Evergreens and Angels by Mary Manners Page B

talked about into your pocket and leave Anthony to find his own way—me, too.”
    “So, are you saying…does that mean—”
    “I’m not saying anything.” She pinched two fingers to her lips, made a locking motion, and tossed the virtual key over one shoulder as she patted his cheek once more before stepping away. “These poinsettias can use a little drink of water now. I know you’ll be happy to take care of that. I’ll catch up with you later, son.”
     
    ****
     
    Brynn Jansen smoothed a quilt over Gran’s shoulders and slipped into a rocking chair nestled into the corner of her grandparents’ bedroom. Tuckered from her recent stay at the hospital and the subsequent check-up with her physician, Gran had settled into a nap about ten minutes ago. Gramps had nodded off in the living room recliner soon after, nursing his ribs and a few bruises. Brynn listened to his not-so-gentle snores as they barreled down the hall. Last week’s car accident had been rough on them both.
    Brynn sighed, drinking in her surroundings. A solid mahogany chest and bedframe filled the modest room as hunter-green and tan checkered drapes handcrafted by Gran flanked a bay window with a built-in seat covered with oversized throw pillows in shades of russet brown and sunflower yellow. Gran had always carried a soft spot for the combination of bright and earthy colors. Now, a window shade was pulled tight to block out the winter-gray sky. Brynn sensed a dusting of snow—maybe more—on the way. A slight thrill raced through her. She knew the first snowfall of the season held a special kind of magic.
    Gramps’s sweater—the same soft, tan wool with patches at the elbows he’d worn when she was a child and he’d snuggled her on his lap—was tossed over the foot of the bed. The scent of pipe tobacco, sweet and rich, conjured happy childhood memories of time spent here…long tromps through snow-laden sidewalks with Gramps as she chattered on about school and the books she’d read and the fact that she wanted to be a nurse when she grew up. He always listened intently, never hurried or bored by her soliloquies.
    Time with Gran was plentiful, as well. They worked together in the kitchen where cheery mustard-yellow walls and walnut cabinets lent a gentle embrace of warmth that even heat from the stove couldn’t match. Brynn and Gran sang along to Christmas carols as they fashioned sugar cookies shaped like angels and bells and pecan pies while a ham basted in brown sugar readied in the oven.
    The holidays never failed to be rich in happiness at Gran and Gramps’s place, even the year Brynn turned twelve and Gramps spent the entire Thanksgiving holiday flat on his back with pneumonia. Unable to work for a stretch of weeks, he’d been furloughed from his job down at the lumber yard. Money had been tight and as Christmas closed in Gramps lamented it might be a year without a sprig of mistletoe to be hung in the kitchen doorway—a travesty since Gran and Gramps often paused beneath the door frame for a laughter-filled kiss—or even a tree to decorate and a few simple gifts to place beneath it. Gramps felt especially terrible, because Brynn’s mama was gone nearly a year by that time and her daddy had been called away on business—again—so she’d been sent to Gran and Gramps’s for an extended stay.
    Brynn didn’t mind the lack of trimmings, though. Simply spending time with Gran and Gramps provided enough holiday cheer for her, even without all the fuss. Their home was filled with laughter and a deep sense of peace and calm that she had yet to find anywhere else. Brynn remembered how, one snowy night more than a decade ago and only days before Christmas settled in, a random act of kindness deepened the warmth and revitalized their holiday cheer.
    Now, memories played out like a movie reel. The doorbell rang and Gran, much younger and agile, scurried to answer it, wiping her hands on her apron as she made her way through the living