Page 22 of The Nutcracker

Jim reached into his pocket and tossed me the keys. I grinned. “Thanks.” But I wasn’t done asking for favors yet. As I reached the truck I noticed a few leftover Christmas trees leaning against the front of his repair shop. Jim sold just about everything at his garage, from trout fishing nets to bird-watching binoculars to Christmas trees.

“Say, you got any plans for those trees?” I called to him.

“Nope, not unless you think I’m in for a last minute rush on Christmas morning. You want ‘em.”

I nodded. “Just one will do.”

* * *

With a tree in the back and Glenn Campbell stuck in the cassette deck, I drove Jim’s pickup as carefully as I could back to Grandma’s house, knowing if I crashed two cars in the space of twenty-four hours the folk of Coopers Mill would never let me live it down.

When I arrived, I raced into the house, careful of that step on the porch that needed fixing.

I opened Grandma’s once well-stocked pantry. When I was a kid it was full of all kinds of treats and everyday essentials. But Grandma hadn’t shopped in a while and the grocery duties had fallen on me. I wasn’t the kitchen whiz that Grandma had once been, but I was pretty sure on one of my recent trips to the store I’d bought a bag of—

“Chestnuts! Good job, Jordy.”

I pulled out the chestnuts and emptied them into Grandma’s much-loved skillet. I poured in some oil and turned the heat on low before running up the stairs to the attic.

Light from the overcast day outside filtered through the frosty round window of the low-ceilinged attic. I searched through stacks of boxes, looking for the one labeled Christmas Decorations in Grandma’s neatest writing.

I found it, then sat in front of it, blew the dust off the lid and opened it. It was filled with neatly packed ornaments and silver tinsel, but it was the old teddy sitting in a corner of the box that I was looking for.

I pulled him out and lovingly straightened his little tartan waistcoat.

The chestnuts.

The teddy.

All I needed now was the holly.

I rummaged through the box and found a fake sprig of holly, one of the many that we used to deck the hall.

But as I held it I couldn’t help but think I had wandered down the wrong path.

I couldn’t help but think I’d read the clue wrong.

I thought about what Curtis had told me.

Everything is connected.

That was the problem facing my Grandma. She couldn’t remember my grandfather’s name because her memories were disconnected. I needed to somehow reconnect them, and the only way I could think to do that was through her senses.

Her sense of touch, of sight… of smell and taste… and her sense of hearing.

I knew she could smell and taste the chestnuts;

I knew she could see and hold and hug her teddy;

But what of her sense of hearing?

What good was a sprig of holly that made no sound?

What kind of holly could be heard?

Suddenly the penny dropped and I stood up from the box so fast I almost hit my head on the low beams of the attic.

“It’s not a sprig of holly she needs,” I told myself. “It’sBuddyHolly!”