Frank, his voice thick with emotion. “But it shouldn’t have been this hard to convince you to do the right thing.”
Miss Simmons sighed sadly. “Uncle Harold, please think about what you’re doing, and what you’re becoming. You’re better than this. This isn’t what Aunt Sadie would have wanted. Not by a long shot.”
“Yeah, well, what do you know about it?”
“I knew her. So, I know plenty. Listen, I know you’re going out of town on Friday and Saturday, so we can’t do our usual dinner. But I’d like to reschedule for Sunday. Bring your manuscript. I know I’m nowhere near the writer you are, but maybe I can give you some feedback as a reader.”
“I’d like that.”
“Good. And, so you know, I still love you, even though you’re a grumpy old coot sometimes. But you do need to behave yourself. Okay?”
“I’ll do my best,” said Mr. Krantz. “For you.”
“Thank you. That’s all I ask.”
The door shut again, but Frank and Miss Simmons stayed on the porch.
“Why did you tell him about my wife?” Frank asked.
“Because I knew it would convince him to give you the ball.”
“Well, I didn’t ask you to mention it, and I don’t need anyone telling other people my business.”
“Oh, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to . . . I just didn’t see any other way. At least you got your ball back, right?”
“Yeah. Thanks for that.”
“You’re welcome.”
They began walking down the porch steps in silence. June ran back exactly the way she came, as fast as she could. She entered the kitchen breathlessly. Henry still sat at the table, eating what was probably his fourth piece of pie.
“Find a good hiding spot?” he asked, without looking up.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” she said, smoothing her denim dress.
“Mmm hmm.”
The doorbell rang, and June went to answer it. Frank and Miss Simmons stood on the porch, and Adam stood between them, jumping for joy.
“We got it back!” Adam said. “Miss Simmo
ns talked him into it!”
Miss Simmons smiled without saying anything.
“So, thank you, June, for calling her,” said Frank. “Now I’m going to just get this knucklehead some dinner.” He tousled Adam’s hair. “How about we go out for pizza tonight, to celebrate?”
“Yes!” Adam shouted. “Awesome. Oh, can Cynthia come?”
“She’s welcome to, but it’s up to her parents,” said Frank.
“It’s okay with us,” said June. There was no need to consult Henry. He would have been overjoyed.
“Great. I’ll bring her back here right after.”
“Sounds good.”
“Thank you, Mom!” shouted Cynthia. “Thank you, Miss Simmons, for all your help.”
“Yes, thank you, Miss Simmons,” said Frank.
“You’re welcome,” Miss Simmons replied, in a thick voice.
“Come on kids, let’s go! Who likes pepperoni!”
Frank walked the kids down the steps and toward the car without looking back. Miss Simmons looked after them with a sad expression.
“Everything okay?” June asked.
“Oh, yes. Fine. I guess I’ll head home.”
“I really do appreciate your help,” said June.
“I’m glad there was something I could do. I wish you could really get to know my uncle. The real him. He’s prickly, but he has a good heart.”
June was doubtful about that.
“My aunt was so good for him,” Miss Simmons continued, with tears in her eyes. “They were so good together. I don’t know what’s going to happen now.” She sighed. “Well, call me if anything else terrible happens. I can’t guarantee that I can help, but I’ll try. Have a good winter break, and a merry Christmas.”
“Same to you,” said June. She paused. “You know, I’m having a Christmas party here on the twenty-third at six p.m. It’s a big deal around the neighborhood. I have one every year. You should come.”
“Thank you! I will try to make it.” She smiled at June. “Nice seeing you, Mrs. Winters.”
“Call me June.”
Miss Simmons smiled. “Okay, June.”
Later that night, June watched from her bedroom window as all the Christmas decorations on Mr. Krantz’s house went dark. Her heart sped up with hope. Maybe Miss Simmons got through to him. Maybe he had a change of heart, and things would be different now.
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