Chapter 10 Malachi
Chapter ten
Malachi
Greer is living up to her fiery personality and Scrooge-like ways, yet a softness peeks through every now and then that she makes sure to carefully mask.
When I heard her say “Emotions are a liability. Control is power.” under her breath, it occurred to me it’s what she said at the bar when I nearly kissed her. While I don’t like hearing her say it, I understand why it’s become her mantra.
Greer has learned that being emotional makes her weak, and if she can control her emotions, she’s in power. In her case, she’s not merely controlling them but blocking them out completely. It explains her gray, bleak aura.
The memory with her and Avery showed her how she started on her path to becoming a Scrooge, which will only become clearer as we continue.
It’s not going to get any easier for her, but she needs to see these memories—every second I spend with her, I realize that more and more.
Because I don’t believe Greer wants to be how she is.
You’re behind schedule. Is everything alright? Remi’s rumbling voice echoes through my mind.
Everything is fine. We are behind but not by much, I communicate back. We wouldn’t be at all had Greer not asked so many questions and tried to hit herself multiple times to wake up. It’s happened before with others similar to her, but she was very insistent.
There was also the fact that she kissed me and tried to take me to bed.
My lips still buzz from the unexpected kiss, one I’m sure my fellow guardians saw or felt through the comms I’ve kept open.
I know I’ll hear about it later, but for now, I enjoy the fading taste of her on my lips—bitter yet sweet with a hint of spice.
Like an expensive dark chocolate laced with cinnamon.
Let us know if you need anything, Remi adds.
I send a pulse of gratitude and warmth to Remi before I shut down my link to them. I need to focus on Greer and show her what she needs to see before my time with her is up. The pit in my stomach grows at that thought, but it’s how Elysian Pines works.
A night belongs to each of us: me first, then Remi, then Sam.
I show her what she needs to see, and I may see her at the bar or in town after this, but if tradition holds, tonight is when our time will end.
I put that painful thought in the future where it belongs.
She’s here with me now; that’s what matters.
“What memory is this?”
Greer’s sharp gaze finds mine. The living room we’re in is modest—nothing screams wealth or extravagance. The walls are painted beige, and the carpet is a neutral-colored Berber that was popular in the late nineties. A fake, sad-looking Christmas tree is in the corner, ready to be decorated.
I cock my head at her, and she huffs, blowing a piece of hair from her face.
“Let me guess—I’ll find out?”
My upper lip twitches at her sass. “You’re catching on already.”
“I may not be able to get out of this nightmare, but I’m smart.”
She is, but nothing will take her from the past. While she’s with me, my grace allows for us to travel back in time, something I can do on my own whenever I please.
My gifts show her the moments that have made her who she is now and give her some much-needed perspective. Everything she sees tonight will set her up for Remi’s time with her in the present tomorrow evening.
The sound of footsteps, softened by the carpet, approach. Greer turns to where a mini version of herself appears. She’s younger than she was in the first memory, only seven.
When I show people the past, the memories are not always linear.
For Greer, my feeling was she needed to see her time with Avery first. And given her reaction, it was the right choice.
It made a dent, if not a crack in the walls she’s built around her emotions.
She may be pushing back against what’s happening, but most everyone does.
It’s rare people will just go along and accept what I am or what’s happening without pause. That’s why we keep going.
I study Greer’s profile as she watches the younger version of herself.
Despite her sass, her gaze is curious and attentive.
Her red lips are pursed, the makeup she fell asleep wearing still on her face but slightly faded.
Her wavy hair is mussed from lying on the bed but still beautiful, tumbling down her back in nectarine-colored waves with blonde highlights framing her round face.
Her outside is just as beautiful as the inside once was—or should I say still is. From what I can see, it’s simply been long buried and protected.
What she’s about to see will help her understand that. At least, I hope it will.
Past Greer has her arms laden with Christmas decor and a wide smile on her face. She’s the perfect image of a child opening presents from Santa on Christmas morning, pure joy and innocence. So much different than the Greer of now.
“Do you remember this?” I ask.
She shakes her head and nibbles her lip. “I don’t think so.”
“Keep watching.”
A flash of annoyance passes over her features, and I wonder what she’s thinking about me in her head. I bet she called me a bad name or two.
Young Greer lays the things in her arms on the couch cushion next to her, lining things up so she can see them all in perfect rows.
In the mix of items is popcorn and cranberry garland, paper snowflakes, and homemade ornaments for the tree.
She starts humming “Jingle Bells” and kicking her feet against the couch, bopping along to the tune.
She picks one of the items up, a clear plastic ball ornament with a picture inside that must have been slipped through a slot in the bottom.
I focus back on Adult Greer, who’s still eyeing her younger self with interest.
“Greer, where are you?”
“In here, Mom!” Young Greer yells, bouncing on the couch.
When her mom rounds the corner, she’s wearing work clothes, slacks and a long-sleeved blouse. There are tired circles under her eyes and a frown on her face, but when she sees Greer, she smiles warmly at her only daughter. “How was Avery’s?”
Greer hops up, keeping the ornament tucked behind her back while she gestures to the items on the couch with the other. “Her mom showed us how to make popcorn garland with cranberries!”
It’s hard to miss how Greer’s mom bristles. Her shoulders become straighter, her lips tighter. Eventually, she looks back at her daughter. “That’s great, honey. But if we hang that on the tree, we might have pests around the house. You know we just got rid of those ants from this past summer.”
Young Greer frowns as if she doesn’t understand but quickly wipes it away, replacing it with her excited smile and rocking on the heels of her feet. “That’s okay. We made something else, too!” Her mom waits patiently as she takes the ornament from behind her back. She holds it out proudly.
“It has a picture of me and Cooper in it!”
Her mom takes the ornament, and Greer turns to the couch and points to another one.
“These ones here still need a picture. But Mrs. Jones showed me how to put them in if we wanna do more. She said they look real pretty when the tree lights are shining behind them. And they don’t cost an arm and a leg!”
Her mom grips the plastic bulb, lips morphing into a tight frown. I don’t think Avery’s mom thought Greer would repeat the part about the cost.
“Mom?”
The older woman lifts her chin and rolls her shoulders so they’re straighter than before. “That was nice of her.”
Young Greer’s smile falls once more, and it breaks my heart. “Do you not like them?”
Her mom crouches until they’re eye to eye, smoothing Greer’s hair back with a small smile.
“I do like them. They’re sweet, just like you.
But maybe this year we treat ourselves, hm?
What do you say to a few fancy ornaments—glass ones, like the kind Avery’s family has? Something extra special for our tree.”
Past Greer worries her bottom lip, eyes darting down to the ornament in her mom’s fingers. “I thought Dad said we have too many decorations already.”
Her mom uses her free hand to take her daughter’s. “Your dad won’t mind. Sometimes, it’s okay to splurge on something beautiful. I just want you to have the very best, honey. Don’t you want that, too?”
Greer’s little nose scrunches as if she’s attempting to stop tears. “I guess.”
Her mom stands. “Go get your coat and shoes on; we’ll be back before Dad is home.” She touches Greer’s cheek thoughtfully, and for a moment, it looks as if she wants to say more, but then she turns and exits the room with the ornament in hand, leaving her daughter standing alone.
Young Greer looks after her mom then at the homemade garland on the couch. For a second, I think she’ll begin to cry, but then she rolls her shoulders back like her mom had done before, grabs the items from the couch in her arms, and leaves the room.
I don’t have to tell Present Greer to follow because she’s already moving. In the kitchen now, we watch as her past self dumps everything in the trash before running off.
Present Greer moves to go after Younger Greer, but I grab her elbow. She meets my gaze in confusion, but she doesn’t pull away.
“Shouldn’t I follow?” she asks.
I shake my head, observing her softened features. The earlier anger she felt toward me seems to have melted a bit. That’s a good thing, because I want her to feel what I’m showing her, really take it all in so she can understand.
“That’s what I wanted you to see. I have more to show you.”
“What was the point of that?”
“Do you not know?” I ask.
She bites the inside of her cheek before she answers. “Are you trying to prove my mom has always been a jerk? Like mother, like daughter or some crap?”
I squeeze her arm gently. “Don’t you see, Greer? You didn’t care about the cost of things or impressing people with money once. You used to love Christmas, to understand its meaning of love and giving.”
She pulls her arm away as if my touch suddenly burns her. “I’ve always hated Christmas.”