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Her mother waved at her and she waved back.
She felt a burst of hope. Christmas was going to be all right after all.
Michael was right that Tab might be the bridge between her and her mother.
She imagined her mother finally opening up and telling her and Samantha about their father.
She imagined them all gathered together round the large Christmas tree, enjoying each other’s company in a way they never had before. If her mother had photos somewhere, maybe she’d agree to share them.
“Here.” She walked back and dropped her forest finds at Tab’s feet. “Plenty of options there.”
Tab, always particular, discarded a couple of twigs and then selected two.
She pushed the “arms” into the body of the snowman, and then the tiny stones became its eyes. “Who built the first snowman?”
Ella, who was used to Tab’s endless questions, settled in for what was probably going to be a lengthy conversation.
“No one knows exactly who built the first one, but we know that people have been building snowmen for a long time. Back in the fifteenth century a very famous artist and sculptor called Michelangelo built a snowman for the man he worked for.”
“Was it a good one?”
Ella reached out to help with the arms of the snowman. “I think we can be pretty confident it was exceptional.”
Tab pushed the pinecone into the snowman’s face. “Were you alive in the fifteenth century, Nanna? Did you see the snowman?”
Ella heard her mother make a choking sound.
“I was not alive.”
“That would make Nanna more than four hundred years old,” Ella said patiently. “Humans don’t live to be four hundred.”
“Although there are mornings when I feel four hundred.”
Ella couldn’t remember them spending a more enjoyable hour together. It was like discovering sugar, when you’d only ever tasted salt.
“Brodie said some of the trees in this forest are hundreds of years old. So they’re older than humans.” Tab stepped back to admire her snowman. “Building a snowman might be my favorite thing.”
Ella crouched down next to her daughter. “Last week baking cookies was your favorite thing. And the week before that it was dancing.”
Gayle shaped the snowman’s neck with her gloved hand. “Do you have ballet classes?”
Tab shook her head. “I dance with my mommy. We dance round the house.” Tab sprang up like a bouncing ball. “Let’s do a snowdance, Nanna!”
“Aren’t we going to finish your snowman?”
“Let’s dance first. We can make footprints.” Tab grabbed both Gayle’s han
ds but Gayle stood looking helpless.
“I don’t really—I don’t dance. I can’t dance.”
“Everyone can dance.” Still holding her grandmother’s hands, Tab proceeded to demonstrate, leaping around awkwardly, her movements hampered by padded winter clothing and snow boots. “Mommy join in, too.”
Ella laughed and took her daughter’s hand, twirling her. It was a moment of pure joy. Spontaneously she reached for her mother’s hand but Gayle snatched her hand away with a quick shake of her head.
“I prefer to watch.”
Ella almost wavered, checked by her mother’s response, but instead she took both Tab’s hands. She wasn’t going to let her mother’s judgment impact on her relationship with her daughter. That wasn’t happening. “You’re lucky it’s just dancing, Mom.” She spun Tab, then scooped her up and swung her round with a few whoops of joy that Tab echoed. “Last week’s fun activity was nail polish. She used bright red. I had to stop Michael calling an ambulance when he saw the result.”
