Candy Cane Calaboose

by Spaeth, Janet

  “You speak like someone who’s experienced that firsthand.” Abbey knew that the best way to derail Claire was to change the focus of the conversation.

  “God’s given me many a surprise in these years He’s had me on this planet. Some are good, and some. . .well, some weren’t.”

  Claire paused, and Abbey watched the wave of memories wash over the elderly woman’s face—twinges of pain mixed with uplifting joy.

  “I’ve had a good life, you know—not that I’m writing the last chapter to it yet, don’t get me wrong on that! But I’m happy with what the Lord has given me.”

  “Did you always feel that way?” Abbey asked. “I don’t know how to ask this, but did you have a career outside the house?”

  Claire patted Abbey’s hand. “You’re a dear. Yes, Honey, I was a teacher until I got married and had my children, then I took some time off. I went back for awhile after they grew up and started their own lives.”

  “Did you have a plan?”

  Mike’s grandmother laughed. “A plan? I don’t think they’d been invented yet! But I did have an idea of what I wanted to do and why. It’s not quite the same as the life plans people do now, but it worked at the time.”

  Abbey stirred uncomfortably. She lived so tightly by her ten-year plan that she couldn’t imagine life without it. But apparently Claire had done fine without one as detailed as hers. On the other hand, Abbey told herself, life had been simpler for Claire. Her life couldn’t have been as complicated as the one Abbey led.

  “We didn’t have money for much of anything,” Claire reminisced, “but we had lots of love. You hear that all the time, and sometimes it seems like they’re just so many words. But with us it was true.”

  “What was your husband like?” Abbey asked.

  “My Arthur was a God-fearing man—although he used to insist that he was also a Claire-fearing man. We had good times together. Lean times, sorrowful times, stressful times—they were all made better by the fact that we had each other. Abbey, don’t get so caught up in your career that you overlook the importance of having someone to love—and to love you,” Claire implored her with earnestness.

  “I’m not overlooking that,” Abbey answered stiffly. “I’ll get to it when I have time. I just don’t have time right now.”

  “Make time. Don’t build walls around your heart. Your career is important, but don’t let it become a prison. You have your whole life ahead of you, and I’m serious when I tell you that it’s a whole lot easier when you have someone to share the burdens and the joys with.”

  “Claire—”

  “Don’t interrupt your elders, Dear. I’m not through yet. Let yourself be open to love. Promise me you will.”

  “I will,” Abbey said, but mentally she added, In my dreams. What Claire said had the flavor of truth, but it left a sour taste in her mouth.

  “What are you ladies discussing so seriously?” Mike asked behind her.

  “We’re just talking about what to do with young men who sneak up and listen in on women’s conversations,” Claire said half-jokingly.

  “I didn’t hear a word,” Mike said seriously, but the sparkle in his eyes made Abbey wonder if he was being completely honest. “Abbey, I don’t want to hurry you, but we’d better get going.”

  “I’ll go with you to the front,” Claire said. “Mike, why don’t you go ahead and start the car so it’ll be at least a little bit warm for Abbey?”

  Mike grinned at Abbey. “She’s still trying to make me a gentleman. Okay, Grandma, I’ll go.” He dropped a kiss on her head. “I’ll try to get over here tomorrow. Abbey, I’ll pull up in front.”

  He left quickly, and Abbey and Claire proceeded at a more leisurely pace with Claire wheeling herself out of the room and down the corridor.

  As they started down the hall back to the great-room, a gentleman leaning on a cane turned toward them. “Is that Sweet’s lady friend?”

  Abbey recognized him from her first visit to Golden Mea-dows. He had been her champion when Mike had lectured her about friendship. She looked at Claire and grinned. “Yup, she’s right here, Sir. Claire’s his grandmother.”

  He waved a hand twisted with arthritis. “That’s not what I mean, and you know it, young woman. I mean you. Is that fellow treating you better or do I need to give him a piece of my mind?” He shook his cane. “I’d be glad to do it too. These young chaps have no sense of chivalry at all.”

  Claire grasped Abbey’s arm. “Did Sweet treat you badly? What did he do?”

  Laughter bubbled out of Abbey. These two darling senior citizens were ready to defend her honor, even at Mike’s expense. It was utterly charming.

  She leaned over and kissed Claire’s furrowed forehead. “Don’t worry. Mike has been a perfect gentleman.”

  Claire said something that sounded suspiciously like, “Rats!”

  ❧

  The busy evening left Mike few minutes of quiet to reflect upon the evening’s events. His grandmother had called him out there on some obviously trumped-up excuse. She’d given him some line about the sink in her room being plugged up, but by the time he’d gotten ahold of the Golden Meadows handyman and they’d gone to her room, the clog had miraculously taken care of itself.

  It was almost, he thought, as if she’d been maneuvering to get some time alone with Abbey. And considering how things had been going lately, that was probably exactly the reason she’d engineered the whole thing.

  And there was only one reason for her to want to have time alone with Abbey.

  He probably should tell her that her efforts were futile, that Abbey was the ultimate businesswoman, focused on her career only. Although, he mused, lately she had seemed to be friendlier. Perhaps his talk—no, his lecture—about friendship had gotten through to her. He still felt a bit guilty about how heavy-handed he’d been that day.

  Nevertheless, she’d needed to hear every word of what he’d said. He knew what it was like to feel so tired that exhaustion swirled through your body like a living thing. He’d been there himself, and he had to admit, there were times when he still overworked himself.

  But friendship was the glue that held humanity together. Abbey needed a friend, and he was willing to be that friend. Just a friend, he told himself for the thousandth time that night. That was all. A friend.

  He had the same uneasy feeling he used to get when, as a child, he tried to lie to his parents.

  His mind leaped back to the moment with the mistletoe. He’d truly wanted to hold it over her head, but he knew he didn’t dare. Friends didn’t kiss under the mistletoe, the contrary voice in his head pointed out to him. And even if he had tried, she probably would have decked him on the spot.

  But hadn’t he, maybe, seen hope spring into her eyes like a flash of light?

  nine

  “I don’t have time to do it,” Abbey said, staring at Mike as if he’d lost his mind. “You know perfectly well that I’m working eighty hours a week. And now you want me to do something like this? And in three days?”

  He was out of his mind. That was the only reasonable explanation. He’d taken total leave of his senses. Asking her to give a presentation on career guidance, and during the busiest time of the year at Trends!

  “It’d be fun,” he countered. “A nice change of pace.”

  “Sleep would be a nice change of pace. Mike, really, I’m sure—”

  “You’d reach so many lives,” he interrupted. “The Jeremiah Group is a great program. We got the name from the Bible verse, Jeremiah 29:11-14.”

  When she didn’t respond, he prompted, “The one where God says that He has plans for us.”

  “I’m familiar with the verse,” Abbey answered, with a mental addendum: Sort of.

  “The Jeremiah Group is made up of young women who need to hear what you have to say.”

  “Oh, yeah, right.” She snorted. “I don’t know anything special. What do I have to talk to them about?”

  “A lot. They don’t have guidance from
the outside, so I know they’d be interested in how you decided to go into retail, and how this job you have now is a steppingstone to your career goals.”

  “Mike, it’s Christmas. You know what that means. We never have a minute to ourselves.” She motioned around the interior of Trends and realized, too late, that they were the only ones in there. “Okay, so at this particular moment no one else is here. Come back in an hour or so. Then this place will be jumping with shoppers.”

  He didn’t say anything, and she added defensively, “It’s not like I could simply show up and give a talk. I’d need time to prepare. Three days isn’t enough lead-time. What happened to whoever was supposed to talk to them originally?”

  “She went into labor.”

  “Some people will do anything to get out of a commitment, won’t they?” Abbey said wryly. “I’m sorry. I just can’t. Not now. Maybe next spring.” She turned to refolding a table display of brightly striped sweaters.

  “If you don’t do it, the meeting will have to be cancelled.”

  “So? They probably have better things to do. . .like Christmas shopping.” She smiled at him, but he didn’t return her smile.

  “Abbey,” he said seriously, “these girls don’t have money to shop with. That’s the point of the whole thing. It’s a career guidance group.”

  She couldn’t do it, she reasoned. She kept coming back to the one irrefutable fact: She didn’t have time. When would she squeeze something like this into her already overpacked day?

  And besides that, she had no expertise when it came to guiding young women, especially those who were considered at risk. What would she say to them? She’d never addressed a group at all, let alone a selection of teenagers who were bound to be a reluctant and captive audience.

  She knew how it would go. She’d bumble her way through, and they’d laugh at her. Maybe openly, but most certainly behind her back.

  Actually, that was a best-case scenario. What if she said something terribly wrong. . .and messed up someone’s life?

  No, it was too much to ask of her. She couldn’t do it.

  “Plus I don’t go to your church.” She clutched at that straw. “I couldn’t talk about religion. All I know about religion is what I got from Aunt Luellen, and loopy as she is, I wouldn’t be surprised if she didn’t mix up Jeremiah with Niemeier.”

  “Nehemiah. That doesn’t matter. We’ll do that part. All you have to do is come in, tell the girls a bit about how you decided what you wanted to do for a living, and talk to them about goal-setting and career-planning.”

  “That’s all, huh?”

  “Yup.” He smiled at her winningly.

  “How long would I have to be there?”

  “An hour, hour and a half tops.”

  An hour? It loomed like a lifetime. She couldn’t do it. She wouldn’t do it. But her traitorous mouth opened, and she heard herself saying, “All right. I’ll do it. Let’s hope they’re not expecting too much.”

  “You’ll be great!” Mike said with enthusiasm. “I’ll talk to you more about it tomorrow and see how you’re doing, okay?”

  “Okay.” Abbey was sure she was making a monstrous mistake, but it couldn’t be that bad, could it?

  Mike turned at the entrance to Trends. “Oh, one more thing, Abbey.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Don’t quote from the book of Niemeier.”

  ❧

  Abbey laid out her presentation as she worked. While she was arranging a shimmering display of vests, she organized her biography. As she positioned another rack of evening gowns in an impossibly tight corner, she prepared the steps of effective goal-setting. She shifted sale purses to a table near the front of the store while she created questions sure to provoke vital and intelligent discussion.

  As she drove home, she thought of the young women. She would have benefited from such a group, she knew that. Whether she would have listened when she was that age was another matter entirely. Well, all she could do was go and share what she had, and if something took root in even one girl’s mind, it was a good thing.

  For the first time in months, Abbey felt really good. She was energized. She was excited. She tried to ignore the fact that she was undoubtedly nuts.

  ❧

  Mike picked her up at Trends an hour before the Jeremiah Group was to meet. “You look nice,” he commented. “I meant to tell you not to wear a suit, so what you have on is perfect.”

  This was the seventh outfit she’d put on. Her bed was piled with discarded dresses, slacks, and skirts. She’d finally chosen a long denim skirt and fleece vest with a turtleneck. She hoped she exuded a sense of confidence she didn’t truly feel.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  There. She was in trouble. If her voice was going to waver and wobble like that, and she hadn’t even left her store, she could only imagine what a nightmare her presentation was going to be.

  Mike put his hand on her arm. “Abbey, these are girls who are starting from ground zero. Some of them may even be below that. Don’t be afraid of them.”

  “I’m not afraid of them,” she said defensively, lifting her chin just a bit. “What I’m scared of is myself. What if I blow it?”

  “You’ll be fine.”

  “I hope you’re right.” Abbey’s hands were sweating as she pulled on her yellow mittens. Their bright wool reflected a cheerfulness she didn’t feel.

  Mike talked about everything except the presentation as they drove to his church, Word of Faith Community Church. She’d seen it before, but she’d never gone in. It was a simple pale brown brick building with a white-painted steeple and cross.

  Every muscle in her body urged her to turn back as she and Mike entered the building. But the window of opportunity closed quickly, and she was soon enveloped with warm greetings of others who were waiting inside.

  “It’s so nice of you to do this,” one woman said. “I have everything ready for you, even a laptop and a projector.”

  The woman took Abbey’s coat and introduced herself as Mrs. Robbins. “I’m one of the counselors for the Jeremiah Group,” she explained. “There are many people involved with the program. Mike, for example, coordinates the speakers. My specialty is helping the young women with filling out job applications and going to interviews.”

  “It sounds interesting,” Abbey commented, realizing it was a bland statement that didn’t really focus in on what Mrs. Robbins was saying.

  “The girls in this group—and they are rather young this time—need this kind of assistance. Whatever we can offer them is beneficial. In some cases, their parents don’t work, or they rely on seasonal or part-time employment. Two of them have been shuttled around in foster homes so much that they don’t have a clear picture of what a career even is. That’s why what you’re saying to them today is so important.”

  Mrs. Robbins motioned to a nearby room. A green and gold plaid curtain hid the interior from view, but from the way the drape moved a bit, Abbey knew she was being observed. She was only faintly aware of the curious gazes studying her covertly. She was using all her energies to keep from passing out from stage fright.

  Mrs. Robbins saw Abbey’s glance and smiled. “They’ll be very distant, almost detached, but don’t let that bother you. That’s their defense against a world that often makes them into outsiders. Being aloof is their way of turning the tables.”

  Abbey could understand that. She had been through a rebellious stage herself, although what she’d been re-belling against was still a mystery to her. It was probably just teenaged angst.

  “Shall we go in?” Mrs. Robbins asked, leading her toward the curtained room. Abbey was sure that mortal embarrassment waited for her.

  They had done all that they could to fill the requests she made and to make her feel welcome, and with fearful feet she went in to meet the Jeremiah Group.

  A flurry of activity greeted their entrance as the young women scurried away from the window that looked out on the narthex. They made a
great show of not being at all interested in the guest as they gathered in the far corner and talked lazily to each other.

  “Don’t let them deter you,” Mrs. Robbins whispered. “They’re dying to meet you.”

  I’m the one who’s dying, Abbey thought. This was the modern day equivalent of being thrown to the lions. Didn’t that happen in the Bible? She remembered seeing a vivid picture in her children’s Bible of a man sitting amidst a group of ferocious lions.

  Scrap that. Insert a picture of a completely terrified store manager surrounded by a small group of bored young women. Truly a horrific scenario.

  She looked at her tormentors. There were fourteen of them in attendance that day, most of them in their mid to late teens. Some viewed her with hostility, some with smiles, some with suspicion.

  Her mouth was suddenly very dry, and the first words she had formulated to speak wouldn’t come out at all. The teens watched her with increasing interest, inquisitiveness edging into their expressions as she continued to stand in front of them, mute.

  It was just as she had feared. It was like one of those dreams she used to have in which she was addressing Congress in her pajamas, the fuzzy white ones with the chickens printed in bright yellow. The women’s faces faded in and out again, and for a moment she thought she was going to be sick. That might not be such a bad thing, she reflected, because then she could leave.

  She turned pleadingly at last to Mike. He’d have to take over and save her.

  Sure enough, Mike stepped into the breach. He introduced her, then said, “Let’s open in prayer. Blessed Father, guide Abbey’s words as she speaks to the members of this group. Guide our ears that we might learn from her. And guide our feet as we go forth with today’s message. Amen.”

  Abbey shot him a look of surprise. “That was short,” she whispered.

  “Cool, huh?” Mike grinned at her and turned his attention back to the assemblage. One woman chewed on the edge of her fingernail while another curled a lock of her hair around her finger. They could not have looked less interested.