Christmas by Accident

by Camron Wright

  The result of that trauma, coupled with her current indecision, translated into a hug for Carter that was not only halfhearted but lopsided. It was as if she’d leaned her body close to his, extended part of an arm, and then decided to have a brief nap.

  “I’m so sorry, Carter,” she said, pulling her arms away. But her face was now close to the color of stewed beets.

  For anyone watching, the boyish grin now attached to Carter proclaimed the moment as the most memo­rable he’d likely had in months. He followed by draping her with kind eyes. “That was my fault,” he admitted. “I shouldn’t have surprised you like that. I’m sorry.”

  And then he bent close and gave her a proper token hug, like she’d tried to give him, before pulling away as if nothing unusual had happened. Then, as casually as one could possibly imagine, he turned and politely asked, “When are you going to look for a new car?”

  And in a fraction of time so fleeting she was not sure what its measurement might be called, Abby was put completely at ease, and a warmness rose in her chest that could best be described as savored sips of André’s dark chocolate cocoa.

  After mutual thanks were again exchanged, Carter climbed into his car and drove away. Abby, in turn, strolled toward the door to find Seven holding it open.

  “That was entertaining,” Seven said. “Rosa and I were watching from the window.”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” replied Abby.

  “Girl, I’ve watched the National Geographic channel, and that was surprisingly similar to the mating dance of the red-capped manakin.”

  “Seven!”

  But for the rest of the evening, as Abby shelved books, she quietly hummed a medley of her favorite Christmas songs.

  Harold Rotterdamm, district manager at Business Alliance Deposit Insurance, appeared at Lenny’s desk so abruptly it almost caught both men by surprise. When he spoke, his voice floated above the cubicles, as if even the furniture understood that he was the man in charge.

  “Lenny, do you have a moment?”

  Lenny immediately quit typing. He pivoted, stood. He would have saluted had he thought it was appropriate. “Yes, sir. How can I help?”

  “You trained Carter, right? You two were friends?”

  Lenny wiped his brow. “Yeah, I guess so. Is he in trouble?”

  “When did Carter begin to embellish his accident reports?” His packed words almost rubbed shoulders.

  “I . . . um . . . I’m not sure. Perhaps a year ago. Why?”

  “That’s helpful. Can you go back and pull a copy of the descriptions from his assigned claims for the last year and then forward those to me?”

  “I guess so. Is there a problem?”

  “Thanks, Lenny. One more thing . . . I don’t know if you still speak with Carter or not, but don’t say anything about this conversation. Someone from corporate will be contacting him. I’ll let you know if there’s anything else.”

  “Will you please listen for the door?” Carter asked Yin. “I’ll be upstairs.”

  While it was true Carter was waiting for Abby, he wasn’t calling it a date. He had simply agreed to tag along to help her find a car.

  Whatever it was called, the result was an apartment that shimmered, a testament to the value of urban renewal when a tenant takes ownership.

  When the bell rang, Yin answered. “Hi, you must be Abby. Carter will be down in a minute. I’m Yin, his roommate.”

  Abby shook hands, then followed him inside. She was halfway to the couch when she peered across the room to a series of photographs hanging on the wall, artistic close-ups of curious geometric shapes oozing saturated colors.

  “Hey, are you ready to go?” Carter asked, turning the corner.

  Apparently she wasn’t. Her index finger was raised and she was pointing. “These are terrific. Where did you get them?”

  Carter herded a sheepish stare toward Yin, asking if she was teasing. Yin shrugged.

  She focused on the picture in the middle. “I love the lines in this one,” she said, “and the vitality in the color.”

  “I’m glad you like them,” Carter replied, deciding not to tell her they were his. He would just shoo her out the door and they could be on their way—until Yin piped up.

  “Carter took those!”

  Abby froze, twisted around. “Seriously?” she exclaimed. She leaned in to study them like an art student might study a Renoir. “I didn’t know you were into photography. Where did you take these?”

  Carter hesitated, then surrendered. “That one on the end . . . you’ve seen it before,” he told her.

  She slid down to the last picture. “No, I’m certain I’d remember.”

  “Look closer,” Carter suggested. Perhaps this was a fun game after all.

  It took her nearly a minute. “That’s the inside of a car, right?” But she didn’t seem certain. She tossed confusion around like a volleyball.

  Carter pointed toward the picture’s edge. “Not just any car. Look more closely.”

  Her eyes glistened like shiny quarters. “Wait! Is that my car?”

  Carter tried to hide his satisfaction, but it bolted free. “It was the only thing that kept me sane at my old job. I’d take them at the tow lot.”

  Abby let her finger trace the photo’s lines. “They’re breathtaking. I would never have guessed there was such beauty in something as ugly as a car wreck.”

  “It’s why I enjoy it. They’re unexpected. It’s something tha—” His words halted mid-syllable. Carter’s brain was reminding his mouth that it was straying into areas too personal.

  “Please continue,” she begged. “I’m very interested.”

  Carter bolstered his words and tried again. “It’s a ­simple lesson that I believe the photos teach.”

  “Yes?” she prodded.

  “As an adjuster, all I saw all day were accidents disrupting people’s lives. To make sense of them, I found that getting close helped.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “When we run into a problem, we’re often taught to step back, to take a broader view. I guess I’m not certain that’s always good advice. Stepping back doesn’t make the problem go away. Instead, to find purpose, if there is such a thing, at times we need to get closer—painfully close. If we do, we can find beauty.”

  For a moment, no one spoke. It was a stillness that for Carter became unnerving. “That’s cheesy, I know,” he added. Every word was packed with apology. “It’s just something I’ve been thinking about.”

  Abby gripped him by the wrists, waited for his eyes to lift. She was no longer looking at his pictures. “That’s rather amazing,” she told him. “Can you write that up in a short paragraph for me?”

  “What? Why?”

  “I want to place it below your pictures.”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

  “Your pictures, Carter! If I hang these in the store and post them on the store’s Facebook page, I’ll sell a bunch of them. Are you interested?”

  Lenny was ducking beside his car when Carter approached.

  “I got your message, Lenny. What’s so important?”

  “Get in! Quick!” Lenny stammered. Even in the cold, drops of sweat channeled down his temples. He was flushed, he was shaking, he was a complete mess.

  Carter climbed inside. Lenny followed. He was still glancing about, as if the mafia had put out a hit order and he could be gunned down at any moment.

  “I can’t let Harold see me,” Lenny explained.

  “Is Harold following you?” Carter wondered, glancing back. “Why would Harold be following you?”

  “He’s not, but I can’t take a chance. He told me not to tell you, but after much thought, I’ve made the decision that if we’re now friends, then . . . well, friendship has to come first.”

  Carter ha
d the urge to check Lenny for a fever. The Lenny he knew would rather boil in scorching oil than go against Harold.

  “Lenny, what’s wrong?”

  “I don’t know, but something’s going to happen, and I wanted to warn you. Harold asked me to send him copies of all your . . . your embellishments, your accident descriptions, for the last year!” Lenny’s eyes bulged. “I had to, Carter. I had no choice!”

  Carter tried to calm the man. “Relax. It’s okay, Lenny. Why does he want them?”

  Lenny was dripping. “He wouldn’t say, but I heard him talking later to someone from legal and Carter, he was furious! I’m not sure, but they must be planning some action against you! That’s all I can imagine. I knew you shouldn’t have embellished.”

  Carter half smiled. “Accident embellishment in the first degree?” he mocked musingly. “I don’t think it’s a capital crime.”

  “Carter, don’t make fun. They’re a big company. If they want to cause you legal problems, how will you fight them?”

  It was a smile that soon slid away. Lenny had a point. “I’m sorry, Lenny, you’re right. I guess it’s my attitude that always gets me in trouble.”

  “I simply came by to warn you, to give you a heads-­

  up. And Carter . . . ?”

  “Yes, Lenny?”

  “No matter what they do to you, you didn’t hear it from me!”

  Carter arrived at Mannie’s right at ten. He’d been coming every Tuesday and Thursday, when the two men knew that Abby was working.

  “Did you look over the list I sent?” Carter asked.

  “What list?” Mannie answered.

  “I sent it by email. It’s the suggested obituary guidelines I found online.”

  “Sorry, I haven’t logged in today. Can we look it over now?” For a dying man begging for help, Mannie seemed to be in no hurry.

  “Sure, I guess.” Carter pulled it from his folder. He started at the top. “These are the items typically found in an obituary.”

  Mannie leaned in with his pencil. “I’m ready.”

  “It says you should start with the basic information: name, dates, cause of death, a list of loved ones.”

  Mannie set his pencil aside. “I don’t need the Internet to know all that!”

  “I’m just reading the guidelines. After that, it suggests that you list a few of the things that you have accomplished in your life . . . you know, the items you’d put on a resume.”

  “It’s a bit late to be applying for a job.”

  “It’s customary to—”

  Mannie cut him short, blindsided him with bluntness. “Are you suggesting I tell people how wonderful I was?”

  “Why not? I’m pretty good at it. Give me a little free rein and I can make you sound rather impressive. What do you say?” It was a question that at least deserved a shrug. “No? How about special interests, then?”

  Mannie’s words slapped again at the table. “I was especially interested in raising Abby. Does she count? Can’t we just talk about her?”

  Carter scanned the balance of the list. There was nothing about including nieces. “I don’t think it’s customary to—”

  “Did I tell you about the time I took Abby to Yellowstone and she tried to pet a bear?” Mannie asked, not letting Carter finish.

  Every visit with Mannie was the same. It was hard to keep him focused, though Carter would admit the tangential stories were amusing. Of course, he would never say a word to Abby.

  “Can I ask you a question about Abby?” Carter said.

  Mannie nodded.

  “Why isn’t she . . . attached?”

  Mannie reached for a tissue and blew his nose. He waited until he and Carter could lock eyes. “She’s had her share of boyfriends.”

  “She has?”

  “Tons of them. Let me see, there was Larry, the physician. He was a while ago. The relationship started out well, but as a dermatologist, Larry was overly sensitive, took everything personally. I think he needed a thicker skin. After Larry, there was Steve. He was an editor, like Abby, and I had such high hopes for them.”

  “Why didn’t it work out?”

  “He followed The Chicago Manual of Style and Abby used the AP Stylebook. It was like they were from different religions. In the end, they were never on the same page.”

  Carter raised a disbelieving finger to interrupt, but nothing slowed down Mannie. “I guess after Steve there was Peter, the science teacher. That relationship was more of an experiment. Then there was Raul, the architect, except he was way too structured. Corbin, the banker, was nice. Sadly, after a while, Abby lost interest. Then, Kevin, he worked for a temp agency. He only stuck around for a few weeks.”

  Carter quietly mumbled. “And that, kids, is how I met your mother.”

  “Say what?” Mannie asked.

  “I said I think you’re making these up.”

  Mannie’s glare bumped Carter in the chest. When the man spoke, his words were soft and low, hovering barely above the ground, forcing Carter to strain.

  “Carter, listen to what I’m telling you: Abby’s had her heart broken, just like you. And I suppose she’s broken her share of others’ hearts. I can’t tell you why Abby is single at the moment any more than I can say why you’re still single. What I can tell you is that she’s beautiful. More important, you’ll never find a girl with more love packed into one courageous soul. Abby is loyal, loving, smart, and selfless, and she makes everyone around her better.” Mannie’s body tightened, his neck and arms flushed, his lungs filled with air. “As I see it, Carter, there’s only one question.”

  Carter inched forward. “What’s that?”

  The room was still as stone as Mannie leaned in to meet Carter.

  “What are you going to do about it?”

  Yin watched from the safety of the table as Carter paced the room like an expectant father. “I don’t understand the worry,” Yin said. “You’ve already been out with Abby a bunch of times. How is this any different?”

  Carter all but bit his nails. “We’ve been out, but we haven’t been out.”

  Yin parsed the words in his head. “It may be a cultural thing,” he said, “but I don’t get the difference. Is that why she’s driving?” Every word was shrugging.

  “No. She wants to show me her new car—and before tonight we’ve only been out as friends.”

  His explanation didn’t help. “Aren’t you still friends?”

  “Yes. No. I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. How do I look?” Carter faced Yin like he was facing a magic mirror, waiting for it to speak.

  Yin sensed a trick question. “Am I supposed to say handsome?”

  Carter wasn’t really listening. “My hair looks goofy, doesn’t it?” There was no good response. His words strangled themselves with frustration. “I’m going to go fix it. Holler if the doorbell rings.” Before Yin could answer, Carter dashed from the room. He was halfway up the stairs when the sound of the doorbell bounded in.

  “She’s early!” Carter whispered as he rushed back down the stairs. Anxiety flushed in through every crack and crevice as he stepped toward the door. Then, as if by magic, the horror and despair washed away like poor quality paint in the rain. Underneath, self-assurance stepped out of hiding.

  Carter opened the door as gallantly as possible to find there was indeed a woman waiting on the porch. She was elegantly dressed, wearing immaculate makeup, and later Carter would have to admit she was rather beautiful. At the moment, however, his head was playing connect the dots, and the resulting picture was a jumble of mixed-up lines.

  The woman interrupted the process. “Does a girl have to stand out here all day, or are you going to be a gentleman and invite her in?”

  A single word pried open his mouth. “Mom?”

  Carter’s mother, Lorella Cross—soon to be Lorella Pen
ton—was a woman of slight build with a thin neck and long legs. Her generous brandy eyes drew attention away from the wrinkles invading the fringes of her cheeks and jaw. Tonight she smelled of fresh flowers, pressed clothes, and confidence.

  When Carter realized it wasn’t Abby on his porch arriving early to show off her new car, he called and delayed their date by half an hour. He was not merely a basket case, he was a Native-American, grandma-made, fully hand-woven baby-carrier basket case. He and his mother sat beside one another on Carter’s bed.

  “Do you want me to read you a story?” she said, poking him with playfulness.

  “Mom, stop it! That’s not funny.” Carter stood, trying to swallow his concern. “You shouldn’t be joking—and you should have called to warn me you were coming.”

  She ratcheted up her volume knob a notch. “Carter, I did call. I’m still waiting to hear a reply from my last two messages. I came in person because I’m getting married in a little over two weeks and I’d sincerely love it if you could be there. I thought that coming here, talking face-to-face, letting you meet Joel, might make a difference.”

  Carter’s words choked. “He’s here?”

  “I had him wait in the car. I told him you’re a little freaked out by all of this, and he completely understands. He’s a good man, Son. You’ll like him.”

  “Oh, splendid!” His words were so sopping with sarcasm they almost dripped.

  “Carter, I know the yelling, the fighting, the divorce, it was hard for you and your brother. I get it. It’s only worse now for you because you’ve never accepted it. I think you always believed your dad and I would get back together.”

  Carter brushed fingers numbly across his hair, hoping to straighten his thoughts. “It’s just so weird thinking you’ll be living with some strange guy,” he said. “It doesn’t make sense.”

  Lorella tied on a smile. “You always were the romantic in the family, bruised as you may be. I think if you meet Joel, you’ll see that this is a positive thing.”