Page 18 of Wait a HO HO HO Second!

The coat.

Lorelei had bought it when she first found success with Snowcap Ridge and started posing as Mrs. Claus on Saturdays in December, when Santa arrived for the children. Their figures were much the same, so Joy had no doubt it would fit her like a glove, but there was no chance she would ever put it on. That coat defined Lorelei. Joy would never be her, coat or no coat.

Being a curious person made it harder to ignore the box. What could be inside that would be more impactful than the coat? Nothing, as far as Joy was concerned.

Then why haven’t you opened it?

She tried to tell herself she hadn’t had time, but it was a lie. Joy feared whatever was in the box would force her to accept that Lorelei would never come back. She knew how that sounded, but grief was the strangest thing.

Determined, she threw back the covers, scooted to the edge of the bed, and reached for the box without standing. She didn’t have her braces on, and while she could get around without them, it was safer to stay seated when lifting. Turning to set the box on the bed, she crawled back in and slipped her legs under the covers again. The box now sat in the middle of the bed, mocking her.

Running her hand over the top, she traced the woman seated on a rock. The box was made of soft Linden wood and had to be handled carefully, but until now it had never left Lorelei’s dresser. Why a woman seated on a rock? Lorelei’s name meant ‘alluring’ in German. The legend was that a siren would sit on a rock in the Rhine and lure fishermen to their deaths. Lorelei delighted in the idea.

“Just open it, Joy,” she muttered, swinging the latch up to unlock it.

Joy inhaled deeply and lifted the lid with a trembling hand. She already knew it wasn’t empty; it was far too heavy, but she didn’t expect so many items. The item on top made her heart seize. A nearly full bottle of perfume. It wasn’t expensive, but it was quintessentially Lorelei. The green bottle with the white flower top was as classy as the woman who wore it. Joy brought it to her nose and inhaled deeply, a tear slipping over her lashes as she noticed a note beneath it. “For when you need a reminder that I’m here.”

Nodding, Joy lowered the bottle to the bed. Next from the box came Lorelei’s silver hairbrush and comb, the ones she’d had since childhood. Holding them to her chest, Joy shook her head, begging the tears to stay away, but they didn’t. They fell, as they always did when she thought about the woman who had become the mother she never had. She remembered all the mornings she sat with Lorelei, conducting business as they brushed and braided their hair. The memories swamped her as she lifted the note beneath them. “Now it’s your turn to do the brushing and braiding. If you have a little girl, I hope you’ll one day tell her about me.”

A sob escaped. “If I ever have a child, your name will always be on my lips,” Joy promised, lowering the brush onto the bed.

Then came Lorelei’s vintage lipstick compact. The back held her lipstick, while the front was a flip-open mirror in mother-of-pearl. The lipstick tube was empty, but Joy knew her favorite brand would fit. Hugging it to her chest, she smiled through her tears. She would carry it the same way Lorelei did, every day. She would continue to use it, and every time she used the mirror to touch up her lipstick, she’d remember the woman who had touched her up so many times, who had lifted and supported her and shown her how to be the best businesswoman she could be.

The next item was a picture of Joy and Lorelei in a pewter frame. Lifting it from the box, Joy couldn’t help but smile. It was a candid snapshot someone had taken as they laughed together near Santa’s chair in the center of the mall. It was a few years ago, and Lorelei was wearing the coat while Joy pinned a candy-cane brooch onto it. How Lorelei had loved being Mrs. Claus for the kids.

The thought swamped Joy, and she fell back against the pillows. The kids would miss Mrs. Claus this year.

You have the coat, the inner voice said.

“Absolutely not,” Joy said aloud, as though that would make it so. She was far too busy to be Mrs. Claus, and even if she weren’t, those shoes were far too big for her tiny feet.

When she sat up, she noticed an envelope with her name on it under the frame. The word Joy was written in Lorelei’s signature cursive, and she held it to her chest, unsure whether she had the emotional capacity to read it. As it were, the things she’d given Joy had broken her heart and helped heal it at the same time. It wouldn’t be finished, though, if she didn’t read the letter.

Flipping it over, Joy smiled at the little sticker holding it shut. It was a cursive L. Once open, she pulled out the letter and began to read.

My Dearest Joy,

I hope you don’t read this letter for many, many years. Deciding how to address you in letter form was difficult, since a nine-page essay about how you’ve changed my life would probably get boring by page eight.

Joy laughed through her tears, wiping away a stray one. That sentence captured Lorelei in a nutshell.

So, I’ve decided to make a list of things I admire about you. I’ve put a note on my calendar to add one reason each year on this date until I’m no longer able. I’ve started with five, but I hope that by the time you read this, there are dozens more. If there are only five, just know wherever I am, I’m pissed.

Another sob escaped as a tear fell onto the paper. A quick glance told her there were only five reasons.

These are the first five things I admire about you, Joy.

The way you turn pain into gentleness rather than hardness. You’ve been through so much in your short life, yet you remain open, gentle, and caring. Some people let pain harden them, but you did the opposite. That was a lesson I needed to learn.

Your courage. – You don’t notice how courageous you are, but others do.

When I look at you, I see hope. You carry the kind of hope born of strife and fueled by raw determination.

Your laugh reminds me of my mother’s. Every time you laugh, I go back to the days when she held my hand on our daily walk, laughing and giggling our way down the street. You give me a little piece of my mother each day.

The way you love people without asking whether they deserve it. – This is the one I think about most. You never held my son’s actions against me, even though you were well within your rights to. Instead, you accepted my job offer and, in a small way, let me be a girl mom, despite how I raised my son. I’ve been forever grateful for that.

There are so many more reasons I want to share, but these are my top five. If you’re reading this and there are only five, just know I’m really pissed I didn’t write them all down this year!