I bought a small Christmas tree at the hardware store.
It fit in the back seat of the Buick.
Mr. Brandt helped carry it onto the porch.
“Want me to set it up?”
“I think I can manage.”
He glanced at my knee.
“Call if you change your mind.”
I put the tree beside Dale's armchair.
The first ornament I unwrapped was a tiny wooden tractor.
Dale had made it when Michelle was five.
Its back wheel was crooked.
He'd tried twice to fix it, then said the crooked wheel gave it character.
I hung it near the middle.
By the time the lights were on, the room smelled of pine.
I sat in the chair and cried.
Grief had a way of arriving when the simplest job was finished.
There was no one to ask whether the lights looked straight.
No one to tease me for keeping ornaments with missing hooks.
I let myself sit until the tears passed.
Then I called Michelle.
“Do the children want to help decorate?”
“Are you sure?”
“Very.”
They came the next afternoon.
Caleb carried a box of paper snowflakes.
Sadie wore reindeer antlers that kept slipping over her eyes.
Todd brought a folding step stool.
I told him I appreciated it but wasn't climbing on anything.
He put it back in the truck.
We decorated the little tree until every branch was crowded.
Then the children made popcorn garlands at the table.
Most of the popcorn went into their mouths.
Michelle sat beside the tree with the tractor ornament in her hand.
“Dad made this.”
“Yes.”
“He always said it was the finest machinery he ever built.”
“He did.”
She smiled at the crooked wheel.
“Can I take a photo?”
“Please do.”
Later, after the children went outside with Todd, Michelle asked about Christmas Eve.
“We'd love you to stay over.”
I looked at her.
“Is that what you want, or what you think I need?”
She considered the question.
“Both, maybe.”
“Then let me think about it.”
She nodded.
At supper, Caleb asked if I would come Christmas morning to watch them open presents.
“Of course.”
“Early?”
“How early?”
“Six.”
“No child should have that much energy at six in the morning.”
He laughed.
“Seven?”
“Seven thirty.”
We settled on seven fifteen.
Todd pretended to take notes like a lawyer.
Sadie climbed into my lap.
“Can we have Christmas here too?”
“We can have a little supper here before Christmas.”
“Just us?”
“Anyone your mother and father say can come.”
She seemed delighted.
As they prepared to leave, Todd stayed behind for a moment.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Certainly.”
“Did Dale ever get angry about money?”
I thought about the years when rain came at the wrong time.
When tractors broke.
When the check from a crop buyer was late.
“Yes,” I said. “He worried plenty.”
“How did you keep it from taking over everything?”
“We didn't always.”
Todd looked surprised.
“There were years we argued. There were bills we paid late. He once bought a used machine part without telling me, and I refused to speak to him for two days.”
Todd smiled.
“What happened?”
“We sat down and wrote down every bill. We found out the machine part was necessary, but hiding it had been foolish.”
He looked at the yellow legal pad tucked under his arm.
“I guess I'm late learning that.”
“Learning is allowed at any age.”
He nodded.
At the little Christmas supper, I served stew and biscuits.
Linda brought cranberry bars.
Evelyn brought a salad and stayed to talk with Michelle.
Joseph from the community center stopped by with a packet of holiday bookmarks for the children.
He didn't stay long.
But he helped Caleb hang a crooked paper star above the curtain rod.
I noticed Michelle watching us.
After he left she asked, “Is Joseph a friend?”
“Yes.”
“Just a friend?”
I raised an eyebrow.
“That's all I'm prepared to report.”
She burst out laughing.
It felt good to hear her laugh without apology following it.
Christmas morning I arrived at seven fifteen.
Todd opened the door wearing a sweater with one sleeve rolled up.
“Right on schedule,” he said.
The children screamed when they saw me.
I carried a small bag of presents.
Nothing extravagant.
Caleb got a model airplane kit.
Sadie got a watercolor set.
I had also made each a little booklet of memories about Dale.
His favorite foods.
His old sayings.
A photograph of him holding a newborn Caleb.
They looked through the booklets after the presents were unwrapped.
Michelle sat beside me on the floor.
“Dad would have loved this.”
“Yes.”
Todd brought coffee.
He handed me a small wrapped package.
“From all of us.”
Inside was a new cushion for my porch swing, stitched with blue flowers.
There was no agreement hidden under it.
No request for childcare.
No suggestion I could trade it for rent.
Just a cushion.
I ran my hand across the fabric.
“Thank you.”
At noon, I drove home.
I had been invited to stay for dinner, but I'd promised to call Evelyn.
No one acted offended when I left.
The little tree was waiting beside the window.
I switched on its lights and sat down with a cup of tea.
The house was quiet.
I had made another decision for Christmas that I didn't tell Michelle until later.
I bought myself a new coat.
Not an expensive one.
A warm blue coat from the local department store's sale rack.
My old coat had belonged to the same winter as Dale's last hospitalization.
Every time I buttoned it, I remembered sitting in a waiting room with my hands tucked into its pockets.
I had worn it out of habit, and perhaps out of loyalty to the grief.
The new coat fit better at the shoulders.
Its pockets were deep enough for my keys and gloves.
I stood before the store mirror and smiled at my reflection.
The clerk asked if I wanted it gift-wrapped.
“No, thank you. It's for me.”
She gave me a cheerful smile.
“Those are sometimes the best gifts.”
At home I checked the receipt against my monthly budget.
The purchase fit within what I'd saved.
I hung the coat by the front door.
When Michelle saw it, she exclaimed over the color.
“Dad always liked blue on you.”
“He did.”
She touched the sleeve.
“Do you remember that dress you wore to my graduation?”
“The one with the awful zipper?”
“Yes!”
“The zipper broke twice before we left.”
We laughed about the way Dale had repaired it with a safety pin.
Then Michelle asked whether she could borrow the coat for a photo with the children.
I told her she could borrow it any time as long as she brought it back.
She grinned.
“There's my mother.”
That evening, I folded the old coat into a donation bag.
I kept one small item from its pocket.
A folded grocery list written in Dale's handwriting.
Milk.
Bread.
Oats.
A chocolate bar for Judy.
I placed the list in the memory notebook.
I didn't need to keep every coat to keep the man who'd worn the winters beside me.
This time the quiet felt like rest.
Click here to continue reading: PART 11: The Mortgage Letter Arrived in January and Changed What Help Really Meant
The Eight Hundred Dollar Basement Offer and the Keys I Chose for Myself
Part 10 of 16
