Chapter 9 - CHRISTMAS AGAIN
Twelve years after the red box, Holly was nineteen.
College sophomore.
Gold dress replaced by jeans and a sweater.
Gene was seventy-eight.
Slower.
Less commanding.
Still particular about napkins.
Some things survive character growth.
Christmas was at our house.
The table had handwritten place cards.
Holly made them.
Brandon saw and laughed.
“You’re dangerous.”
“I know.”
Gene arrived last.
Her card read:
Grandma Gene
She touched it.
Then looked at Holly.
“Thank you.”
Holly shrugged.
“You’re Grandma.”
No speech.
Gene sat.
During gifts, Eli opened a game.
Claire’s children received books.
Holly opened a small box from Gene.
Inside was the original candle tag.
To Brandon’s Girl.
My stomach dropped.
Then I saw what Gene had done.
The words had been crossed out.
Beneath them, in Gene’s handwriting:
To my granddaughter, Holly. I should have written this the first time.
Holly stared.
Gene looked terrified.
“I kept the tag.”
“So did I,” Holly said.
Everyone froze.
Holly went upstairs.
Returned with the candle.
The cheap vanilla candle.
Never burned.
Still intact.
She placed it beside Gene.
“I kept the whole thing.”
Gene began crying.
Holly sat.
Then said:
“I don’t keep it because I hate you.”
Gene looked up.
“I keep it because I need to remember I wasn’t imagining how it felt.”
Gene nodded slowly.
“I understand.”
“And I also need to remember people can become different.”
Gene covered her mouth.
Holly smiled.
“A little different.”
Everybody laughed.
Including Gene.
May you like
For once, nobody needed the moment to become bigger than it was.
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