The Christmas Promise (Christmas Hope)

by VanLiere, Donna

  “I can’t take your car, Gloria,” Erin said. “You need it. I’ll take the bus to work.”

  “These aren’t keys to my car,” I said. “They’re keys to your car. The Silver Fox.” I pushed open the drapes at the kitchen window.

  “But you need it for one of your families,” she said.

  “You’re one of my families now,” I said. “When you can get a car of your own you’ll give it back to me and I’ll pass it on.”

  “Does it have seat belts?” Miriam asked, peering out the window.

  “Of course it has seat belts!”

  Erin stammered for something to say. “I can’t…”

  “Jack said she was good as new,” I said. “And she is. I took her for a spin myself.” I pointed to her chair. “Sit down and eat before it gets cold.” We sat and ate together, three women who had been plopped into each other’s lives in the strangest of circumstances, and though there were several gaps and silences, the conversation was civil. Very civil, I thought. Maybe things were finally on an upward swing.

  Chaz was in the security office monitoring the video screens when he noticed shoppers scrambling for the front doors. He ran up the stairs and saw the lawyer from next door on the other side of the street crouched down on the ground beside a car that had smashed into a light pole. Ray was also out there; he had run out when he heard a bang that rattled the store windows. Chaz saw the driver of the car standing and talking, so he didn’t think the accident was more than a fender bender. “He hasn’t moved,” a woman said, watching the scene.

  Chaz caught a glimpse of Mike on the ground and felt himself shrinking backward. Two hours before he had avoided Mike. He felt his hand shaking and grabbed on to it with his other hand. Paramedics jumped out of an ambulance and seemed to take forever getting Mike onto a stretcher. “He still isn’t moving,” the woman said again. Chaz walked to the back of the store and ran out the service entrance for home.

  The phone rang thirty minutes later and Chaz let it ring. A few minutes later it rang again and he picked it up. “What happened?” Ray said.

  “I got sick,” Chaz said, lying.

  “Did you see what happened out front?”

  “Some of it.” He sat down. “Is that guy okay?”

  “I don’t know,” Ray said. “He was pretty banged up.” Chaz felt his hand shaking again and walked to the refrigerator, pulling out a beer. “Do you think you’ll come back in?”

  “I can’t,” Chaz said. “I’m really sick.”

  “All right. We’ll get it covered.”

  “Thanks,” Chaz said. He was about to hang up when he thought of Donovan. What would happen to him if Ray or Fred covered his shift? “Ray,” he said, shouting into the phone. “I’ll come in later.”

  “You sure?”

  “I’ll be there by nine,” Chaz said. He warmed up some macaroni and cheese and drank two beers while sitting at the card table. The sun was setting but he didn’t turn on the lights; he was used to the dark. He called information, got the number for the hospital, and dialed it before he forgot it. No one would give him any information. Why would they? He didn’t even know Mike’s last name.

  “Are you a family member?” the woman asked him. He tried to explain that Mike didn’t have any family and that he talked to Mike all the time, but none of that mattered.

  He lay down on the futon but his mind played the scene over and over again. As soon as he’d feel himself drifting he’d see Mike’s body and jump awake. What if Mike died? What if he died and his parents never knew about it? How would they live the rest of their lives without knowing what had happened to him? The obnoxious Christmas lights from across the street streamed into his room and he covered his head.

  When the phone rang at eight he grabbed for it. It was Kelly at Wilson’s. “The package came,” she said. A long pause followed. “I see you’re not working tonight. Would you like me to bring it to you when I get off?” Chaz felt every nerve inside his body and he sat on the edge of the futon, rubbing his head. “Chaz? Do you still want me to bring it to you?”

  He couldn’t let her come. He just couldn’t do it this time. “No.”

  She fumbled for something to say. “Well, what do you want me to—”

  “I don’t care,” he said.

  She was quiet on the other end; then the line went dead.

  Carla crept to the door and opened it, keeping an eye on Thomas as she pulled it closed. “Where are you going?” Thomas said.

  She jumped at his voice. “I need to check on Donovan,” she said.

  He rolled over, watching her. “He’s fine. Get back in bed.”

  “He’s been alone a long time,” Carla said, whispering. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Two minutes,” Thomas said, leaning up on his elbow.

  She stepped across the hall to Donovan’s room and locked his door behind her. She knew a lock wouldn’t keep Thomas out, but it was all she could do. Donovan was watching TV like she’d asked him to do when Thomas arrived. She sat down next to him and he jumped in her lap, making her flinch. The bruises on her legs were tender. “I need you to get dressed,” she whispered, pulling a pair of pants off the end of his bed.

  “Why?”

  “Shh,” she said, helping him into the pants. “I need to take you to Miss Glory’s tonight.”

  “Why?” he said, struggling to get a sweatshirt over his head.

  “Because you shouldn’t stay here tonight,” she said, tying his sneakers.

  “Why not?”

  She held his hand and put her finger to her lips. “Stop asking questions and be quiet.” She turned the doorknob and slowly pulled back the door, creeping into the hallway with Donovan. She grabbed her coat off the rack by the front door and dragged Donovan to her car.

  Dalton, Heddy, Erin, and I dumped out several garbage bags and sorted through the clothing inside. Each winter I found bags of clothing sitting on the porch, but this year there seemed to be more than ever. We threw away the clothing that was too tattered to be usable and made piles of nice, warm clothes we could include in some of the packages we were making. Miriam never offered to help. She sat at the kitchen window, staring at the huge construction Dumpster that was sitting in her driveway.

  The doorbell rang at eight thirty. I took huge steps over the piles of clothing and opened the door a crack, smiling when I saw Donovan. “Hola!” I said, un-latching the chain lock.

  “Hola!” he said, marching past me.

  Carla stood on the porch with her back to the door. “Carla?” I said, stepping outside.

  She wiped her face, turning to me. “I’m in a bind tonight, Miss Glory. I’m going to work but don’t have anyone to watch Donovan. I know you have all these people staying with you, but is it okay if he stays over?”

  “Sure.” I studied Carla’s face. “Are you all right?”

  Carla nodded. “I’m just cold and worried that I wouldn’t have a place for him, you know. I need to run or I’ll be late.” She leaned her head inside the doorway, kissing Donovan. “Be a good boy for Miss Glory. Yes?” He nodded and she walked past me down the steps. I watched her get inside the car and then shut the front door behind me.

  “Who’s this?” Miriam asked as I hung Donovan’s coat on the hall tree.

  “This,” I said, proudly, “is Donovan, a longtime friend of mine. Isn’t that right?” I held up my hand and he gave me a high five.

  Miriam eyed the small suitcase. “Is he staying here?”

  “For the night.”

  “There isn’t any more room,” she said. “Look at this place. It’s an absolute mess. This rubbish needs to be taken to the street for the rag and bone man, but you’re bringing another person in on top of all of it!”

  I jerked straight and felt the curls bounce around on top of my head. “Go to your room, Miriam.” Dalton, Heddy, and Erin pretended to be knee-deep in clothes.

  “I am not a child, Gloria!”

  “Then stop acting like one.”
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  Miriam slammed the door to her room and I sighed. There was just no way to bridge the gap between us.

  Chaz packed an extra sandwich and showed up for work at nine, just as Ray was leaving. “Has anybody heard anything about Mike?” he asked.

  “I haven’t heard anything,” Ray said, glancing at him. “You don’t look so good. Why don’t you just go home? The store can go one night without somebody on duty.”

  Chaz set the plastic grocery bag that contained his dinner on the desk. “I need the money,” he said.

  “I hear that.” Ray zipped up his coat. “I talked with my wife and we’d like to have you over for Christmas dinner. You up for that?”

  Chaz hung up his coat and closed the locker. Ray needed to get out before Donovan came racing through the door. “I’m eating with some relatives that day.”

  “I didn’t think you had any family,” Ray said.

  “I have an aunt about ninety minutes from here.”

  Ray threw a backpack over his shoulder. “Just making sure. Didn’t want you to spend Christmas alone.” He clapped Chaz on the back and left.

  Chaz watched the monitors and saw the janitorial team working in Menswear, Juniors’, and the housewares department. The two outside monitors showed Carla getting out of her car at the loading dock entrance. Chaz spread out the sandwich and chips for Donovan. After several minutes Chaz walked up the stairs to the main floor, looking for him. Carla was pushing her cart outside the ladies’ restroom and he caught her before she went inside. She was wearing small headphones on her ears and didn’t see him. He touched her arm and she flinched. She looked terrible. “Hey!” he said. “Where’s Donovan?”

  She took one headphone away from her ear. “Miss Glory could watch him tonight.” She snapped the headphones back on and heaved the cart into the restroom. Chaz felt lost. Donovan had become a regular part of his night, and as he looked out over the empty store buzzing with vacuums, he was as lonely as he’d ever been.

  He went down to the mailroom and turned on the lights. High on the top shelf, below the air return, sat a large white envelope. He climbed up on the counter and pulled it down; it was from GKD Systems and was addressed to Judy Luitweiler. He walked down the hall to the back entrance and pushed through the door. The Dumpster was at the far end of the loading dock. He ripped the envelope to shreds before tossing it up into the Dumpster. In the rush of the season, he knew that no one would be wondering where the results of those prints were. He slammed the Dumpster lid shut. Now he could collect his last paycheck without any problems, and no one would ever know.

  Seven

  Laughter is the shortest distance between two people.

  —Victor Borge

  Miriam turned the lights on in the kitchen at one thirty. She jumped when she saw me sitting at the table in the dark, my hands wrapped around a cup of tea. A red notebook sat opened on the table in front of me.

  “I’m sorry, Miriam,” I said. “Did I wake you?”

  She squinted in the light and moved to a chair, sitting down. “I just seemed to jump awake and couldn’t go back to sleep.”

  I swirled the last of the tea around in the cup and watched it slosh up and down the sides. “Another case of the jump-awakes,” I said. “I jumped awake at twelve forty-two, the same time I always wake up on this day.”

  “Why is that?” she said.

  I drank the last of the tea and stared at the empty bottom. “It’s the time Walt died.”

  Miriam was quiet. “I lost Lynn at three oh-seven in the afternoon, and no matter what I’m doing on that day I just know what time it is and everything stops.”

  I nodded, cinching my robe tighter. “Lynn was a very kind man. He was good to you. I could tell.”

  She laughed. “He was a kind man. People loved Lynn. His students admired him and I adored him. He had a goodness in him that attracted people. Although we were a couple, everyone just naturally took to him over me. He was very affable with people. I’ve never been that way.”

  “I never noticed,” I said.

  She shook her head and smiled. “I can be an opinionated snob.” I didn’t say anything. “You know it’s true, Gloria!”

  “Well, I might have phrased it differently,” I said.

  She brushed her hand in the air. “However you phrase it, it’s all the same. I’ve said things that I’ve regretted. I’ve let the door close on relationships and I’ve regretted it. Lynn never did that.” She leaned back in the chair and crossed her arms. “What was your husband like?”

  I looked up at the ceiling and sighed, smiling at the thought of him. “He was a tall and splendid man. I met Walt when I was eighteen years old. He was thirty-four and my mother begged me not to get involved with him, but he was so different from the boys in our small Georgia town. He had a mind and a soul that I just loved being around. We married and my mother thought I’d lost my mind. You know when I got married no one, not even my mother, explained the lifetime of commitment that it would take to make our marriage work. Nobody told me that during that first year or two you just kind of muddle your way through.”

  “Lynn and I managed to muddle through twenty-five years together,” she said.

  “Thirty-five for us.”

  “And how many children?”

  I stood and walked into the dark living room, picking up an eight-by-ten photo from the mantel. I handed the family picture to Miriam. It had been taken when I was in my thirties and still had curves in the right places. Walt stood beside me, along with our three older children, and our toddler sat on my lap. “That’s Andrew, our oldest. He was seventeen there. He has three children and is a computer programmer now.” I pointed to our daughter with long, brown hair. “That’s Stephanie. She lives just about ten minutes from here and has two children. She’s a medical transcriber and is able to work at home. That’s Daniel,” I said, pointing to our son with reddish brown hair. “He was thirteen in that picture but now has two children and works for a land-development company in Georgia.” I pointed to the toddler on my lap. “And that’s Matthew, our youngest.”

  Miriam looked at him. “What does he do now?”

  I shook my head, staring at his face. “I’m not sure.”

  “Is he married?”

  “No one knows,” I said, taking the picture and wiping the dust off with my sleeve. “He left home when he was seventeen, right before his father died, and we haven’t seen him since.”

  Miriam was speechless. I could see the wheels turning in her head. All this time, and we knew so little about each other. “Why, Gloria?”

  I poured another cup of hot water over a fresh tea bag and fetched a cup for Miriam. “So many reasons, I guess. He hated school and did poorly in it. Of course, we said he had to go to school and he hated it even more. Daniel also struggled through every subject, but he liked school and all my kids got involved in sports and music, but Matt was just so different. He could never find a place for himself at school, or anywhere else for that matter. If there was a rule he was set on breaking it, and if we told him he had to do something he did the opposite. Seems everything was an effort for him.” I put the cup of tea in front of Miriam, along with cream and sugar. “For years after he left, I just kept replaying everything over and over in my mind, wondering what Walt and I had done wrong, what we should have done differently, because we made mistakes. I know we did.” I reached for a napkin in the middle of the table and handed it to Miriam. “But I know I made so many more than Walt. When he got sick I focused all my energy on him; I was so involved with every breath, that I couldn’t pay attention to…” I stopped. “I don’t know. If I could go back. We always say that, don’t we?”

  Miriam rested her chin in her hand, shaking her head. “You can raise all your children in the same house, with the same rules, the same parents, the same patterns, but they all come away with a different outlook. My own two did. Gretchen calls all the time. Jerrod never has time. Gretchen is full of life. Jerrod can suck the life ou
t of a room in a matter of minutes.”

  I propped my elbows up on the table, holding the cup. “I had a baby girl when Matthew was ten, and he was so excited, but we knew that Anna was very sick and the doctors didn’t give us any hope. Every day Matt prayed for his sister and Walt and I tried to explain that sometimes people don’t get well, but he never believed it. He never believed that God would allow a child to die. But she did, and something changed in him.”

  “Was he angry?”

  “It wasn’t anger but disappointment, I think. He was disappointed in God and in the rest of us. Matthew was never mouthy to us. He was quiet, which in a lot of ways was worse. When Walt got sick, Matt just turned everything inward. Couldn’t take it. Walter was sick for only about six weeks. That’s it. Matt ran off two weeks before Walt died. The thought of his father dying was just more than he could handle. I was a mess and Walt kept saying, ‘He’ll be back, Gloria. He’ll come home. I’m praying that God won’t let him rest until he comes home.’” I ran my hand back and forth over the notebook. “Even as he was dying, Walt was the strong one.”

  I opened the notebook. “This was Matthew’s journal. I didn’t even know he had been keeping a journal over the years, but there are pages and pages of his thoughts in here.” I turned to a page and started reading. “Today some doctors told Dad that he’s sick. He and Mom have been quiet all day.” I flipped the page. “Dad is dying and nobody’s doing anything about it. He and Mom went to some office today and made sure the will was in place and insurance was taken care of. In the meantime, while they’re filling out paperwork, Dad keeps dying.” I sipped some tea and cleared my throat, turning the page. “I’m watching Mom love Dad right now. She’s curled up next to him on the couch and holding his hand.” My throat tightened and a tear rolled down my cheek; I flicked it away with my finger. I took a moment, finding my voice. “Dad was in bed all day today. I watched Mom take care of him and she talked to him like it was just a regular day, but her face is sad. He reached for her hand and she sat on the edge of the bed looking at him. I think she’s memorizing his face now.” I covered my mouth and paused. Miriam sat in the silence, waiting. “I can’t watch Dad die anymore. This shouldn’t happen to him or Mom. He always had faith, but how is that helping him now? God doesn’t care. I’m not even sure God knows what’s happening down here. If he did he’d step in a lot more and help people.” I closed the notebook, wiping my nose. “And that was his last entry.”