How I Came to Sparkle Again (16 page)

Cassie looked at her dad. “Is it okay if I wear it?” she asked.

He just nodded as tears streamed down his face.

“I need your help,” she said.

Mike stood and took the necklace from her. He held it in his palm for a moment, remembering how he had done the same thing that first Christmas with Kate. He opened the tiny clasp between his thumb and finger and reached out to put it around his daughter’s neck. The necklace had now begun chapter two. It was still Kate’s and yet it wasn’t.

The next gift was another wooden box, this one a recipe box containing a few recipes written on cards inside, along with blank cards and a heart-shaped cookie cutter. A note read, “If you make sugar cookies every Christmastime, I’ll be there in spirit. I never could resist them, you know. Love, Mom.”

After that, Cassie opened a delicate silver picture frame with a picture of her mother and her in it. There was no note with this one. Cassie put it down and paused to try to remember the day it was taken. She couldn’t. It was just their faces. It could have been taken anywhere.

Finally, she opened the last gift. It was a book with a cover that tied shut. Cassie felt uncomfortable untying it, undoing something her mother had done, but she wanted to see what was inside. She let the pages flutter through her fingers. All the pages were full of her mother’s writing. She read the first page: “When someone you love dies, it’s normal to lose your faith. I don’t want you to lose yours. I want you to believe there is a force bigger than you in this world, a loving and compassionate force. I want you to believe that your life has meaning and your existence has purpose. And when life is hard, I want you to believe that you’ll be given the strength to endure it, and that it will get better. I want you to have the peace in your heart you can only have when you believe there is a reason for everything, even if you cannot see it. All of those beliefs are sustaining me and strengthening me now. You and I never really talked about faith. In my family, a person’s relationship with God was considered a personal thing. I figured if I kept taking you to the Church of the Rising Chairlift, you would find some kind of divinity and order in nature and build your own relationship with God. But I fear that you may not have had enough time to develop your own faith before you had to deal with my loss. Each day, I’ll be writing a prayer so that I can share my faith with you. I love you, Cassie. And I believe that when you read this, I will be in a good place, still loving you and your father with all of my heart.”

Cassie held the book to her heart. “Did you know about this?” she asked her father.

Mike nodded.

“Have you read it?” she asked.

He shook his head.

Even though Cassie knew the presents were just things, they seemed like a time capsule back to her mother—the book especially.

She tied the ribbons on the book and put it, along with the other things, back in the treasure chest. She shut the lid but loved knowing she could open it whenever she wanted or needed to, and that inside a new conversation with her mom awaited her.

*   *   *

Jill woke and lay in bed for a few moments, thinking of all the Christmas mornings she would not be watching her joyful child run to see what Santa left for him.

Thankfully, her thoughts were interrupted, if only momentarily, when Lisa opened Jill’s door, ran toward her, and dove on her bed. “Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas!” she sang. She held a gift bag.

“Merry Christmas,” Jill mumbled, and made herself smile.

“Come to my house! I made cinnamon rolls and I’m about to scramble eggs.”

Jill looked at the clock. Six-thirty. She sat up and gave Lisa a hug. “Santa came for you,” Jill said, and looked at another gift bag—this one on the floor.

“Goody!” Lisa exclaimed as quietly as she could so as not to wake the cat crew. She picked it up and began to unwrap its contents: Aubrey Natural Sports Bath, a cranberry-orange-scented candle, a pair of amethyst-and-silver earrings, a journal, SmartWool socks, a gift certificate for a ski wax, and a stainless-steel water bottle. “Yay! I love everything! Now you! Okay, some of these things are to help you cope with the Kennel and were meant to be funny.”

Jill dug into the bag Lisa brought for her and found latex gloves, shower sandals, antifungal powder, and floral-scented Lysol. Next were things to help Jill cover up the bad smells: incense and a spicy-scented candle. Lisa also gave her a chunk of obsidian “for psychic protection” and had put a small print of “Saint Liberata, invoked against unwanted suitors and burdensome husbands,” in a silver-and-turquoise frame.

“You definitely need that if you’re going to live at the Kennel. It needs to be hung above your bed,” Lisa said.

Lisa had one last gift for Jill—a rose quartz pendant on a silver chain to help heal Jill’s heart. Jill put it on, touched it, gave Lisa a heartbroken smile, and said, “I think it’s working.”

“Let’s make Tom’s Christmas wish come true and wake him up by jumping on him,” Lisa said.

Jill shook her head. “I don’t really have that kind of relationship with him.”

“Okay, I’ll fly solo on this one,” Lisa said.

Jill lingered a few minutes before getting out of bed, dressing, and tiptoeing to the front door, where she stepped into her boots.

Lisa and Tom made their way to the living room. Tom looked at the beer and gasped. “Santa came!” he exclaimed in a whisper voice. He emptied his stocking, put all the goodies in his coat pocket, looked at Jill, and said, “Thanks, Santa.”

On their way out, Jill looked at the thermometer. It said four degrees. Her nose hairs froze immediately and her eye water thickened.

When Lisa opened her back door for them, Christmas music and the smell of cinnamon rolls wafted out. Lisa began to sing along with “Feliz Navidad.” Tom gave her a kiss on the cheek and sang part of the song with her. Lisa proudly served up her whole-wheat cinnamon rolls with dried apricot chunks, Craisins, and almonds and then turned her attention to scrambling eggs.

“Is there anything more heavenly than cinnamon rolls?” Tom asked.

“Mm…,” Jill said as she unrolled her soft, warm roll and bit off the end of it. “So yummy. Oh, Lisa, this is so nice.”

Lisa replied, “I wanted to have mimosas, but since we all have to work today, it didn’t seem prudent. Juice or coffee?” she offered.

“Anything going on tonight?” Tom asked. “Cat party?”

“I don’t know,” Lisa said. “Remember last year? We were all so beat, we just wanted to go to bed.”

Tom gave her a suggestive look. “Okay, Lisa. Tonight we’ll celebrate in bed.”

Jill rolled her eyes.

“Pardon me, Tom?” Lisa said. “Did you say celibate in bed? Yes, that’s exactly what I had in mind.”

“Ha! Well played, Lisa,” Jill said.

Tom just smiled and took a sip of coffee.

“Mind if I check my e-mail real quick?” Jill asked.

“Help yourself,” Lisa said.

Dear Family and Friends,

Merry Christmas! Blessed be this holy day, this day when God sent his only begotten son, Christ, our salvation. During this season, my thoughts often turn to King Herod, who ordered all babies under the age of one to be killed because he felt threatened by the new King. How divine King Herod didn’t kill the Baby Jesus, for without Jesus, we’d all be damned. We delivered this message along with volleyballs and soccer balls to orphanages this morning, and hope our proselytizing takes root. Pray for all of us here.

Love,

Elder and Sister Anthony

Super,
Jill thought, feeling sorry for all the Kenyan children who had been bribed with balls to sit through her parents’ scary story. She remembered having to sit through that interminable story every Christmas morning before opening presents. The story itself made less sense than ever to her.

She looked at the clock and logged off. Then she and Tom said thank you again and rushed off to work.

*   *   *

The morning was relatively quiet. They had only one injury in the FAR—a local guy in his early twenties with no family. He sat with a bag of ice on his knee, looking depressed.

On her break, Jill went to see Uncle Howard. He had Christmas lights strung around the window and a plastic wreath on the door of his little apartment below the lodge. Jill knocked, and when she heard him shout, “Welcome!” through the door, she opened it.

“Merry Christmas!” he said, and gave her a big hug. Jill held it together and followed him to his table. He handed her two presents shaped like books. “Here,” he said.

Jill bent one to see if it flexed like a book, which of course it did. “I wonder what it could be!” she teased. Before she opened it, though, she reached into her backpack to take out the bottle of mulled spiced wine she had gotten for him and half a dozen cranberry-orange scones from the Sparkle Café. She remembered Uncle Howard heating mulled spiced wine in an electric teapot around Christmas when she was a teenager.

He admired it, read the label, and smiled. “Don’t mind if I do,” he said, and went off to find a corkscrew. He returned and put a couple of scones on napkins for them.

Jill opened her gift. “
A Country Year,
by Sue Hubbell,” she said, and read the back to herself. “This looks really good.”

“When I described the type of book I wanted to find for you, not even knowing if it existed, Roger at the bookstore handed me this. He said it’s one of his sister’s all-time favorites. It does look good,” Uncle Howard said.

Jill opened the next one. “
Tales of a Female Nomad,
by Rita Golden Gelman.” She flipped it over to read the back of that one, too.

“Both authors write about their incredible lives after their divorces,” he said.

Jill winced. She couldn’t imagine staying married, but she couldn’t imagine being divorced, either. Still, Uncle Howard’s good intentions were obvious. “Well, thank you very much,” she said.

They sat and ate their scones. “Mm! These are good!” Uncle Howard said. “Hey, have you heard from your parents? How’s my sister?”

“Yeah, they’re telling all the African children about King Herod and how we’d all be damned if he succeeded in killing baby Jesus.” Jill shrugged and rolled her eyes. “Lately, I’ve been remembering these monthly fast and testimony meetings at the Church of Latter-day Saints. As if fasting wasn’t torture enough, we had to go listen to everyone talk about what a worthless piece of trash they would be without their family and the Church. And we were expected to do it, too, so I’d get up and bear my testimony. But, you know, while no one told me I was doing it wrong, I was never given genuine praise for doing it right. I mean, I knew what genuine praise was from winning the spelling bee, acing a math test, or winning a track event, and I knew what patronizing praise was because I watched the rest of the kids get that, and I was keenly aware that at church, at best, I was given patronizing praise. Truly, I couldn’t figure out how I could have loved God more. I read my scriptures, I quoted prophets, I felt guilty even though I hadn’t done anything bad, I put a bunch of flowery words before the word
Lord
—I did everything. And it was never good enough. Maybe it’s because I simply could never be meek enough.”

Uncle Howard listened, shook his head slowly, and said, “No, you are not meek.”

“I hate it that all these years later, it still makes me crazy.”

“Anytime our truth is denied, it can make us feel crazy,” he said.

“I wonder who I would be today if you hadn’t rescued me from all that,” Jill said.

“Maybe in Africa with your parents, handing out volleyballs and talking about damnation.” Uncle Howard smiled, then paused for a moment and asked very tenderly, “How are you doing today?”

She knew he was talking about her loss. “I’ve got to say I’m having a tough time today,” she answered quietly, her voice cracking once. “I keep thinking that this isn’t how it was supposed to be.”

Uncle Howard nodded. “If you can, judge less and observe more. Try it, Jill. Instead of thinking about how it was supposed to be, just look at it and watch it and think, Hm, isn’t this interesting? You might see some opportunities you would have missed if you were still blinded by your attachments.”

That sounded nice and all, but not particularly realistic for her today. Still, Jill said, “I’ll try that.”

“It’s powerful,” Uncle Howard said. “It’s the secret to contentment and happiness.”

Jill looked at her watch. “Oh, sorry, Uncle Howard, but my break’s just about over. I have to get back down to the FAR.” She put the books he gave her into her backpack. “Thanks so much for the books!”

He patted her on the back as he walked her to the door. “Merry Christmas, Jilly.”

“Merry Christmas to you, too, Uncle Howard. I sure do love you.”

“I love you, too,” he said as she walked out into the cold.

Jill put her skis back on and glided along a little ridge while deciding which route she would take down. The tourists were starting to come out now that they were done with their Christmas morning rituals, so she skied the easiest way down, looking for anyone who might be in trouble, but all she saw were happy families skiing together.

The FAR had a few more guests in it than when she left, but all in all, it was quiet compared with what she knew it would be like tomorrow. Still, by the time the last person left the FAR at the end of the day, and the other patrollers were done sweeping the mountain, Jill was tired. She picked up, signed out, and went home. Lisa was right. She did just want to go to bed.

On her way home, something about the Christmas lights on the houses made Jill’s heart ache. She remembered coming home in the middle of the night after working night shifts back when she’d just started her nursing career. David always left the Christmas lights on to welcome her home. It was such a little thing, really, but something about those lights always made her feel loved and so lucky to be coming home to a man who loved her. Now she looked around at the Christmas lights and thought about how just last night she’d wondered if she would come to see love everywhere as she had come to see Santa everywhere, and it occurred to her she did. Christmas lights still looked like love to her, even though they didn’t look like love for her.