Paul gave me a gentle nudge in her direction. She didn’t open up her arms for a hug, and neither did I. Instead, I reached forward, careful to keep my distance, the way you might with a venomous snake. But surely a handshake was safe. We shook hands as if it were our first time meeting.
How do you do? Very pleased to make your acquaintance. I’ve heard so much about you.
My mother surprised me by gripping my hand tightly, clawing into me with a strength I didn’t expect and pulling me toward her. She enveloped me in a hug and I hugged her back, feeling her bony, hunched figure beneath the layers of clothing.
It shocked me, to feel how frail she was, how breakable she seemed.
At last she released me, looking to my left at Olivia.
“And who might you be?” my mother asked, squinting down at her.
I held my breath.
My mother smiled and continued, “A member of the Boston Ballet?”
“No, silly!” Olivia giggled.
I let out the breath I’d been holding.
“The New York City Ballet, then?”
“I’m your granddaughter! I’m Olivia. I’m six. And I’m a dancer.” Olivia did a little curtsy.
“So I see,” my mother said. “And a very pretty one at that.”
Olivia beamed. “I can show you my mouse dance if you’d like.”
“A mouse dance?” My mother grinned down at Olivia. “I don’t believe I’ve ever had the pleasure of seeing a mouse dance. It sounds perfectly lovely.”
I took in a deep breath and felt my whole body relax. Maybe this was all going to be okay after all. We’d done the right thing. It was one thing to think it, but another to feel it now that she was actually here.
Needing no more encouragement, Olivia got into position on the edge of the driveway. “You start like this,” she said, crouching down.
“Not yet, little mouse,” I told her. “Let’s get your grandmother inside and settled a bit first.”
“Yes,” Paul agreed. “It was a long trip. And Mavis refused her pain meds. She didn’t want to be groggy when she arrived.” He looked at my mother, face full of concern. “I’m sure you’re ready for a pill and a lie-down, aren’t you?”
My mother winced a bit in response but didn’t answer.
I looked from my mother to Paul. “Should I go get the wheelchair?”
“No need,” my mother said. “We can manage just fine.” She took a shuffling step forward. “I can’t wait to see this house of yours. It looked very cozy in the photo spread they did in theGlobe.”
“You saw that?” I asked.
“Of course I did.” She winked at me, then quoted from the article: “?‘WithMoxie Saves Christmas, Alison O’Conner has created an instant holiday classic. Between the book and the old farmhouse she’s turned into an enchanted winter wonderland, it’s clear she’s the reigning Queen of all things Christmas.’?”
I sputtered out an embarrassed laugh.
“Your mother’s followed your career very closely,” Paul said.
“So it seems,” I said. I was stunned. She’d never said anything to me about it. We always talked about the kids and Mark and the weather and her travels. We never discussed her life in the art world, and she never asked me about the Moxie book business, or any of my art projects. And I’d only brought up my publishing deal once, but she hadn’t seemed very impressed or wanted to know more details, so I didn’t raise the subject again.
It was strange to think she’d read the article, seen the photos of me standing in front of our trimmed tree with Moxie, pulling a tray of cookies out of the oven, and opening our heavy oak front door adorned with a large holly wreath.
“There’s not much I miss, Alison,” Mother said.
She took my arm, held tight, and swayed slightly. I grabbed hold of her to help her stay upright. Clearly walking wasn’t easy for her, though she was doing her best to prove otherwise. She couldn’t have weighed more than ninety pounds; a mere wisp of the woman she’d once been. I wondered if maybe I should have brought the wheelchair out after all.
