Memory gave her a small smile that looked slightly pained. “’Had’ was right. She passed away in January.”
“Oh, dear. I’m so sorry to hear that.” Helen placed her hand on Memory’s arm. “You must’ve been close.”
Tears formed in the corners of Memory’s eyes. “She was my best friend. We ran the shop together. We even lived together. I know it might seem silly for a young person like me to say her grandma was her best friend, but my mom passed away when I was born, and Grandma and I were just always so close. It doesn’t quite seem like Christmas without her here.”
“Honey,” Helen began, patting Memory’s arm, “I’m bet it must be difficult for you to celebrate your first Christmas without her, but I’m sure your grandmother wouldn’t want you to be sad. It sounds like she lived a happy life. She would want you to do the same—find someone who makes you happy and live your life in the same spirit of joy and love that she did.”
Memory looked into Helen’s eyes for a moment, and her forehead crinkled. Then, she shook her head slightly and said, “You’re right, of course.” She dabbed at her eyes with her knuckle. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I just.... You’re just very easy to talk to.”
Helen laughed, letting go of Memory’s arm. “That’s what I hear. I hope it helped, dear. You seem like a lovely young lady. I’m sure your grandma is very proud of you, Memory.”
“Thank you. I’m sure she is, too. It’s just too bad I can’t talk to her anymore, or hear her answer anyway.” She smiled and turned around, still wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand, but then she turned back “Wait... did you.... How did you know my name?”
Her tone wasn’t accusatory just curious, and Helen realized she’d slipped up already. “You, uh... I mean....” She looked around. Memory wasn’t wearing a name-tag, so that was out. “Oh, Leon. At the inn. When he mentioned the shop to me, he said that the woman who owns it is named Memory. That’s your—right. Memory Wilson?”
“Yeah, that’s me.” Memory nodded, looking at the ceiling, and Helen let out a sigh of relief that she’d dodged a bullet. “That Leon is a wonderful man. He was good friends with my grandma. His wife, Betty, died when I was in high school. She used to make the best pecan pie. I hear he still tries to make it for the guests on Christmas Day, but it doesn’t always turn out right.”
“Is that so?” Helen asked, knowing all of that firsthand. “Well, maybe I’ll give him a hand. I’m a pretty good baker.” That should throw her off—Helen wasn’t a good baker at all. In fact, she’d once ruined the Thanksgiving turkey by adding sugar to the broth instead of salt.
“I’m sure he’ll appreciate it,” Memory said, back to straightening. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name. What is it?”
“What’s that dear?” Helen asked, not listening carefully. She noticed a beautiful candy cane ornament hanging on the tree in front of her and was admiring it.
“Your name?”
“Oh, Hel—eh—uh, Ellen—ore,” she stammered. Memory’s eyebrows knit together, and then her eyes widened as she tried to keep track of the gibberish coming out of the woman’s mouth.
“Ellie. You can call me Ellie,” Helen finally blurted.
“Ellie. It’s nice to meet you.” Memory offered her hand, and Helen shook it, waiting for her to turn around before she made a face. She’d intended to come up with an elaborate name, or at least one far different from her own—something like Scarlet Truscott-Wortham, or Ruby Jane Trustingham. Now she was stuck with a name that sounded too much like her own.
“Ellie Snow—that’s me.” May as well keep it simple now that she’d already ruined her one chance at having a fancy name.
“That’s pretty. I love the last name Snow. It’s like having a bit of Christmas with you all year round. Sort of like living in Christmas Falls.”
“I agree. That’s why my late husband and I started a Christmas shop, similar to this one. We ran it together for many years until he passed away—five years ago. From... a stroke. It was a terrible day, the day I lost... Chris. So, I decided to sell the shop, and now I travel around visiting quaint little towns at Christmas, like this one, spreading Christmas cheer.” It had all sounded so much better when she’d been rehearsing it in her mind before she opened her mouth. Her husband was going to be Roger, not Chris. Helen shook her head, thinking Memory must be planning to call the authorities to have her returned to whatever home she’d apparently escaped from.
If she thought the speech sounded odd, she didn’t let on. “That sounds fun. Did you and Chris have any children?”
“No, we never did. We wanted to, but... it just wasn’t in God’s plan.”
“I don’t think it’s in God’s plan for you to tell so many lies either!” Stella’s voice sounded in Helen’s head, surprising her, and she went from a wide-eyed stare to pretending to get emotional, covering her face with her hand so Memory wouldn’t think her expression odd.
“I’m trying to create an elaborate back story that sounds convincing,” Helen said to Stella, wishing she’d butt out if she wasn’t going to be helpful.
“The more lies you tell, the harder it will be to keep track of!”
“I’m sorry to hear about your husband. It sounds like he was a wonderful man. With a name like Chris Snow, I’m sure he loved Christmas.”
“He did. He really did. I miss him, especially this time of year, but I know he’s in a better place now.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” Memory said, though her face took on another melancholy look.
A few more customers came in, and Memory greeted them. “I’ll be right with you.”
“Oh, go ahead. I’m still looking,” Helen said with a chuckle.
“Let me know if you need anything.” Memory’s smile was genuine as she stepped away to help the two ladies who’d come in looking for wreaths.