One More for Christmas(59)

Her mother was hunkered over the snowman, her coat a splash of color against the snowy landscape, her hair windblown and her face free of makeup. The wound on her head had healed, but there was still a scar. The mother she knew always wore black, and a fierce expression. She strode through life with her mouth pursed, eyes fixed forward, as if not one single body part was allowed to deviate from its brief. This new version of her mother, this peacock-colored, smiling, soft-as-butter, attentive version, wasn’t someone she recognized.

An icy wind snaked through the collar of her coat, and Ella was about to step forward and zip Tab’s coat up to the neck, when her mother leaned across and did exactly that.

“Are you warm enough, honey?”

Honey? Honey?

Her mother never used pet names. Her communication when they were growing up had always been practical. Have you brushed your teeth? Don’t forget your reading book. Pay attention in class. Learn something new every day.

“Yes, thank you, Nanna. I’m like toast. I’ve finished the head.” Tab pushed, pressed and patted. “What do you think?”

The snowman was possibly the most misshapen object Ella had ever seen.

She held her breath, waiting for her mother to kill Tab’s joyful moment with a careless remark about how she should keep trying until she was perfect at it, but instead Gayle clapped her hands.

“I think it’s wonderful. You have a real talent.”

Ella was so shocked she forgot about the cold.

She’d always believed her mother wasn’t capable of being warm and encouraging with her family. She’d made excuses—assumed that something inside her had died when she’d lost the man she loved. But it seemed she was capable of it.

Her insides churned with a cocktail of emotions she couldn’t identify.

Regret? Even a little envy? She straightened her shoulders. Whatever it was, she was going to ignore it. This was good. Really good.

Her mother was trying hard and Ella would try hard, too. Sometimes in life it was important to stop thinking about what might have been, and think about what could be.

Tab pressed more snow onto the body, her breath steaming the cold air. “Can we build a snowman every day that we’re here?” She glanced up. “Nanna?”

“Yes, we can.”

Tab brushed the snow from her mittens. “Next we need twigs! For arms.”

“I’ll find the arms.” Ella headed toward the trees, her feet punching through the thin crust and sinking deep.

Pinecones poked through the layer of snow and she stooped and picked a couple up, tucking them into her pocket. Then she found twigs and a stone that she thought might make a good mouth.

She took her time, enjoying the winter wonderland, and then walked to the edge of the trees and watched the two figures tending the snowman and laughing together.

Her mother waved at her and she waved back.

She felt a burst of hope. Christmas was going to be all right after all.

Michael was right that Tab might be the bridge between her and her mother.

She imagined her mother finally opening up and telling her and Samantha about their father.

She imagined them all gathered together round the large Christmas tree, enjoying each other’s company in a way they never had before. If her mother had photos somewhere, maybe she’d agree to share them.

“Here.” She walked back and dropped her forest finds at Tab’s feet. “Plenty of options there.”

Tab, always particular, discarded a couple of twigs and then selected two.

She pushed the “arms” into the body of the snowman, and then the tiny stones became its eyes. “Who built the first snowman?”

Ella, who was used to Tab’s endless questions, settled in for what was probably going to be a lengthy conversation.

“No one knows exactly who built the first one, but we know that people have been building snowmen for a long time. Back in the fifteenth century a very famous artist and sculptor called Michelangelo built a snowman for the man he worked for.”

“Was it a good one?”

Ella reached out to help with the arms of the snowman. “I think we can be pretty confident it was exceptional.”

Tab pushed the pinecone into the snowman’s face. “Were you alive in the fifteenth century, Nanna? Did you see the snowman?”

Ella heard her mother make a choking sound.

“I was not alive.”

“That would make Nanna more than four hundred years old,” Ella said patiently. “Humans don’t live to be four hundred.”

“Although there are mornings when I feel four hundred.”

Ella couldn’t remember them spending a more enjoyable hour together. It was like discovering sugar, when you’d only ever tasted salt.

“Brodie said some of the trees in this forest are hundreds of years old. So they’re older than humans.” Tab stepped back to admire her snowman. “Building a snowman might be my favorite thing.”

Ella crouched down next to her daughter. “Last week baking cookies was your favorite thing. And the week before that it was dancing.”

Gayle shaped the snowman’s neck with her gloved hand. “Do you have ballet classes?”

Tab shook her head. “I dance with my mommy. We dance round the house.” Tab sprang up like a bouncing ball. “Let’s do a snowdance, Nanna!”