Chapter 16 - Christmas Without the Old Table

I did not want the grandchildren to spend Christmas as messengers between angry adults.

So I kept my plans simple.

I mailed gifts and handwritten cards.

I told Colin I would not interfere with any lawful arrangements he and Jessica made for the children.

And I invited him to visit the cottage whenever circumstances permitted.

Helen and I decorated the porch with warm white lights.

We found Arthur's old wooden star in a box of keepsakes and placed it on the mantel.

For the first time since his death, the holidays did not feel like a test I had to pass for somebody else's approval.

We made a modest dinner and set two places at the table.

On Christmas Eve, my phone rang.

It was Lucas.

"Grandma, are you alone?"

"Aunt Helen is here. We're making cookies."

"Can I see your tree?"

I switched to video and showed him the lights, the star, and the little blue ornament he had made when he was six.

His face brightened.

Then Sophie appeared beside him.

"Grandma! You kept it!"

"Of course I did."

They told me about their gifts and argued affectionately about who got the last candy cane.

For ten minutes, life felt ordinary.

Then Jessica took the phone.

"They need to go," she said.

"Merry Christmas, Jessica."

She hesitated as if the greeting had caught her off guard.

"Merry Christmas," she replied.

The call ended.

I sat beside the tree with a little ache in my chest and a larger sense of gratitude.

I could miss my family without abandoning myself.

At nine that evening, Colin called.

He said the children were staying with Jessica for the holiday and that he was alone in his apartment.

He asked whether he could come the following day.

"You're welcome," I said.

He arrived on Christmas afternoon carrying a battered cardboard box.

Inside were objects from A&M Outdoor Supply that he had found in storage.

A brass bell from the front door.

Arthur's ledger.

And a photograph of me standing beside my husband on the day we opened the shop.

"I thought these should be yours," Colin said.

I lifted the bell and heard its familiar ring.

Then he removed one final item from the box.

It was the small wooden sign Arthur had carved by hand.

Under A&M OUTDOOR SUPPLY, the words read: FAMILY IS WHAT WE BUILD TOGETHER.

I began to cry.

Colin sat beside me and said, "I don't think I've been building much lately, Mom."

I reached for his hand.

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