Grandpa walked in and smiled at Younger Me. “You’re going to make Santa sad, girl.”
“There’s no Santa, Grandpa.”
Shock covered his face. He held his hand over his chest and frowned. “No Santa? That can’t be right. Sheila, is that right? I wrote that fat, white man a letter to make sure the Yankees win. He better come through.”
“Oh, sit yourself down on that couch, old man.” Grandma laughed. “Ivy, you have so many presents under the tree. Pick one and open it.”
Younger Me turned to the tree and shook her head. “Ma’am, can I do something else? Please.”
A sad expression covered Grandma’s face. “What do you want to do, baby?”
“Draw.”
Grandma sighed. “But you’re always drawing. Wouldn’t you like to—”
She shook her head.
Grandpa took out his newspaper and started reading. “Just let that baby draw. I like seeing all those pretty dresses she creates. Draw Grandpa a pretty dress, Ivy. Make it black and white with stripes just like the Yankees uniform.”
Excitement hit her face. “I sure will.”
Younger Me ran off.
Grandma watched her and kept her voice low. “She may never get over it.”
“Give Ivy time. It’s only been two years. Last year, she didn’t even come out of her room on Christmas day and surely couldn’t look at the tree without urinating on herself.”
“She woke up in the middle of the night screaming.”
“Last night too.” Grandpa turned the page. “It’s going to take some time.”
“Why would Gloria hang herself in front of the tree like that and on Christmas day? So selfish. So wrong. She always only thought of herself. We never raised her that way. We taught her to be better.”
“Gloria wasn’t selfish. What was the word that therapist used?”
“Codependent.”
“That’s right. Gloria just found herself in a codependent relationship. Toxic.”
“And full of the devil. That’s who told her to hang herself like that. Nobody but the devil.”
Grandpa coughed and lit his pipe. “I believe Gloria thought Sam would see her first, not Ivy. He was supposed to be back that night, but he ended up being with that whore until the morning and arrived late.”
“It’s a tragedy.” Grandma shook her head. “They both have made a mess of poor Ivy’s life. A pure mess. And he had the nerve to try and fight us for custody, when Ivy can’t even look at him without screaming, Murderer. Lord help us. Now we’ll have to do our best to clean this mess up.”
Grandma turned to Grandpa. “Bill, you done dropped your pipe and got all this stuff on the floor. . .”
Grandpa never responded. The newspaper lay on his chest. His hand dangled over the chair’s arm. His head leaned back into the chair. His eyes were open along with his mouth.
“Bill. . .” Grandma hurried to him. “No, baby. Bill?”
“Get me out of here.” I walked down the hallway. “I’ve already seen this. I don’t want to be here.”
The glowing man called after me. “Ivy?”
“I’m leaving. I might as well get this nightmare over with.” I opened the front door. Swirling red energy filled the doorway. Tears left my eyes. I didn’t walk through. I just stood there.
The glowing man appeared next to me and touched my wet cheeks. Instead of wiping them away, the tears left my cheeks and floated in the air. They sparkled like stars. The swirling red energy sucked them in.
“Do not cry,” the glowing man said. “We never die. That particular life just ends.”
“But it’s sad.”
The glowing man nodded. “It is. But you’ve gone places that many haven’t already. You’ve come here. Surely, you see the beauty in death.”
I had no answer.
“Grandpa, how big do you want the stripes?” Younger Me yelled from the bedroom and rushed out. “Grandpa? Grandma. . .why are you crying?”
“I can’t be here.” I stepped through the red energy and entered a new living room. I recognized the area immediately. It was my grandmother’s new apartment. After Grandpa passed, she couldn’t stay in the old house anymore. They’d lived there since my mother was a little girl. It held too many memories.
Younger Me sat on the couch, wearing all black and watching Holly put ornaments on the small Christmas tree. She just stared at the tree as if it were the most disgusting symbol that ever existed. Younger Me shook her head. “What is the point of this?”
Holly ignored me. “I think the theme should be blue. Saint, find all the blue ornaments.”
He rolled his eyes and rummaged through the box. He’d changed from the earlier visions of him. Now he was tall and would be growing more. There were more differences too.
I smiled at the glowing ghost. “I remember this. It’s Saint’s bad boy phase.”
At thirteen, his parents would never let him get tattoos. Therefore, he drew symbols on his fingers, arms, and neck. He wore all black—jeans, shirt, and a beanie. He’d pierced both of his ears to his mother’s horror. Apparently, he’d stolen a piercing needle from some store, sterilized it, and poked holes into both ears. Thankfully, he never got an infection.