Page 95 of The Summer of Christmas

“No, Frank Sinatra changed the lyrics. He thought the Judy Garland version was too sad.Have yourself a merry little Christmas. It may be your last. Next year we may all be living in the past.”

“Wow. That’s appropriate. Not just for you. But the whole world.”

“Isn’t it?From now on, we’ll have to muddle through somehow. So have yourself a merry little Christmas now.I guess I’ll muddle through this Christmas in July. I’m sorry if I sound whiny.”

“I’m your sister. I’m always here for you. You don’t sound whiny. You sound confused. There’s a lot going on here, Ivy. I can see how it’s messing with your head. Do you want my advice?”

“No one really wants advice, do they?”

“No. But you’re getting it anyway. Stop thinking about it for a second. It’s consumed you since you got here. You need a brainwash.”

“I do,” Ivy agreed, “want to wash that man right outta my head.”

“Not a movie brainwash. A real brainwash. Researchers at BU found that during sleep, the fluid present in the brain and spinal cord—called the cerebrospinal fluid—washes in and out, like waves, helping the brain get rid of accumulated metabolic trash.”

“I have a lot of trash I need to get rid of.”

Carol smiled. “You need to let your brain complete the wash cycle. After a good night’s sleep, you can think about it more clearly.”

Ivy took her sister’s advice. She went to sleep trying to remember the meditation tricks she’d learned. They didn’t work. Not at all. After tossing and turning, Ivy fell into a deep, deep sleep…

…only to be awakened in a dream by the young Ivy, who looked just like the young actress she met earlier. “Wake up, Ivy,” young her said. She opened her eyes to see her room decorated for Christmas.

“What’s going on? Why is this room decorated for Christmas? It’s July.”

“It’s Christmas Eve,” young Ivy said.

“It’s July. We’re filming the Christmas movie. I’m dreaming about the set.”

“This isn’t a dream. It is Christmas.” Young Ivy waved her arm, and the sheets flew off the bed, floated in the air. Swirling. Filling the room with snow. Young Ivy held out her hand. “Follow me.”

Ivy took her young guide’s hand and walked into a swirling snow cyclone. She never remembered a dream feeling so cold.

“Where are we going? You’re not going allA Christmas Carolon me, are you?”

“You’re the one who ate the diablo fish tacos, not me.”

They stepped out of the snow. They were in a church. Ivy looked around. She saw her mom and dad. She yelled hello.

Young Ivy raised an eyebrow. “Really? And you call yourself a writer. You know they can’t hear you.”

“Of course they can hear me. They’re right there. Mom! Dad!” No answer. “Great, aChristmas Caroltrope.”

“You know them better than me.”

“So, what do I do now?”

Young Ivy smiled. “You watch me playing you meeting Nick for the first time.”

Ivy watched Young Ivy walk to the young eight-year-old boy. Suddenly Vera was there, floating on a camera dolly filming the whole thing.

Ivy watched as Young Nick and Young Ivy “met cute” when they were in the church pageant. She watched as a younger Frannie dragged Young Nick to the church rehearsal because Denise wanted to be in the pageant. At age eight, Nick was too young to stay home by himself. So off he’d gone to the rehearsal, planning on sitting in the back with his Game Boy, but the universe had other plans for him. When he arrived at the church, he looked around and saw that there were mostly only girls there. He was also the oldest boy there. The choir director pulled him aside.

“Hi, Nick. So happy you decided to join us.”

“Uh, yeah,” Young Nick grunted. He focused onDonkey Kong.

“I was hoping that you would play Joseph. We could really use you.” The choir director was practically pleading.