The Next Part of the Story

The Next Part of the Story

*“ I wish I could believe like you.” It was a line from a movie. Chantelle had watched her mother continue her life after her father died. There was still too much fanciful thinking in the way she approached most things, especially Christmas. She still played dance music, made her trips to the shelters and the nursing homes. Chose partners from the gatherings that could barely stand up let alone glide and spin like her mom and dad had done. Her twin, Tanya, just told her to let their mom alone with her belief in the magic of Christmas. Her perception of Christmas was hers alone. Chantelle could have her own. Tanya and her brothers had not arrived yet. Chantelle, not in any relationship, had arrived early and would be staying on with her mother past the New Year. It seemed so very sad sometimes that her mother believed in the magic of the dance at Christmas. Couldn’t she just face that her beloved Oliver was gone, and for many years, and she didn’t have to keep living everything from the past.

Chantelle heard the door. Her mother called out "Chantelle are you home? Come here I have someone I want you to meet.” Chantelle rolled her eyes. Not one of those people from the shelter. Her mother insisted on bringing home people, feeding them, letting them bathe and there was one woman and her little one that she let stay all one Christmas Eve.

Chantelle had been curled up on the couch reading a mystery novel, already in her bathrobe and pyjama’s. She was hardly prepared to play host. It was to be an evening of quiet in front of the fireplace. Christmas lights and a reading lamp the only other lights in the living room. And now this.

"Chantelle. This is Howard." Chantelle looked up and blushed. Her mother was introducing a very handsome, well dressed man who smiled broadly, his blue eyes bright and kind. She stuttered out something polite and ran quickly upstairs. In a loud whisper, she called down from the landing "Mother. Get up here! Who is this guy?’

“Excuse me Howard. My daughter is calling. Go ahead and put the kettle on for tea. I’ll be right down.”

Isobel ran lightly up stairs as though she was still dancing. She sat down with her daughter, her own kind grey eyes lit up like they hadn’t been for years. “Howard and I have been working together at volunteer work for many years." She twirled and sat on the bed. "Tonight we went walking in the crisp winter air, snow crunching beneath our feet and stars twinkling above. Just like your father and I, and just like Howard and his wife did." With a shy smile she said "I have had to teach him how to dance. He's coming along but we’ll just keep practicing.”

“To believe in something and not to live it, is dishonest.”

~ Mahatma Gandhi

*From Random First Lines: writingexercises.co.uk

Author's note: Edited January 14, 2024