Chapter 12 - CHRISTMAS EVE
I showed the message to Helen the next morning.
“Save it,” she said. “Don’t reply. We can deal with it if the messages continue.”
I didn’t need to ask who had sent it. Jessica had stood across the street while the movers loaded the truck.
I went outside to bring in the newspaper and found Mrs. Alvarez next door sweeping snow from her steps.
“Are you all right, Ellie?” she called.
I hesitated. “Why do you ask?”
“Jessica told me you threw them out without warning.”
There it was.
“I gave them two days,” I said. “They moved in while I was away and took over my bedroom.”
Mrs. Alvarez stopped sweeping. “Your bedroom?”
“Yes.”
“She left that part out.”
I went back inside before I could say more. Explaining myself to the whole street was the last thing I wanted.
Louise arrived just after lunch carrying a pie she had no business baking while she was recovering. She hugged me in the doorway, then looked at the tree.
“George’s star isn’t up.”
“It broke.”
“Can it be fixed?”
“Matthew tried.”
She set down the pie. “I brought glue.”
I laughed, and for the first time since I’d come home, the sound didn’t feel forced.
We spent the afternoon putting ornaments back on the tree. Louise insisted that my mother’s glass bell go near the top, where the light caught it. We found the paper angel Matthew had made in second grade. One wing was folded backward. George had refused to straighten it for thirty-eight Christmases.
At five, Matthew called.
“I can come by tomorrow if you want,” he said.
I looked at Louise, who was wrestling an old string of lights.
“I’d like that,” I said. “Come at noon. Just you.”
He was quiet for a moment. “Okay.”
“How’s the hotel?”
“Fine. Jessica went to stay with her sister.”
I hadn’t expected that. “Are you two all right?”
“I don’t know.”
After we hung up, I told Louise about the call.
“Do you want him here?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Then that’s enough for tomorrow.”
At dusk, someone knocked. A teenage neighbor stood on the porch with a small cardboard box.
“Matthew asked me to drop this off,” he said. “He said it was yours.”
Inside was George’s jacket. I had already brought it back from Jessica’s trunk, or thought I had. This one was a different coat: the dark green work jacket George wore when he and Matthew rebuilt the deck.
A note lay in the pocket.
I found this mixed in with our things. I’m sorry I didn’t notice sooner. — Matt
I hung the jacket beside the front door.
Then I felt something stiff in the inside pocket.
It was an old photograph of George and Matthew building the deck.
May you like
On the back, in George’s handwriting, were six words:
Tell him the truth, even when it hurts.
