Chapter 24 December 18
It’s a few hours before the party, and Christmas chili night, and everything is ready. The checklist double-checked, things seemingly on track. Amelia’s already at the community centre, getting started on the setup. She made up some bogus end-of-year teachers’ meeting so Mom and Dad don’t catch on.
My parents are currently finishing up paperwork, nibbling on sugar cookies, and drinking lukewarm coffee at the kitchen table. I’m scattered and stress-eating my second slice of leftover cinnamon-bread French toast when the doorbell rings.
“I’ll get it.” Popping a last piece of syrup-drenched French toast into my mouth, I wipe my hands with a napkin and head through the living room. Christmas bells nestled into a decorative wreath jingle when I open the front door.
Elsie Farrow stands on the other side, a quilted bag in one hand and a leash in the other, attached to none other than Mary Piggins.
For a moment I’m shocked, because in my recent memory I just attended her memorial service.
It’s mind-blowing to stand here across from her, seeing her so vibrant and healthy.
So full of life. I’m afraid I might cry, and I try to get ahold of myself.
It’s Mary who brings me back to the present, with a series of happy snuffles and snorts. I clear my throat and smile brightly. “Miss Elsie, hello! Happy holidays!”
“Hello, Libby, and happy holidays to you,” she says, her blue eyes—that are so much like Claire’s—holding mine. “I had an extra casserole, and something just told me I should drop it off for your mom and dad, especially knowing you’re home visiting.”
“That’s so kind of you.” I step back and gesture inside. “Would you like to come in? Mom and Dad are in the kitchen, finishing some work before we head to chili night .” I give an exaggerated wink, and Miss Elsie smiles knowingly.
“Looking forward to it,” she says, winking back. “But I won’t come in—thank you, though. Mary here does best outdoors. She can be a bit of a handful, as sweet as she is.”
Miss Elsie casts an adoring smile towards Mary Piggins, and it makes me both happy and sad, seeing how much she clearly loves this troublemaking potbellied pig—who feels the same about her, based on how Mary snuggles into her owner’s leg.
“Mary and I have met a couple of times now, and ‘bit of a handful’ seems fitting.” Another snort, and I bend so I can give her a little scratch behind her ear.
Miss Elsie holds out the quilted bag. “Macaroni and cheese soup—a family recipe—tell your mom and dad to keep the Tupperware, reuse it however they like. Now, I can tell by your face you’re wary of this delicacy, Libby, but you’ll have to trust me. It’s the best comfort food there is.”
I laugh lightly at being called out for my reaction—a subtle eyebrow lift, probably a mild grimace. Miss Elsie misses nothing.
“Well, I’ve never met a macaroni and cheese I didn’t love, so I can’t wait to try the Farrow family soup version.” I take the bag in hand, noting its weight. I’m impressed that she’s carried this over from her place, while also walking Mary—her fitness and strength must be excellent.
Again, I’m subdued and saddened by the reality that a year from now she will no longer be here. “Thank you so much. This was very thoughtful of you.”
“Give them a hug for me, and I’ll see the three of you soon.” Miss Elsie reaches for my hand and gives a squeeze. I almost cry again, wishing I wasn’t privy to the future. “You’re a good girl for coming home for this. I know they miss you.”
Now I do start to cry, but Miss Elsie makes no mention of the tears that blur my vision. She leans in to give me a hug, her wool coat scratchy against my chin, smelling of lavender and something softly peppery—winter mint, maybe.
“Time to go, Mary,” she says, and the pig lets out a snort that reminds me of a toddler who has no interest in—nor intention of—doing as her parent asks. “Young lady, we need to get our steps in; otherwise, there will be no candy cane as a little treat, all right?”
“See you soon,” I reply, giving a short wave. “Bye, Miss Elsie. Bye, Mary Piggins.”
I’m shutting the door, bag of soup in hand, when my phone buzzes. Walking back into the kitchen, I take a quick glance at the screen.
Austin. Anxiety, mixed with a sense of obligation, moves through me, and I sigh.
“Everything okay?” Mom asks.
I decline the call—I’ll check my voicemail later. “Just a work thing. Nothing urgent.”
My tone isn’t as convincing as I would like, but Mom lets it go.
“Was that Elsie Farrow I heard? Did you invite her in?” Dad asks.
“It was, and I did. But she had Mary Piggins with her.” I set the bag on the countertop, and then reach inside to pull out the large, round Tupperware container from its depths.
“Macaroni and cheese soup . It also comes with a hug, for both of you—and she said you can keep the container.”
“Mac and cheese soup?” Dad glances at the container. The contents look like a watered-down casserole, and we share a semi-concerned look.
“A family recipe, apparently,” I say with a shrug.
“Knowing Elsie, I’m sure it’s outstanding,” Mom replies. “Why don’t you put it in the fridge, Libby? We’ll have it tomorrow for lunch or dinner.”
I find a spot in the fridge and am shutting the door when my phone vibrates again. I grumble under my breath, but it’s not Austin. It’s Helena, and it’s a video call.
Shoot. I forgot to get back to her, and three texts and a voicemail later she’s tracking me down, the way a good friend does.
“Helly, hi!” I say, answering the call. “Give me a sec.”
I put up a finger for Mom and Dad, and then point to the living room. They’ve started doing the holiday-themed crossword from today’s paper.
“What’s a five-letter word for part of the mistletoe?” Dad asks, after nodding in acknowledgement of my gesture.
“Berry,” Mom replies. “Or sprig?”
Their voices fade as I head through the living room, sitting sideways on the second to last stair so my socked feet and back rest on the pickets. It’s how I used to sit as a teenager when I was on our corded landline, which is long gone now.
“I’m here,” I say to Helena. She’s dressed in a strange mash-up: a white Santa Claus beard, the elastic loops around her ears stretched so the beard sits below her chin; a butterfly antenna headband; and dinosaur stickers on her cheeks and nose—all surely the work of her toddler.
“Nice outfit, by the way. Very eclectic fashion choices. So how are you, Helly?”
“How am I? How am I? ” She’s mad, her frown deepening.
“You call me to tell me you’ve travelled through time, like Marty McFly, and then I don’t hear from you for over forty-eight hours?
We text each other every night. Every night , Elizabeth.
No exceptions—even if you think you’re a time traveller, or whatever. Do you know how worried I’ve been?”
I shush her, because my parents are only one room away. Taking the stairs two at a time until I reach my bedroom, I close the door firmly behind me.
“I’m so sorry, Helly. I didn’t mean to worry you.
It’s been… strange,” I reply. I turn on the lantern light that I borrowed from Amelia’s room, after Krazy Gluing it back together.
“Let It Snow!” begins playing, creating the ambient noise I’m hoping will help muffle the conversation if my parents come upstairs.
Helena sighs in irritation. “Don’t make me count to three,” she says.
“Um… are you talking to me?”
“One…” she says, ignoring the question. She holds up a finger. “Two…” Another finger goes up, and her tone becomes more serious. “Good girl. Thank you, Dells.”
“Phew. For a moment there, I thought I was about to get the wrath of Momma Helena.”
She laughs, eyes back on me. “Adelaide is obsessed with the tree. We have these hand-painted-present ornaments that David’s mom sent from Finland, super fancy.
Dells unwrapped half of them! So now we have six tiny Styrofoam blocks hanging from the tree, which is not at all festive.
Anyway, she was about to start on the others, and I’m trying to teach a lesson and not endure the wrath of my mother-in-law, who believes children are easily trained. ”
“?‘Have a kid,’ they said,” I reply, in my best Helena voice—slightly higher than my own—with perfect enunciation. Her mother was an elementary-school English teacher.
“?‘It will be fun—and quite easy!’—they said,” she adds, with a half-decent Finnish accent to mimic her mother-in-law, and we both laugh.
Then she abruptly stops, her brown eyes narrowing and her lips pursing.
Her dark curls frame her face, and I wish I could reach through the screen and give her a hug.
“Hmm… you look okay to me. How are you feeling?” she asks.
“Perfect. Never better.” A stretch, maybe. However, not completely untrue, despite the events of the past couple of days.
Another pause. “Do you still think you’re in Christmas past?”
I hesitate. Chew the inside of my lip.
“Elizabeth…” Helena begins, impatience coming back into her voice.
“Yes, okay, yes . I am still in Christmas past.” I throw up my hand, the one not holding the phone. “I don’t understand what’s happening, or why, and I know you’re probably about ready to come here and drive me to the nearest CT scanner—”
“Correct,” she replies, nodding emphatically. One of the dinosaur stickers falls off her cheek.
“But you just have to trust me. I’m okay. I can’t explain it, but I also know I don’t need a CT scan.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure,” I reply, repeating myself to, I hope, reassure her.
Helena sits back in her chair, crosses her arms, then looks to the side and blows out a long breath before facing the camera again. “I need to tell you something.”
I’m thrown for a moment, wondering what she’s referring to.
She seems nervous, her fingers tapping against her crossed arms. Now I’m worried.
Something must be wrong. I think back to last year, to anything that happened that might explain this shift in her.
But I can’t come up with a thing. Everything was fine last Christmas.
Yes, she and David were recently separated, but it was as copacetic as a separation could be. Adelaide was healthy, work was fine.
“What? What’s going on?” I ask.
She suddenly changes her position, leaning her elbows onto the table and looking right into the camera. “I may have done something you’re not going to like.”
“What did you do?” I have no clue what it could be, but my heart rate increases in anticipation. By the tone of her voice, the sheepish look she’s now sporting, it’s clear that, whatever it is, she’s right: I’m not going to like it.
“Let It Snow!” continues playing on a loop, and it’s distracting.
I reach over and turn the lamp off so the room is silent again.
Now I hear Adelaide faintly in the background, singing “You better watch out / You better not cry! / You better not pout…” in her adorable two-year-old, lisp-heavy voice.
I think of Liam and our cheer-me-up singing outside the clinic.
“So you might be getting a visitor. Soon.” Helena scrunches up her nose, and a second dinosaur sticker falls off.
“Who? What are you talking about?”
Just then the doorbell rings. I ignore it, turn my attention back to Helena.
“Sorry, doorbell just rang. My parents will get it.”
“Um… shit. Ooops. Yes, Dells. I know that was a swear. Sorry, Elizabeth,” Helena says, before adding, “I told Austin.”
“You told Austin what?” But I’m distracted because Dad is calling my name up the stairs. I go to the door and open it, then shout down, “Be right there.”
To Helena I say, “I have to go. My dad needs me for something.”
She waves, seems relieved the conversation is ending so abruptly. “Go, go. It can wait.”
“Helena—wait… What did you tell Austin?”
It comes out in a rush. “I told him I was worried about you. That you were sick, which he knew, but also that you seemed to be confused . Like, in a bad way. Maybe in a pathological way?”
“Oh no…” Suddenly I wonder who’s at the door.
Why Dad is calling me to come downstairs.
Surely not for another neighbour, nor a casserole.
Now I wish I’d answered Austin’s phone calls, because I’m realizing there’s a good chance he’s standing on the other side of my parents’ front door. “What did he say?”
“I did a good job convincing him something was really wrong, let’s put it that way.” At the look on my face, she says, “I’m sorry! You legit scared the hell out of me. And then I ran into him at work, and one thing led to another, and…”
She stops, sighs with resignation. “He said he was coming to get you. Probably on his way there. May even be there already?”
“Helly, this is bad.” My heart rate ratchets up further.
My eyes dart to my closed bedroom door, and my throat feels tight.
There is no way this isn’t going to blow up in my face.
Austin will tell my parents something is very wrong, everyone will freak out, I’ll be forced to…
I don’t even know. But it won’t be good.
And we’re T-minus two hours until the surprise party kicks off. Good grief, what am I supposed to do?
“Again, I am so, so sorry.” Helena bites her bottom lip, utterly distressed.
“No, it’s fine, Helly,” I reply. “I would probably have done the same thing. I’ll… figure it out.”
There are footsteps on the stairs, and I almost can’t breathe. Then, a knock at my bedroom door. “I have to go,” I squeak out.
Another light knock, and my heart rate goes up a few more beats.
“Talk soon?” Helena asks, and I nod before hitting End Call.
Then I look at myself in my mirror on the back of the door, smooth down my long, last-Christmas hair, and take a deep breath before opening the bedroom door.