Free One Week In December by Holly Chamberlin Page A

don’t—”
    â€œOw!”
    Lily smiled and wondered what part of “don’t” little boys didn’t understand. Well, big boys, too. Cliff hadn’t understood the meaning of “don’t cheat on your girlfriend.”
    â€œI told you they were hot,” Nora said mildly. “Patience pays off, Michael.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œNever mind.” Nora used the spatula to slide a few cookies onto a plate and handed it to Malcolm. “Here, take these but wait a few minutes before you try to eat them.”
    With shouts of thanks the boys were off.
    â€œGrandma,” Lily asked then, watching her nephews go, “did you ever want more children? Maybe a daughter?”
    â€œOh, yes. Your grandfather and I would have welcomed a large family, but it just wasn’t to be. Anyway, I’ve got all these grandchildren and great-grandchildren to care for. And to spoil, when I’m in the mood. My life certainly isn’t lacking in family.”
    â€œYou know, Cliff and I talked about having children someday.”
    â€œYes,” Nora said with feigned patience. “You mentioned that.”
    Lily sighed. “Everything reminds me of him, Grandma. I can’t listen to the radio because I might hear one of ‘our’ songs. I can’t walk past his dorm without imagining him in his room, with all the posters of those eighties bands he loves. I can’t even eat peanut butter anymore because Cliff loved it so much. Some days I don’t think I’ll ever get over him.”
    Nora felt slight annoyance with her granddaughter’s dramatic statements, but the annoyance was tempered with pity. Poor Lily really did believe that her romantic life was over forever. And Nora knew that it would do little if any good to tell Lily otherwise, to assure her that, yes, she would get over this heartbreak and probably a lot sooner than later. In Nora’s experience, the miserable didn’t like to be assured that their misery would come to an end. Misery was real and of the moment; what would come after that was intangible and of no immediate comfort.
    Nora turned at the sound of nails clacking on wood. It was Hank, coming for a nibble at his bowl.
    Lily sighed. “Cliff loves dogs. Did I tell you we talked about getting a dog after graduation? He’s never had a dog and he wasn’t thrilled about having to pick up the poop, but he really wanted one, anyway.”
    Nora rolled her eyes behind her granddaughter’s back and then remonstrated with herself. She had been young once, too. It was essential to remember that. It was essential to be kind. Too many people forgot that.
    There was a knock at the kitchen door. Hank, not much interested in guard duty, turned and clicked out of the room.
    It was Mr. Pollen. Nora thought he could be anywhere from sixty to eighty years old. He lived in what amounted to little more than a rude cabin off a minor back road and what he did for a living—or what he had done in his younger years—she didn’t know. Nobody did. Some in town said he survived entirely on the land and by his own wits, with a little help from a shotgun. Others said that back in the fifties, during the Cold War, he’d stockpiled enough canned goods to last him until the middle of the twenty-first century. Whatever the truth, Mr. Pollen was a bit of a local legend, the source of all kinds of rumors and strange stories. And whenever he was seen, which wasn’t often and always at random times, some new tale would emerge, full-blown from the head of a local with a creative brainstorm.
    â€œI’ve brought you a Christmas present,” Mr. Pollen said, handing Nora a brown—thing.
    His ill-fitting false teeth smacked loudly against his shriveled gums. Lily unconsciously took a step back, as if she were afraid the teeth would come flying out of his mouth and clamp on to her face.
    â€œHow—nice,” Nora replied.