Chapter Seven
CLARA
Clara left the restaurant and drove straight to the only place she could think of to get a solid grasp on everything. She pulled up in front of her grandmother’s house—her childhood home.
She turned off the car and popped down the mirror to steal a glance.
Her face was red with tears, two streaks of black mascara running down her cheeks.
Clara grabbed a wipe from her purse and cleaned her face before leaning back in her seat.
She took a couple of deep breaths and turned to look out the window, allowing herself a second to enjoy the familiar sight of the house on a cold December night.
It looked as it always did this time of year—perfect.
The large yellow farmhouse, with a sweeping wraparound porch, sat on four snow-covered acres.
Sparkling lights and fluffy garlands were strung along the white picket fence.
A bright, flickering candle sat in each window.
The front porch was awash in light, with two oversized poinsettias and a fresh balsam wreath to accessorize the front door.
Smoke rose from the chimney, and the scent of burning wood lingered in the crisp air.
The whole scene felt like a warm blanket to Clara.
The memories of so many years of happy Christmases flooded her mind.
Her heart filled with peace as she thought about the comforting smells, sounds, and sights of the holidays that she knew would always be waiting for her inside.
The sweetness of freshly baked cookies. The fresh scent of a Christmas tree covered in clumps of tinsel and bright lights.
The familiar Christmas songs pouring out from her grandmother’s record player.
She and Grams had always loved “The Christmas Song” by Nat King Cole.
She thought back to the time they had tried roasting chestnuts over their fireplace.
It had been more work than either of them had anticipated, but it was fun.
The entire house was filled with a cloud of warm, buttery sweetness.
The bitter flavor took them by surprise, though, so much that they’d both spit them out immediately.
She chuckled now at the memory. She always felt safe and loved there in that yellow house, especially at Christmas.
It was her mom and dad’s house, really. They had recently begun a new phase of their lives—retirement.
With her parents wanting to travel more, it had only made sense for Grams to move in to help care for the house while they were gone.
Her grandmother had initially been reluctant to move away from the excitement of downtown, where she had lived on her own since Clara’s grandpa had passed.
It didn’t take long, though, for her to realize that between the cozy house and the acres of land, this was where she was meant to be.
She took up gardening and adopted a couple of dogs.
Now Clara’s parents spent most of their time overseas, and this house felt more like Gram’s than anyone else’s. Either way, it was home. Clara dropped by nearly every weekend when she wanted to leave the bustle that surrounded her townhome.
Every Christmas memory revolved around this house. Her parents had loved decorating it and throwing big parties every year, and Grams happily took over, continuing the family traditions while they were away.
Clara fanned a hand over her eyes to dry her tears.
She got out of the car and turned in a slow semi-circle, taking in the view of the peaceful winter evening from all angles.
Mrs. Roberts—Grams’s neighbor and closest friend—sat on her front porch, watching the snow fall.
Clara waved to her before a cold shiver ran through her as her thoughts quickly turned back to her current situation.
As Clara approached the house—festive and warm—she was reminded again of the sad reality: This year would be different.
There was no doubt in her mind that this was going to be a blue Christmas.
She used her key to let herself in. The house was toasty, as always.
Grams’s two beagles, Waylon and Willie, greeted her with wagging tails and wet kisses.
Clara reached down to pet them. She could tell something had been baked recently—gingerbread cookies, probably.
Her grandmother’s favorite Christmas album was playing its instrumental version of “Silent Night.” In the corner of the living room sat a freshly cut tree covered in lights and surrounded by overflowing boxes of tinsel, ornaments, and decorations.
Clara managed a wry smile. Cozy, magical, beautiful Christmas.
The sight of it all—as welcome as it was—also served as a cruel reminder of what she and Brent were being deprived of.
“Clara? Is that you?” Her grandmother’s voice sounded from the kitchen.
Clara entered to find Grams sitting at the kitchen counter, addressing Christmas cards. Her thick red reading glasses were resting on the edge of her nose, her long silver hair pulled back loosely with a ribbon.
Grams looked up with a smile. “I’m glad you’re here. I was going to finish decorating the tree tonight. So far, I’ve only managed to get the lights on.”
Clara glanced over at the tree with a half-hearted grin.
“I spoke with your parents earlier.” Her grandmother’s eyes were focused on her cards.
“They wanted to make sure you aren’t upset about them missing Christmas this year.
I told them to have a great time on their European cruise and not to worry one bit about us.
” She waved away the thought with her hand.
“I said that between our annual festivities here and that new boyfriend of yours, you’ll be busier than ever this Christmas. ”
Clara didn’t say anything in response. She dropped her purse on the chair and her keys on the table.
“I’ve been thinking,” her grandmother continued. “You and I should take a trip to join your folks in Europe sometime. Maybe we could go to Paris this summer. Or next Christmas, maybe? What do you think?”
What did she think? Clara couldn’t think about summer. That was six months away. She certainly couldn’t think about next Christmas; she was finding it hard enough to think about the next day. She didn’t have space in her brain for anything beyond this current, confusing moment in time.
“Maybe,” she said with a shrug.
Her grandmother looked up from her cards. “You okay?”
Clara’s lip gave way to a forceful quiver as she tried to hold back the dam of tears.
Eventually, she gave up. She couldn’t wait another second to finally release her feelings.
She needed to unburden herself to the person who, she knew wholeheartedly, could take it all on.
Tears of disappointment came barreling out again.
Grams gasped and dropped her pen, standing up to take Clara into her arms. “What is it, honey? What happened?”
Clara said nothing, just continued to cry, her back shaking with each sob as she stood wrapped in those familiar arms.
Grams rubbed her back, the feeling both comforting and strong. “Problem at work?” she asked.
Clara clung to her, still unable to answer.
“The new boyfriend?”
She managed a nod and sniffed.
Grams let out a long sigh. “Well, I’m sure it’s complicated.
But whatever it is, we’ll figure things out together.
” She pulled back from her and looked her in the eye.
“It’s going to be okay.” She rubbed her thumb gently under Clara’s eye to wipe away a tear.
“Let’s make some hot cocoa, and we’ll talk all about it. ”
Clara nodded. Grams was exactly the person she needed right now.
She longed for the comfort of her grandmother’s assurance that nothing was hopeless and anything was possible.
She needed to know there was a way to fix this, that there was a way to get out of this whole mess.
She had no doubt that her Grams—the woman who could handle anything—would be the one to help her do it.
She watched as her grandmother pulled things out of the cabinet one by one.
There was baking chocolate, peppermint extract, condensed milk, and cinnamon.
Grams lined them all up neatly, pointing to each one as if she were taking attendance to make sure she had everything she needed.
The peculiar act reminded Clara of something Brent would do.
Clara was dying to tell her what happened.
She needed to unload everything, and quick.
But she could tell her grandmother’s focus was on the hot chocolate masterpiece she was trying to conjure up.
It was typical of Grams. No crisis could be discussed without a comforting side of sugar to help ease the pain.
She watched as her grandmother scooped and measured, slowly adding each ingredient into a pot.
Grams hummed along with the Christmas album, now playing “God Rest You Merry Gentlemen,” while she leisurely stirred.
The scent of melting chocolate quickly filled the air.
The record’s tidings of comfort and joy only seemed to taunt Clara further.
Ever since she was a child, her grandmother had been the one to fix all her problems. When she had been picked on by another kid in kindergarten, Grams was the one who taught her how to stand up for herself.
When she didn’t make the basketball team in middle school, Grams helped her figure out what sport to try next.
When Matthew had broken up with her, Grams convinced her she was better off without him.
Clara hadn’t always taken her grandmother’s advice over the years.
But looking back on it all now, she realized Grams had always been right. She had the solution to every problem.