Carol magically produced a blanket and laid it out, and they sat down to enjoy their feast. The picnic basket was full of everything Stanley liked: ham sandwiches, deviled eggs, home-baked cookies and a thermos of hard lemonade.
“Tomorrow let’s go to that antique store I saw in Cle Elum and see what nostalgic goodies we can find,” she said.
“You mean junk,” he said, and she laughed at him.
“No, I mean treasures,” she said.
“You’re the only treasure I need,” he told her.
“And you’re mine. I love you, Stanley.”
He awoke the next morning, smiling and content. Until reality rushed in and reminded him that he wasn’t picnicking in the mountains, and his wife was dead. There were no more tomorrows left for them.
Meanwhile, today, here was his dog licking his face.
“You need to go out, don’tcha?” he said to her, and she gave him a yip and a tail wag.
He pulled on his bathrobe, went downstairs and let her out, then got his coffee going. Today he was going to stay in the house all day and do nothing. With nobody and for nobody. Especially the pest next door.
Once Bonnie was inside he filled her dish with food, and she fell on it as if it were her last meal. When she was finished she came and sat next to him as he ate his morning cereal, leaning against his leg. He reached down and scratched behind her ears. She thanked him by licking his hand.
Somebody still appreciated him. He didn’t need to go looking for more somebodys to add to his life and more things to keep him running in all directions. He had plenty to do.
He finished his breakfast, brushed his teeth, changed a light bulb in the living-room lamp, took out the garbage. Worked a sudoku puzzle. Yep, he had plenty to do.
Later that afternoon he took Bonnie for a walk, and they just happened to pass Lexie Bell’s house. He knew she was home from school because both her living-room and kitchen lights were on. She hadn’t needed him to pick her up. If it had snowed would she have called him? What was she doing in there? Baking? What did he care if she was?
Back in the house, he gave Bonnie a treat and fixed a treat for himself, a mug of instant hot chocolate and some packaged chocolate chip cookies. “So what if they’re not home-baked? They’re cookies, right?” he said to Bonnie.
She didn’t appear to have an opinion one way or another. She merely looked at him, hoping for another dog treat.
“I think these cookies and what I’m giving you have something in common,” he told her. “They’re both as hard as hockey pucks.”
There was more to life than cookies. And homemade lasagna. And cheese bread that killed.
And enjoying them with someone. For a moment he could almost see Carol at the stove, an apron tied over her sweatshirt and jeans, pulling a pot pie from the oven. They’d eat at the kitchen table, talking about how their day had gone, then move into the living room to watch TV. Sometimes they’d stay at the table and play a game of gin rummy.
He never ate dinner at the table anymore.
He was about to read a little before watching the evening news when his phone rang. It was Lexie Bell. He wasn’t going to answer it. He’d had enough drama. Let her call someone else with her latest...whatever.
After several rings the phone quieted, and Stanley opened his book.
He’d barely started reading when the phone began to ring again. Nope, not answering.
But this time he did abandon his book to check his voice mail when whoever was calling gave up on him answering.
A little boy’s voice said, “Grandpa Stanley, my Winter Holiday program is tomorrow night at seven o’clock. You are coming, right? I’m gonna be a snowflake.”
Oh, boy. He looked down at Bonnie, who was studying him, awaiting his decision.
“He can be a snowflake without me,” Stanley said. And that was that.
Until Carol rang in on the matter. She came for a visit around midnight, dressed like Mrs. Claus, with a white wig complete with a bun on her head and old-fashioned wire-rimmed glasses. She wore a high-collared blouse that looked like it belonged in a museum and a red skirt and red-and-white-striped apron complete with ruffles.
He recognized the getup immediately. It was one she used to wear on the last day of school before winter break. She always sent the kids home with candy canes and a Christmas card, each one with a special greeting written especially for the child.
“I’d forgotten about that outfit,” he said to her.
“It’s still in the red bin in the guest-room closet,” she said. “Maybe you can find someone who will appreciate it. Another teacher, perhaps.”
He knew exactly where she was going with this but refused to follow. “Maybe,” he said, not committing to anything.
“You are going to go to the school program, aren’t you?”
“I’ve gone to more than my fair share of those over the years,” he reminded her. It was one of the obligations of being married to a teacher.
“Yes, but someone has invited you specifically to this one. You don’t want to disappoint Brock.”
“The kid won’t know if I’m there or not,” Stanley said.
“Children always know.”
Stanley pulled his pillow over his head.
Of course, a small thing like a pillow didn’t stop her. Her voice came through loud and clear. “Go, darling. Make the effort. You’ll be glad you did.”
He would not. He didn’t say it, though. Instead, he clamped his lips tightly shut. The last thing he wanted was to argue with her.
“Pleasant dreams,” she whispered and left.
He did dream, but it wasn’t pleasant. He found himself floating over the grade-school auditorium. Adults were milling around, kids racing here and there, wearing elf hats and reindeer antlers.
Everyone was laughing and whooping it up except for one little boy, sitting in a dark corner of the stage. He was wearing white pants and a white sweatshirt topped with some kind of giant plastic blue-trimmed snowflake that had a hole for his face. The face wasn’t smiling. In fact it was crying.
“Grandpa Stanley didn’t come,” the kid wailed.
Stanley woke up with his bushy eyebrows pulled together and his mouth drawn down at the corners. School programs. Bah, humbug.
But the next night found him walking into the school gym along with about a million parents and their noisy offspring. There were rows and rows of metal chairs and, beyond them at the far end of the gym, a stage had been set up. On it was a backdrop of wooden trees painted to look snow-covered. They didn’t look very well constructed to Stanley. Whoever had been in charge of props could have used some help.
A boy dressed in a suit with a little red bow tie went racing past him and managed to tromp on his foot in the process, making the corn on his middle toe very unhappy. A small band consisting of some of the older kids was stationed in front of the stage, and they were playing an off-key rendition of “Deck the Halls.” Stanley was no musician, but he knew bad when he heard it. His ears joined the protest along with his throbbing toe. Why are we here?
Good question. All this happy exuberance—it was the emotional equivalent of having to get dressed up in a suit and wear a necktie. Uncomfortable and suffocating. Where was the exit?
Don’t you dare.
He knew that voice. He decided he didn’t dare. If he ducked out he’d hear about it come bedtime. He found a seat on the end of one of the rows of metal chairs a ways back from the front, sat down and braced himself for the torture that lay ahead.
He’d barely gotten seated when a middle-aged woman wearing a black parka over red pants and enough perfume to burn every hair in Stanley’s nose laid a bejeweled hand on his shoulder and pointed to the seats next to him.
“Are those taken?” she asked. She had a sonic-boom voice that bounced down to Stanley and slapped
him in the ears.
She wouldn’t believe him if he said Yes, by the Invisible Man and his wife. He had no choice but to say “No.”
“Wonderful,” she enthused. “Come on, Gerald,” she said to the man behind her, a tank wrapped in jeans and a fur-lined parka with a head the size of a giant pumpkin.
Stanley himself wasn’t exactly svelte, but this man made him look downright emaciated.
Before Stanley could stand up to give her room the woman started sidestepping her way to her chair. In the process she managed to tread on Stanley’s other foot, making him wince. He was still trying to get up and out of the way when the tank barreled through, and he got the foot with the corn. Stanley’s eyes crossed, and he sucked in air.
“Sorry,” the man mumbled as he sat down, his shoulder butting right up against Stanley’s.
“No problem,” Stanley said, making the extreme effort to be polite and hoping Carol was still around and watching. This was too cozy for comfort. He gave his chair a little scoot sideways to buy them both some breathing room. It didn’t help all that much. He gave it another scoot. Scooting wasn’t really helping. The best solution would be to move.
The woman struck up a conversation before he could, leaning across her husband and saying, “We came to see our granddaughter. She’s one of the Sugar Plum Fairies. She’s taking ballet lessons.”
Stanley nodded.
“Who are you here to see?” the woman asked.
Stanley could have said the neighbor kid, but instead, to his surprise, out popped, “My grandson.” Well, he was Grandpa Stanley, wasn’t he?
“These programs are such fun, and the children are so sweet.”
Stanley thought of the urchin who’d tromped on his foot and said nothing. The rows were filling up now, and the place was buzzing with excitement as if they were all at the 5th Avenue Theatre in Seattle, waiting for the curtain to go up on a musical.
“Kind of hot in here, isn’t it?” said the man next to Stanley and proceeded to struggle out of his coat. He only got Stanley in the ribs once.
Okay, time to move. Stanley saw a seat on the end in the row in front to his left. A pretty, slender woman was in the seat next to it. She probably wouldn’t elbow him in the ribs or tread on his foot.
He had just stood up when a good-looking man seated himself next to the woman and kissed her. Okay, so much for that seat.
Stanley looked farther afield. Good grief. The place was now a sea of parents and grandparents. Only a couple of seats available, all smack-dab in the middle of a row. How many feet would he trample getting to one? He gave up the idea, covered his aborted move with a stretch and sat back down.
And just in time. Here was the principal of the school, taking the mike, tapping on it and asking, “Is this on?”
The thing let out a squeal, and people yelped and covered their ears. Yes, it was on.
Take two worked better, and she was able to welcome everyone to their holiday celebration. “The children have worked very hard, and I know you’ll all love the show they put on.”
Stanley had to admit, the show was creative. A little girl and boy dressed in winter garb came on stage, both dragging sleds and announcing to the crowd that they were lost.
“How will we ever find our way to Grandma’s house?” asked the girl.
“Maybe the reindeer will guide us,” said the boy.
Cue the reindeer. A couple dozen little ones, all wearing antlers, filed on stage. And there, herding them, was Lexie Bell. So this was her class.
They sang—surprise, surprise—“Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer,” complete with hand motions. Cell phones were pulled out, cameras flashed. The kids finished their song and departed to enthusiastic applause.
But the two stars of the show were still lost, so then it was time for the Sugar Plum Fairies to guide them to Grandma’s. Six little girls in frilly skirts leaped and twirled, one losing her balance and nearly taking out the rest.
“Oh, no!” gasped the grandma seated near Stanley, and he figured her granddaughter must have been the off-kilter fairy. There wouldn’t be any more bragging from Grandma.
Cell phones were busy capturing the dance. The poor stumble fairy would probably be all over the internet by morning.
More students got involved. A choir sang “Winter Wonderland,” and a student recited a poem about Christmas being a time for good cheer. “To lonely ones and sad ones, and those we hold most dear,” she finished and curtsied.
Oh, brother.
Finally, the snowflakes made their appearance, singing “Let It Snow.” To Stanley’s surprise there was one solo at the end, and the kid who stepped up to sing the last Let it snow turned out to be Brock. He threw his arms wide, half-singing, half-shouting, and it came out loud and clear.
“That’s my grandkid,” he said to the Sugar Plum Fairy grandparents as they all applauded. Stretching the truth a little? Yeah, but so what?
“Isn’t he cute,” the woman said half-heartedly.
Actually, he was.
The two lost kids found their way to Grandma’s, and the program ended with all the children singing “We Wish You a Merry Christmas,” as the band slaughtered the song.
Then the performance was over, and kids were racing everywhere, looking for their parents. And Brock was racing toward Stanley. He felt an odd sensation of pride, which was stupid since he was no relation to this boy. Still, it warmed him when Brock plowed into him and hugged him.
“You came, Grandpa!”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” Stanley lied.
Lexie joined them. “Thank you for coming out. It meant so much to Brock.”
It looked like he was out of the doghouse. Funny saying, that, considering the fact that you never saw a dog in a doghouse anymore. Only men who messed up.
“Did I do good?” Brock asked Stanley eagerly.
“Yeah, you did.”
The kid was looking up at him with adoring eyes. Lexie Bell was looking at him gratefully. He felt like he’d just bowled a perfect game. Stupid, really.
He cleared his throat. “Do you need a ride home?” he asked her.
“No, we’re fine. My friend Shannon will run us home. I have to stay and visit with the parents, anyway. You won’t want to wait that long.”
Yeah, he had to get home. He wasn’t disappointed. It was no big deal.
He nodded. “Okay, then.”
“I’m making chicken and noodles for dinner tomorrow,” she said before he could walk off. “If you’d like to join us, that is.”
Yep, all was forgiven.
“Sure. Uh, I’ll bring ice cream.”
And so he had a dinner invitation for the following night. His calendar was filling up.
“Something going two nights in a row. Aren’t you turning into the social butterfly, Manly Stanley?” Carol teased that night.
She’d lost the Mrs. Santa outfit and was back in that red sweater again. Carol always could fill out a sweater.
He smiled at her. “You look awful cute tonight, babe.”
“And you looked cute in that sports jacket.”
“Nobody else was wearing one. I thought parents dressed up for stuff like that.”
“Not anymore. Nobody dresses up for anything. A shame, really,” she said with a sigh. “I’m glad you did, though. And I’m proud of you for going. You made the night special, for both of them.”
“Yeah, I guess I did that,” Stanley said. “You know, Carol, I think I’ll give your Mrs. Claus outfit to Lexie. I bet she’d like it.”
Surprisingly, Carol didn’t say anything.
He looked around. She was gone.
He sighed and smiled and let himself drift into sleep.
The next day he drove to the grocery store and bought some peppermint ice cream. “I’m going to the neighbor’s for dinner. Go
tta bring something,” he told the checker.
“Uh-huh,” he replied in a voice that said Big deal.
Considering how much trouble Stanley had been in only a few days ago, it was.
He was still feeling pretty darned good when he went to Lexie’s house for dinner. The lights he’d strung for her were on and gave the place a festive air. Next year she should hang some along her porch, too, and the rest of her roof. He could help her with that.
She greeted him wearing jeans and the boot. But on her other foot was a big, floppy slipper made to look like a unicorn.
“Interesting,” he said, pointing to it as he stepped through the door.
“It’s fun to have something fanciful to wear,” she said.
Was that what you called it.
The house smelled like...cookies? “Something smells good,” he said as she took his coat.
“Oh, I have a candle burning,” she told him. “Cinnamon.”
That was disappointing. He’d been hoping for cookies. But he’d brought cookie deprivation on himself. He was the one who’d opened his big mouth and said he’d bring the ice cream.
Brock was on hand to take it from him and put it away for later.
“We have cookies to go with our ice cream,” Lexie informed him.
No cookie deprivation after all. Here was good news, indeed. But he felt like he needed to earn that treat. And really clear the air about that little misunderstanding.
“I, uh, talked to Campbell. He won’t be bothering you again.”
Her cheeks turned pink.
“I’m sorry about—”
She cut him off. “Let’s forget it. Okay?”
Fine with him. “Okay.”
The dining table was already set, and in the middle of it sat something he hadn’t seen the last time he was over—a circle of gold-tipped pinecones of varying shapes and sizes hugging a fat, red candle. As he got closer he could tell the candle was the source of the cinnamon he’d smelled.
“That’s nice,” he said.
“I made it.”
Impressive. “Yeah?”
“I like to make things,” she said.
A Little Christmas Spirit Page 20