Candy Cane Calaboose

by Spaeth, Janet

  He was making this difficult, she thought as he walked away. What he didn’t know about her, what he couldn’t know about her, was that her heart was made of marshmallow fluff. She just had it cased inside steel.

  She’d work on it. She’d figure out some way to get the slippers to Claire.

  Abbey walked back to Trends, scowling at the mechanized group of carolers that sang outside the music store. Noise. Just what this world needed. More noise.

  Once, just once, she was going to say it, and she did so at the Dickens village: “Bah, humbug.”

  Christmas didn’t have to be all this complicated. And it certainly didn’t have to be this loud!

  ❧

  The evening shift crew arrived on time, and Abbey found herself with an hour and a half free. She had wandered back to the evening dresses and began unnecessarily straightening the already-neat rack, when she heard two teenaged girls giggling together.

  “Look at these! Aren’t these a hoot?”

  One of the girls, Abbey saw, was showing the other one something in a bag.

  Then, to Abbey’s astonishment, the girl pulled out a pair of yellow fuzzy slippers, complete with frog faces on the toes.

  “Those are like the coolest slippers ever!” the other girl gushed. “Where did you get them? I don’t care if I am supposed to be shopping for my mutant brother, I’ve got to get some for myself!”

  The two girls briefly examined a display of jewelry before ambling out of the store.

  Abbey didn’t believe in signs, not really, but she had to admit it: This was clearly a sign.

  “Okay, that does it!” she said to the heavily-beaded green gown she was holding.

  “Excuse me?” A woman browsing through the evening jackets on the other side of the aisle looked at her curiously and pulled her purse a bit closer to her side.

  Abbey tried to disguise her embarrassment with a laugh. “Sorry! Talking to myself!”

  The woman smiled. “I understand. I’ve got five kids and sometimes I talk to myself just to have an adult conversation. Honey, whatever it is that you’ve just decided to do, you go for it!”

  Abbey laughed, but she watched thoughtfully as the woman moved on. Go for it. That’s exactly what she was going to do.

  ❧

  Mike smiled as the elderly woman next to him tugged on his sleeve. “Mike, Dear, could you please play ‘Red Sails in the Sunset’?”

  “Sure, Grandma.”

  He was sharing a piano bench with her. His grandmother had lost her ability to walk, and her sight wasn’t very good any longer, but her hearing was as sharp as ever.

  She loved music, and soon after she had moved into Golden Meadows, she had enlisted him to play some old favorites on the shiny piano in the fireside lobby of the retirement home.

  Usually he loved playing for her, but tonight his fingers were clumsy and found the wrong keys.

  “Something bothering you, Sweet?” she asked him.

  He grinned at her nickname for him. “Nothing really.”

  “There is something,” she insisted. “I can tell. You know, I can almost smell it. You’ve got a guilty conscience.”

  “You can smell a guilty conscience?” He laughed.

  “Yes, a bit. It’s a kind of fear, you know, and you might not be able to notice it, but when you’re like me and the only things you’ve really got left are your hearing and sense of smell, they get stronger.” She touched his shoulder. “Want to talk about it?”

  “Oh,” he said, his fingers running lightly across the keyboard, “I committed a sin of omission.”

  “You didn’t tell someone something?”

  “That’s right, and I should have. It wasn’t fair to her either. But my intentions were good.”

  “Well, you know what my Arthur used to say. The road to you-know-where is paved with good intentions.”

  “I have no intentions of going to you-know-where,” he said, unable to keep the amusement from his voice. “Guess that means I’d better take care of it, right?”

  “Well, Sweet,” his grandmother said, her thin papery cheeks dimpling with impish delight, “if this involves a woman, I’d say you’d better race to it and get this straightened out.”

  “If it were a man, I could take my time fixing my mistake, huh?” He couldn’t resist teasing her.

  “Sweet, there’s no doubt in my mind that I have the world’s best grandson. I couldn’t ask for better than you. But I also want great-grandbabies one of these days. I’m not getting any younger, and neither are you.” Her eyes, their brightness only partially dimmed behind thick glasses, followed him as he stood up and got his coat from the rack.

  “I’ll walk you to your room if you’d like,” he offered.

  “I’ll be okay here. But you’ve got work to do. Go get her!” She shook a bony fist in the air. “Go now!”

  “Yes, Ma’am!”

  He was still chuckling as he drove away from Golden Meadows and toward the mall.

  ❧

  Abbey had driven by the sign for Golden Meadows countless times, but she’d never turned down the lane that led to it.

  It was, like many retirement communities, near the hospital, but this was tucked back in a grove of trees. What seemed like several buildings were, she realized as she drove up, in fact one large building with connecting halls made primarily of tall, polished windows. On the front door hung a large wreath, its green boughs interwoven with twinkling lights. All in all, it was a bright and cheerful place, not at all like she had imagined it.

  The true test would be what the interior was like, she told herself as she parked her car. Inside, it might be the dreadful place she’d imagined it to be.

  But as she entered the door, she had to admit that she had been wrong. The front door opened into a great-room, the high arched ceiling allowing the biggest Christmas tree she’d ever seen. And it was real. The clean aroma of the large pine tree permeated the air.

  “May I help you?” A young woman behind the desk to her right beamed at her.

  “It’s somewhat hard to explain,” Abbey began, suddenly nervous as she put the present on the counter beside her. “You see, I received this gift from my aunt Luellen, who is a dear but a bit on the, well, loopy side. And no big surprise to anyone who knows her, but the present wasn’t for me. I don’t know who it is for, but maybe you can help me.”

  “Your aunt Luellen lives here? Are you sure?” the woman asked her, turning toward her computer.

  “No, no. Aunt Luellen lives in Brazil right now. She’s a missionary.”

  “How very interesting.” The glaze over the young woman’s eyes told Abbey that she was perilously close to turning away.

  “Let me start again. I have a gift for a woman named Claire. It came from my aunt Luellen. I don’t know anyone named Claire, but apparently she lives here, and I’d like to give it to her.” Inspiration struck. “Or, I could leave it here, and you could give it to her.”

  The woman behind the desk pulled back a bit, and her eyes narrowed with faint suspicion. “You want to leave a wrapped parcel for someone you don’t know? Oh, I don’t think so. It’s not our policy to do that.”

  “Okay, then can you let me know who Claire is, or where she is? I’d like to make sure she gets it, and I do have to get back to work.” Abbey glanced at her watch as if to confirm that.

  Never taking her eyes off Abbey, the woman dialed a number. “Claire? This is Nadine at the front desk. I have someone here. Her name is—excuse me, what is your name?”

  “Abbey Jensen. Tell her I’m Luellen Gregg’s niece.”

  The woman repeated the information into the phone. Her eyebrows rose as she listened to the response. “Are you sure?” she asked.

  She paused, then shrugged. “Fine. I’ll send her down to your room.”

  She turned to Abbey. “Room 108. Take the hall on your right, and it’s the fourth door down.”

  Abbey fled the desk and the woman’s wary eyes and walked as quickly as s
he could to the door of room 108. She took a deep breath and knocked.

  The door opened to reveal an elderly woman in a wheelchair. Her china blue eyes sparkled behind thick lenses, and she leaned forward a bit, as if to bring Abbey into focus.

  “Abbey Jensen? Luellen has talked so much about you, I feel as if I know you! Come in, come in!” She wheeled herself back into her room, motioning Abbey to follow her. “What’s Luellen been up to lately?”

  “She’s still a missionary in Brazil,” Abbey said as her eyes took in her surroundings. The room was lovely, done in clean white and bluebonnet blue, and as neat as the proverbial pin. A white porcelain cross hung over a small table on which a Bible was neatly centered. It was bigger than any Bible Abbey had seen, and she realized that it was undoubtedly a large-print edition.

  “Brazil? Last I heard it was Chile.”

  “It probably was Chile, then. I’m pretty bad with keeping up with her.”

  “Isn’t it exciting, though? Traveling through the world, spreading the Word.” The old woman’s face appeared almost transfixed. “She and I are total opposites of each other. She’s the world traveler, and the most I do is go down the hall for dinner.”

  But rather than sounding sorry for herself, she seemed quite happy.

  “By the way, I’m Claire Thorson. Luellen and I have known each other since we were girls. I have a scrapbook I’d love to show you if you have time.”

  “Actually, I’d love to look at it,” Abbey said, amazed that she really would, “but I have to get back to work. I brought your Christmas present from Aunt Luellen. She sent it to me by mistake.”

  Claire laughed. “Somehow that doesn’t surprise me. Luellen was always the one with her head in the clouds, just to be closer to heaven, we used to tease her. I suppose that means I have your gift, then.”

  She wheeled over to the small tree that was set up by the window and picked up one of the many packages under it. She held it close to her face, trying to read the name.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Abbey reassured her. “It’s not that important.”

  “A Christmas present ‘not that important’? My goodness, Abbey Jensen! Yes, it is!”

  Abbey grinned at the elderly woman’s honesty. Her eagerness about Christmas reminded her of Mike’s comment. Christmas mattered quite a bit to Claire. “You’re right. It is important, and here is yours.” She held out the slippers, now completely rewrapped in bright red foil with a shiny gold bow on the top. “But now I’ve got to get back to work.”

  “Where do you work?”

  “At the Cedar Mall. I manage Trends.”

  “Cedar Mall? My grandson works there. Maybe you know him.”

  “Maybe.” Abbey impulsively dropped a kiss on the top of Claire’s head. “But I’ve got to go now.”

  She opened the door to leave and there, in the hallway, still out of breath from running, stood Mike Tucker.

  They all managed to speak at once, and for a moment, chaos reigned supreme. It ended with a sudden blanket of silence as their words settled on them.

  “You’ve met Grandma, I see,” Mike said at last.

  Before Abbey could say a word, Mike took her by the arm. “Let’s go have some coffee,” he suggested as he steered her out of Claire’s room. “We need to talk.”

  As they left, Abbey saw Claire lift her hand ever so slightly in a fisted salute. And perhaps her ears were playing tricks on her, but she was sure she heard the older woman whisper, “Wahoo!”

  three

  Mike led Abbey into a small room that opened off the lobby. Several small round tables were clustered near a cozy fireplace, where a hearty fire burned. He poured them each a cup of coffee from the pot on the counter and dropped some change in the pottery piggy bank beside the coffee pot, moving with the easy grace of someone who knew the ropes of Golden Meadows.

  A few surprised residents lifted surreptitiously interested glances at them. When he nodded at some of them, smiling and greeting them, Abbey said through closed teeth and a tight smile, “Why don’t you introduce me to your friends?”

  He nodded at a table of three gentlemen, then sat beside her, sliding a cup toward her. “Because this way you’ll be the hit of the rumor mill. They’ll all be speculating who Sweet’s new girlfriend is.”

  “Who’s Sweet?” she asked, momentarily diverted.

  A stain flushed his cheeks with dark color.

  “Mike, are you blushing? Well, will you look at that? You are!” She grinned. “Are you Sweet?”

  “Yup,” he said, ducking his head. “Grandma always said I was the sweetest grandbaby boy in the world, and that soon became Sweet.”

  “I like it,” Abbey said truthfully. “It fits you, in a way. Plus, it’s, well, sweet.”

  Their laughter broke the uneasiness only for a moment. They had serious matters to work out, and Abbey went right to the point. “Mike, why didn’t you tell me that your grandmother was Claire?”

  His dark eyes were serious when he studied her face. “Would it have mattered?”

  “Yes,” she replied. “Yes, I think it would have.”

  “How?”

  She thought about her answer before speaking. “Well, I think I would have come out here right away.”

  “Really?”

  Annoyance tinged her response. “Really. I would have at least given it stronger consideration.”

  He shook his head. “I’m not so sure about that.”

  “Michael Tucker, I would too have come out here!” she protested, her back straightening. “How can you say such a mean thing about me?”

  Mike shifted in his chair. “Let’s face it, Abbey. You and I have known each other since we were kids. We never were buddies even when we were children, and the years didn’t draw us together; they emphasized our separateness. Your life has been focused on your career.”

  She tried to interrupt him, but he held up his hand. “Wait. Let me finish. I might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb, and after all I’ve said, I’m well on my way to the sheep gallows.”

  Abbey settled back in her chair, but every nerve in her body tingled with anxious worry. She felt exactly the same way she did during performance evaluations at Trends, knowing that she was about to hear something she didn’t want to and that it was unavoidable. The riot in her stomach turned and churned, and she had a fleeting thought that she shouldn’t have had the evening special at Pizza Fair.

  “We’re friends, Mike.” She congratulated herself on how even and calm her voice sounded.

  “Are we?”

  Abbey had heard people say that it felt like their world had been pulled out from under them, but it was a phrase she’d never really understood. But now she did.

  “Yes, Mike, we are.”

  “And who else are your friends?” His words were deadly quiet.

  “Well, let’s see. There’s Brianna and Selma at the store, of course, and, um, then there’s Terri. Terri and I have been pals since we were in diapers.”

  “When did you last see Terri? Talk to her? Write to her?”

  “Write to her?” She looked at him blankly.

  “Terri moved to Rochester in August,” he said gently.

  She put her face in her hands. She hadn’t known that. She’d been too busy to call Terri, too busy to drop by, just too busy.

  This was terrible, absolutely terrible. The pain was almost too intense to feel. It was as if she were having major surgery—without anesthesia.

  A touch on her shoulder startled her. “Is this young man acting like a cad?”

  Beside her a thin elderly man balanced on a cane. His hands shook with palsy, and his eyes were murky with cataracts. But his voice was strong, and his meaning was clear as he glared at Mike.

  “No, he’s fine.” She shot a furtive glance at Mike, then looked back at her defender. “He’s just offering me some suggestions on how I might improve myself.”

  Abbey thought the elderly fellow was going to raise his cane and shake it
at Mike. But instead, older eyes glared at younger eyes, and the gentleman said, “If there’s one thing you should learn, young man, it’s that you can’t tell a woman anything.”

  She tried to protest, but he continued, apparently un-aware of her interruption. “You can’t tell them anything because they know everything. My Eleanor, may she rest in peace, may not have gone past the twelfth grade, but she had a doctorate in Life. Good Christian woman too.” The man nodded. “Actually, you can’t tell men anything either,” he said to Abbey. “It’s not because they know everything—they don’t—but they’ve got this problem with their ears.”

  Abbey was fascinated by this man. “Their ears?”

  “Yup. And the fanciest hearing aids in the world can’t help with their problem. You can’t tell a person anything they don’t want to hear, whether they’re male or female.” He leaned on his cane thoughtfully. “So here I am telling you this, and you probably don’t want to hear me either. Go figure. Just because you’re old, don’t mean you’re smart.”

  “I think that you are extremely smart,” Mike declared, “and I’m glad you stopped to talk to us. Right, Abbey?”

  “It seems to me that Eleanor got a pretty good deal when she married you,” Abbey said softly, suppressing the urge to give the man a hug.

  She noticed Mike’s quick glance at her as the gentleman walked away. “What?” she snapped.

  “You sounded almost like a romantic for a minute there,” he said, nearly laughing.

  “Yeah, right. Your hearing is pitiful.”

  “Well, he did say that you only hear what you want to hear,” he reminded her.

  “And you wanted to hear that I’m a romantic?” She meant it lightly, as a quick and witty response, but as she said it, the meaning struck her.

  Mike didn’t know it, but his offhand comment—and it was an offhand comment, she was sure—had struck pay dirt. The problem was that this gushy romantic, which she had efficiently buried under the lacquered coat of her career, tended to surface at the most inopportune time, like whenever she watched Miracle on 34th Street or when she attended weddings or even when a certain greeting card commercial appeared on television. It was really quite inconvenient.