“Where do you want to go?”
“Let’s drive down the coast.” She pointed a finger at him. “I’m doing all the driving.”
“Absolutely,” he said. “It’s your car.”
* * *
They took their drive down the coast that summer, visiting beach towns along the way. They had such a good time they took another road trip the next year. And the year after. And for her fifty-fifth birthday they took a cruise in the Caribbean and swam in turquoise-blue waters. They both had so much fun they signed up for another cruise, this time to Alaska, where they gaped at the glaciers in Glacier Bay and took a dogsled ride in Juneau and rode an old-fashioned train to Skagway. All memorable experiences made doubly memorable because he was with her.
They’d even taken a trip or two with friends.
Then for her sixtieth he’d thrown another party.
“You’re becoming a real party animal,” Amy had teased him.
Not really. He did it because Carol loved to entertain, and he loved Carol. If it weren’t for her he’d probably be a hermit.
13
Stanley had awakened shivering, with Dog licking his face. All the bedcovers were pulled off him and dangling from the opposite side of the bed. For a moment there he thought Carol. But no, he’d done that himself, tossing and turning after she left in a huff.
He’d pulled on his bathrobe and went downstairs, turned up the thermostat and walked through the living room on the way to the kitchen just like he did every morning. And everything had looked the same, just like it did every morning.
Until this. There was his sudoku-puzzle book lying facedown on the floor, half-torn.
“Dog, you won’t get any treats if you pull stunts like this,” he scolded as he picked it up.
The dog looked at him as if to say What are you talking about?
He held it for her to see. “Half-torn.”
She whimpered and started for the kitchen and the back door.
“I should make you stay out there,” he muttered as he followed her.
But he didn’t have the heart to get mean with her. She hadn’t chewed up so much as a sock since she’d been with him. Everyone was allowed one mistake. Still, it was very strange.
He felt cold as he opened the door for the dog, but that was only a bit of wintry gust coming in. That was not Carol. And ghosts couldn’t move things. Could they?
He needed coffee. He let the dog out, then flipped on the kitchen light.
Except it didn’t come on. The coffee maker was dead, too. A tree must have fallen in the night and caused a power outage. No underground lines in the town of Fairwood, so that stuff happened a lot.
He went back to the living room and peered out the window. The house across the street had sold but was still standing vacant, so no lights were on there. The millennial workaholics were already gone. They never left any lights on in their place, so you couldn’t judge by them. But farther down across the street he could see lights coming from inside the house. Same was true for Mrs. Gimble. Even Lexie Bell had power.
He went out to the garage. Once there he found no problem in the fuse box. Something was amiss.
Or, rather, someone. “Okay, Carol,” he said as he went back into the house. “Not funny. Put the power back on. I want my coffee.”
Nothing happened.
“This isn’t fair. Come on.”
Nothing happened.
“Okay, okay. I’ll take her tree-shopping.”
Suddenly everything began to hum back to life.
“But only if she asks.”
The power flickered.
“I said I’d do it!” he shouted.
The power clicked back on and the microwave began to flash the time. It was stuck at 3:00 a.m., probably about the time he’d been having his nocturnal squabble with Carol.
Coincidence, he told himself. It was all coincidence.
He reset that and the clock on the stove and made himself some coffee, using what was left in the coffee canister, which had run mysteriously low. He let the dog back in and fed her, then got dressed in his favorite old sweats and Seahawks sweatshirt and sat down at the computer to check his stocks and read the morning’s news. Dog settled at his feet.
All nice and cozy. Why did some people think you needed a whole troop of extras in your life, anyway? Besides, what was the point? He could barely stand his own company these days. Why would anyone else want to hang out with him?
“We’re fine just the two of us, aren’t we?” he said to Dog.
Just the two of them. The minute the words were out of his mouth he knew he was going to keep the animal. Unless, of course, her owners called to claim her. No one had called yet. At this point, it was likely no one would.
“Their loss, right, girl?” he said to the dog, and she agreed by nudging his hand.
He got the hint and petted her. “I should name you. You want a name?”
Name her Bonnie.
Okay, he could do that.
He didn’t see Carol that night, but she did whisper in his ear, “You’re making progress, Manly Stanley.”
Bah, humbug.
By Monday morning the snow was beginning to melt, and the snowman in the Bell yard was slumping and falling apart. The streets and sidewalks were still slushy, though.
Stanley was backing his car out of the driveway to make an early-morning run to the store to replenish his supply of coffee when he spotted the pests next door walking down the street. Lexie Bell had tied a plastic bag around her injured foot. How long did she think that was going to last? That walking boot would tear the plastic to shreds in no time.
Accepting the inevitable, he let down his window and called them over. “You don’t want to walk to school in this,” he said.
She smiled as she got in. “You’re right. We don’t. I should sign Brock up to take the school bus, I guess, but that seems silly when we live so close.”
“Not close enough for walking in this mess,” Stanley said.
“My friend Shannon offered to give us a ride, but I think the streets are still kind of slippery, and I didn’t want to make her drive any farther than she had to.”
“Better to stay off the streets if you don’t know how to handle snow and ice,” Stanley said. But slush was no problem, especially for someone like him, who’d lived in the area all his life.
“You know how, don’t you, Grandpa?” piped the kid.
“You bet your a—” Ass was probably not a good word to use in front of a little boy. Although he’d hear worse on TV. Still, Stanley censored himself. “Boots,” he finished. Then, just to be clever, refined it to “You bet your snow boots.”
“I’m wearing my snow boots,” Brock said.
“So I see.”
“It’s awfully kind of you to come to our rescue. I’m sure this will be completely gone tomorrow, and then I’ll get a ride with my friend,” said Lexie Bell.
Stanley nodded. That suited him fine.
“How’s the ankle doing?” he asked.
“I guess I need to resign myself to the fact that it’s not going to heal overnight. The physical therapist thought the doctor might let me graduate to a brace before Christmas, which would really be great. I sure hope I can get back to physical therapy soon.”
“Make an appointment for today. I’ll take you.”
Oh, no. Had that really just come out of his mouth? He wished he could stick out his tongue and pull the words right back like a frog catching flies. Carol was probably dancing for joy on some cloud.
“I couldn’t ask you to drive me.”
“You didn’t. I volunteered.” Like a dope. “Give ’em a call.”
She did. “They can take me at four.”
“I’ll pick you up at school at quarter till,” he said.
“
That will be great,” she said.
For her, not for him. What a pain in the butt.
But at three forty-five there he was, sitting outside the school, waiting when she and her kid emerged together.
“I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this,” she gushed. “You’re being so kind to us.”
He could hardly say the reason for that was because his wife’s ghost was making him, so he said nothing.
“It’s really great to start getting to know our neighbors.”
Who said that was what they were doing?
“It’s hard starting over in a new place,” she confided.
Stanley didn’t look her way, but he could still see her out of the corner of his eye. She was smiling at him like they were now best friends. He hunched into his coat like a turtle pulling into its shell.
“I guess that’s the one thing I miss about California,” she continued. “All my old friends. And my family. My aunt and uncle are there, and my cousins. And my mom.” She sighed. “It’s been two years since Daddy died, and she hasn’t been doing very well without him. Of course, I get that. It hasn’t been easy not having my father around. But still.”
Why was this woman telling him all this? He wasn’t a counselor. He kept his mouth shut, determined not to encourage any more sharing. It didn’t work. She shared, anyway.
“I tried to get her to come up this summer and see the new house, but she made up some lame excuse.”
“Maybe she wants to be alone,” Stanley said, forgetting that he wasn’t going to say anything. Well, the woman needed someone to defend her. “Not everyone wants to be around people.” He sure didn’t.
Yet here he was, chauffeuring Lexie Bell and her boy all over town.
“But I’m not people. I’m her daughter,” Lexie protested. “Oh, well. She’s coming up for Christmas. We’ll make sure she has a wonderful time. Won’t we, Brockie?”
“Yep,” agreed the kid.
Whether the woman wanted it or not. Stanley thought of his sister-in-law. Any day she’d be calling him, determined to make sure he had a wonderful time at Christmas. Heaven help him.
He parked in front of Healing Help Physical Therapy, kept the engine running so he could keep the heat on, and prepared to wait in the SUV and read some more of the Lee Child thriller, which he’d brought along.
But then the kid said, “Come on, Grandpa,” when he saw Stanley not moving to get out.
Stanley frowned. Surely his presence wasn’t needed in there.
It won’t hurt you to go in.
“Fine,” he muttered, and turned off the ignition, grabbed the book, and got out.
“I hate you to have to wait,” Lexie said as they entered.
This required a polite response. “It’s okay. I brought a book,” he said, and held up the paperback.
Stanley soon realized he wouldn’t be doing much reading. Instead of following his mom around, the kid opted to wait in a chair next to Stanley while she got put through her paces on the equipment. Even though the boy had a spelling assignment, which he should have been fine doing on his own, he was determined to bring Stanley into the experience.
“Lap,” he said out loud, as he filled in blanks in one column to match the words in another. “Nap. Cat. Do you have a cat, Grandpa?”
“No, I already have a dog,” Stanley said. Yep, that confirmed it. Bonnie was staying.
“Dog,” Brock said and giggled.
“Her name’s Bonnie now.”
“Bonnie.” The boy considered this. “That’s a nice name.”
“That’s what my wife thinks—er, would think.”
Brock looked at him. “What’s her name?”
“Carol.”
“Grandma Carol,” the kid said, trying it out.
“She’s gone.” It still hurt to say it.
“Is she in heaven with my grandpa?” Brock asked.
“She should be.” Stanley wished she’d hurry up and go there.
Except then he wouldn’t see her again. Fresh sadness settled over him.
Their conversation was cut off by the appearance of a man leaving. He was Stanley’s age and wore a jacket over a pair of jeans and old army boots. George Mathews from the bowling league. Stanley braced himself.
He smiled at the sight of Stanley. “Stan, haven’t seen you in ages. What are you doing here?”
“Waiting for someone. Why are you here?”
George rubbed his shoulder. “Stinkin’ rotator cuff. Hoping they can get me good as new in time for the spring league. When are you coming back?”
“I don’t know.” Probably never. “Kind of busy these days.”
“Yeah? Who’s this?”
“This is Brock,” Stan said.
“Hello, there, Brock.”
“My mommy’s getting therapy,” Brock told George. “Grandpa Stanley and me are waiting for her.”
“Didn’t know you had kids,” George said to Stanley.
“Just friends,” Stanley said. They weren’t really friends, but he could hardly say pests.
“Grandpa and me made a snowman,” Brock continued.
“Pretty cool,” said George. Then, to Stanley, “Wish my grandkids were still at an age where they liked to do that. They’re all in high school now, and all they want to do is look at their phones.” He shook his head, then said, “Oh, well. What are you gonna do? Enjoy this while it lasts, my man. They grow up way too fast. And hurry up and get your butt back to the alley.”
“Will do,” Stanley lied, and George gave him a friendly salute and left.
Then it was back to spelling. Stanley half listened and idly watched as a therapist worked with Lexie. The guy looked to be about her age, and there seemed to be some friendly chatting going on. She was a pretty little thing so he was hardly surprised to see the guy showing some interest.
She seemed nice enough. What had happened with her and Brock’s dad?
What did it matter? It was none of Stanley’s business. The kid had fallen quiet. Stanley opened his book in the hopes of getting a chance to read some of it.
The silence didn’t last. “My bonus word is antlers,” Brock informed Stanley. “Reindeer have antlers. Reindeer pull Santa’s sleigh.”
Santa again, Stanley thought in disgust. He was spared from any conversation about reindeer and Santa as Lexie was done and ready to leave.
Stanley was ready also. He’d go home, drink some eggnog, make himself some toast with peanut butter, read his book in peace and quiet.
So, why, when he was anxious to get home, he opened his big mouth and asked Lexie Bell if she needed to run any errands, he would never know.
“I could stand to get a few things at the grocery store,” she said.
What the heck. He could stand to buy a few more cookies.
So they went to the grocery store. She purchased the kind of good things responsible parents bought: apples, lettuce, milk. He bought chocolate chip cookies and chips. Why not? Bonnie didn’t need lettuce and neither did Stanley. Bonnie. He doubled back and purchased a box of dog biscuits.
“Thanks for being willing to detour,” Lexie said as they left the store. “I was pretty well stocked up, but I don’t like to run out of produce.”
“Can’t have that,” he agreed. Hey, he managed a carrot once in a while.
Their route home took them by the tree lot.
“Trees!” cried Brock. “Can we get our Christmas tree now?”
“Oh, sweetie, not now,” said his mom. Stanley could hear the embarrassment in her voice.
“But you promised,” the kid said.
“I know. And we will.”
“When?”
“When I get things worked out,” she said.
“I want a tree,” Brock whined.
“You getting a l
ive tree?” Stanley asked. Oh, yeah. Open the door wide to more errand-running.
“I was planning on it. I’m sure my friend can take us later this week. Or I can get an Uber.”
That again. This woman needed to learn the value of a dollar.
“Wait too long and all the good ones will be gone,” Stanley said. Good grief. Just whip him with a string of Christmas lights and be done with it. He could feel her gaze on him. “May as well stop now. I’ve got rope in the back.”
“Really?” She sounded so...grateful.
“Why not?” Because I want to go home and relax, that’s why not. Well, it was too late now. He could almost see Carol smiling.
“That would be fabulous.”
“Yay!” hooted Brock from his seat in the back.
And so it was that Stanley Mann found himself walking through a forest of cut trees in Grandma’s Memories Tree Lot, helping Lexie Bell and her son pick out the perfect tree for their new home, offering sage advice and tapping various candidates on the ground to see if any needles fell off. Boy, did that bring back memories.
14
Over the years Stanley and Carol had all kinds of trees: ones so tall he had to saw off several inches once they got them home in order to fit inside, cheap ones, pricey ones, flocked, and bare. Some they found at tree farms and cut themselves, most they picked up at tree lots. One year Carol wanted a Charlie Brown tree, and they found a perfect candidate when they were snowshoeing in the Cascades.
“That one is perfect!” she’d cried. “It’s so scruffy and sad.”
There was an understatement. “It’s half-dead,” he’d pointed out.
“Then, let’s take it home and give it a purpose before it goes to tree heaven.”
Both families had teased them about it. “This the best you could do?” joked his brother-in-law, Jimmy.
Carol had jumped to his defense. “It was exactly what I wanted. You know, you don’t have to be perfect to be loved.”
Thank God for that, Stanley had thought. With his hermit tendencies he was hardly the perfect man for Carol.
They finally switched to artificial trees. Less hassle, but it was never quite the same as getting a real one.
A Little Christmas Spirit Page 14