part II

Marcy took it easy the next few days. She began each day listening to Christmas music while enjoying a hot bath. Some days she didn’t dress until noon, others she stayed in her robe all day. Tuesday she was in her robe taking some trash out when Marge from across the street ran over to her. “I heard you were sick, you don’t worry a bit about the neighbors, I already explained to them we won’t be getting our fruitcake this year; Edie even has last year’s still in the freezer. You just take care of yourself; we’d hate to lose the best neighbor we’ve ever had!” That was easy, Marcella thought to herself.
The few days stretched into many. She spent a lot of time reading. She began reading Jesus the Christ. She had read it in college and thought to herself then that she should read it every December. That was before the schedule. She puttered a little and put out a few decorations, just the really special ones. She cooked the kids’ favorite meals and made after-school treats. “Yes, they’re for you!” she happily declared, their faces so hopeful. One morning she spent at the temple; one afternoon she spent at the piano, playing every carol in every book of Christmas music she owned. That wasn’t on the schedule anywhere, but it brought back such memories of happy times, all long ago. One day she phoned old friends and neighbors, some she hadn’t heard from in years.
One afternoon ten-year-old Jacob invited her to go sledding down Bird Hill. He thought sure she would say no, Bird Hill was steep and high, his mother had quit sledding on it when she broke her leg there as a teenager. But she agreed and they had a marvelous time. They built a fire when they got home and had just toast and hot chocolate for supper. Jeff and the girls didn’t complain, it was such a treat to see Marcy so happy.
One evening Marianne, her fourteen-year-old, glanced at the schedule to see that Marcella was supposed to be wrapping gifts. Since she wasn’t, Marianne asked her if she’d like to hear the poem she wrote for school. It was a beautiful poem about the fire at girls’ camp. Marcella had no idea Marianne was so talented and creative. Marianne shared other things she’d written and Marcella shared some of her own writings from her high school days. They laughed, and cried, and hugged a lot.
Day after day her sewing machine lay idle; she never gave the schedule a second thought, it was as if she really didn’t care about it at all.