Lila blinked, then looked at Serena. Her eyes welled with real, uncomplicated love. “Darling,” she said, her voice soft. “I’m so sorry you’re hurting. He was a fool.” She reached across the table and squeezed her daughter’s hand.
Chloe saw it and gasped. “Mark?”
“Enough,” Lila finally snapped, her voice cutting through the wailing. “This is Christmas . Can we please just… be happy for one hour?”
Later, as they were bundling up to leave, Lila pulled Cora aside. The hypnotic peace was still on her face, a soft, rosy glow. “That was… remarkable, dear,” she said. “I feel like a new woman. How did you do that?” Mistress Of Hypnosis Holidazed
And then there was Cora.
“And now,” Cora murmured, the pendulum coming to a stop in her palm, “when I count down from three to one, you will all feel a deep, abiding sense of peace. The perfect, simple peace of a silent night. No arguments. No resentments. Just the quiet joy of being together. Three… two… one.”
That would be fun to untangle.
Seven heads lifted. But these were not the same people who had been snarling over the yams.
A wet, heavy silence fell. Leo hiccupped.
Cora’s voice became the only real thing in the room. It wove around the clinking ice in Mark’s scotch, the crackle of the fire, the distant sound of sleigh bells from a TV commercial. She spoke of deep forests, of soft snowfall, of the perfect, heavy silence after a storm. She didn’t erase their personalities; she just… unclenched them. Lila blinked, then looked at Serena
Serena, instead of snapping, squeezed back. “Thanks, Mom. You know… the yams are really good this year, Chloe.”
For the first time in seventeen years, the Joule family had a wonderful, peaceful, genuinely happy Christmas Eve. They played charades without cheating. They complimented each other’s gifts. Mark only had one more scotch, and he sipped it thoughtfully, telling Chloe how much he appreciated her.
The chain swung. Back and forth. Tick. Tock. Like a gentle, hypnotic grandfather clock marking a time that didn’t exist. “I’m so sorry you’re hurting
Cora didn’t flinch. She pulled a small, antique silver pendulum from a pocket inside her cloak. It wasn’t showy, just a simple teardrop on a fine chain. It caught the candlelight and threw tiny, dancing stars onto the tablecloth.
Chloe stared, bewildered, then looked at the yams. She smiled. “You know what? They are. Mark, try one.”