Thanks to those who reviewed the last chapter, your feedback is greatly appreciated!
This is the first of a few holiday-themed conversations I've been working on. This one gives us a new perspective - Grandfather Prentiss - and gives us a peek into Emily's childhood and her never-mentioned father. Do let me know how you like it, I love reading feedback.

Happy reading =)

"Nobody can do for little children what grandparents do. Grandparents sort of sprinkle stardust over the lives of little children." – Alex Haley

I wake suddenly from my impromptu afternoon nap when I hear knocking on my front door. I blink blearily and rub my eyes in an effort to wake up. I get up slowly from the oversized armchair where I'd fallen asleep and make my way to the front door, stopping to pick up the book that had likely fallen to the ground when I'd drifted off. I swing open the door and immediately crack a smile.

"Lizzie," I saw warmly, gesturing for her to enter. It's only when she steps past me and into the house that I notice the child fast asleep in her arms and I smile. "Do you have any bags?"

"They're in the car. Would you mind grabbing them while I put her down?"

"Of course," I say as I move to slip on my boots, but stop when I realize the driver is carrying the bags up the stairs. "Merci," I say gratefully once he reaches the door. "Combien pour le voyage?" I ask.

"Dad, you don't have to-" Lizzie whispers quickly, mindful not to wake up Emily, who is still sleeping soundly in her arms.

"Lizzie, let me. It's no trouble," I reply quickly, waving off her protests. "Combien, monsieur?" I ask again, turning my attention back to the driver.

He gives the total and I hand over enough francs to cover it, as well as a generous tip that, given his repeated expressions of gratitude and huge smile, is clearly appreciated. We exchange wishes of "joyeux noёl" before he heads back to his car and drives off. I shut the door and grab the bags, carrying them to the spare bedroom before heading back to the den.

As I enter the room I hear Emily mumble a soft and sleepy but slightly panicked, "Mama" as her tiny hands clutch Lizzie's shirt tighter, unwilling to release her hold as Lizzie tries to put her down. Clearly she doesn't want to be separated from her mother.

"Shhh, it's all right, Em. Just close your eyes and sleep for a little while. I'll be right here," Lizzie says softly. I smile as I'm reminded of similar sweet moments shared between Lizzie and her own mother all those years ago.

"Don't go," Emily murmurs in reply, her tone pleading and her large brown eyes wide, steeling herself for disappointment. I feel my heart clench. I can't help but wonder how frequently she utters that phrase and how often Lizzie has to pry her daughter's hands from her shirt.

"I'm here, Emily," Lizzie says, rubbing her back soothingly.

"I'll be good," Emily promises, her tired arms still clinging tightly to her mother. "Please don't go," she finishes in a sad tone. I don't miss the pained expression that crosses my daughter's face at Emily's promise.

"I'm not going anywhere, ma petite," Lizzie says softly, her words beginning to soothe her daughter.

"No work?" Emily asks sleepily, confusion evident in her tone. Her eyes struggle to stay open as she fights the sleep threatening to take over her body.

"No, I don't have to work. I'll be right here when you wake up."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

I watch as Emily's eyes finally flutter closed and her hands slowly and reluctantly release their hold on her mother's shirt. Lizzie sets her down gently, and makes sure to cover her with a warm blanket before pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. She tenderly brushes some hair from her eyes and then turns her attention to me.

"Dad," she says with a tired smile. "It's so good to see you."

"I could say the same to you, darling," I reply with a smile, opening my arms for a hug. She steps quickly into my embrace, wrapping her arms around me tightly. She holds on a little longer than is typical for her, and I frown as I combine this fact with the weary look she had about her when she arrived. "How are you?" I ask, my gaze now scrutinizing her more closely.

"I'm okay," she says before finally breaking the embrace. "Just keeping busy, working hard."

"Not too hard, I hope?" I ask hopefully. She's just like me when I was her age – driven and a little too hard-working. If she isn't careful she'll end up like me before her mother knocked some sense into me – overworked and distant from my loved ones.

"Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaad," she says, drawing out the word dramatically.

"Okay, okay. I'm sorry. I can't help it," I say holding up my hands in surrender. "Tea?" I offer.

She nods. "Sure."

"Let's go into the kitchen, I think she'll be asleep for a little while."

We head into the kitchen and I put on the kettle as Lizzie takes a seat at the small table.

"How are you?" she asks.

"I'm good. I'd be better if I saw you and Emily more often," I say pointedly.

A pained expression crosses her features again. "I know, Dad. It's just...I have to put in these hours right now, or I'll never move up the ranks."

I nod reluctantly. "I know, Lizzie, I do. Just...be careful. That little one needs you. Especially since her father is god knows where doing god knows what."

She exhales heavily but doesn't respond, instead choosing to focus intently on her hands.

I sigh heavily before steering us to a more comfortable topic when I realize she's not going to take the bait. "She's gotten so big."

Lizzie beams with pride. "Yeah, and she never stops talking. It's always "Mama! Mama! Mama!" and then some surprisingly deep and meaningful question. Last week she asked me why we were alive. I had no idea how to answer her!" she says with a chuckle. "And she's always got her nose buried in those books you sent her. I swear her vocabulary is bigger than mine."

"She's certainly your daughter then. You were just as precocious at her age," I say with a fond smile as I pour the now boiling water into the tea pot to let it steep. Suddenly memories of my daughter and wife having fast-paced conversations begin surfacing in my mind.

"Was I?"

"You and your mother used to talk a mile a minute for what seemed like hours about anything and everything. I could never follow the conversations," I say with a chuckle and a shake of my head. "I see a lot of her in you when you're interacting with Emily," I add thoughtfully.

"Yeah?" she asks, her eyes brightening as though she's proud to be compared to her mother. Just as she should be.

"Oh yes. Like mother, like daughter," I say with a wide smile. "She would be so proud of the woman you've become."

Lizzie smiles sadly. "I miss her."

"I do too," I admit. "Still like your tea weak?" I ask after a moment. She nods. "I'll never understand how I had a daughter who can't stomach strong tea," I wonder aloud as I pour her a cup of water that could only very generously be called tea.

"I guess I take after mom," she says with a shrug.

"That you do. You look more and more like her." We settle into silence once more as she sips at her tea, and I wait for mine to steep a little longer. Every so often we hear a quiet whimper from Emily as she squirms a little and a frown forms on her face before she settles back into a quiet slumber.

"So how is Harrison Theodore Campbell III?" I ask with disdain, unable to avoid the topic any longer.

"Dad," she says wearily. "Please."

"No, Lizzie," I reply forcefully. "I want to know if that bastard is doing anything at all for my granddaughter."

"He's...around," she says cryptically.

"Elizabeth," I implore, hoping the switch from her nickname is enough to convince her I want answers.

"He comes and goes. Emily sees him often enough."

"But not for Christmas? Come on, Lizzie."

"He's away on business right now in the States."

"He couldn't come home for Christmas? For you? For Emily?"

"He's just starting to really get a foothold in the company."

I shake my head. "Get a foothold in the- Why don't you just end things with him? You don't love him, and he's no good for Emily!"

"He's her father," she argues.

"By blood relation only," I say with a scowl.

"She deserves to know her father."

"That's up for debate."

"Dad," she warns, fixing me with an angry glare before letting out a sigh. "You know things are a lot more complicated than me just leaving him."

"How complicated is it? He's a smarmy git who doesn't deserve to have either of you in his life. You can do so much better Lizzie."

"We're married, Dad. That's not just something you throw away."

"I would normally agree. But that only applies when your spouse is worth trying to work things out with. Besides, when's the last time you two spent more than 2 hours together that wasn't for a political or business function? And when's the last time Emily saw him for longer than the time it takes a photographer to take a picture?"

"He isn't that bad," she protests weakly.

"Yes, he is," I say plainly. "And I wish you could see that," I finish sadly. I wanted so much better for my daughter, but it seems she's destined to stay in a loveless marriage out of convenience for her and her so-called husband's careers.

Our conversation is brought to a halt when Emily begins stirring, evidently not sleeping as long as we'd thought she would. "Mama?" she mumbles as she tries to fight her way out of sleep.

"I'm here," Lizzie says quickly, putting down her tea and jumping up from her seat, intent on keeping her promise. I'd wager she's glad for the disruption to our heated conversation.

Emily sits up and rubs the remaining sleep from her eyes before looking around. When her gaze eventually swings to me, she grins widely and jumps up immediately. "Grandad!" she yells as she jumps up and runs into the kitchen, throwing her arms around my legs when she reaches me.

"Well hello there, Emilene," I croon as I pick her up and hug her tightly.

She giggles at the use of my nickname for her. "I missed you!" she says, wrapping her arms around my neck tightly.

"And I missed you!"

"Are we having Christmas here, Mama?" she asks, turning to face Lizzie, who nods in response. Emily's grin spreads even wider, and she bounces in excitement. "I can't wait to give you my present!"

I smile when I realize she's excited to give a gift, not receive one. Only Emily. "Oh, really? What is it?"

"You're silly, Grandad! I can't tell you! It's a surprise!"

I chuckle at her precociousness. "Right, of course! My mistake, darling."

"Can we read together, Grandad? Please? Please? Please?"

Lizzie gives a quiet chuckle and gestures as though to say, "Go ahead".

"Of course, Emilene. What would you like to read?"

"My new poems book that Mommy bought me for being a good girl on the train and the airplane. But it's in my bag. Where's my bag?" she says all in one breath.

"Slow down, Emily! It's in the bedroom," I say as I point down the hallway. "You go grab it and we'll read a few poems before dinner, sound okay?"

"Mais oui!" she says cheerfully and skips down the hallway to retrieve the book once I set her down.

The remaining few days before Christmas passed by quickly, with Emily keeping us thoroughly entertained. Lizzie and I avoided any more topics that would lead to strained conversations, instead focusing on Emily and other safe topics like my upcoming retirement. When Christmas Eve came around, Emily was surprisingly subdued. I couldn't wrap my head around why a five year old child wouldn't be bouncing off walls in excitement the night before Christmas, so when Lizzie went for a late-night walk to enjoy the falling snow, I took the opportunity to find out.

I find Emily sitting in the den, flipping the pages and staring at the illustrations of the poetry book we'd read from every single day.

"Bonjour, mademoiselle!"

She looks up from her book. "Bonjour, Grand-père," she replies quickly, but there isn't a trace of excitement in her tone.

"Can I sit?" I ask gently. She scoots over in response and drops her gaze back to her book. "Can we talk?"

She looks up again and blinks a few times. "Okay."

"How come you aren't excited for Christmas?" I ask while setting aside her book so she'll focus solely on me.

Her eyes widen and she immediately begins to apologize. "I'm sorry, Grandad! I'll be more excited, I promise."

I frown at her apology. Why does a five year old girl feel the need to apologize for not being excited?

"Emilene, you don't need to apologize. I'm just wondering why you seem so sad. It's okay if you are; I just want to know what's making my favourite little girl sad."

She seems to contemplate my words for a moment. "We're leaving after Christmas," she says simply.

"Yes..." I reply slowly, prompting her to continue.

"I don't want to go."

"Why not?"

"I like being here with you."

"I know you do, but don't you like your school? And your house?" She nods, but remains quiet and subdued. "And what about seeing your father?" I add, unable to help myself from trying to find more ammunition to use against him in my next talk with Lizzie.

"He's on a trip and I won't see him for a long time," she explains. "He has important things to do."

I feel my heart clench in anger. The bastard had essentially abandoned her and Lizzie.

"Do you think he loves me?" she asks with wide eyes and I feel my own eyes widen in shock.

"Why do you ask that?" I ask carefully, mindful to keep my temper in check.

"You tell me when I see you and Mama tells me every day and Shane tells me when he drives me, but Daddy never says it," she explains. Her lower lip begins to tremble and tears appear in her eyes. "Did I do something wrong, Grandad? I've been a good girl. I put away my toys, and say please and thank you," she finishes as the tears finally break through and run down her face.

I feel my anger bloom and threaten to spill over, but I clench my teeth together and then put on a smile for her. "You didn't do anything wrong, Emily," I say, pulling her onto my lap and hugging her tightly. "You're such a good little girl, and I'm sure he loves you very much."

"Why doesn't he tell me?" she asks in between her sniffles and sobs.

"I...I don't know, Emilene. I don't know," I say truthfully. She whimpers and presses further into my embrace, burying her face in my chest and holding my shirt tightly. "Shh, it's all right," I say while rubbing her back soothingly. "It's all right."

I have never hated someone as much as I hated my son-in-law in that moment. He'd been gifted with a smart, beautiful, and compassionate little girl, and all he'd done for her was cause her pain. A five year old should not have to wonder whether her father loves her, and dread Christmas because it means she has to go home. If only Lizzie could see her daughter now.

"Look at me, Emily," I implore, pulling back slightly to allow her to turn her head to face me. When she does I feel my heart clench again at the sight of her tear-stained face and wide, brown eyes holding so much sadness. "Can you get your coat and shoes on for me?"

Her brow furrows in confusion, but she jumps down from my lap and does as I asked. I follow her to the front door and slip on my own coat and shoes. When she's all bundled up, I take her hand and lead her outside.

"Why are we outside, Grandad?"

"I want to show you something," I reply, opening up my arms to scoop her up into my arms. "Do you see those stars there?" I ask while pointing.

"Which ones?" she says with a frown.

"Here, give me your hand," I say, taking her hand in mine. "Follow where I'm pointing. It starts here, and then goes here...here...here...and then here...here...and it finishes here," I say as I trace the pattern with our hands.

"What is it?" she asks, her eyes wide in wonder as they remain fixed on the twinkling stars.

"It's an asterism called the Plough," I explain. "And you know what? You can see it from here, and from your house in Paris."

"Really?" she asks excitedly, turning her gaze to meet mine.

"Yeah," I say with a smile.

I watch as her smile fades slightly as a thought occurs to her. "What about from my house across the ocean?"

"Oh, you can see it there too, but it looks a little bit different."

"It does?" she says with a frown.

"It's called the Big Dipper over there, because it looks more like a big spoon."

"Why does it look different?" she asks, turning her head once more to allow her gaze to be drawn up to the stars.

"I think that's an answer for another time, Emilene," I say, hoping to avoid a long explanation.

"Why'd you show me it?" she asks, swinging her gaze from the stars back to me, thankfully having accepted my answer.

"Because when you're missing me or feeling sad, you can look up at it and know that I'll be looking at the same thing. We'll be doing something together, even though we're far apart."

"But how will you know when I'm looking at it?" she asks. Once again, I've underestimated her intelligence.

"Good question. I won't – but I like to spend a lot of time looking at the stars, so I bet we'll be looking at them at the same time."

"Really?"

"Definitely. And every time you see the Plough or the Big Dipper, I want you to remember how much I love you."

"When you look at it, you do the same, okay? Then we'll love each other."

I chuckle lightly. "I will, darling. I promise."

"Thank you, Grandad," she says, wrapping her arms around my neck in a tight embrace.

"Well, well. What do we have here? Two troublemakers, I think!" Lizzie says as she comes up behind us. "Just what are you two doing out here?"

"It's a secret, Mama! Only me and Grandad."

"You can't tell me?" she says, feigning disappointment.

"Nuh-uh," Emily replies with a fervent shake of her head.

Lizzie just shakes her head and laughs softly. "Time for bed, Emily. Say goodnight to your grandfather and then let's get you inside and changed into your pajamas."

"Goodnight, Grandad," she says, pressing a quick kiss to my cheek.

"Goodnight, Emily," I reply before putting her down. I watch as she skips toward the house, her hand in her mother's. I sigh heavily from the weight of our conversation. It wasn't one I was likely to forget anytime soon. And certainly wasn't one I'd imagined ever having. Some Christmas this is turning out to be for Emily – without a father and questioning whether she's worthy of being loved. Neither of which a five year old should be concerning themselves with. I resolve to make tomorrow morning as cheerful and wonderful for her as I can – she deserves that much. And so with one last look to the stars which I hope will now bring her some comfort, I turn and walk back toward my house, vowing to give her a happy memory to hold onto for the years to come.

Again, if you have the time, I'd love to hear your thoughts! Reviews would be a welcomed gift for the holidays... ;)

For those not familiar with French:

"Combien pour le voyage?" is "How much for the trip?"
"ma petite" is a term of endearment that means "my little girl"
"Mais oui" translates roughly to "Of course"
And of course "joyeux noёl" is "merry christmas"