7. Mallory
MALLORY
Mal walked down Columbia Avenue later that evening, carrying the gingerbread pound cake in a white bakery bag.
The town was quiet and peaceful. By now most folks were home eating dinner, so there weren’t many people out and about, but warm lights glowed in the houses as she passed.
Growing up in Trinity Falls, Mal sometimes thought she had a memory to go along with every landmark.
She passed the Vargas place, where a life-sized wooden cut-out of carolers was displayed on the lawn with little solar spotlights shining up on it.
Al Vargas was pretty handy, and had made the whole display himself.
His favorite place to be was the rocking chair on the front porch, but of course he was inside at this hour, so the porch was empty.
A little further on, she passed the local doctor’s office, which was part of his home.
Frank Wilkinson had lived and practiced there for ages, taking care of generations of Trinity Falls residents for so long that even though he had retired three years ago and handed down his practice to Kellan Webb, Mal figured that she, like most folks in town, would always think of the place as Dr. Wilkinson’s office.
Columbia curved slightly and she headed down Oberlin, passing the big Victorians with their turrets and slate roofs. She continued all the way down to the corner of Lafayette, where her parents’ small colonial sat on a slightly wider lot than most of the larger homes.
Her dad was on the porch—the only person in sight. While the other houses were lit up with practically every window blazing, the only light he had on was the porch light. In its glow, she could see her dad was hanging a pine wreath on the front door.
Good, she thought to herself. Decorating is good.
“Hi, Dad,” she called up to him.
“Sugarplum,” he said fondly, turning to her. “This is a nice surprise.”
“I brought gingerbread pound cake,” she said, holding up the bag with a smile.
“With citrus glaze?” he asked hopefully.
“With extra citrus glaze,” she said, heading up the porch steps. The fresh pine wreath smelled amazing, but it was the only decoration up so far.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” he asked. “Come on in.”
“Hey, if you want, I can help you drag the decorations out of the garage first,” she said, placing the bag on the porch table.
“Nah,” he replied, waving her off.
“If you’re sure,” she said.
“Yeah, yeah,” he said, nodding. “I want to catch up with my girl. Let’s have some cake.”
He opened the front door and she headed inside, stopping to take off her boots and coat.
The house was a little colder than usual. Mom had always liked it extra warm, even though that meant a higher oil bill. And she had always been the one who kept the house neat and tidy. She kept a little chart on the fridge that Mal and Dean used to keep track of their chores too.
Every time Mal stopped by now, she expected to find the place a mess. The loss of her mom had wrecked them all, but her dad had been hit the hardest.
But once again, the house was neat as a pin—the pine floors gleamed, the sofa pillows were all fluffed up, and the books and figurines proudly displayed on the built-ins that flanked the fireplace were free of even a speck of dust. Her dad was still using Mom’s chart, keeping the home she was so proud of just the way she would have wanted it.
Mal found it reassuring and heartbreaking all at once.
They had made it all the way back to the kitchen before she realized that there were no decorations up in the house either.
They often waited on a fresh Christmas tree.
The house was small, and putting up the tree meant one of the overstuffed chairs had to go out on the back porch to make room for it.
But by now, Mom and Dad always had the manger scene out on the mantel and the decorations Dean and Mal had made over the years hung from the curtain rods.
They even had a special ribbon for hanging last year’s Christmas cards from the door of the coat closet, and that was missing too.
“I’ll start the kettle,” her dad said, heading over to the sink.
Mal grabbed a cutting board and a knife from the block, and sliced them each a generous piece of pound cake.
When she opened the cupboard, she couldn’t help noticing that the regular plates were still there, not the special Christmas ones they always used in December.
Biting her lip, she grabbed the plates and a pair of forks, and headed over to the table.
The kitchen was small and fairly dim, but it had a lovely window overlooking the backyard that you could see from the kitchen table. It was dark outside, but Mal could still see the moonlight glowing on the unbroken snow that covered the lawn from the porch to the back fence.
“Here we go,” her dad said, setting down two mugs of peppermint tea. “Oh, doesn’t that look good?”
Mal had to smile at the way his face lit up as he gazed down at his slab of cake.
“I made it today,” she told him. “So it’s nice and fresh.”
“To daughters who stay local,” he said, lifting a bite of cake in a little toast.
“To dads who say the door is always open,” she replied, lifting up her own fork.
They both took their first bites, her dad humming contentedly around his.
“This hits the spot, Sugarplum,” he said. “Pipes under Mrs. Stinson’s laundry room froze again. I had the devil of a time getting under there to change them out. I wish she’d let me insulate that mudroom properly so it wouldn’t keep happening.”
“Why doesn’t she?” Mal asked. “She can afford to do it, right?”
“She’s got that mansion,” Dad said, shrugging. “And she certainly doesn’t spend her money on anything around town. But she still has the guys at the firehouse pumping out her basement whenever there’s a big storm instead of just fixing the problem.”
“That’s a shame,” Mal said, shaking her head.
“If she weren’t so sour, I’d have put in a sump pump for her a long time ago,” her dad said. “But I don’t dare hurt her pride or tell her that house needs a thing she didn’t call me for, even if I’m not charging for it.”
That sounded like Mal’s dad. He still worked as a handyman in town on houses big and small, and in a pinch, he’d help out with other things too, whether folks could pay in cash, or in farm produce, or not pay at all.
Dean had once taken two free piano lessons from old Mrs. Winlop, whose gutters their dad had rehung after a bad ice storm.
Dean didn’t really want the lessons, but Dad insisted that he wasn’t going to hurt the lady’s feelings by refusing.
Charles Fisher’s big heart was the reason their own family had such a small house, and back when she was in high school, Mal often wished bitterly that he would start charging more so they could afford the pretty clothes her classmates had, or even a second car for her and Dean to use.
But now that Mal was older, she had come to truly appreciate the way her dad took care of his community. If she did any good in Trinity Falls herself, it was only due to his example.
And that same community had rallied around them after they lost her mom, dropping off casseroles, boxes of groceries, and fresh flowers, along with offers to do cleaning and shopping, and stuffing the mailbox with handwritten tributes scrawled in cards and letters.
Starting a month or two after the funeral, Dad had gotten much busier than usual too.
Mal had a sneaking suspicion that a whole lot of folks were finally getting around to changing out their storm windows and putting in frost-proof hose bibs just to keep Charles Fisher from having too much time on his own these days.
But he was still quieter than usual. She missed the version of her dad with the big booming voice and the zany sense of humor, who filled the house with lighthearted laughter.
But she didn’t really blame him. Her own heart didn’t exactly feel light lately either.
“I don’t mean to pry,” Dad said, rousing her from her thoughts. “But Reggie may have mentioned that you were seeing someone?”
“Oh wow,” Mal said. “Do you have him on payroll or something?”
“No way,” her dad said, chuckling. “He just likes hanging out on your block, says he can see the world go by from Park Avenue.”
“He sure can,” Mal said. “And he’s right. There’s a new guy in town he’s probably seen me with. But we’re not dating or anything.”
“That right?” her dad asked, taking a big bite of cake like he didn’t want her to see his face.
“Really,” she told him. “I’m not. Though… I do kind of like him.”
“Tell me about him,” Dad said, looking up.
“We actually met online,” Mal said, then wished she hadn’t.
“Like online dating?” her father asked, a furrow appearing in his brow.
“No,” she said. “More like… well, a chat room for people who have lost a loved one.”
She braced herself. Dad hadn’t wanted to do anything like that, not in person at the church and certainly not online. She hoped he wouldn’t judge her too harshly.
“That’s good,” he said gruffly after a moment. “I’m glad you found something that helps you.”
“It does,” she said, nodding. “And it was really easy to join—”
“No, no,” he said, shaking his head. “I don’t want all that. I’m doing just fine.”
The signs were all around her that he was doing fine. But Mal still didn’t believe him. Her parents had been wildly in love, even after so many years. Mal had lost her mother, but her dad had lost his whole world.
“Anyway, we met on there and he always seemed to know what to say,” she said, still feeling a little self-conscious. “And I shared some recipes with him, for some of the things his wife used to make.”
She left out that sharing the recipes had led to more messages, which had evolved into a daily exchange of encouragement, jokes, funny memes, and catching up throughout the day.
Her dad nodded slowly.
“Once we were friends, he told me he was moving out this way,” she went on. “Turns out his mom was a Cassidy. He used to spend school breaks out here when he was a kid.”
“Is he Josie Hamilton’s boy?” her dad asked.
“No,” she said. “At least I don’t think so. His name is Harrison Law.”
“Right,” her dad said. “Nice kid, as far as I remember. But quiet. He’s young to lose a wife.”
“He is,” Mal agreed, feeling a tug on her heart. “And his little girl has lost her mother. She’s only eight, but she was five when her mom died.”
“Sounds like you managed to find two people hurting more than we are, Sugarplum,” her dad said with a sad smile.
“I guess so,” she said, nodding slowly. “We just met in person for the first time, but I think that sometimes it’s nice to be with people who understand that life isn’t a bed of roses all the time.”
Her dad smiled. They both remembered her steady, kind-hearted mother losing her patience once in a blue moon when a student complained that math class was too hard or dared to say that they hated math.
Life is not a bed of roses, she would mutter angrily to herself, pacing up and down the living room and shaking her head while the rest of the family watched her in wonder.
But the storm always passed quickly, and often ended with a cozy baking session or a night of board games.
“So, you like him as a friend?” her dad said, bringing her back to the present.
“Maybe something more,” Mal ventured. “I don’t know.”
She wasn’t sure why she was admitting her feelings. Harrison was a lost cause in that regard. He’d been pretty clear about the fact that he had sworn off women. He wouldn’t marry again.
“You always had a thing for the Hawkins boy,” her dad said carefully.
“I guess everyone knew but him,” Mal said, her cheeks heating.
“That’s nothing to be ashamed of,” her dad said. “But don’t go out with this fellow just because Declan’s getting married.”
“I-I’m not,” she said. “I mean we’re not going out.
But if we were, it wouldn’t be because of Declan Hawkins.
I really like Harrison. And his daughter is…
well, she’s such a special kid, Dad. She loves to bake.
We made baklava tonight, and she did practically everything herself, if you can believe it. ”
Her dad nodded and took another bite of cake without looking at her.
“You think I shouldn’t go out with him,” Mal guessed quietly. “Even if he asked.”
“I didn’t say that,” her dad said, dropping his fork and lifting his hands up slightly.
“You didn’t have to,” Mal said. “You haven’t even met him, Dad. Why disapprove?”
“If you want my advice, I’m only telling you to be careful,” he said after a moment. “That’s all.”
“Okay,” Mal said. That was fair. “Any particular reason? Or just that I haven’t known him long?”
“Because I can tell you that he’s already got a number one girl in his life,” her dad said simply. “And you deserve to be somebody’s number one girl.”
“Wow,” Mal said, shaking her head. “So does that mean that he never gets to find love again?”
“I’m not worried about him,” her dad said. “Let his dad worry about him.”
“Dad,” she said, laughing.
“I’ll take some of that baklava when it’s ready, though,” he said. “If the little girl’s got some to spare.”
“Oh, she’ll have plenty,” Mal said. “We tripled the recipe. She did it all in her head and wrote it down so fast. It was really impressive.”
“Your mother would have liked that,” Dad said with a little smile.
Mallory smiled too. He was right. Mom would have loved it.
“I need to run off soon since it’s an early day tomorrow,” she told him. “Can I help you get the decorations out before I go?”
Her dad frowned and scratched the back of his neck.
“What?” she asked.
“I was kind of thinking maybe we’d skip all that this year,” he said.
“No Christmas decorations?” she asked, horrified.
“It’s a lot of trouble,” he said mildly.
She opened her mouth and closed it again. He was a grown man and if he didn’t want to cover the lawn with plastic snowmen and Santas, that was his right.
But something about it set off alarm bells in her heart.
“Come on,” he said, getting up. “I’ll walk you home.”
“You don’t have to do that,” she said, rising and grabbing their plates and mugs to carry to the sink. “I’m just a few blocks away.”
“I insist,” he told her with a smile. “Besides, I could use a chance to stretch my legs.”
She placed their things in the sink and nodded to him, and they both headed to the door to bundle up in silence.
He’s fine, she tried to tell herself. He’s going to be okay.
But one glance at the empty mantel over the fireplace made her heart twist painfully again.