A Christmas Rescue

by Diane Michaels

  Real mature, Hannah, doing your best impression of an ostrich.

  My phone buzzes. It’s Brett, texting me again. I’ve deleted three texts and a voicemail from him in the last couple of days without reading or listening to them first. What part of “get lost” does he not comprehend?

  I should reread the email I sent him on Monday to make sure I made my point clearly enough for even a lying jerk who needs everything explained in excruciating detail before he can understand it. I should resend it to him with a note stating our breakup is non-negotiable. And a warning to lose my number.

  I scroll through the emails in my sent file, getting less satisfaction than I should when I pass the email to my boss with my translation attached to it. Here we are. I reread my breakup letter, drawing my lips into a tight line.

  I said more in it than Brett deserved to hear. Perhaps I was writing the letter to both of us—like the part about becoming a better person.

  When I told my father I didn’t want to travel to Australia, I put my own needs first despite the fact that the trip was entirely about caring for my grandmother, be it only for the short term or to prepare for her to move to Melbourne. And I’m afraid I’ve continued to put my needs before Grandma’s since I arrived. A real home healthcare worker would have made her remove her sling once every hour so she could straighten her elbow. And made exercising fun to help her establish a twice-daily routine. Instead, I paid little more attention to her healing progress than I did to my work once I got caught up in Xave’s life. I’m entirely to blame for my grandmother’s setback.

  I tilt my head upward with a grunt. Odd how I used Xave’s words from our first beach day, describing what love means when I explained my own goals to Brett. It’s not like Xave was on my mind while I wrote it. He certainly isn’t the reason I broke up with Brett.

  If I want to pledge to be a good person, my efforts should begin with caring for my grandmother for as long as she needs me to be her right hand. I should emulate Xave. He has turned his property into an animal shelter and taken on responsibilities he can’t attend to only when the mood strikes him. The animals’ needs are his priority every day of the year.

  What am I doing, focusing on Xave? I’m supposed to be dumping Brett for the third time in less than a week. He’s worse than a headful of lice, not that I know from experience. I don’t count the case I had in nursery school, by the way.

  Please refer to my email from December 21, I type above my original email. We are done, and I do not want to hear from you ever again.

  I click on the “to” field, opening the entire sent history to make sure I send it to him rather than to myself. My heart gallops into my throat. Sweat builds under my arms. I never sent the first email to Brett. I sent it to Xave.

  ❅ ❅ ❅

  “I’m the person who should have a pained expression on her face, not you.” My grandmother sits with her back to the bedroom closet door, using a pulley system to raise her right arm. “How much longer do I have to be in this contraption?”

  “Three more minutes. And I’m fine. Let’s focus on you.” I stare at the stopwatch app on my phone.

  “You should see your aura. It tells me something’s going on with you.”

  I shouldn’t bite. “You can see my aura?”

  Great. Now I’ve done it.

  She sweeps her head to indicate I take note of the soft white glow of her bedroom. “My room is a magnifying glass for auras. Let me teach you to read yours. It’s the best way to start the day, taking inventory of your personal spectrum.”

  I think about my spreadsheets and planning apps. They serve me just fine. Well, usually. I stop the timer. “And that’s time. Rest for a minute, and then we’ll move on to the ball squeezing.”

  “Now you’re talking my language. But I recommend a lighter touch when handling—”

  “Grandma!” I didn’t think it was possible, but she still has the power to shock me after we’ve spent the better part of a month together.

  “Fine. We’ll discuss auras instead of sex. The news about my shoulder didn’t take me by surprise. I haven’t had bright green in my spectrum in a couple of weeks. It should be dominant, an indicator of healing. My aura should also be full of lilac, orange, and iridescent green. But my spiritual nature, vitality, and social tendencies have been overshadowed by gray because I feel sorry for myself and am letting my depression sap me of my energy. Your gray zone has risen in prominence, too. Aren’t we a pair!”

  “I blame myself for your emotional slump. It must have been devastating for you to read the report I was preparing for Aunt Sharon and my dad. It was a horrible thing for me to agree to. I’m so sorry, Grandma!”

  “Pfft! We’ve said all we need to say on the subject.”

  “Then I’ll never bring it up again.”

  Maybe Grandma’s right: our energies are off. But I don’t need to see my aura to deduce that sending a private email to Xavier has dealt a fatal blow to my mood. There’s no way in hell I will step foot on his property now that he’s read my stupid schoolgirl crush description of him in a breakup email to my boyfriend. And if my drunken and heat stroke-induced flirtations didn’t give him reason to stay away from me, then my email would have sealed the deal. I mean, he hasn’t even called to ask why I haven’t taken volunteer shifts at the shelter this week. Now I understand the reason behind his silence.

  “Are you ready for your—” Oh, I don’t want to say it! “—ball?” I hand my grandmother the squishy blue ball.

  She giggles, opening and closing her right hand around it with more gusto than she has shown since I arrived. “Always! You need an activity of your own while you watch me. Go to the living room and select the smallest box under the tree. Opening a present on Christmas Eve morning might put a smile on your face.”

  I retrieve the present, my phone, and that blasted Advent calendar. I might as well reveal the last “treasure” in front of my mother.

  Entering my grandmother’s bedroom, I say, “Mom and I promised we would open all our presents together. It’s dinnertime yesterday in Michigan. Perhaps I’ll video chat with them while I unwrap your gift.”

  “What a lovely idea. Although, I’m not interested in talking to your father now that I know he wanted to have me committed. Have I done a good job with my ball?” Her eyes twinkle.

  “Yes, Grandma. You can stop.” With all this talk about ball squishing and the uncomfortable discussion I’m about to have with my mother about her choice of gift, I’m wondering when I became the only mature adult in the room.

  “Then let’s move to the chairs by the window. I’m sure Hugh and Frieda will enjoy having a view of the garden. And in the spirit of Christmas, I won’t mention your father’s devious plan to send me to live with his sister.”

  Crap. Here’s one more thing I’ve screwed up. I still haven’t told my dad that Grandma has aced her test and doesn’t need to move to Melbourne.

  I dial my mother’s number. She treats me to her trademarked close-up of her scrunched face as she leans ever closer to the phone before she realizes we’re already connected. “Oh, Hannah! It’s you. We’re just sitting down to dinner.”

  “It’s late morning on Christmas Eve here. I’m ready to open my first present.”

  “You remembered to call! Hugh! Come video chat with Hannah.”

  “And Grandma,” I say.

  “There’s my little girl! And hello to you, too, Hannah.” My father amuses himself more than anyone else—especially his mother, who chafes against being called “little girl” because that’s how he has treated her. “How’s the weather?”

  “A balmy ninety-two degrees. How’s the weather in Michigan?”

  My mother takes me on a nausea-inducing ride from the table to the window. “Hugh, turn on the outside light.” The blackness disappears, revealing the light snow falling in the backyard. My heart drops.

  “I’m jealous. But we get to celebrate Christmas before you, so I win. I’ll open day twenty-f
our of the um, er, charming Advent calendar you sent me first.”

  I pop out one of the chocolates. I swear this one looks particularly veiny.

  “Can you taste the truffle flavor in them?” Mum asks.

  I frown. “You mean the chocolate kind of truffle?”

  “No, honey. I meant like the kind that pigs dig up in the ground in Italy. The candies are shaped like mushrooms, and the packaging said they were truffle flavor.”

  “Uh, Mother, these are chocolate ganache truffles. And they’re not mushrooms. They’re—” I inhale, not believing I’m about to say this out loud. “—penises.”

  Her face turns bright red. Dad roars with laughter in the background. “Frieda, you feisty devil, you. Buying your daughter chocolate penises for Christmas.”

  “I swear I thought they were mushrooms!” she stammers, her voice a little high-pitched.

  “Well, I thought it was a brilliant gift,” Grandma pipes up. “Thank you, Frieda.”

  Mom seems to have gone numb with shock, and I feel sorry for her. “Are you ready to see what Grandma gave me?”

  I hand Grandma my phone. She peers into it, just like my mother did, and says, “It’s a little something I picked up in Indonesia before I fell.” She aims the camera at my hands while I unwrap the box.

  I open it and peel back the tissue paper. Gently, I remove the gift. Colorful leather wrappings join together ten two-inch-long metal pieces shaped like angular hourglasses to form a ten-inch-long strip. Black leather ties hang from each end. The metal pieces have delicate floral details hammered into them. In the center of each is a small bead of coral.

  Grandma says, “It’s a choker, dear. I’d help you tie it, but…” She glances at her shoulder.

  “How’s the healing going, Mum?”

  I leave my grandmother to talk with my parents. Standing in front of the vanity mirror, I tie the leather strings into bows and listen to the conversation.

  “I’m coming along slowly.”

  “Do you need Hannah to stay longer?”

  Before my grandmother can answer, I return to my chair and sniff, bolstering my resolve. “Um, I’ve been meaning to tell you. Grandma is aware of your plot to ship her off to Aunt Sharon’s for good.”

  My father coughs into his fist. “Er…”

  Grandma frowns. “Don’t be coy, Hugh. I know what you and Sharon were up to. And to put dear Hannah in the middle of your plan? Thank heavens she has a more open heart than the lot of you.”

  I plant myself in front of the camera. “Look, Dad. You and Aunt Sharon weren’t wrong to send me to help Grandma while she recovered from her surgery. But as for what happens after her shoulder heals, she understands life better than all of us combined. I have total confidence in her ability to continue to live and care for herself here in Noosa. And I promise she will never be alone. She has forged relationships with the most wonderful people. This is where she belongs.”

  “Then I’m agreed. I’ll pass your assessment on to my sister.”

  I blow a kiss to my parents. “Don’t let me keep you. Eat your dinner before it gets cold. I love you!”

  “We love you, too!”

  I end the call and model the choker for my grandmother. “It’s stunning, Grandma. Thank you.”

  “Oh, it suits you perfectly. I didn’t know I was buying it for you. If I had, I might have gone an entirely different direction,” she says with a devious smile.

  Let me guess. She would have bought me an Indonesian fertility amulet.

  What a relief to have put ‘Operation Observe Sheila’ to bed! But presents and family aside, I’m still not filled with Christmas spirit. And the tantalizing glimpse of snow on the screen reminds me I’m caught between two worlds.

  CHAPTER 30

  The sun rises way too early here. Even though my blinds are closed, I can see light sneaking around the edges. My bedside clock tells me it’s only just seven. And it’s Christmas Day.

  Normally, I would jump out of bed, excited to start the festivities. But this year feels wrong. Everything feels wrong.

  Instead of jumping, I roll, trudging over to the window to take a look outside. I’m sure it will be another perfectly clear day, hot and humid.

  I tug the chain that rolls up one of the blinds and pause, shocked.

  It’s snowing. How is that even possible?

  The ground is covered in a dusting of powder, and soft flakes are drifting past my window. I’m sure my grandmother told me that it has never snowed in Noosa, so we’re either facing the end of times or something’s up.

  I hurry out to the living room, where Grandma is standing at the open front door, looking out into the yard. She’s dressed only in a light sundress, so it’s obvious the temperature hasn’t dropped.

  She hears me and turns, smiling. “Morning, sweetie. Merry Christmas.”

  “Is that actual snow?” I ask.

  “You’ll have to go and find out for yourself.” She seems to be enjoying herself immensely.

  “What’s going on?” I ask, narrowing my eyes at her.

  “It’s not for me to say.”

  What does she mean by that?

  I cautiously make my way over to the front door and step outside, finally able to take in the full impact of what is taking place out there.

  My grandmother’s yard has been transformed into a literal winter wonderland. Half the yard is covered in snow. There is a huge live Christmas tree in the middle, decorated with lights, tinsel, and baubles. Near my bedroom window, a machine is blowing snow into the air.

  A table has been set up next to the tree, laden with traditional European decorations and plates of food. When I look closely, I gasp. It’s the exact breakfast I have with my parents every year: crepes topped with a festive cherry jam alongside a spread of bagels, smoked salmon, cream cheese, cress, and fresh fruit.

  I stare at Grandma, my mouth still hanging open. “What’s all this?”

  She beams. “Don’t look at me. I had nothing to do with it.”

  “Then who…” The words fade in my throat as Xave appears from behind the tree, carrying a gift-wrapped package. He puts it down on the table beside the food and comes to stand in front of me.

  My heart starts beating wildly. What does this all mean? Why would Xave go to all this trouble for me?

  “What do you think?” he asks, waving his hand around at the yard.

  “It’s…it’s amazing,” I breathe. “You did all this?”

  He nods. “I know how much you enjoy a white Christmas, so I thought I’d see whether I could recreate one here for you.”

  I look down at the ground, which is already starting to thaw. “I can’t believe you went to all this effort. And the food! How did you know?”

  “I asked Sheila to check with your parents what you liked to eat. I want you to feel welcome here, Hannah. I want you to feel like this is home.”

  I swallow. I’ve never felt so appreciated, especially by someone not related to me. And then I remember the email I accidentally sent.

  “The email…” I start.

  He smiles. “I know I shouldn’t have read the whole thing. It was very obviously not meant for me, but I couldn’t help myself. The way you spoke of me, and how you implied that you were a better person while here… Well, I feel the same way about you. Without ever telling me I need to change, you inspire me to be a better version of myself. You bring life to this part of the world, and both Sheila and I, not to mention Taara, feel so much more whole when you’re with us.”

  He steps forward again so that our faces are only a couple of inches apart. “And I didn’t want to make things confusing for you before when you were still with someone else, but now that you’re not, I can finally tell you how I really feel.”

  My skin tingles in anticipation. “And how’s that?”

  “I think you’re smart and funny and beautiful, and I would very much like to kiss you right now.”

  I don’t want to leave him hanging, so I reach o
ut, pulling his mouth to mine. His lips are soft and warm and perfect, and I never want to let him go.

  “Would you consider staying here in Australia?” he says softly.

  “Well, my grandmother did say she was probably going to need at least another couple of months of rehab…”

  “I heard. Sheila needs you. And while I don’t want to put you under any further pressure, the cats mentioned they need you too.”

  “Is that so?”

  “And Xena. And Gus. Not to mention Rosie and the puppies.”

  “They all talked to you, did they?”

  “Yeah, they did.” He clears his throat. “But I hope you would also stay for me.”

  I don’t even have to think about it. “Of course I’ll stay.”

  Xave grins. “That’s a relief. I’ve already put you down as my plus one for New Year’s Eve.”

  I playfully slap his arm. “Cocky, much?”

  “No. I really didn’t know how you were feeling—unless you count a certain moment at the fundraiser that I promise never to mention again—but I had obviously hoped for this outcome.”

  I cup the back of his head, drawing him to me again. As our lips meet, warm shivers—is there such a thing?—slide down my back and my arms. I certainly didn’t need any extra persuasion to stay, but this is the icing on the cake.

  He breaks into a huge grin when we reluctantly pull apart. “I guess that means you feel the same way about me that I do about you?”

  “And then some. Drunk, tired Hannah wasn’t kidding last weekend. But it goes back longer than that. Since the day you and Gus let yourself into my room, you’ve had an impact on me. Everything about you—even your tendency to be a little, um, disorganized—means something important to me. I love watching you care for the animals. Your compassion and selflessness inspire me. And no one else has ever made me feel so at home, so like the person I’m supposed to be.” I run my fingers through his curls.