cinnamon-scented hug, gently patting her mom’s back while trying to ignore the familiar awkwardness she felt whenever they touched. Posy was six feet tall, more than ten inches taller than Trish. Her frame was built on a completely different scale, broad and sturdy, quick to add muscle versus will-o’-the-wisp insubstantial. It was a size difference that, when Posy shot up past her mom early in fifth grade, had only exacerbated their constant conflicts over what Trish termed Posy’s unwillingness to fit in. She’d somehow managed to believe that Posy had willed herself into being a freakishly tall girl in middle school. Because that was exactly the fate every eleven-year-old girl longed for.
“I’m so glad you’re finally here, sweetheart,” Trish said. “I missed you.”
She released Posy, opened the door and quickly glanced up and down the street before closing and locking it again. Posy braced herself to be told that her orange T-shirt was too bright or that her freshly painted nails in their deep eggplant glory were disturbing.
“Did you see anyone out there? Chloe?”
“Anyone besides all the people walking around town on a gorgeous spring afternoon? No.” Posy squinted toward the Lemon Drop. “Chloe Chastain?”
“Never mind,” her mom said. “I’m glad you’re here.”
Two “glad you’re heres” in one minute? No critique of her outfit?
“Come back to the office,” Trish said.
Posy’s large leather purse held her iPad, iPhone, travel mug, business cards, emergency travel kit, makeup kit and was basically her life. Rather than risk maneuvering through the store with it on her shoulder, she set it on the tile near the front door.
She was about to follow her mom toward the back of the store when she heard a soft thump behind her.
Her mom’s tiny, white schnoodle, Angel, had jumped from the raised window display and now crouched on the floor near the bag. With fluffy white fur, round black eyes and a perky green plaid bow on her red leather collar, Angel looked the part of the perfect Christmas-shop accessory dog.
She eyed Angel. The dog’s tail twitched—a silent-movie villain’s mustache twirl.
Nonchalantly, Posy stretched one hand toward the bag, but she was too slow. With another quick swish of her tail, the dog shoved her face into Posy’s bag and emerged with her acid-yellow, leather business card wallet clutched between small, white teeth.
“No. Angel, drop it!”
Angel disappeared under the skirt around the table holding a model-train display with a village skating rink as the centerpiece. The tiny bell in the steeple of the chapel jingled when the dog bumped against the table leg. Posy knew from unfortunate experience that there’d be no catching Angel, and less than no chance the dog would do something as helpful as obey a command. She didn’t even bother lifting the table skirt. If Angel had a Twitter account and opposable thumbs, she’d send the #SillyHumans hash tag trending every day.
“Angel is under stress right now,” Trish said. Which was a new one. Sometimes Angel was delicate. Other times she’d eaten something that didn’t agree with her. The one true explanation for her dog’s terrible behavior—that Angel was a demon-spawned obedience-school dropout in a fluffy white fur coat—was never mentioned. “I’ll replace that...whatever it was.”
Posy lifted her bag, looking in vain for a spare inch or two on one of the tables where she could put it out of the dog’s reach. She ended up slinging it over her shoulder, holding it tight against her side with one arm.
Her mom bustled toward the back of the store. “I’m unpacking a shipment. Come on and I can tell you the news,” she said. “Watch that garland!”
Posy stooped to duck under a rope of gold, spray-painted eucalyptus leaves and pinecones. She turned sideways to edge past a display of the beautifully detailed, handcrafted papier-mâché mangers her mom commissioned from an artist in Pennsylvania.
Wonders didn’t have aisles so much as narrow alleys between displays crammed full of Christmas glitz and glitter. From the handblown ornaments hanging on color-coordinated trees, to the loops of beaded crystal garland Posy ducked through as she passed the register, the store carried everything and anything Christmas and delicate.
Her mom’s real specialty was miniatures. Wonders was the best-stocked retail outlet on the East Coast for holiday decorators who took verisimilitude in their train displays or light-up Christmas villages to the extreme. Every inch of horizontal space inside Wonders contained tiny, detailed, uncannily realistic miniatures and scene scapes.
Posy ran a hand over the thick nap of an ivory, velvet tree skirt. She’d worn more than her fair share of velvet Christmas dresses when she was in elementary school. Each one had been beautiful on the hanger, but the heavy fabric and childish styles had exaggerated Posy’s large frame, making her feel even more self-conscious. Trish had exquisite sewing skills—she just didn’t have any gauge to tell her when enough was so much more than enough.
In the crowded back office, her mom was bent over an open cardboard box, Bubble Wrap mounded around her ankles. A ceramic angel lay on the carpet next to her feet. She didn’t look up as Posy came in, but said, “See that envelope on my desk?”
Posy nodded and then realized her mom, who was unwrapping another angel, couldn’t see her. “Yes.”
“It’s for you. Open it up.”
The envelope was blank, no return address or mailing labels, and Posy couldn’t help feeling curious as she undid the metal clasp and slid the sheaf of stapled pages out.
She read the first few lines of the top sheet, then quickly leafed through the attached deeds and mortgage documents. “Mom?”
Trish put the second angel down and then lowered herself to her knees to reach deep into the box in front of her. “It’s your legacy, Posy.”
The papers listed all her mom’s assets, the house, Wonders, a two-year-old minivan and a safe-deposit box at the bank.
“My what?”
“Your legacy. From me to you.”
Her mom was trying to give her all the clutter Posy had been doing her best to keep strictly out of her own life for the past twenty years.
Posy was both touched and horrified. “This isn’t a legacy, it’s—” An albatross. “Mom...”
“Posy. You’ve been telling me for years that I need to sell the house, haven’t you? It’s too big for one person. And every time I add a new product line to the store, you accuse me of slipping one step closer to a hoarding diagnosis.”
Posy nodded. She felt completely confused and a finger of panic crept up her back. Surely her mom wasn’t planning to leave Kirkland. Where would she go? Rochester? Posy’s brand-new condo?
“Well, consider your advice taken. I’m selling everything. To you.”
“Selling?” Posy said, looking more closely at the pages. “Oh, Mom, it’s a nice impulse, but I just bought my condo. I don’t need your house or your car, and I can’t take care of Wonders. And where are you going to live? What’s going on?” She paused as fear crept into her gut, making her queasy. “Wait, why are you doing this? Are you okay? Everything’s okay, right?”
Posy set the legal papers aside and took a good look at her mom. Friends often described Trish as animated. Her ash-blond hair and bright green eyes were different enough from Posy’s black hair and dark brown eyes that they’d never be mistaken for relatives, let alone mother and daughter. Even though her mom was pretty, as sparkling as one of her ornaments, Posy noticed now that there was something different about Trish. Was the sparkle only a fever?
“I’m in love.” Trish clasped her hands over her heart. Actually clasped them and closed her eyes. She was a Precious Moments statue come to life.
Her