A home for the holidays
An anthology
2011
Dana Piazzi, Sylvia May Mitchell, Lisa Morgan, Sky Diamond, Danielle Lee Zwissler, A.L. Flagg, Brenda Hastings, Theresa Oliver, J.S. Wilsoncroft, Rebecca Nolan, Nikki Shah, Earl Duncan
Smashwords Edition
A Home for the Holidays
Copyright© Firefly & Wisp Publishing 2011
Published by Firefly & Wisp Publishing
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or use of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the permission of Firefly and Wisp Publishing, www.fireflyandwisp.com
First Firefly & Wisp Publishing Printing 2011
All the characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is purely coincidental. All work is from the imagination of the author.
A record of the Library of Congress serial number can be acquired from the publisher.
Manufactured in the United States of America
Dear Readers,
In A Home for the Holidays, I have compiled twelve lovely stories from some fantastic writers; a perfect companion for a warm cup of cocoa and a smouldering fire. Whether alone or with that special someone, this book will give you that one-of-a-kind, warm feeling that only love and the promise of Christmas can bring. Enjoy!
Love,
Firefly & Wisp Publishing
A Letter to Santa
Dana Piazzi
A Letter to Santa
When I was a child, I used to love everything about the holidays. I loved the lights everywhere, the carols, the presents; I loved going to church as the snow fell outside and just being part of the holiday. Every year, we would go to Grandma's for dinner. The special memories of Christmas have been ingrained into my head. Somewhere along the line, however, it changed. Part of me still loved the holidays. I still valued the meaning of the season, and I still liked the lights and carols, but now a certain melancholy filled me at the same time.
Grandma was gone, and the rest of my family still lived in my old hometown of Chicago. I had moved away, though. I followed what I thought was true love out of state, only to find myself stranded from all that I loved, and my heart smashed to pieces. Apparently, true love didn’t survive the surprise of an unplanned pregnancy. Jared turned and ran as fast and as far as he could to get away from being a father and a husband. “I didn’t sign up for this,” were his last words. As if I did. What I thought was true love, was just infatuation; I realized that too late.
I never heard from him again, and I didn’t try to find him. I could have used the child support, but I just didn’t want him in my life. It was a difficult time, but I stayed in Florida and delivered a baby boy. I couldn’t stay home with him for long; I had work to go to, and I couldn’t leave my job, or the health insurance it provided for me and my son. Every chance she got, my mother asked me to move back, but it was simply impossible. The economy was too unstable for me to leave.
Not that I didn’t want to. I missed Illinois. I didn’t miss the four to five months of snow, but a Christmas without snow made me sad. My mom and dad tried to visit every year or two, but I had yet to visit my home state. This year was going to be different. For years, I went without a vacation, saving those hours like gold, and I scraped together enough money to take Matthew back to my hometown for a month during the Christmas season. I hoped to make up for all of the tight Christmases and Birthdays in the past.
A week after Thanksgiving, our bags were packed and Matthew was just writing his letter to Santa. “How will Santa know where to bring my presents, mommy?” he asked.
“Santa knows everything, honey. He watches us when we are sleeping and knows when we’re awake. And if you want, you can put Grandma’s address in the letter, too,” I reassured him.
“That’s a great idea, mommy. We should put it in there… just in case,” he said. We finished quickly so we could get to the airport on time. As we slipped the note into the mail slot, I thought about how it would just sit there, or be thrown away, but at least Matthew felt better, and maybe I would write a note back from Santa.
Once we landed at O‘Hare Airport, time flew by. Finally given the chance to really spoil their grandson, my mom and dad had an itinerary planned. There was ice skating in Millennium Park, a Christmas exhibit on Navy Pier, and Christmas around the World at the Museum of Science and Industry. He was so excited; I was excited. He was finally getting to experience the things I had experienced as a kid. My heart warmed, and I felt myself getting back into the holiday spirit.
A week after I got there, we went to the mall to visit with Santa and to get Matthew‘s picture taken. The line to see him was so long, it felt like hours before Matthew reached the front of the line. He sat on Santa’s lap, and they began a hushed conversation. Santa kept nodding and whispering back to him. It seemed like he sat there for longer than any of the other kids. Santa looked over at me, and then they talked some more. Finally, Matthew climbed off his lap and came over to me.
“It was cool, mom! Santa said he got my letter, and that he was going to try to get me what I asked for, but it might be too hard,” he said, excitedly.
“I’m sure he’ll try,” I responded. I thought to myself that they must be trained to say that in case the parents couldn’t afford what their kids wanted.
With those thoughts, I realized I hadn’t looked at Matthew’s letter when he wrote it, and his were the only presents I had left to buy. “So what did you ask Santa for?” I asked him.
“I can’t tell you, otherwise I might not get it,” he replied.
“No, honey, that is only for birthday wishes. You can tell me what you asked Santa for,” I explained. He stubbornly crossed his arms in front of his chest and shook his head. “Okay,” I gave in. I remembered him looking at some Lego sets at the store, and he loved anything to do with pirates. I was sure I would figure something out.
Two nights later, my mom and dad took Matthew to a movie, and I went shopping for some last minute presents. I found so many good deals, but still spent more than I wanted to. I was juggling several bags and a coffee drink, as I tried to leave the mall. I pushed open the door with my back and still dropped one of the bags. I bent down to retrieve it, and my head bumped another person’s head. I straightened up, and looked into a handsome face.
“I’m so sorry,” I spoke breathlessly. He gave me a broad smile. I took a moment to assess him. His blue eyes twinkled merrily, and his hair was brown and wavy. His face was chiseled, and his lips were full. He wore a black, leather jacket over a red sweater and form-fitting blue jeans. All together, he was good looking. With the one glance, I was tempted to kiss him. I hadn’t felt that way about someone in a while.
“It’s okay,” he said, and he held out his hand. My shopping bag hung from his fingers. I looked down at my own full hands and tried to figure out how I could arrange my belongings. “You know,” he said, cutting off my thoughts, “why don’t I walk you to your car? I was leaving now anyway.”
I smiled at him in relief. “Thank you so much, you’re a lifesaver.” He took my cup of coffee, too, and we walked to the far ends of the parking lot where I had to park due to the holiday shopping rush. He held my bags as I opened the car, and I started loading them in the trunk.
I turned to him, and he held out the coffee cup. “I’m afraid your coffee grew cold since we left the store,” he said.
“Oh well,” I sighed, “my fault for trying to take too many things with me.” I smiled at him. “Thank you for your help. It was nice to meet you…” Then I laughed. “I don’t even know your name.”
“My name is Nick, and if you are not in a hurry, I know of a café that has great coffee, just a few minutes away,” he offered.
I took a few seconds to think it over. Matthew was probably still at the movie, and… it was harmless. It wasn’t as if anything could happen between me and Nick. I lived over a thousand miles away. If I kept reminding myself of that, I should be able to stop myself from falling for him. I made a decision. “Okay, a hot cup of coffee sounds wonderful. My name is Amanda.” I held out my hand.
He shook it gently, his hand felt warm, despite the cold weather. “My pleasure, Amanda.” He looked around the parking lot. “It seems I came out the wrong door. I think my car is on the other side of the building; we can meet at the coffee shop,” he said.
It was strange, but I didn’t want to see him walk away just yet. What if he didn‘t show up at the shop, or what if I couldn‘t find it? “Why don’t you just ride with me? I don’t know the area that well, anyway. And then, I can drop you off after the coffee to your car,” I offered, innocently.
“I don’t want you to have to go out of your way, to bring me back,” he said, backing up.
“Nonsense. It won’t be any trouble,” I insisted.
“Okay, then,” he agreed, and he walked to the passenger side of the car and got in.
It took only a few minutes to get to the coffee shop. It was a quiet few moments, only broken by his directions to turn or keep going straight. We arrived, and he held the front door open for me. Shortly after, someone came and took our order. I asked for a peppermint mocha, and he got a regular coffee with cream and sugar.
“So, you mentioned that you don’t know the area well, where do you live?” he asked. That question began one of the longest and nicest conversations I had ever had. I told him about my life in Florida, and told him about Matthew, and found myself talking about Jared. He looked sympathetic when I discussed my struggles.
The conversation started getting too depressing, so I started telling him about my high school years and my family. “I miss them so much,” I admitted.
“Family is always important, but never more than on the holidays,” he agreed. I attempted to ask him questions about his past, but he seemed to steer around discussing his past. I should have felt worried about his reluctance to talk about himself. Even more, I should have questioned how easy it was to invite him into my car, without even knowing him. But something about his presence calmed me, and made me feel like he was trustworthy. It was instinctual to believe in him. In the end, he admitted only to his parents dying, and traveling around the world for work.
“That is fascinating; I wish I had the time... and the money. This is the first time we left Florida since Matthew was born. One day, though, I would love to see Europe, or Australia. I just want to see what else is out there. Maybe when Matthew is older, I can go to school and get a better job that allows me to travel. Or at least make enough money to travel,” I amended.
We talked for almost another hour about our likes and dislikes, Christmas movies, Christmas itself and Matthew. He seemed very interested in learning about my son. He laughed over the stories of Matthews antics, and seemed happy that his grades were good. “That is very good. It sounds like you have a real special boy,” he said.
I nodded. “I do. He is the most wonderful boy that anyone could ask for. He is so loving and respectful of others, and for animals, even bugs. He is so caring and sympathetic, but he loves to play a game of football and run around with the other boys. He is just wonderful,” I smiled, thinking about my son. I had not paid much attention to the time, and was surprised when my phone rang, interrupting our conversation.
“It’s after 10 o’clock. Are you okay, Amanda?” my mom asked.
I looked at the phone and saw it was 10:15. Where had the time gone? “Sorry, mom, I just got caught up, and didn’t realize the time. I will be coming home in a few minutes,” I replied. We said goodbye, and I hung up. I looked up at Nick, and he was signaling the waitress to bring us a bill. When she came with our check, I reached out to grab it, but Nick beat me to the punch.
“Please, let me buy the coffee?” I asked. “You were so helpful, and I had such a nice evening with you.” He winked at me, and just handed the waitress the money and the check. “Keep the change,” he told her.
He helped me into my coat and walked with me to my car. The drive back to his car was quiet again. I wanted so desperately to ask him for his number or try to set up another date, but I knew it would be stupid and pointless. We wouldn’t see each other again. I turned to say goodbye, and thank him for the company. His expression stopped me. It looked like he was going to kiss me. Without intending to, I felt myself leaning into his direction. My eyes fluttered closed, and then I felt his lips join with mine. His mouth was warm, and he tasted like coffee and peppermint.
He made no move to deepen the kiss, or to touch me anywhere else. Our lips just stayed together for a few seconds, and in those few seconds my world flipped. My heart hammered, and I felt an elusive tugging of its strings. I felt a connection even deeper than with Matthew’s father. Goosebumps rose all over my body, and I knew I would never be the same. But I couldn’t afford to be changed. The warmth of his lips left mine, and I stayed there with my eyes closed for another second, trying to get my emotions in order.
A few seconds passed, and I opened my eyes to find myself alone in the car. Could I have been so absorbed in my thoughts, that I didn’t hear him open the car door, or leave in his car? It seemed impossible, but there was no other explanation. I drove home in confusion, my heart feeling kind of heavy.
The next week flew by. We had trimmed the tree, and went caroling. It wasn’t as rushed as the last week, but time seemed to be slipping away. The next week was Christmas, and after the holiday, I would be returning to Florida. After two weeks with my mom and dad, I was realizing how lonely I was out there. And going home meant leaving the memory of my one meeting with Nick. He had stayed on my mind, even though I hadn’t talked to him again.
Two days before Christmas, Matthew asked if he could go and see Santa again. There was nothing going on for the day, so I agreed to take him. There was some underlying need to go to the place I had last seen Nick. Part of me hoped that I would see him again. We stood in line for quite some time. It had seemed that everyone had waited for the last moment to see Santa.
When we got up to the front, I stayed close to Matthew and could hear some of his conversation with the mall Santa. “Of course, I remember you, Matthew,” Santa told him. There was some whispering back and forth, and then he said something again. “I have been working on your present; just be good for your mommy and wait for Christmas morning.”
Then Santa looked up at me and his blue eyes twinkled. I couldn’t take my eyes away. It was strange. At no time had I ever entertained a Santa fantasy, but something captivated me. It felt like I knew him, but I didn’t know from where. I wondered if it was someone I knew from when I lived out here. My senses were on high alert, and then there was the way he said he remembered Matthew. I was sure that the mall Santa had seen too many faces to remember my son. I shrugged off the strange feelings I had watching the pair.
After the strange experience, we went back to my parent’s house and watched The Santa Clause 2 on DVD. We heated up some popcorn and put a fire in the fireplace. It took me back to my childhood, snuggling with my parents in front of the fire while watching the snow fall outside. I closed my eyes and savored the moment. I felt relief at the knowledge that I had given Matthew this experience.
Only, I knew going home was going to be strange. I was no longer satisfied with my life there. I thought ahead to the idea of making a change and moving back to Chicago, or finding someone to love out there. I immediately thought of Nick again. Why did he continue to plague my mind? Why did I hope for more? I tried to banish him from my mind. Tomorrow was Christmas Eve, the next day was Christmas, and two days later, I'd be going home. I had to be strong and suppress the desires.
Christmas Eve was wonderful. All of the family got together. My brother and sister were there with their spouses and children. They had to travel in from the suburbs, but they would stay overnight so all the kids could open their presents together. My mother made a turkey and a ham. There were mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, corn, and green bean casserole. We ate our fill and then some, and after, the kids ran around and played with each other.
By ten o’clock, we were all ready for bed, and I lay with Matthew in the bedroom. When his breathing became regular and deeper, I rolled off the side of the bed. I went into the living room, and waited for the other adults. We laid out all of the presents, and we all toasted the night with some spiked eggnog. I was bombarded with requests to move back to Chicago, but I laughed them off. It was tempting to agree though, sitting with my family around me. I finally crawled into bed a little after midnight, a little tipsy, and very tired.
At six in the morning before the sun rose, and even before any of the kids woke up, I jerked awake. I rubbed my eyes, wondering what made me wake up at this God-forsaken hour. I put on some slippers and a robe and tiptoed out of the bedroom. Maybe one of the nieces or nephews had run down the hall. The house was quiet and dark. The only light was from the Christmas tree. I didn’t see any of the children. I looked back towards the hallway, thinking about going back to sleep, but discarded the idea.
The children would be up soon, I might as well start the coffee, and make some cinnamon rolls for breakfast. I had just hit the start button on the coffee maker, when I heard a noise from the living room. It was a loud thump. The kids had woken up. It was good that I hadn’t gone back to sleep. I had better get in there, so that they didn’t open any presents.
I wasn’t quite prepared for what I saw. It wasn’t any of the kids. But standing in the living room was a man dressed in a red suit, with a long white beard and a sack of presents. I stood frozen. Did one scream when they encountered Santa? Was it a burglar or attacker in disguise? I didn’t want any of the kids running out and coming upon this scene. I couldn’t talk or move. I didn’t know what to do. The man dressed like Santa stood up from placing something under the tree, and looked at me. His blue eyes twinkled, and I recognized him. It was the Santa from the mall.
Panic set in again. How did the mall Santa get our address, and what was he here to do? Was he some kind of stalker? I reconsidered my decision to yell the house awake. He put his finger up to his lips and whispered, “Shh…” He jerked his head to the doorway, and I followed him outside. Why? I don’t know what I was thinking or why I followed the strange man outside, but I did.
“What are you doing here?” I blurted out. “Are you stealing something? Or, are you stalking me? Are you stalking my son? Are you some kind of strange pervert?” I cried out.
He smiled and in the rising sunlight I could see his blue eyes better. Somehow the answer came to me. Why I couldn’t help but look at the department store Santa. Why he had seemed familiar. I had seen those blue eyes before. “Nick?” I whispered.
It couldn’t be, but it was. I reached up and tugged on his beard, expecting to reveal his handsome face under the disguise. Only the beard didn’t come off. Then I knew that I was crazy. It couldn’t be Nick with the wavy brown hair and bare face. Maybe his dad? But no, his parents were dead. I was just crazy. There was no other explanation. “That is one of my names, yes,” he responded.
“I’m crazy,” I said, placing my hand on my head. I shivered in the cold. Santa (Was there any question that it was him?) took off his red coat and draped it over my shoulder. “You’re not crazy,” he said. “It is me, Nick… the same one who had coffee with you.”
“You can’t be,” I denied, pointing to his large belly.
His expression turned sheepish, and he rubbed the back of his neck, through his long, white hair. “About that,” he started. With perfect timing the sun started rising outside, making the snow glitter like a blanket of diamonds. As morning broke, Nick began to transform. His hair shortened and darkened at the same time. And his large stomach started shrinking until his clothes hung on him. Now this was the Nick I had met. Again I thought to myself, that I was crazy. This kind of thing didn’t happen.
“It’s a Christmas thing,” he said. “I am always Santa, but every Christmas eve, I become Santa, physically. It is part of the job.”
“I don’t believe in Santa,” I told him.
“Believe,” he whispered and leaned in. His lips grazed mine, and I was reminded of the kiss in the car. I tasted peppermint on his lips, and they were so warm. I placed my hands on his chest, and felt the warmth through his shirt.
“This can’t be happening,” I shook my head in denial. Nick’s hand ran through my hair and simultaneously brought my head back to his. His lips met mine again, and I could suddenly see the future. I could see the two of us together, raising Matthew, having other kids. I leaned into him, so that we were pressed together, head to toe.
The front door opened, and I heard a gasp. My mother was standing there, and Matthew was sticking his head out around her. “Alright!!” he shouted. “My Christmas wish came true!!!” He ran back into the house, and I couldn’t help but follow.
Matthew was running around and high-fiving his cousins. He wrapped his arms around Nick. “Thank you, Santa!” It had to be a gift that children had, to be so trusting, to see the red suit and assume it was Santa, or to see through the younger image. Nick ruffled Matthew’s hair. “I told you I would do my best,” he told my son.
“It was what I wrote to him in my letter, mom. I asked for a daddy,” he said, his face glowing with happiness.
Nick went to the bathroom and changed into an extra pair of my brother’s clothes, and then began to explain his history, and how he had been touched by Matthew’s letter. When he had seen me at the mall, he felt such a connection, that he knew he wanted to fulfill this Christmas wish. My mother put on some Cinnamon rolls, and some muffins. The Christmas gifts were left untouched almost all morning, as the confusion and excitement built amongst the family.
We opened the presents, and my siblings all took off for their in-law’s houses. Nick was still there. My mom and dad and Matthew went into the other room to play the video game that Matthew had gotten. It left me and Nick alone. “So…” I hedged. “You are just trying to fulfill Matthew’s wish, huh?”
“I get dozens of letters like that a year. Every once in a while, I go out and pretend to be Santa at the stores, so that I can check on kids. Running into you was truly incidental. When I looked at you the first time Matthew came to see me, I saw a beautiful woman. I wanted to get to know you. I didn’t go into it thinking, ‘I am going to date this woman because her son asked me to give her a husband,’ I was only thinking that this is a beautiful woman, and I would like to know her.”
“Our date knocked me for a loop. After talking to you and getting to know you, I felt such a deep connection. And while it seems cliché, I fell in love at first sight. The moment I kissed you, I was sure of it. I had fallen in love in those few hours. I wanted to stay and take our relationship further, but I realized it was inappropriate. We needed more time, and you needed to know my secret. So I left,” he continued on.
“This morning, I saved your mother’s house for last. I knew I wanted to come here and reveal myself to you. It might sound presumptuous, but I wanted to spend our first Christmas together,” Nick finished.
I considered his words, and then glanced at him shyly. “I’d like that,” I told him. The next thing I knew I was in his arms. I wrapped my own around his neck, and pulled him down for a kiss. Our mouths met passionately. It was even better than the first kiss. My heartbeat accelerated, and my nerves were tingling. I couldn’t believe this was happening; I couldn’t believe that I had found true love.
It didn’t occur to me to wonder about our future, or where we would live. Something about Nick’s touch and embrace chased all the worries from my head. I only knew that this was where I belonged. Nick pulled back from our kiss, and I missed his lips. I leaned forward to continue our kiss. “Wait,” he said. “I need to do this right.”
He led me in front of the Christmas tree. Holding both of my hands in his, he went down on one knee in front of me. “Amanda Richards, will you make my Christmas wish come true and agree to be my bride?”
A tear slipped from my eye. “Yes,” I said, and he slipped the ring on my finger, then jumped up and wrapped his arms around me to celebrate our engagement with a kiss. Matthew might have written the letter to Santa, but I felt like I got the best present.
We joined the family to celebrate the festive day, and our impending marriage. It was the best Christmas ever. We married on Valentine’s Day, and moved to Chicago, to be near my family. A baby girl joined us the following December, and as cliché as it sounds, we lived happily ever after.
An Italian for Christmas
A holiday inspired true love-story
Sylvia May Mitchell
An Italian for Christmas
We met at the Clearfield County Fair in late July, 1964, but he doesn’t remember. Jann and I were walking around the midway and stopped to talk to some cute guys she knew. Decades before the term was coined, Jann and I were BFF’s, and she thought I might like this guy name Lou Mitchell. Nice try, but he was rubber-necking the crowd, and pretty much ignored the both of us.
It was the mid-60’s, so these Italian guys were James Dean wannabe’s—dressed in jeans with cuffs turned up, black engineer boots, and white t-shirts with a pack of Luckies rolled into the sleeve. Okay, they were cute with their black, wavy hair and dark, smoky eyes, but I was confident it was his loss and promptly got Jann out of there. We were 18, nice, attractive, and popular. We certainly weren’t hanging around unless we were appreciated!
A week or so later, Jann and I were cruising “the loop” in my ’55 Ford Crown Victoria—black and white and so sweet we called her “Vickie”—and who signals us to pull over but Lou and his buddy, Tom. They walked up to my open car window and Tom said, “Lou wants to meet you, Sylvia.” That’s when I realized he didn’t even remember me from the fair!
Before I could react and remind him we had already met, a car pulled in behind us, and Lou said, “Let’s go. It looks like she has plans tonight.” We didn’t even know the people in the other car, but he didn’t wait to find that out.
As he stomped back to his car, I stuttered a while then vowed to Jann, “If I never see that guy again, it will be too soon. He’s crazy!” Famous last words.
Over the next couple of weeks, we’d pass each other on “the loop” and soon would steal a glance or two. He was hard to miss in his gorgeous, red 1963½ Ford Galaxy with all that shiny chrome trim. On a shopping trip with my Mom, she noticed him behind us for several blocks and asked me who it was. I still remember my reply, “Oh, that’s Louie Mitchell—he follows me everywhere!”
Eventually, we wound up parked near each other at the local hangout. We started talking, and I learned he had just returned from six weeks active duty in the Army National Guard at Ft. Knox, Kentucky. When I saw him at the fair, he had found out that his girlfriend had been cheating on him while he was away. That’s who he was looking for—so he could break up with her.
We dated for several months, and I enjoyed Sunday dinners with his wonderful Italian family. Lou got to know my big family, too, and loved Mom’s fried chicken and homemade noodles, and challenging my brother to arm-wrestling matches, which he always won.
Lou’s parents invited me to share the Christmas of 1964 with them. On Christmas Eve, after a light dinner and an evening of fascinating stories about his father’s family immigrating to America and the arranged marriage of his parents, we all attended Midnight Mass. The church was lit by hundreds of candles, the mass was celebrated in traditional Latin, and holiday music echoed sweetly around us.
Back home after mass, we feasted on Italian Wedding Soup, and those Sweet Italian Sausages, smothered in green peppers and onions, served on his mother’s homemade rolls. Since it was officially Christmas morning by then, we opened our gifts while munching on homemade Christmas cookies.
Whether it was the beautiful church service, the love surrounding everyone after mass, or something in that soup, I knew that night that Lou was the man I would marry!
His two younger sisters are near my age, so I bunked with them; I hardly slept at all that night. Keeping my newly-realized feelings to myself was nearly impossible, but somehow I managed, although I’m pretty sure I woke up smiling about my Italian for Christmas.
Very early Christmas morning, Lou and I headed to my parents’ home to share Christmas Day with my family. Since he hadn’t actually proposed yet—and probably didn’t even have a clue that he was going to—there was no big announcement, but my mother was delighted to share my secret. She even managed to act surprised several months later when we became engaged!
Lou and I recently celebrated our 45th anniversary, and still enjoy these wonderful Christmas traditions with our children, grandchildren, friends, and family each year.
Nothing’s Terminal
Lisa Morgan
Nothing’s Terminal
It was crazy. I was positive that full blown lunacy had finally set in, robbing me of any and all pretense to act logically, as I stared down at the airline ticket in my hand.
“Wait a second, Alice,” the rational, yet as of late, somewhat dormant part of my brain told me. “You spent how much money on a non-refundable ticket? For that kind of cash we could have had one hell of a mani/pedi.”
“Oh, shut up,” I chided myself. A mother sitting near, trying to wrangle a set of unruly twins into submission, scowled at me. “Sorry,” I offered as she huffed and reminded Little Timmy or Jimmy or whoever, that Santa didn’t visit bad little boys.
“Newsflash, lady,” I mumbled under my breath, “Santa doesn’t give a crap if you’re good or bad.” I knew this based on personal experience.
I’d always done exactly what I was supposed to - stayed in school, avoided hard liquor and “those boys” who made late night promises in the backseat’s of their cars. I’d gone to college, something that most of the kids I’d gone to High School with never did. I’d graduated with a bachelor’s degree in Nursing, dedicating the rest of my life to helping heal others around me. I’d dreamed of bringing babies into the world, and comforted the elderly as they took their final breaths in this world.
Then, the accident…
I’d worked a double shift in the ER because a snowstorm had frightened folks off the road. I didn’t mind. I had a mountain of credit debt from splurging on the new, state-of-the-art entertainment system I’d bought Daniel for Christmas.
My shift ended as it had begun… quiet. Apparently, the good folks in town also opted to stay off the roads. I had only two patients come in: one desperate mother with her newborn (sniffles), and an older gentleman who had cut his hand trying to assemble his grandson’s new bicycle (stitches). Looking back, I guess it’s ironic the things we remember right before our lives are turned upside down.
My drive home had been desolate; the snow fell in a steady stream of white making my wipers struggle to keep ahead. When the pickup truck came around the corner, its left headlamp out, I hadn’t seen it. It careened around the corner and instinct told me to step on my brakes. I slid; the backend of my little Toyota fishtailed out of control. Then, everything went black.
I’d woken up in the emergency room I worked in, my mind foggy from the medications pumped through the IV overhead. A doctor, Simmons I think it was, had murmured gentle words to me as I slipped back to black.
Days passed like that for me until I finally regained full consciousness, and the nightmare became real. My parents were in the room, talking softly to a doctor. My mother was stone-faced, but my father, the foundation stone our family had been built on, dressed in a flannel button down, had eyes that were rimmed in pink. I’d never seen my father cry in the twenty one year’s I’d been alive.
* * *
“Flight 2565 from Albany International to Syracuse will be delayed for 60 minutes due to inclement weather. We appreciate your understanding.”
Understanding inclement weather. Yeah, we’d become very good friends.
The mother huffed her disappointment, grabbed her purse and a small hand in each of hers and stomped off toward a fast food restaurant, mumbling the Santa threat as she went. A rumble from my stomach drew me back. I hadn’t eaten anything all day. I guess a bagel would be good.
I bent over to grab my overstuffed backpack, flopping it on my lap, but the drawstring came loose and spilled its contents on the floor.
“Shit!” I yelled, drawing unwanted attention to myself.
“Let me help you with that,” a voice spoke from behind me.
Turning, I watched as a man, maybe thirty, dressed in faded jeans and a Miami Dolphins football jersey, bent to the floor and started stuffing my assorted medications and underwear back into the bag.
“It’s okay,” I said, reaching for the bag.
“It will be,” the man said smiling at me. He continued to tuck items in the knapsack, “right after we get this stuff back in your bag.”
He reminded me a little of Daniel, sans the “I just don’t think I can do this” attitude he’d given me six months after the accident. An angry chill crawled up my spine as I remembered Daniel’s confession, a suitcase under his arm when I’d returned home. It had hurt, but I couldn’t fault him.
“A little dangerous, isn’t it?” I asked the man as he handed me my bag, nodding to his football jersey.
“Huh?” He questioned, then looking to his shirt, smiled again. “Oh, the jersey? Yeah, it can be a little tricky navigating Upstate New York wearing this.”
“I’d imagine so,” I replied.
The man reached out his rough hand to me. “My name’s Jack, Jack Amos.”
I responded in kind, offering him my hand. He must have stood a little over six feet tall, and his grip on my hand was strong, determined. “Alice Hayes. Thanks again.”
He stuttered, “I was gonna get a cup of bad coffee. Care to join me?”
“Well,” I paused. The logical part reminded me we were in a crowded airport on December 23, no way was he going to kidnap me or otherwise hurt me. “Yeah. Sure, why not?”
Jack gave me a smile. “Great,” he replied. “There’s a D&D just down the way a little.” Turning and not waiting, he began walking away.
Okay… I thought. That was a little rude.
I released the wheel locks on my chair and with the clumsiness I still had in driving the thing, made a three point turn with my wheelchair and gave a shove, willing myself to follow.
“Hey,” I called out to Jack, becoming winded.
He turned to me and squatted down as I drew my chair to a stop. His eyes were a warm cinnamon color, and I could see the reflection of the artificial Christmas tree’s lights from behind me. He had one side of his mouth lifted in a smirk.
“Can you slow down a bit?” I said.
“Why’s that?” He asked. “Afraid you can’t keep up?”
“You dick,” I muttered, anger threatening to boil over. I’d had my share of stares over the last year, the kids who clung to their parents yet couldn’t peel their eyes off the hunk of metal I was now forced to use to get from point A to B. “Not all of us can jog through an airport, you know.”
Jack shook his head slightly and the smile that had simmered on the edge of his lips thinned. “You’re right, of course,” he responded, but didn’t leave, “but you’re not dead, so it can’t be all bad.”
Jack stood, turning on his heel and began walking toward the coffee shop once again.
“Hey!” I called out again. This guy really crawled under my skin. Who the hell did he think he was, talking to me like that? I shoved the wheels, chasing after him, fueled solely on my aggravation.
Jack was leaving the counter by the time I reached him, two large coffees in his hands. He had the nerve to smile at me as he handed over one of the Styrofoam cups.
“I wasn’t sure how you took it, so it’s just black. There’s a counter with sugar, creamer, and stuff. Help yourself, I’ll grab a table.”
Jack walked past me, offering a nod. The bastard, I thought. I was beginning to consider using the hot beverage as a weapon.
I pushed myself to the counter to add sugar and a splash of 2% milk. The counter wasn’t designed to accommodate “cripples”, so I strained, reaching for the packets of sugar. A gentleman in a business suit, with a Blackberry firmly attached to his ear, took no notice of me as I groaned out quiet curses and stretched. When he finally glanced at my struggling, he actually grimaced at me before walking away.
I gave up on adding condiments to my drink and began the tedious job of turning the chair around, readying myself for a confrontation with Jack about his lack of respect for the disabled. He was sitting at a small table, reading something off his smart phone, and paying no attention to me. I did notice, however, that he’d managed to move one of the chairs, leaving room for me to join him. With a gruff, I pushed myself over.
“Get everything you needed?” Jack questioned without taking his eyes from his cell.
“No,” I bit out. “The damn counter isn’t low enough to reach anything when I’m in this damn chair.”
“Huh,” he answered, still not looking at me. This guy was incredibly frustrating!
“Excuse me?” I almost growled at him, finally drawing his focus from the tiny screen to me. His brown eyes now focusing on me, “Could you maybe not ignore me?”
“If that’s what you want,” he answered, looking back at his phone.
“Maybe, I don’t know, starting now?”
Jack smiled as he tapped the screen and put the cell phone in a pants pocket. “Sorry, big night. I’m waiting on a flight to-“
I cut him off, “You think you’re pretty great? Ask me to join you for a coffee, and then you just practically run down the hallway. Are you blind or just a jerk?”
“Excuse me?” Jack asked with honest confusion. I waved my hands over my useless legs.
“I think it’s pretty damn obvious that I can’t keep up.”
“Who says?” the man questioned, but before I could chime in, I heard a beeping. I bit my lip, readying to continue my tirade even as he pulled his phone back out of his pocket. A huge smile crept over his features, and my mind filled with fury. Wasn’t he paying any attention to me? What an utter tool!
“The plane’s here,” Jack explained, standing. “Wanna take a walk?”
“Are you joking?” I deadpanned. “You must be the most insensitive son-of-a-b-”
“Yes or no?” He asked, still smiling. Jack began to walk away from the table and out of the shop. I huffed, but followed behind him. I saw him pause at the counter and grab a handful of sugar packets. Turning, he offered them to me. “There’s no shame in asking for help.”
I glared at him, but took the sugar. “I don’t need help.”
“Obviously,” He smirked. Jack walked behind my wheelchair, taking the handles. “You mind if I drive? Kind of in a hurry, and you aren’t exactly a NASCAR driver.”
“Whatever,” I replied coldly.
Jack chuckled as he pushed my chair forward into the hall. I could smell his cologne as we traveled down the walkway. He moved us forward swiftly. I never moved this quickly. I opened my mouth to ask him to slow down, but before I got the words out, Jack was talking.
“Syracuse? What’s in Syracuse?”
“Family,” I answered, still holding the sugar in my hands. “My parents. They’ve been incredibly worried about me since…”
“Since when,” Jack mocked, “birth? I believe that’s what all parents do.”
I rolled my eyes. “Since my accident. My mother wanted me to come back home so she could take care of me.”
“But you didn’t go?”
I shook my head silently, realizing my anger was lessening. “Nah, what good would it do to have my mother hovering and waiting on me?”
“I don’t know,” Jack replied from behind me, turning us and heading down a different terminal than my gate was at. “You seemed to need the help back at Dunkin?”
“No I didn’t,” I protested. “I just couldn’t believe that guy in the suit, acting like I was in the way?”
“I don’t get it?” Jack asked, but I could hear the grin in his words. “Let me make sure I’m following you. You don’t need help, but if someone ignores you, you get pissed? Did you ask the guy to hand you what you needed?”
I sat silent.
“That’s what I thought,” he went on. “Are you so afraid to ask for help, or are you just naturally stubborn?”
“What the hell do you know?” I muttered as we slowed, approaching a gate I’d never seen.
There weren’t many chairs, and the area wasn’t as lit as the rest of the airport. Festive decorations adorned the walls, and holiday music wafted from the ceiling speakers. The scent of pine filled the air, and I noticed in place of a missing-branches-artificial tree like the one in the main terminal, this was a real Spruce. Jack asked me to hold on a second and approached an older African American woman that stood behind the ticket counter peering at what I assumed was a computer screen.
As he walked away, I turned my chair and moved closer to the tree. My family had never had a real Christmas tree when I was growing up. Something about pine needles getting into the carpet and never coming back out, my mother had complained. Even when Daniel and I shared our efficiency apartment, we’d only splurged on a foot tall fiber optic tree.
The clear lights on the tree twinkled every few seconds, their reflection dancing off the silver and blue ornaments. I touched one of the branches and was amazed at how sharp the needles were.
“Like it?” Jack asked, coming to squat down next to me.
“It’s okay,” I answered with a shrug, “if you’re into vacuuming for weeks on end.”
He chuckled at my remark. “Have you always been such a downer, or did you lose your sense of humor in the accident?”
I spun myself around, facing him. “Are you kidding me?”
“Captain,” I heard the woman’s voice call from behind the counter. “He’ll be inside in a minute.”
Captain?
“Thanks, Joyce,” Jack answered. “Come on.” Taking the wheelchair in his hands, he pushed me a few feet away from the tree toward the gate’s door.
“Captain Jack?” I couldn’t contain my smile. “Like the pirate?”
“Arg, matey,” Jack answered with a smile and the worst pirate accent I’d ever heard. “Juss like that scallywag.”
Our attention focused on the doorway as Joyce, the agent, opened it wide, using a door stop. Jack walked around to stand next to me and gently put his hand on my shoulder.
“This may take a few minutes, please, bear with me,” he requested. I looked to him. His face was serious, his eyes glistening a little in the soft lighting. I opened my mouth to ask what was going on, but snapped it shut at what came through the opening.
Leading the way was a man, dressed in a navy uniform, his coat and pants trimmed in a deep crimson that matched the caduceus embroidered on the right chest pocket of his coat. He had a large messenger bag slung over his shoulder and a clipboard in his hand that he paused to look at. Behind him, another man wearing the same uniform was pushing a gurney with expertise that only came, I remembered, with much practice. The mobile bed was piled high with blankets, held in place with three wide belts. Jack bounced over to the bed as the two men accompanying it stopped, offering him a smile in return.
“Hey,” I heard Jack speak softly at the pile of blankets. “You gonna sleep the whole trip, Big Guy, or are you going to say hello?” I watched the blankets wiggle and then found myself gasping for a breath when the pile answered faintly.
“Captain Jack,” the small voice struggled. A kid? “I didn’t think you’d really be here?”
“Are you kidding?” Jack replied, smiling. “Didn’t I promise you in Bethesda that I’d meet you here? Only you, Mike, could get me to drive through the biggest Nor-Easter in the history of the world.”
“You did,” the child answered. “But I wasn’t sure…”
“Always,” Jack said softly, “you’re my best guy, Mike. So, did these clowns play nice on the flight here?”
“I was pretty sleepy,” Mike answered, “but they left on cartoons, so when I was awake, I got to watch part of Rudolph.”
“Excellent,” Jack went on. “That’s my favorite holiday movie. I could sing you a little of the…”
“That’s okay,” the boy cut him off. “One of the girls at the hospital warned me about your singing. I’ll pass.”
Jack took a little step backward, his hand on his chest. “You wound me, Mikey. You really do.”
I heard a small laugh from the blankets as I studied the interaction. All of the anger that had been lingering just under my skin melted away like a snow storm in July as even Jack’s eyes laughed along with the boy.
“Who’s Wheels?” he asked. His head lifted just a few inches from the pillow and looked at me. I felt the lump growing in my throat, but before I could introduce myself, Jack cut in.
“Wheels,” Jack laughed. “You don’t recognize her, Mike. Just for you, and in a snow storm, I was able to convince Mrs. Claus to get here.”
“She doesn’t look that old,” The boy said, squinting his eyes as he checked me out. I offered a smile, but couldn’t find words to come out. The boy was so obviously very ill.
“Never ask a lady her age, Mike,” Jack smiled, looking from me to the boy, “take my advice on that. But, it is Mrs. Claus.
“See, the big man,” forming air quotes with his fingers, “he’s super busy getting his sleigh ready for tomorrow night. I called him, and he really wanted to be here, but he promised he’d send Mrs. C. in his place, with a special, early gift, only for you. Mrs. C., you think you could grab it from under the tree?”
Mrs. C? Jack wanted me to be Mrs. Claus for this little boy? How the hell was I supposed to do that sitting in this chair? As if he could hear my thoughts, Jack bent over and spoke quietly to the boy.
“You see, Mike,” he explained kindly, “Mrs. C. hasn’t been herself since she took a tumble down the stairs, trying to carry too many Gingerbread Men to the working Elves. So, she gets a little embarrassed about the wheels.”
“Oh,” Mike answered, trying to sit himself up a little more and nodding his head with understanding. I heard the distinct beeping of some monitor hidden under the bed. “It’s okay, Mrs. Claus. You shouldn’t be sad because you got hurt. Accidents happen. That’s why they’re called ‘accidents’ and not ‘on purposes’.”
The boy’s words, spoken from very pale lips, broke through someplace inside of me. It was like a hammer wrapping on a block of ice, sudden warmth tickled the edges of my eyes. I heard the words leave me without my brain’s interferences.
“It’s really hard to be less than I was,” I whispered, a tear fell free over my cheek. Jack smiled and walked to the tree, retrieving the only gift that was underneath it.
“Why don’t you see what it is?” Jack asked the child. He held the box as the obviously weak Mike tore slowly at the paper, revealing a basketball.
“Wow,” the boy whispered, even as the noise of the oxygen tank whispered out. “That’s really cool.”
“Captain,” one of the men who’d brought the boy in looked at his watch then back to Jack. Jack nodded and looked at the child.
“So, I’ll be right there when you wake up, okay?” The boy nodded, but then stretched his arms out, offering Jack the new toy.
“Maybe,” Mike asked him, “If you show Mrs. Claus your trick, she wouldn’t feel so sad?”
He smiled at the boy and nodded. “You may be right, Mike. Guys, can we get just another minute?” The men in uniform smiled and nodded. Jack looked at me, even as he held onto the rail of the gurney and bent over. I watched as he grabbed his boot and pulled it away.
His pant leg hung loose from his calf as he placed the artificial foot on the end of the boy’s bed. Taking the basketball and carefully putting it on the floor, Jack balanced the stubbed end of his leg on the ball, lifted his other leg off the floor, and did a very careful balancing trick.
Mike’s giggle echoed through the room as the two guys and the agent softly clapped at Jack’s show. My mouth fell open a little, and I wiped at tears.
“See,” Jack said, looking directly at me, “Like Mike says, it’s not so bad.”
I’d been so mad at this guy, the guy who’d had no concern for me; walking, away from me without waiting. I’d had no idea. I took a deep breath, trying to right myself.
“Heck,” I spoke, pushing my wheelchair closer to Mike’s hospital bed, drawing the frail child’s eyes. “That’s nothing. Watch this,” As the boy watched, and with a great deal of effort, I was able to move my chair off the floor to pop a little wheelie.
“Wow,” Mike said, truly impressed with what I’d done. “I’m sorry, Captain, but Mrs. C’s trick was way cooler than yours.” All of the adults, myself included, laughed even as Jack put his other foot down to gain balance.
“That was pretty cool,” Jack spoke. “Who knew Mrs. Claus could be so awesome?
“Ok,” Jack’s voice became a whisper as he leaned over the boy and rubbed his forehead. “These guys need to get going with you, but I promise, I’ll be in your room when you wake up after surgery, ‘kay?”
Mike nodded as Jack tucked the blanket closer around the boy’s neck. My heart warmed at the tender gesture. Jack shook hands with the medical personnel, and they began to wheel the boy toward the exit, pausing when Mike whispered loudly.
“Mrs. Claus?” he asked.
I pushed my chair closer to the bed. “Yes, Sweetheart?”
“I hope Santa doesn’t get mad at me for opening the present?”
I reached up and gave a light squeeze to the pile of blankets. “Santa told me to make sure you opened that as soon as you got it. He also said to tell you to have a Merry Christmas.”
The boy nodded and let his eyes drift closed. I startled myself when I realized how difficult it was for me to watch the boy leave with the EMTs.
“You did a great job, Mrs. C.,” I heard from behind me. I turned my chair around. Jack had sat down in one of the chairs, his pant leg pulled up. I watched from where I was while he replaced the limb to the lower part of his calf. When I hadn’t spoken, Jack raised those kind brown eyes to me, and I wheeled my chair closer.
“You must think I’m a real ass, right?” I asked softly.
“Nah,” Jack responded, pulling his pant leg down over his boot. “Stubborn? Yes. A little self centered? Most definitely.” He took a long pull from his coffee before speaking more. “But an ass? That may be going a little far.”
“What happened? How do you know that kid?”
“Mike?” he answered with a smile. “He’s a great kid. They had to fly him up here for a liver transplant. I met him while I was doing a little volunteer work at the hospital. He’d been in there for a couple of months without a single visitor… not sure where his folks are. He’s a crazy Dolphins fan, so we hit it off right away.”
Jack’s face was positively aglow as he told me about Mike. How the kid could rattle off all sorts of football statistics, that the boy had even helped Jack make a fantasy team for this season.
He drove all the way to New York for a kid who needs a liver, a kid that isn’t even his, just so he wouldn’t be alone. I found myself readjusting my whole outlook on Jack.