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Ben froze and listened to make sure his family was too preoccupied to pay him any attention. After a couple of minutes, he judged that the field was clear and he made his way into his grandparents' old bedroom. He blinked several times and held back a sneeze at the cloud of dust that immediately rose under his feet.
No one had been there since August. Four months had passed, but nothing had changed here. His grandmother's bracelet was still lying on the bedside table, next to her notebook of cross words and an empty mug with a picture of him as a baby, her slippers were lined up next to the bed, the sheets were untied, the curtains were drawn, and clean shirts belonging to his grandfather were lying on the chair in front of the desk. It looked like a museum. Ben was pretty sure that even the pillow had retained Padmé's perfume.
The eight-year-old crossed the room, climbed into bed and lay down where his grandmother used to sleep. And he breathed in. Then he sneezed several times.
But it was there. It was subtle, but through the dust, Ben could faintly smell lemon, mint and rose. Nostalgia hit him all at once and he hugged the pillow, almost feeling like he could hug Padmé again.
Ben held the pillow close and stepped off the bed to open the closet. He saw the photo albums on the top shelf. He wrinkled his nose, turned around to look for something he could use to climb on and located a stool. However, he didn't have time to reach it when his grandfather suddenly opened the door.
The boy immediately cowered in fear. His grandfather was sure to be angry. He wasn't supposed to be here. Sure, it was an unspoken fact, but no one was supposed to come into this room. Even Anakin stubbornly refused to enter. Then his mother had firmly told him not to talk about Padmé while they were visiting his grandfather. He would definitely be scolded.
"Oh, it's you." breathed, finally, his grandfather as his features lost their severity. "What are you doing here?"
Ben fidgeted in place, uncomfortable. This was not the reaction he had anticipated.
"I missed Grandma," the boy admitted. "I thought maybe there would be a picture of her here... I wanted to see her today. You understand... This is the first Christmas without her. But, I'm sorry, Grandpa, I know you don't want..."
Anakin's shoulders seemed to slump as his gaze hovered over the room. The old man acted as if the room would bite him or attack him. Or both.
"It... It's okay, Ben. I understand. I miss your grandmother too."
They stood in silence, then as if it took infinite courage, Anakin entered the room, walked slowly to the closet, and picked out a random photo album and handed it to his grandson.
"Here. If it makes you happy."
"Thank you." the boy pronounced, taking the album, his other hand still clutching the pillow.
They stared at each other in silence, without moving, for a couple of seconds.
"Do you want to look at them with me?" offered Ben, finally. "Maybe it would make you happy, too, to see Grandma, today. Even if it's just in a picture."
The simple suggestion seemed to hit his grandfather in the stomach.
"It's nice of you to offer, but I'm going back to your parents," Anakin said. "Your mother is so worried about me, that if she knew I was in here, she would be able to force me to come sleep over to your house to watch me during the night."
"Why?"
"She would probably think I would attempt suicide."
"What's suicide?" questioned Ben, frowning.
His grandfather grimaced as he seemed to remember who he was talking to.
"When people are hopeless, some are so desperate that they try to take their own lives. They see it as a way to solve their problems," he explained, as his gaze swept over the room around him, refusing to look at his grandson.
Ben was a smart boy. And, he was capable of making connections.
"Do you ever feel like committing suicide because you want to join Grandma?" he inquired, concerned.
Anakin did not answer. He struggled to figure out how to string words together to create a plausible lie. The boy reached over and handed the pillow to his grandfather. He looked at him without understanding.
"Take it. You need it more than I do."
"Why?"
"Smell it," said the boy. "It still smells like Grandma."
Tears immediately welled up in Anakin's eyes as he accepted this unexpected gift, though he didn't know if it was poisonous or not. If this pillow would turn his grief into something uncontrollable, or if it would calm the storm that raged inside him.
"Ben..."
"I love you Grandpa, you know. And, I don't want you to die, too. So, if you don't tell Mom, I will."
If Anakin were a great oak, his grandson and that pillow would have been the lightning bolt that split him in two.
The old man collapsed on the bed as he clung to the scent of his wife. Ben watched the scene in awe. And when he seemed to regain the use of his legs, he went to his mother to do something.
.
.
That night, and the nights that followed, Anakin Skywalker slept at his daughter's house.
Christmas may not have been merry that year. But he had received a precious gift from his grandson: a chance to live on, and a way to cope with the despair he felt.