Chapter 11 - Christmas Morning And The Empty Foundation Tower
I woke up with the bear still against my chest and the lights too bright. That morning was Christmas morning.
The dressing suite wasn't my room. The couch I'd fallen asleep on was too soft and the blanket they'd put over me smelled like clean laundry and someone else's cologne. My red dress was wrinkled. My pink shoes were lined up by the couch leg where he'd put them. I held the bear tighter when I heard movement.
He was by the window in a sweater now, not the tuxedo, holding a paper coffee cup that had gone cold. His hair was still styled but his eyes were tired. He didn't look like the man from the ballroom anymore.
"Hey, sweetheart," he said quietly when he saw I was awake. "You slept a little."
I didn't answer at first. I just breathed and checked that the blue band was still on the bear's leg. It was.
He knelt down to my level the same way he had by the sofa the night before. "We need to take a short ride this morning. Is that okay? I want to find out about Grace for you."
I nodded. I didn't want to let go of the bear to put my shoes on, so he helped me. His hands were careful.
The town was empty on Christmas morning. The streets were wet and there was no traffic. He drove slow past closed diners and a gas station with its lights off. The Bennett Foundation tower sat on the edge of downtown, glass and brick, with a big wreath still hanging on the front doors. The parking lot was almost empty.
Inside, the lobby was warm and quiet. A artificial tree blinked by the reception desk. No one was really there except a woman at the desk in a cardigan who looked surprised to see anyone.
"We're technically closed," she said. She looked at me and then at the bear. Then at him. "Mr. Bennett?"
He nodded. "I know. I called ahead. We just need the family room for a minute."
She buzzed us through a set of double doors into a hallway that smelled like hospital cleaner even though it wasn't a hospital. The family room was big and empty. There were low tables with puzzles, a fish tank, and a whole wall of photos. And on a shelf near the window there was a basket of bears.
They were the same. Brown plush. Dark noses. I stared at them and my stomach did a funny, tight thing. I held my bear closer.
The woman followed us in. She was older, maybe fifty, with short gray hair and a lanyard that said VOLUNTEER.
"You brought one of Grace's bears," she said softly to him. She wasn't talking to me yet.
He looked at her. "That's what I needed to ask you about."
She took a breath and looked at the photo wall. There was a picture there, bigger than the others, of a teenage girl in a hospital gown and a knit cap, smiling and holding a bear just like mine. Under it a small brass plate said Grace Bennett 2008-2023.
"Grace was sixteen," she said. "She was with us a long time. Leukemia. When she couldn't go to school anymore she started this. She wanted every kid who had to wait alone to have something to hold. We still make them. Her mom funds it."
My throat got tight. I didn't understand all the words but I understood the picture. I understood the date.
"She's not coming back?" I whispered. I hadn't meant to talk.
The woman finally looked down at me. Her face changed.
"No, honey," she said.
He crouched beside me again. "You knew her?"
I nodded and my eyes filled up. The bear's fur was damp where I'd been holding it.
"She sat with me," I said. My voice was small and I had to stop to breathe. "In the waiting room. The chairs were blue. Mom said wait there and Grace sat by me 'cause I was crying. She talked to me. She gave me this one. She said it was special 'cause it was hers to give."
The woman put her hand over her mouth for a second.
"Which waiting room, sweetheart?" he asked carefully.
"The big one with the TV up high," I said. "Grace had a cap like in the picture. She let me touch the band on its leg. She said it was from her bracelet but she made it for the bear so he wouldn't be scared."
He didn't say anything right away. He just looked at the bear, then at the photo of the girl who'd made it, and I saw his jaw tighten. He understood now why the name had stopped him cold in the ballroom. It wasn't a mother he'd been afraid of. It was this girl.
The volunteer stepped closer to the shelf and touched one of the other bears.
May you like
"She gave them out herself until the last few weeks," she said to him, quieter now. "This must have been one of her last ones."
I hugged my bear hard and didn't let go. Grace had given it to me. Not Mom. Grace.
