Sheila spent Thanksgiving Day alone. She didn’t have to. Her sister had invited her to come to Virginia Beach to spend the day with her family, but the nursing home had asked that they keep Mom’s visitors to a minimum during the holidays, with Mom being so confused, so Cassie and Sheila had split them up. Cassie got Thanksgiving and Sheila would be there for Christmas.
Being that close to Mom and not seeing her just didn’t feel right, so Sheila declined Cassie’s invitation. Besides, ever since Cassie insisted Mom needed be under twenty-four-hour care, that had been a sore spot between them, and had made Christmas hard for Sheila.
When Sheila told Natalie about declining Cassie’s offer, Natalie begged Sheila to come to the mountains for Thanksgiving too. But Sheila didn’t want to wear out her welcome before her planned visit even started.
And the idea of spending a lazy Thanksgiving at home in her pajamas with a novel had sounded so appealing.
Only the weather had turned dreary. She spent the rainy and windy morning watching the Macy’s parade, then curled up with one of the new novels she’d just bought.
As she got to know the characters in the first few chapters, her interest built, wanting to know what was going to happen next, and cheering on her new friends in their quest for romance.
The novel had her remembering funny things that happened at Thanksgivings past, like the first time she hosted the big family dinner. She’d been so thankful when the turkey came out of the oven, golden brown and juicy, that she’d run to grab her phone to take a picture. When she walked back into the room full of pride, her perfect bird was missing a huge bite from one leg. Under the table, Dan’s dog licked his paws, looking quite pleased with himself as he lapped up the remaining morsels from the floor. She cried. Dan laughed, and together they amputated the one leg the dog had mutilated and told the guests that Dan hadn’t been able to keep his hands off of it. She wondered if he’d ever fessed up to what really happened that day.
For a fleeting moment, she considered calling Dan to wish him Happy Thanksgiving.
That’s a horrible idea. Not only because he didn’t deserve the time of day from her, but because it would make her look pitiful, and likely cause a rift in his otherwise perfect holiday with his new family. Dan had a new wife and new life now. He was just a map dot on her journey. One she was happy to leave in the past.
At three in the morning, she finally turned the last page of the novel. Despite the problems that seemed insurmountable, she found herself filled with hope following the happily-ever-after.
She closed the book, exhausted, with a tear in her eye and joy in her heart. It was such a satisfying story, but it made her feel lonelier than ever.
She let out a long sigh. Looking at the chair that she’d refused to let Dan take, even though he’d picked it out and she’d always hated it, she regretted being petty about it now.
Cool it with the pity party, Sheila.
Kernels of popcorn fell to the ground as she forced herself to get up from the couch. She’d absently eaten her way through the whole bowl while she read.
I’ll pay for all that salt content tomorrow.
She went to the kitchen and downed a glass of water, hoping to head off some of the bloat, then crawled into bed.
She woke up the next morning in the mood for a little retail therapy, but there was no way she was braving Black Friday shoppers. Not even for a cute new sweater to wear to the mountains.
That was one shopping day that she felt quite comfortable leaving to others to navigate. People fighting for the last electronics bargain or twenty-dollar leather bag was not her idea of a good time.
She spent the day working on lists. Presents to buy. Ideas for the Christmas Tree Stroll. She squandered nearly four hours on Pinterest, just looking for ideas and getting sidetracked by holiday decorations, recipes, how to make bows, and, somehow, a tradition of fruitcake-tossing events.
Sheila couldn’t say for sure if she’d ever tried the holiday cake with the bad reputation, but she knew they were heavy. No doubt you could fling one of those round ones for a good long way. Just the thought of that made her burst into a fit of giggles, and before she knew it she was ordering not only one fruitcake, but three different flavors after reading a whole article about the history of fruitcake and the circle pans it was baked in. Who knew it wasn’t baked in a Bundt pan? It seemed completely logical to her that if it was a cake with a circle cut out of the middle, it would be. Oh no, because Bundt pans are meant to be flipped over to get the cake out, and you don’t do that to a fruitcake.
She grabbed her credit card and set the cakes to ship to Orene’s house the week of the fifteenth. The order would serve double duty. They could eat the cakes for dessert, and if they were terrible, they could fling them like those people in Manitou Springs.
She picked up her phone and dialed Mom’s room at the Hilltop. Two years ago, Sheila and her sister had to make the difficult decision to move Mom to a memory-care unit. Alzheimer’s and balance had been an ongoing concern, but when Mom got confused and wandered away from the house one day, the police called Cassie to tell her they had picked her up. Cassie met the policeman at Mom’s and the real truths began to unravel. Mom lived alone back then, and she’d seemed fine. But the police had been called several times by neighbors, and even by Mom calling to report someone was moving her plants while she slept. But upon investigation, the neighbors said she was as busy as a bee planting and replanting the same plants all over that yard.
It was harder on her and her sister than it was on Mom. The schedule and being surrounded by caring people had helped Mom get into a routine, and most of the time she was in a happy frame of mind. Some days she was sharp, and others she didn’t recognize anyone. The latter were coming more often.
“The Hilltop. Annie speaking.”
“Hi, Annie. This is Sheila. I wanted to check in on Mom. How’s she doing today?”
“Cloudy, with a chance of rain,” the nurse said.
Sheila winced, knowing that meant Mom didn’t recognize anyone today. These were quiet days, but her sweet spirit exuded no matter what that nasty disease did to her brain. She’d toddle around in a daze, sweetly smiling and nodding, on those days that Nurse Annie reported her as “cloudy.”
“Can I just tell her that I love her? Do you think it will upset her?” Sheila’s heart ached.
“She won’t understand that it’s you, but no harm in it. Give me just a minute. I’ll put her on.”
In the background, Sheila heard Nurse Annie talking to Mom. “Miss Cynthia. Someone is on the telephone for you. Can you take a listen? Yes, for you.”
“Hi, Miss Cynthia,” Sheila said. “This is Sheila, and I just wanted to call to wish you a blessed day, dear.”
“Sheila.” The words came out as a statement. It was clear to Sheila that Mom wasn’t sure who she was speaking to today. Again. “That’s nice of you to call,” Mom said. “What is today?”
“It’s Friday. I hope you had a delicious Thanksgiving dinner yesterday. Did you have turkey?”
“I think so. The pie was my favorite.” There was a long pause. “Were you here?”
“No, I wasn’t, but I’m glad you had a wonderful day. Did you have a nice visit?”
“I think so.” Silence on the other end was broken by a slight muffle. “Maybe.”
She could picture Mom’s blue eyes, wide with wonder. “You are loved.” Sheila gulped back the last syllable. “Always.”
“Thank you, young lady. Happy Thanksgiving.”
Sheila hung up the phone and swallowed back tears. “I miss you, Mom.”
When Sheila woke up the next morning, she was still on the couch in yesterday’s pajamas. No one in their right mind was house-hunting or doing open houses on Thanksgiving weekend, but next week would be intense, so she needed to get some things done. They had open houses set Friday, Saturday, and Sunday, and she had a long list of things to gather in preparation.
She jumped in the shower and got dressed in jeans and a winter-white corduroy shirt over a taupe turtleneck, taupe woven belt, and boots. She always liked to look nice, even casually. A quick twist in the mirror, and she opted to keep it simple. No earrings today.
She picked up her purse and keys and headed outside. The sun was bright, but the wind had a bit of a nip. Even so, she opted to drive her new car, rather than the big four-door Mercedes. The Tesla had been a splurge, but when one of her clients offered it to her for way under the value it was too good to pass up. In the divorce, his wife was making him sell it so she could get half the money. According to him, he’d rather lose money on the car than give her half what it was worth. And the deal was made.
So, until she sold the vehicle, she drove it on weekends and was loving it a lot more than she’d expected.
She went through her list of things for the last open house of the year. She was in pretty good shape, and it was still a week out, so she headed downtown to the antique shop where she’d seen that pretty teapot. It would be perfect for Orene.
At least Small Business Saturday was a more civil day to shop.
Luck was on her side when she spotted a parking spot right in front of the store. She went inside and made a beeline for the intricately carved vintage wood and glass trolley cart that it had been sitting on. She stopped short. Neither the cart nor the teapot was there. She spun around, looking to see if she’d misjudged the location by an aisle or two.
“Can I help you?” a pretty brunette asked.
“Hi. Yes. I was in here a couple of weeks ago. I saw a really pretty carved wooden cart right around here somewhere.”
“Oh gosh. Wasn’t that a beauty? I’m sorry. It sold.”
“Well, that’s fine, because I was really interested in the teapot that was sitting on it. Is it, by chance, still around?”
“The Tiffany-style one?”
“Yes, that’s the one.”
“Actually, that was a lamp. I know what you’re talking about. I put it over here with a few other teapots I have.” She hooked her finger and led the way toward the front of the store.
“Oh gosh. I have a friend who collects teapots. It was so unusual. I’m disappointed that it’s not a real teapot.”
“I moved it over here. There are several teapots.”
There it was. The memorable stained-glass teapot. “It’s a lamp?” She reached around back and found the cord. “I’ll be.”
“If your friend collects teapots, she would probably enjoy it.”
“True, but I kind of had my heart set on giving her one to add to her collection as a Christmas gift.” Sheila looked at the other teapots displayed. “I don’t see anything that’s really grabbing me.”
“Well, I do have another one. It’s sort of playful, but I really like it and it has a Christmas theme.”
“You’ve got me interested.” Sheila followed the woman over two aisles to a section filled with glass-front hutches. The clerk pulled out a small teapot from a cabinet, cradling it between her hands like a precious baby bird.
“This,” she said, “is so sweet. See the scene with the man selling chestnuts on the street, and the Merry Christmas wish on the top?”
“Did you say chestnuts?” Sheila couldn’t believe her luck. “It’s perfect. Sold.”
“Wonderful!” The woman closed the cabinet. “I can take it up front for you if you’d like to look around.”
“That’s all I need today, and this is the perfect gift. Did you know there used to be like a billion American chestnut trees up in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia until the turn of the twentieth century? They were abundant and huge, like the great redwoods out West until blight wiped them out.”
“I’ve lived here my whole life and I’ve never heard of that.”
“I know,” Sheila said. “I just learned about it over the summer. I have a friend that moved up there.” She was glad she’d listened as Natalie droned on and on about the local lore of Chestnut Ridge. “Chestnuts used to be the main cash crop there.”
“I had no idea.” The clerk wrapped the teapot in decorative tissue paper. “Do you need a box for this? I think I have one in the back that this would tuck right into.”
“That would be so helpful.”
The woman went to get the box, leaving Sheila to mill around the collectibles and primitives near the register.
Sheila picked up a mercury-glass Christmas ornament piled with others in a big glass bowl. There were a few scuffs on it, but it wasn’t a reproduction. Her family used to have ornaments like this on their Christmas tree when she was growing up. The funky magenta, turquoise, and gold paint all joined in the middle of the deep inset with the mica stencils looked vintage.
“Here we go. It fit perfectly.” The woman carried a shiny white box with gold trim on the edges to the counter.
“That’ll do the trick. Thank you.” Sheila picked up the bowl of ornaments. “Are these vintage? It’s so hard to tell.”
“I can give you a couple of key pointers on that. First, check out the cap. See how small the opening is? Most of the mass-produced ornaments have a wide cap. These early blown-glass ornaments from Germany and Poland have a much narrower opening. Second, the cap won’t have any decoration. It’ll have a plain metal cap. And third, if there’s glitter, it’s not vintage. It should be mica, which is a stone product that glistens like glitter, but is actually fine irregular-shaped dust. These look like the real deal to me.” The woman sifted through the box, removing two of them. “I’d skip these two. This one is cracked and I’m not so sure that one is vintage. I can give you a deal on the rest.”
“I’ll take them too, then.” Sheila was delighted with the buys.
She drove home in a much better mood for having checked off everything on her shopping lists. The exercise probably helped too.
When she got home, she wrapped Orene’s gift in a pretty red toile-patterned paper she’d bought from the neighbor kids in a fundraiser. A bit overpriced, but for a good cause. It was solid on one side and decorative on the other, and the texture was thick and sturdy. She fluffed the bow on top of Orene’s present. Not wanting to waste the remnants, she pulled up a DIY on her phone on how to make a gift bag out of the scraps. It wasn’t that difficult. In fact, the bag turned out so cute, she fashioned three more just like it.
You can never have too many bags for Christmas.
Last week, she’d purchased spa-day-escape gift cards for her agents at the salon in the opulent Hotel Jefferson. These bags seemed the right size for those. She hopped up from her chair and ran into her office to see if they’d fit. Each had been tucked into a fancy gold envelope with a glittery snowflake sticker seal. The envelopes fit right inside the red toile bags.
“So cute!”
She couldn’t wait to hand them out at the office party. Time was going to go quickly with everything going on.
Countdown to Christmas fun in Chestnut Ridge: Thirteen days.