Page 19

MAGGIE

The yellow school bus rumbled down Harbor Lane, its taillights disappearing around the bend toward Main Street as the cold ocean wind rustled the bare oak branches along the saltbox fence. Maggie turned onto the gravel driveway, her blue tote bag slung over one shoulder, and her hands hidden in her beige pea coat.

The afternoon sun hung low over the water, casting long, pale shadows across the silvery frosted lawn of Ben’s house. She’d been surprised to get an invitation from Ben letting her know that Theo asked if she’d be interested in helping them sort through their ornaments from the attic.

Ben had told her that Theo had taken a liking to her, and she’d laughed when he’d joked about her winning over his grandson with sweet buns. Maggie ignored the little thump her heart had given at the invitation, then chalked it up to being excited about getting a foot in Ben’s door to try and get Theo’s Christmas wish fulfilled.

Taking a breath to calm her nerves, she walked forward, reaching the back porch, the wooden steps firm and clean beneath her shoes. Before she could knock, the door swung open, and Theo stepped outside. His face was bright with excitement in the cold afternoon light.

“Ms. Bennett, I’m so glad you could come!” His eyes sparkled. “Me and Grandpa brought the big trunk with all the decorations down from upstairs!” Theo announced, his voice carrying over the distant murmur of the tide pulling past the dock pilings. “It took both of us to carry it down the narrow attic stairs, and we set it right by the fireplace in the living room.”

Maggie smiled, her heart lifting at the unrestrained joy in the boy’s tone. “Did you? That sounds like some heavy lifting for an afternoon.”

“Grandpa carried the top handle, and I held the bottom corners so it wouldn’t bump the pine banister,” Theo said proudly, stepping aside to let her into the warm house. “And there were four cardboard boxes behind it with blue handwriting on the tape.”

Maggie stepped over the threshold, closing the door firmly against the biting harbor draft. The kitchen smelled of warm cinnamon from the tea kettle resting on the stove. She set her tote bag on the chair near the pantry, unbuttoning her coat and hanging it on the wooden peg near the door.

She walked through the archway into the living room, stopping in her tracks as she looked across the floor of the room. Resting in the center of the braided rug, directly in front of the brick hearth, sat a massive wooden trunk painted a deep forest green. Its heavy brass latches were tarnished with age, and its leather handles were cracked at the hinges.

Arranged in a neat semicircle around the trunk were four large cardboard storage boxes, each one sealed with paper tape and labeled in a rounded, fluid blue script.

Maggie’s eyes rested on the neat writing. Mantel Garland. Porch Stars. Tree Ornaments - Fragile. Window Lights. The handwriting was distinct and graceful, the careful hand of a woman who had organized her home with pride and deep love.

Ben stood near the old wood-burning heater in the corner, wearing a dark gray wool sweater with the sleeves pushed up to his forearms. He held a brass screwdriver in his hand, his tall frame rigid as he looked down at the green trunk. His jaw was locked, his eyes fixed and narrowed on the blue ink on the cardboard lids with an intensity that revealed the weight bearing down on him.

His gaze flicked up as Maggie entered, and he cleared his throat quietly as he set the screwdriver down on the shelf. “Uh, hi, Maggie.” He gave her a tight smile. “Thank you for coming. Theo was adamant that we needed someone with your decoration knowledge to help us sort this all out.” His Adam’s apple bobbed as his eyes swept over the trunk and boxes. “They’ve been in the attic for what feels like an eternity.”

Maggie knew well how slow time moved when the person you loved most no longer existed to fill your days with purpose.

The room fell into silence for a few seconds before Maggie broke it. “I was honored to get the invitation,” she told them, her eyes colliding with Ben’s. The intense look in his gaze did something to her, and she had to look away, glancing at Theo instead and offering him a soft smile.

“We brought all these down from the attic as soon as Theo got home from school,” Ben explained, his voice low and raspy. “To be honest, I was a little worried about us carrying them. I forgot how narrow the attic stairs are.”

“It’s a beautiful trunk,” Maggie told him, keeping her tone light and steady as she moved farther into the room, knowing that the boxes would’ve last been used by Ben’s wife. “The brass corners look like they belong on a sea captain’s chest.”

“My father made it years ago,” Ben replied, his thumb tracing the seam of his sweater cuff. “Ruth painted the green finish the first winter we lived in this house. She kept all the holiday things in it so they wouldn’t collect dust in the eaves.”

Theo dropped onto his knees beside the trunk, his fingers immediately reaching for the tarnished brass latch on the front. “Can we open it now? Can we see the stars first?” He practically bounced in excitement.

Ben hesitated, his posture stiffening again as his hands sank into his pockets. He looked at the cardboard boxes like a man standing on the edge of a deep chasm, caught between his desire to give his grandson a happy afternoon, and the raw, unhealed ache of touching things his late wife had last touched.

Maggie saw the subtle, painful shift in his expression. She knelt beside Theo on the braided rug, placing a gentle hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Let’s start with the smaller box on top,” she suggested smoothly, redirecting his attention to the box labeled Tree Ornaments - Fragile.

Maggie pulled the packaging tape loose from the flaps, opening the lid. Resting inside, wrapped in thin layers of tissue paper, were dozens of hand-stitched felt-and-bead ornaments. There were red mittens with tiny white pearl buttons, green holly leaves tied with bright yellow thread, and small felt angels with embroidered smiles.

From his spot near the hearth, Ben sucked in a sharp breath. His eyes locked onto a small felt angel wrapped in pink tissue paper, and his face drained of color. His lips spread into a thin line as he clamped his mouth shut. Maggie could tell how his hands tightened into fists inside his pockets.

Maggie didn’t hesitate. Without saying a word or drawing attention to his reaction, she folded the cardboard flaps back over the felt ornaments, closing the box completely. She picked it up and set it behind her on the floor, well out of reach.

“We’re going to leave those right there for now,” Maggie said to Theo, her voice calm, gentle, and entirely devoid of pressure. She looked up at Ben, her eyes meeting his strained gaze with absolute understanding. “Nothing leaves a box unless you’re completely ready to take it out. There’s no rush, and there’s no schedule we have to keep.”

Ben watched her, the rigid tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction of an inch as he absorbed her words. He drew a slow, steady breath of the woodsmoke-scented air, giving a quiet, barely perceptible nod of gratitude that sent warmth into Maggie’s heart. She wanted to tell Ben that she was proud of him, but that hardly seemed appropriate.

Theo, unaware of the silent exchange above his head, opened the flaps of the second cardboard box labeled Porch Stars. “Look at these!” he exclaimed, lifting out a handful of flat wooden stars and painted pinecone ornaments.

The wooden stars were simple and sturdy, carved from white pine and painted in shades of red, cream, and forest green. Theo held one up into the afternoon light filtering through the window. “These aren’t fragile glass. Did you make these down at the shop, Grandpa?”

Ben moved away from the hearth, taking two slow steps toward the rug. He glanced at the wooden star in Theo’s hand, his expression softening as the sharp edge of grief gave way to a fond, distant memory. “We made those five years ago,” Ben told them, his voice turning warmer. “We spent a lot of evenings at the kitchen table cutting the pine shapes, and your grandmother painted the green borders while we listened to Christmas music on the radio.”