Chapter One #2
He cracked his eyes open just enough to look at her. “Not Duke. One of my rescues. It wasn’t the dog’s fault. I scared him.”
Mallory quickly gathered astringent and dressing. The wound didn’t appear to be a dog bite. “Duke stays within the confines of this curtain, and as soon as I get you all fixed up, you’ve got to take him out.”
Hollis nodded. “Promise.”
Mallory pulled up a stool and sat. “I can get you clean and bandaged, but after all these years, I can’t fix this hopeless need of yours to save every dog you meet.”
Hollis’s grimace shifted to a tiny grin. “You know that’s the pot calling the kettle black, right?” He relaxed his hold on his leg and lowered it to the bed. “Says the nurse who cares for everyone around her except herself.”
Mallory and Hollis had known each other since they were kids, and Hollis was best friends with Evan, who was married to Mal’s best friend. Over the years, they’d had their fair share of feuds, but they were on friendly terms now. “Tell me what happened?”
“I’m not one to startle easily, but the dog lunged at me. I stumbled backward into a pile of lumber, one piece of which had a six-inch nail bent at the perfect angle to rip my leg open.”
Mallory flinched. “Ouch.”
“Ouch is an understatement.”
“I’ll try to be gentle, but I can’t promise this won’t hurt,” she said.
He grinned some more, which wasn’t the response she normally got when she warned a patient of pain.
“Then I won’t promise not to scream.”
“This hall has been a mixture of screams all evening.” Her shoulders slumped. “Forget the pumpkin pie. All I want for Thanksgiving is peace and quiet… Are you up-to-date on your tetanus shot?”
“I’ve been working construction since I was eighteen. Do you realize how many times I’ve been in this ER?”
Mallory laughed at the question. The ER wasn’t her regular department, but she knew that Hollis had been all-boy and was now all-guy. “If I had to guess, you probably have a bench named after you somewhere.”
He watched her intently as she worked, swiping the wound with alcohol wipes and dousing it with antibacterial ointment. “Rehearsals for Santa, Baby start this weekend, right?” he asked as she applied the bandage.
Her gaze flicked up. “Yep. Please tell me you’re not backing out too.”
Hollis hadn’t held an acting role since he was fifteen, but he managed the stage props and did a lot of the heavy lifting. If he backed out, she swore she’d scream.
“Too?” he asked, narrowing his eyes as he tilted his head.
Mallory kept her focus on his wound. Now that it was clean, she reached for a bandage. “Mrs. Corban messaged me yesterday. I tried to get Maddie to take the open spot, but she’s got other priorities right now.”
“The newlywed life,” Hollis said with a nod, absently scratching the side of his beard. “Sam mentioned to me that Maddie missed being active, so I reached out to a friend of mine from my juvie days and connected her with Maddie.”
Juvie meaning when Hollis had been locked away in juvenile detention during his late teens.
“Renee is heavily involved in adaptive sports, and she runs a group here in Bloom and the surrounding communities,” Hollis said. “I think she could help Maddie find her groove again.”
Mallory looked up from his bandage. It had never occurred to her, but of course Maddie would be missing the outdoor activities that she’d always enjoyed. “That is so nice of you. Do you sleep?”
His brow lifted in question.
“You’re doing construction, rescuing and training dogs, doing stage work for the theater, and helping my sister find a new outlet. And,” she said, lifting a finger, “every time I visit Nan, you’re there visiting Pop.” Pop was Hollis’s foster grandfather.
“I can sleep when I’m old and gray. What about you?” he asked. “Why don’t you take that role in the play?”
Mallory shook her head. “I’m the director.
I feel like I’m doing enough without taking on an acting role too.
” Too much actually. Standing from the stool, she turned and started to walk toward the small metal rolling cart along the wall.
She didn’t need anything specific, just space because the weight of responsibility on her shoulders was heavy, and sometimes it felt hard to breathe.
Hollis touched her hand before she stepped out of reach. “Hey. I know how hard you work, and I’ve seen how often you visit Nan when not many others do. I’ve watched how much you’ve supported Maddie since her accident, and even Savannah with her autoimmune condition. You’re everyone’s rock.”
Suddenly, she felt seen in a way she hadn’t been in a long time. Not since Nan had a clearer mind. “Then why are you questioning me about acting in the play?”
“I just remember how much you used to love being onstage, until I ruined it for you.” He looked down and then flinched, reminding Mallory that he was in pain.
“I’m going to need to glue this gash of yours.”
“It’s that deep?” he asked.
“Yep, and you’ll have a nice, new scar to match all the others. It’s not fair that men get sexier with scars and women have to cover ours with makeup.” The realization that she’d just called Hollis sexy hit her with a quick surge of heat through her cheeks.
He was kind enough not to call her on it, but the look he was giving her somehow felt worse. “Let’s get this over with. Matt and Sandy invited me over for Thanksgiving dinner.”
“That was nice of them.” She pulled the tray of medical items closer and got to work, tending to his wound on auto mode.
“Wanna come with me?” he asked, avoiding looking at his wound. She found it comical how many men came in and got woozy at the sight of blood. “I’m sure Sandy made more than enough.”
The suggestion took Mallory by surprise.
“You’re about to get off shift, right?” he prodded.
Now she regretted telling him that because it would be awkward when she rejected the invitation.
Some part of her wanted to say yes though.
“That’s okay. It’s been a long shift, and I’m exhausted.
But thank you.” She applied a bandage in a quick movement, pushed the metal tray aside, and smiled back at him. “All done.”
He finally looked down, his brows lifting. “I’m impressed.”
She shrugged a shoulder. “If you knew how many times I’ve glued up a gash like that one.”
“Probably as many times as I’ve hammered a nail into a piece of lumber and constructed a basic frame. If you change your mind about dinner with Matt and Sandy…” When he stood, so did Duke, wagging his tail anxiously.
“Thanks.” She led him out of the closed curtain and down the corridor. “I think I’ll actually swing by Memory Oaks and visit Nan though.”
She hadn’t planned on doing that, but it seemed like a good idea now.
Then she might head home and open Nan’s box of keepsakes afterward.
She had been waiting for Maddie to join her, but now that it was clear Maddie wasn’t interested in a deep dive into her family’s past, Mallory was eager to discover exactly what was so important for Nan to show them.
Mallory had assumed her grandmother was an open book, but everyone had secrets—little things they wanted to keep hidden from the world. Even Mallory.
As Mallory approached her small, one-story brick house later that evening, she slowed her step when she noticed an insulated bag hanging on her front doorknob, and a faint smell of delicious food wafted under her nose.
Undoubtedly, Maddie had sent Sam to drop off a dinner plate from their earlier meal with Grandpa Charlie and his new wife, Eleanor.
Regret threaded through her, but without Nan, she couldn’t fathom sitting down to a turkey meal with all the sides and a slice of pumpkin pie, pretending everything was fine.
Even though Nan hadn’t known Mallory from the nurse who worked her hall, Mallory was grateful for the half hour she’d sat with Nan tonight.
After unlocking her door, she took the bag inside and kicked off her shoes—her feet practically sighing with relief.
She was hungry, but the food could wait.
She left the insulated bag on her kitchen counter and headed down the hall toward her bedroom, flipping on the light and veering into her closet.
In the very back corner was the large plastic box that Nan had given to Maddie and her last Christmas.
“This is my Keepsake Box. Just a few treasured items that might not make sense if you don’t know the memories behind them.
” She held up a small, brown journal to show Mallory and Maddie.
“That’s why I’m also giving you this. Inside this journal, you’ll find the meaning of all the items. I’ve numbered them because they’re meant to be hung in order, according to the time line. ”
“Hung?” Mallory had said, shaking her head slightly. “Hung where?”
Nan’s smile was warm, as always. “On the Memory Tree.” She didn’t wait for them to ask what exactly that was. Nan had been showing subtle signs of forgetfulness, and part of Mallory wondered if it was related to that. “A Christmas tree except this one tells a story. My story.”
She’d made both Mallory and Maddie promise they’d wait until this Thanksgiving or after, pulling each item out in their proper order and reading whatever she’d written for that memory.
“I promise,” Mallory agreed, ignoring the fact that Maddie had said nothing.
Nan’s shoulders seemed to slump in relief. “I have one more request. If I can’t make it happen next year, promise me that you’ll run my play. The town is depending on us. The show must go on.”
At the time, Mallory thought Nan was making a mountain out a of molehill over little things like losing her keys or getting lost on the way to the grocery store where she’d been shopping for decades. No part of her really thought that she was agreeing to put on Nan’s play on her own.
Dragging the Keepsake Box to the side of her bed, she sat on the floor while leaning against the side of her mattress.
I wish Maddie was here.
She understood why Maddie wasn’t. After months of living moment to moment, Maddie was finally focusing on the future.
Maybe getting involved in adaptive sports would be fulfilling for her.
Mallory couldn’t be prouder of her younger sister’s strength and determination.
Maybe next year, she’d be ready for Nan’s full story.
Lifting the lid, the first thing Mallory saw was Nan’s journal lying on top of several small boxes, all numbered.
The journal was a small brown book with tiny white flowers, and the word Memories was indented into the leather.
Hooking the tips of her fingers beneath the cover’s edge, she opened to the first page.
Nan’s familiar cursive handwriting felt like a hug, reaching out of the book’s binding and squeezing Mallory’s heart. It felt good, but also left her heart aching because, deep inside, she knew things had changed and would never be the same again.
Blinking past her blur of tears, she focused on the words that Nan had written.
My dear sweet Granddaughters…
If you’re reading this, I’m probably gone, in one sense or another. No man (or woman) lives forever, and I don’t think I’d even want to. The best that one can hope is that we live on in our loved ones who remain.
As a girl, I watched my grandmother forget. First her address. Then things like her last name. Then she forgot me, which I couldn’t comprehend at such a young age. As an adult, I watched the same thing happen with my own mother. Then, it started happening to me.
I told myself that I was just being paranoid. When you’re young, you assume you’re invincible. That you’ll live forever and remember every moment. But those moments of forgetfulness increased, month by month, year after year.
I’ve always thought of a Christmas tree as a sort of memory album.
Each keepsake ornament in this box will probably seem like random things that have no worth, but they’re priceless to me.
In the journal, you’ll find the story behind each and every one.
I hope that you’ll remember me as you hang these keepsakes on what I like to call the Memory Tree.
You may be surprised by what I tell you in these pages.
People have different sides to themselves.
Different faces. Different masks. I was so many people in this lifetime.
A daughter. An actress. A writer. Friend.
Wife. Grandmother. But first and foremost, I was a woman who lived, loved, and made a million mistakes.
When the time comes, I may not remember or be capable of saying so, so allow me to say it here.
I’m sorry. I always did what I thought was best for you, and for your mother.
Maybe my best wasn’t good enough. Maybe I should have done things differently.
All I can say is that life doesn’t have a dress rehearsal. It’s all improv on one big stage.
Dearest granddaughters, memories are the secret to living forever—because even after you’re gone, they live on in the hearts of those who love you most. Some good, some bittersweet, and too many the kind that break you piece by piece.
All of the memories are necessary to understand the final product, however, which I hope ultimately will be a life well-lived.
Thank you for being a part of my story. The mind may forget, but the heart never will. I love you always.
Nan