Special Delivery
By Jennifer Fromke
Copyright 2011 Jennifer Fromke
Smashwords Edition
This story is a work of fiction. All characters and events are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is coincidental.
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For Nana, Grandma Eshleman, and Grandma D, who all live with Jesus now.
For Grandma Bonnie, Grandma Carole, and Nana Labadie, who “grand” my children.
The influence of a grandmother can be profound. Sometimes we are born with these “grands” and sometimes we capture them along our way. I’ve been blessed with an amazing cadre of women who poured into me, and who currently infuse my children with their unfettered love.
I am grateful beyond all that words can express.
The afternoon downpour pounded a chill into Payton’s bones, while happy shoppers all around her laughed despite the lack of snow. She slammed the cab door and pulled the Christmas dress across her lap, wrapped in its hanging bag. Tears ran down her face as rain streamed down the window of the cab. For the first time ever, she’d purchased her Christmas dress on her own. The sting pulsed from her heart to her fingertips over and over again.
A sob escaped her mouth, and she slumped against the door as her emotional wall washed away in the deluge. Catching the eye of the cabbie in the rearview mirror, she attempted to slow her breathing, inhaled deeply, and wiped tears from her cheeks. Payton twisted her features in an effort to reconstruct a brave face. “Sorry. Rough day. Eightieth and Lexington, please.”
The driver’s large brown eyes radiated a warmth that almost seemed to touch the chilly cloud settled around Payton’s heart. She couldn’t remember the last female cabbie she’d seen.
Looking over her shoulder, the cabbie smiled. Her dark-skinned face reflected an openness almost never witnessed in New York City. “Want to talk about it? In this weather, with holiday traffic, it’s a long ride to the upper East Side. And I’m a good listener.” Her unidentifiable accent conveyed a familiar tone. Traffic backed up behind the car as she spoke, but she did not rush her words.
They pulled into traffic and Payton toyed with the idea of spewing her grief to this cabbie. No. Too personal. It hurt too much. She couldn’t tell someone she’d never met before. What would Grand Fran say?
But before she could think of a way to blow off the question, the words tumbled out, tripping over one another. “My Grand Fran died a month ago.”
The cabbie reached to turn down the classical music. “What’s a Grand Fran?”
Payton almost chuckled, her insides thawing. “That’s the name I gave her when I was six. The first time we met. I don’t remember it very well, but she told me the story every year at Christmas. The whole story is etched in my mind—I can even hear her voice telling it.”
Conjuring her best impression of Grand Fran, Payton spoke in a gravelly voice, and fell into the story that had shaped her life.
*
“You might as well call me Frances. It looks like I’m stuck with you for Christmas.” I added a good bit of disgust to my voice, so Lila wouldn’t see the desperation behind my eyes. Papa used to say, “Make them afraid to even look you in the eye, and they won’t see a thing you’ve got to hide.”
I spun my wheelchair toward the huge window overlooking Central Park. My consciousness failed to register the familiar but impressive view, but I managed to run a critical eye over my pale reflection in the window. Still looked sallow.
“Yes, ma’am. It’s going to be an awesome Christmas.” Lila shifted her weight from her toe to heel, back and forth like an annoying rocking horse reflected in the window beside me.
Two weeks alone with a twenty-something caregiver would be the death of me if the pain of recovery didn’t beat her to the draw. “No. It’s not going to be an awesome Christmas. I broke my hip, I’m confined to a wheelchair, for God’s sake, and the pain I endure all day, every day, is going to completely prevent both of us from having anything resembling an ‘awesome’ Christmas. Do you understand?”
I glimpsed her over my shoulder. Lila’s eyes brimmed with tears, just as I had hoped. They blinked, staring at me, wide as the “G” on the front door of Gucci. “Y-yes, ma’am.”
I stuck my nose in the air, sniffed the familiar vanilla aroma beads hidden all over the apartment. I wished I could stand and tower over her, especially if I could wear heels again. Then, just to make sure she understood the point I had already made, I lowered the boom. “Don’t go trying to make me into a ridiculous project. I don’t intend to experience any Christmas warm fuzzies. Christmas miracles only happen on the Hallmark channel, and I refuse to watch them in favor of living in the land of reality. Have I made myself clear?”
The wisp of a woman nodded violently. “Yeah. Clear. No miracles.” She grabbed the shredded hem of her denim vest and mumbled, “I think a miracle might do you some good, though.”
Ignoring the comment, I took advantage of my age and let her assume I didn’t hear.
*
Much later in the afternoon, my sweet Maltese jumped with great effort into my lap and gave me the look. Renta’s jumping seemed to lack her usual oomph. I hoped she wasn’t sick. “Lila! We need to take my little dearie outside.”
New York City living suited me well, but keeping dogs required a lot of time riding up and down in the elevator. Of course, now I just had the one dog . . . Almost a week since the accident . . .
Lila slouched into my pristine living room wearing horrible plaid leggings, which disappeared into sloppy Wellies. She scuffed toward me with arms open. “I’ll take her, you just sit tight.”
The gall! “Not on your life. I walk my own dogs.”
Tucking shoulder-length dark hair behind her ear, Lila’s eyes shifted side to side. “You only have the one dog, Ma’am.
My throat clogged with a familiar lump. Fresh sorrow welled up again, and I threw a dirty look toward Lila for broaching the subject. How dare she? Forced to produce an answer, I cleared my throat, willing away the sadness lodged there. “I had three. Before the accident.”
Lila’s face contorted, eyes wide, and mouth slack.
“If you must know, I was walking the three of them last week. An ugly little man wearing a yellow cap walked right up to me. He held a half-eaten burger in front of their noses and threw it into the busy street.”
“That’s terrible!”
“Quite. I didn’t realize what he’d done until after Oscar and Della had leapt into oncoming traffic.”
Lila’s eyebrows climbed higher. “You named your dogs Oscar, Della and Renta?”
I refused to dignify the comment with an answer, but since I’d started the story, I determined to finish. “I dove after them, but my heel caught in a grate, throwing me backward. I toppled onto the curb, hip first, and watched my two babies get crushed beneath the wheel of a bread truck. Renta moved too slowly. Stayed on the sidewalk. It saved her life.” I nuzzled my sweet, white friend. “I want to walk her myself. But I need your help, if you don’t mind.”
Lila’s head bobbed, and she bolted for the coat closet. The young ones never know how to handle death—they haven’t been around it enough to know what to say.
As she returned with my fur jacket, I nodded approval. “I guess I’ll be wearing only short coats until I lose this chair.”
Lila helped me into the soft fur. “That’s what I was thinking. It’s s’posed to be cold out there today.”
“Nothing cheers me more than a black mink coat and a day cold enough to wear it. Would you also grab my black handbag hanging in the front hall? And I’ll need some boots. I selected a pair this morning. They should be resting on the ottoman in my room.”
Lila disappeared into the bedroom and returned carrying my green Manolo Blahnik ankle boots. She looked from the boots to my feet resting on the wheelchair footrests, and back to the boots.
She bit her lower lip until it turned white. After an uncomfortable pause, she held out the boots to me. “Do you mean to wear these?”
My hard face, despite my effort, cracked a smile. “No. I plan to hold them in my lap.”
She raised an eyebrow and then caught the sarcasm drizzled over my words. She flushed and bent down at my feet. “I’ll help you put them on.”
I kicked off Cole Haan flats and eased my toes into the sumptuous boots. “Thank you. Even if I never walk in heels again, at least I can wear them while I sit in this awful chair. Maybe people will notice the shoes and forget the chair.”
“Maybe so, ma’am. I never thought of that.”
*
Five minutes later, the elevator doors opened, and the mirrored back wall reflected the image I had intended before we left the apartment. Spiky dark hair finally dyed the perfect shade of red, jet-black mink jacket, Chanel handbag, Blahnik boots. Powerful and put together. I looked away from my reflection and allowed myself an inkling of satisfaction. Lila turned my chair around so I faced the doors.
Just as they began to close, a UPS man stuck his arm through the gap. “Mind if I jump in here? The service elevator’s backed up and I’m running late.”
Why do people ask when it’s obvious a well-bred person would mind? One is forced to answer, “Not at all. Come on in.”
He wheeled a hand truck stacked with packages ahead of him. “Could you please press twenty-three?”
After pressing the button, Lila turned dewy eyes to the tall man with a dark buzz cut. She gestured toward the stack of boxes. “You must have a stop on almost every floor.”
His smile warmed the elevator. “Just about. It’s December twenty-third, ya know. Everybody’s hoping last-minute gifts will arrive in time for Christmas. Busy time for everyone.”
Lila crossed her arms and rocked side to side. “Do you just hate the Christmas rush?”
“Oh, no. I love it. Keeps me hoppin’.” He directed his gaze to the numbers flashing above the door. “Hey, we passed twenty-three.”
My eyes flicked to the panel. The number 23 was still lit. “What on earth . . .?”
A bang exploded over our heads and the elevator shuddered to a stop. My heart raced and a thrum in my gut pulsed fear through my body. “Oh no.”
Lila looked up at the number above the door: 21. “What in the world?”
The UPS man stretched his figure even taller and seemed to take up more space in the elevator. “I’m sure we’ll start moving in just a few minutes. Trust me, I spend a lot of time in elevators every day. It’s not that unusual. Everybody has someplace to go and every elevator is constantly running.” He glanced at his watch and then studied his clipboard.
“That makes sense. Blame it on the Christmas rush.” I managed to almost convince myself it was true. Then I turned my gaze on Lila.
She melted to the floor, drew boney knees to her chin, and hugged her shins as if they might fall off when she let go. Her voice came out small and panicked. “What’s happening? Are we going to fall? Why did we stop? What’s happening?”
I cleared my throat, gathering all the authority I could muster. “Stop whimpering. We’re fine. Get off that filthy floor. ”
UPS Man fiddled with the cell phone hanging on his belt.
“Lila, take Renta. She’s squirming too much on my lap. Maybe the twenty-three is broken.” I picked my way through every item in my handbag, knowing before I started that my cell phone lay upstairs on the kitchen counter, charging.
UPS Man reached in front of Lila. “Yeah, let’s try a different floor.” He pressed a few random buttons.
Nothing happened.
UPS Man glanced back up at the number 21. “It won’t be long now. They always call on the emergency phone if something serious breaks down.”
The phone rang, as if on cue. I popped open the panel and grabbed the phone. “Yes?”
“Hello, ma’am. This is Jimmy down in operations.”
I cringed. We hung in a broken elevator and the person responsible for saving us was a guy named Jimmy. I always told everyone who worked for me, “If you can’t wear a grown-up name, you probably can’t handle a grown-up situation.” Please prove me wrong. “Hello, Jimmy. We’re stuck.”
“You got that right. Is anybody hurt?”