Another Cliche Christmas

by Sarah Hualde

  December Teen Moms was an extra meeting. Presents abounded, not only for the babies but for the moms too. There was a cookie decorating station for the kids and a Christmas video for all who wanted to watch. The mothers savored tea party treats in a relaxed environment. At the end of all the feasting and the traditional meeting, came the presents.

  Each regular attendee received a bag of baby supplies and gifts chosen for them. They also received prepaid phone cards, donated by the community churches, and a bus pass. The girls lined up for their presents, eager and elated, their youth clear on their shining faces.

  Kat inventoried the gift baskets in the nursery. The regulars were all accounted for, but the generic guest baskets were lacking. She counted them over again, for the third time. There was one missing. Lydia reassured her that there would be plenty to pass out. Kat clicked her tongue and sighed and worried over another lost package.

  Each time an item went missing Kat felt her sanity drift farther away. She could blame the pain meds, but she only ingested them at night before bed. She called Sam and Jess to help her number the gifts again. One was gone. Knots solidified in her stomach as she handed out the gifts, certain they would run short.

  The grateful teens repeated thanks and shared the contents of their baskets with each other. The youngest mother of the group giggled and gushed over her new leggings and toddler’s matching pair. Lydia beamed. Many girls, from the group, grew up beside Joan. Out of all the Christmas events of the season, Joan vocalized her sorrow over missing the MOPS tea more than any other tradition.

  Flora hugged the last baby and its mother goodbye and wished them a Merry Christmas. Kat sighed and plopped into the nearest seat, no momma left without a gift, much to Kat’s relief.

  “You are way too serious.” Flora watched Kat prod the pressure points on her shoulders. “What have you been doing? There’s not a relaxed muscle in your neck.”

  “Writing the Christmas script, that’s what I’ve been doing.”

  “Hasn’t that already been done?” Lydia pulled up a chair and nibbled a left-over scone. “In the book of Luke, I believe.”

  “Yes, thank you, Linus. I wanted this year to evoke more emotion and give more kids the opportunity to speak in the pageant.”

  Flora rubbed her healing hands in sanitizer and piled up dirty plates. “That could be nice.”

  “Nice, but unnecessary. Don’t forget this is your Christmas, too.” Kat huffed and stretched before joining the cleanup. Even her friends thought she was incapable of running a simple children’s play. She would prove to them she was as much of a servant as they were. Not that it’s a competition, she chided inner thoughts. My friends are on my side, she chanted.

  It was the rest of the congregation and the community she couldn’t stand letting down. Kat bit down on the bitter truth as she popped the last brownie chunk in her mouth and returned to clean up duty.

  Meanwhile, a small fluttering of fear crept along Lydia’s spine. Images of her missing student wedged themselves into every thought. She needed to talk with Gus.

  *****

  Lydia’s cookies, though famous and scrumptious, failed to persuade Deputy Gus to let go of any juicy information. Lydia would just have to investigate herself and hope that no one alerted Ethan. She hated to bother her friends, but she couldn’t do this alone.

  After dinner and after answering a lingering and lusty email from Ethan, Lydia was in Kat’s minivan with a flashlight and an aluminum bat. Flora wrapped up in a blanket in the backseat, ready for action. Lydia supplied the coffee, as usual, and explained her worries to her friends.

  “Did you try calling the stepfather?” Kat asked as they circled the police station for the third time. They were waiting out Deputy Gus, rounds would start any minute, and they needed him gone to get a look at the Bug.

  “It did not go well.” Lydia wiped the mouth fog from the passenger window and peered into the station. “He’s still there.” She reported on Gus. “He won’t answer the phone or the door.” A shiver sparked goose pimples on Lydia’s arms as she recounted her concern over the stalking blue car.

  “Nuts. We’ll make a wider circle this time.” Thirty minutes later, the deputy’s car grew smaller down the road. “We’re on.” Kat almost whooped and tossed the car into the parking lot. Unable to run, Kat was the getaway driver, which made Flora the look out. The short woman bundled up in her coat and shuddered in anticipation.

  Lydia turned to her friends, “This will not take long.”

  “I’ll turn the car toward the road, for a faster escape. But then I’m shutting the lights off.”

  “Gotcha.” Flora slid the van door closed. She and Lydia skulked to the bug. Honey Pot had no impounded lot or major lock down area, just a parking lot with a tiny gate. It was easy to negotiate. The only car in the lot was the hot pink Volkswagen.

  “Okay, keep watch.” Lydia started shooting her light on the back seat. The sleeping bag was missing, bagged and in the office. Everything else rested where it had been discovered.

  Gus finished photographing everything and had no real reason to catalogue and box each item. There was no evidence of a crime. Other than the blood on the sleeping bag, which didn’t amount to enough to constitute a death, everything else was just abandoned goods.

  Kat backed in the driveway, watching the road. Her movements startled the searchers even though she’d warned them.

  Flora quivered having to use the bathroom. She blamed the cold, and the heightened tension of the moment.

  “I can’t see.” Lydia whispered.

  “Why not?” Flora shuffled over to her side.

  “My flashlight beam keeps bouncing off the windows.” Lydia exhaled and put a steady hand on her pal's shoulder. “I'm going try the door.”

  “No!” Wide eyed and panicked Flora nearly wet herself.

  “Don’t worry. If it’s unlocked, we’re fine. We will not touch anything.” Flora shuffled her feet. “I understand. If you don’t want to be a part of it, I get it. Just be a look out.”

  Lydia pulled out a pair of leather gloves and slipped them on. Flora’s big eyes grew even larger. She was unaware Lydia was this prepared. “Don’t worry. Everyone has gloves with them, in Pottersville, in December.” Flora remained skeptical. She gazed at her own knitted mittens. “It’s cold. It’s fine. It’s not premeditated.”

  A security light on the station door flickered on. A cat shot past the back step, yowling as it rocketed past Flora’s feet. She yelped and fell back into the shadows. Now, she really needed the bathroom.

  “Is Rachel on tonight?” She remembered the receptionist. Lydia shot a look toward the building.

  “Her car’s not here.” She shrugged and turned back to the VW. Flora turned away. She would not lie and did not want to cause a friend trouble. Especially with their spouse.

  Metal scratched and scraped. The keening of the door squeaking open electrified her nerves. Flora focused on the street and the station building while hopping from foot to foot struggling not to pee. Kat jetted from the driveway, leaving the car lights off and disappeared. Flora saw distant high beams growing brighter and pointed into the parking lot.

  “Hide!” Lydia shouted. Flora ran toward the building and hunkered between the trash can and recycle bin. Lydia, with nowhere else to go, slid into the backseat of the imprisoned car. She panted, knowing she had not made the wisest of choices. The lights glittered off the fogged windows and glistened on the beading condensation. For a moment, it appeared the lights were hunting her down, but Lydia calmed her mind and listened.

  Flora squatted scared beyond belief. A car door opened and shut, a key chain jingled, the front door knob rattled and opened. Gus had returned and was inside the station. She wondered whether Honey Pot had shelled out money for security cameras and if Gus could see the Bug on an inside monitor. She listened. The lights did not move.

  Meanwhile, Lydia took advantage of her situation. She was in a muddle of trouble, being inside the
mystery car, contaminating evidence. But Gus was powerless to help her find Ivy and Lydia was certain the girl was in distress. She had to do whatever she could to make Ivy safe.

  Using the police car headlights, Lydia examined the back seat. Candy wrappers, water bottles, old lottery tickets and tissues littered the floor boards. Nothing too unusual. Peaking around the passenger bucket seat was a leather sleeve to a familiar jacket. She tugged on it with her gloved hand. Pulling it closer, she read the label. It was Joan’s old jacket. Fear knotted in Lydia’s belly. Even though her daughter was safely in Africa, with her father, seeing her jacket in a crime scene made the bile rise in her throat. She forced the feelings aside and dug through the jacket pockets. A thin plastic card slid out and onto the floor.

  With a bang, the station door shut. Flora screamed and Lydia smacked her head on the door in panic, the station door shut. She was found out, she knew it. Lydia played with alibis in her mind and tried to figure out how to keep Flora from being discovered. No amazing ideas solidified as the bright headlights contracted and the squad car drove away. Lydia let out a breath, which clouded and fogged on the glass.

  The backdoor to the car jerked open and Lydia screeched. Flora echoed the horrified howl. “You scared me!” She whispered.

  “You’re scared?” Lydia pulled out her phone and took a hasty picture of the card. The flash revealed a small paperback book on the floor. She snapped a photo of it and exited the car in a hurry. She shut the door and shook as if tossing the tension aside.

  “Where’s Kat?” Flora hopped and danced beside Lydia.

  “She pulled away right before Gus showed up. “

  “She must’ve seen him coming.” The minivan chugged into the driveway a moment later with Kat hanging out the window and beckoning her accomplices to enter.

  “So, spill.” She commanded, once everyone sat safe and warm in Lydia’s kitchen. The toilet flushed down the hall and Flora appeared moments afterward.

  “Not much. It’s on my phone.” The plastic card was a nametag of sorts. Not the nametag the girls had discussed at the tea but a glossy black business card with the moniker Mr. Levere and a phone number embossed upon it. Tiny gold lettering beneath the name was too reflective to make out. Flora wrote the name and number down on a post it. The next picture featured a dog-eared paperback of To Kill A Mockingbird.

  Lydia’s shoulders slumped, and she muttered to herself in angry unintelligible bursts. “Fill us in.” Kat demanded.

  “Ivy was in that car. This is the book we were studying together. I knew I recognized that car, but I wasn’t certain. I didn’t want to believe she's in danger and hurt.”

  “You don’t know the blood is hers. It could be Mr. Levere’s blood.” Flora pointed out and then excused herself to the bathroom again.

  “I’m not sure that’s any better.” Lydia explained, “I believe he might be a bad ex-boyfriend. A terrible one.”

  *****

  “Okay, I hate to say goodbye.” Ethan’s face was lonesome when it came time to end the video session. Lydia spent ten minutes chatting to Joan about the projects she and her father were tackling together, about the care packages the church had sent, and about the urgent supplies still needed. Joan was growing up faster in Africa than she had at home. Lydia both missed her freckle faced reckless girl and cherished the self-sacrificing woman that spoke from her computer screen.

  Ethan had only grown younger in his week at the Zambia Orphanage. He’d help build dorms and construct beds. He’d witnessed the deplorable water conditions and watched a water pump work for the first time in seven years.

  Lydia yawned, though she fought against it. Noon in Africa was four am in Honey Pot. She’d napped and planned for this call but could not fight off the morning grogginess. Ethan smiled and blew her a kiss. That was it. It would be two days until their next talk. Lydia wondered if Ethan ever checked in with the office while he was away or if she was the only hometown communication he had.

  Now, she was up, there was no real sleeping. If she drifted off now, horrible nightmares would disrupt her rest. Every time Ethan was away or working late, the pattern repeated. When Joan left, the terrors had lasted for three weeks, every night, before fading. But after twenty years of marriage, she could not sleep without her husband in the house. It seemed impossible to make it through an entire REM cycle without Lydia waking up due to horrific images. She switched off her computer and reached for her cell phone. One screen exchanged for another.

  A missed call symbol flashed. No return number appeared, and no message. She switched on a podcast and headed for the bathroom.

  After a healthy breakfast of pop tarts, black coffee, and creamer Lydia was restless. The scarcity of tinsel and evergreen, made her feel lonelier. She waited until a decent hour and called for reinforcements. Kat was attending to some trauma or other, but Flora carted both families’ children over to Lydia’s for lunch and decorating.

  Pizza set out, salad torn and tossed, juice pouches at the ready the children cheered and celebrated. Sam and Jess chattered about their own cheerless home as the scattered ornaments and models all over Lydia’s living room. Eden and Jess giggled and played with the wooden animals from a hand carved Nativity. Eloise draped tinsel on the highest branches of the artificial tree. Meanwhile, the boys assembled Ethan’s Christmas train set with awe and care. The mothers watched on, helping as needed, but leaving most of the fun to the children.

  “Where did you say you saw Ivy? You sure it wasn’t Lewiston? That’s where she lives. Well, between here and there. Ashton’s over 50 miles away from there.”

  Flora detailed her account once again, down to the farewell hug. “I didn’t like leaving her there, but I didn’t know what else to do.”

  “Ivy’s smart. I’m sure she knows what she’s doing. But I can’t get over her being in Ashton. I wonder if Emily has heard from her, yet?” Did Emily’s mother live in Ashton? Maybe the family reunited, earlier than expected, and Ivy was staying with them through the season. Lydia tried to shake off her something’s wrong radar and put on her it’s none of your business cap. It didn’t work. The girl’s absence from their appointment, lack of communication, appearance at the bus stop, and now in Ashton was gnawing at her.

  Winter was a weird time of year for taking to the roads. There were few stops between the surrounding cities and the town. It was far too cold to walk. Plus, sunlight only brightened Pottersville from 10am to 4pm December through February.

  Lydia had called Ivy, the day Emily had questioned her, but someone disconnected the phone. She’d hunted down Ivy’s stepfather’s number and rang him, only to a have a very vague woman answer. The woman didn’t know who Ivy was, let alone if she had lived in the house. She had tried the same number another night just to have Ivy’s stepfather hang up on her.

  If Ethan were home, she would’ve talked it out with him. He would have gone to work and searched the police reports for information. He would have called Mr. Mike and used his authority as Sheriff to get a conversation started, maybe even an impromptu search going for the girl. But Ethan was on a different continent.

  Lydia wasn’t sure what her next step should be. Where was the line between being helpful and being nosy? At night, her inner voice nagged her to get up and search for the girl. During the day, life and appointments, lonesomeness for her family, and phone calls from friends distracted her thoughts away from her pupil.

  It wasn’t any of her business. Her interference could make things worse for Ivy. Then again, how could she call herself a Light for Christ if she didn’t use what she had to shine in the darkness? She jotted down notes from Flora’s encounter. It wasn’t like she had anything better to do. She would find Ivy.

  Taking Emily, Ivy’s friend, to dinner was her first move. She concluded, she had no excuses for not getting more involved with the kids who lived at Mission House.

  She had a nice home, a comfortable life, and plenty of time. Time that wasn't so she could serve only herse
lf, but others. As Kat kept reminding her, she was still young. 39 was middle-aged, but it was far from decrepit. She knew Ethan would be up for it, upon his return. With his youthful transformation, he was ready for any new venture.

  *****

  Emily had dressed up for the occasion. That is she had brushed her hair and spritzed on too much Baby Soft perfume. Lydia made a mental note to gift Mission House with fresh toiletries. Lotions, perfumes, even make up were everyday items to Lydia, but were luxurious to the needful teens.

  “Ivy and I go way back. When her Mema was still living, she would bring her to VBS every year. I think I was seven when we met. She might have been nine.” Emily munched on her mushroom ravioli as if it were a delicacy and not a normal menu item. “When she died, Don turned mean. Well, no, he’d always been mean. Just Mrs. Annie was always there to protect Ivy. She was an awesome old lady. More than once, she took me in, too.” The girl drained her fourth cherry coke and Lydia delighted in spoiling the teen. She munched the edge of a breadstick and was an attentive audience of one.

  Emily talked in massive detail as if no one had ever listened to her before. Likely, no one has, Lydia surmised.

  "There was one summer I lived with her and Ivy for two months. They were some of the happiest times of my life. Don was on a job in another state and it was just us three. She made us dinner every night and on Fridays she made us chocolate chip cookies from scratch. I would’ve been happy with tube cookies but she’d break out the flour, turn up old country music, and mix them up. Just for us! She was amazing.”

  Lydia allowed Emily to daydream on her happy summer but when the girl’s blue eyes returned to the restaurant, she began her questions.

  “Is there anyone in Ashton that Ivy would visit?”

  “Not that I know.” She dredged a corner of her last ravioli through creamy garlic sauce. “But I saw her in Ashton, before Thanksgiving. That’s when she told me she’d be in town the next week, for her appointment with you. She was going to visit me afterwards.”