All Hearts Come Home for Christmas

by Annalisa Russo

  “We had a short conversation. He stopped by to say hello and introduce Sadie to me and ask if I wanted to get together—”

  Mellissa jumped off her stool. “A date? Are you kidding me? Now I’m furious you didn’t call me. I know we’re not teenagers anymore, but really, Jillie? This is big news. Cleo will freak. She may never forgive you.”

  Jillian laughed, and realized it felt good. She had the best girlfriends. “Yes, a date, sort of. He suggested we get together and catch up. I really did mention Wendy as a possible friend for his daughter. She seems very shy, and I got the impression that, because of Tristán’s lifestyle, he probably has had to keep her secluded, kept in the background. I don’t think she’s had a chance to make many friends.”

  Melissa sat back down and sipped her coffee thoughtfully. “Probably had to be protected from the crazy world Tristán worked in all these years. So are you going on the date?”

  “Sure, unless he didn’t mean it literally. But I’d go if he asks again, if only out of curiosity.” She hoped her friend wouldn’t see right through the half-truth. “But we digress. Why did you stop over? Did I forget we were supposed to get together today? I’ve been a bit muddled lately.”

  Melissa let out a telling sigh. “It’s about Brad. He’s been deployed into a less safe area of Iraq. This is the third time for us, and each time is harder than the last. I guess, because it is his last tour, I’m frightened…”

  “Are you sure he’s been deployed elsewhere? I thought he couldn’t tell you where he was.”

  “True, but we have a code.”

  “Code?” Jillian set her cup on the counter and leaned in. “Spill.”

  Melissa blew out a breath. “If he asks anything about Aunt Polly, he means he’s moving to another area.”

  “You don’t have an Aunt Polly.”

  “Correct. He asked if I was going to her birthday party, when we Skyped today. I figure they’re planning a covert operation. It’s his way to let me know and tell me not to worry.”

  “He’ll be all right, Mel. It’s not Brad’s first rodeo.”

  “I guess. Our ‘Aunt Polly’ code means low risk, but I can’t help it. I just want him home safe. After we finished the Skype visit, I left Wendy with my mother and came directly here. I had to get control of myself before I scared Wendy.”

  “You did the right thing. And we’ll sit here for as long as you need to.”

  Melissa smiled. “Just being here helps. What can we do to take my mind off special ops?”

  Jillian grinned at her friend. “C’mon upstairs and help me pick out an outfit—just in case this date thing turns out to be real.”

  Melissa topped off her coffee cup and followed behind. “Perfect idea. But you do know I’ve been out of the game for a long time, right?”

  ****

  “Thanks, Jillie. That was just what the doctor ordered,” Melissa said, as she pulled on her navy pea coat and reached for the doorknob. Then she jerked around and plastered herself against the door. “Uh-oh. He’s out there,” she hissed. “And so is his daughter. What are we going to do?”

  Jillian peered around her friend and shooed her out of the way. Tristán and his daughter were bundled up and in the process of stringing twinkle lights over the bushes along the front of Abuelita’s home. “Perfect. I can introduce you right now, and the two of you can set up a play date for Sadie and Wendy.” She slid into her shoes, pulled open the door, and waved to get Tristán’s attention. “Let’s go.” She grabbed her coat off the rack and started down the front steps, then turned when she realized her friend hadn’t even exited the house yet. “What’s the matter with you?”

  “It’s him. I mean he’s one of Wendy’s idols. And he’s so darn good-looking. Does my hair look okay? I left the house in a hurry, and you know every time you look like a bum you run into all your friends. It’s Murphy’s Law.”

  “Oh, for goodness’ sake, get over here. He doesn’t bite, and Wendy will be thrilled to have a new friend.” She grabbed Melissa by the hand and tugged her toward the street.

  “Okay, okay, you’re right. You’re right. She’ll be tickled pink,” she said, considering the man and his daughter. “He’s pretty easy on the eyes, from what I can see from here. Just don’t tell my wonderful husband I said so.”

  Jillian smiled. “Your secret is safe with me.”

  Chapter Seven

  Jillian looked up from her desk and closed her plan book just as Cleo sailed through the classroom door, her long silver-and-gold tunic billowing in her wake.

  “Oh, boy, Cleo. What’s the matter? You look upset.”

  Cleo stopped and did a military about-face and started to pace. She pulled at her hair, which hung in beautiful black ringlets this morning.

  “She can’t play for the concert. She has the flu—the flu, just like Glen.” She waved her arms around her head. “Glen probably gave it to her just to spite me for fiddling with his precious concert.”

  “Slow down. Back up. Who can’t play for the concert?”

  “Henrietta, that’s who.” She swirled around and stomped back to Jillian’s desk.

  “Our librarian?” She needed more information if she was ever going to make sense of her friend’s problem.

  “Yes, of course the librarian. She always volunteers to play the piano for the Christmas concerts, and she’s out with the flu. Donnelly told me this morning she won’t be back in time to help with the concert. Now, where can I find a quick study for all the songs I wrote into the play?” She plopped into a nearby desk dramatically. “I’m doomed. Why did I agree to take on this project? I must have been crazy.” She bent to bang her head on the desk.

  Jillian laughed out loud, and Cleo jerked upright with murder in her eyes.

  “This is not a laughing matter, Jillie. You don’t know how much time—”

  Jillian caught her breath and raised her hands palms out. “Oh, sweetie, I have the answer to all your problems, and you will be remembered as the coolest teacher ever at Sheridan Intermediate School.”

  “Huh?” Cleo furrowed her brows and pursed her pretty pink lips. “This had better be good, Jillie, because I’m not feeling very indulgent right now.”

  Jillian related yesterday’s events quickly. “So, after school, when Wendy and Sadie get together at Melissa’s house, Tristán will be alone. I’ll introduce you, and you can ask him if he’d like to help out.”

  For once in her life, Cleo was tongue-tied. “Trystan Sol—performing at our little school Christmas concert? O-M-G! Do you really think he’d help me?”

  “I’m not above coercion. He did leave me high and dry once. I’ll lay a guilt trip on him if he hesitates, but I think he’ll do it. If what he told me is true, he wants to make a life here for his daughter. This could be an opportunity to contribute to the school his daughter will probably attend. I’ll call him this morning, and we can meet with him after school, if he’s available.”

  Cleo did a little jig, all her colorful accessories jingling. “If this show didn’t rock before, it will now. Jillie, you’re brilliant! I’m in your debt forever.”

  Jillian laughed. “Good to know.”

  ****

  Cleo and Jillian found a corner of the teacher’s lounge to settle and eat their sack lunches. “Bummer,” Jillian complained when she noticed her caroling sign-up sheet still had only seven names on it.

  “Not everyone is a Christmas aficionado like you, Jillie. Some of us can hardly get through the hustle and bustle of the season intact.” Cleo unzipped her plastic bag and took out her sandwich, apple, and bottle of water.

  Jillian sighed. “I guess a lot of people see Christmas as a time for more responsibility, but I see it differently, probably because I like to decorate and bake. I like the scents and colors, the sounds and the growing anticipation. You know, like how our students are, by the last day of school before Christmas break.”

  “Ah, yes…the week I write the most referrals.”

  Jillian sla
pped at her. “No, you don’t. I bet you haven’t written one referral this year so far, not even for the Brown twins.” She handed Cleo one of her Christmas brownies decorated with tiny wreaths made of slivers of green jelly candies and silver dragees.

  Cleo put the apple back in her lunch bag. “Yum. Okay, you’ve got me there. The Brown twins will live to terrorize another day. Hey, I forgot to ask you about your old angel costume.” Cleo took a bite of her PB&J sandwich. “Gracie doesn’t have anything she can wear, and her mother doesn’t sew. I don’t think they have money to buy fabric, either. What do you think?”

  “My old costume won’t fit her, but I think it can be altered to fit. Melissa sews. After I introduce you to Tristán, I’ll take the costume over to her house and see what she thinks.”

  “Great. Gracie has such a beautiful voice. She told me she’s joining us for caroling on Wednesday night.” Cleo licked the caramel off the edge of her brownie. “These are spectacular. Good Lord, I’d be two hundred pounds if I could bake like you.”

  “Ha! That’s why I bake and then give most of it away as holiday gifts. Better you than me.”

  “Now, that’s just mean and spiteful,” Cleo said, savoring the dark chocolate in guilty pleasure.

  ****

  Christmas shoppers packed Northfield Mall, where stores, decorated to the max, had Christmas music tinkling in the background, with artificial trees and every flat surface outlined in white twinkle lights. Lines of children and their parents waited patiently for Santa’s headquarters along candy-cane-lined walkways in front of Macy’s entranceway. Seasonal kiosks sold everything from flying robotic drones to white-chocolate and peppermint-dipped pretzels to assorted cheese-and-meat gift boxes.

  Jillian hurried into Cut and Caboodle only five minutes late for her appointment. “Hi, Yolanda. Sorry. I’ve been running a little late today.”

  “Not to worry,” the woman replied, swirling a gown over Jillian’s shoulders. The woman’s full, thick hair was several inches shorter than it had been at Jillian’s last appointment, and very holidayish with several green and red highlighted streaks. “I just finished my last customer. What are we going to do today? A haircut?” Yolanda ran her fingers through Jillian’s hair.

  “Yes, but I think I need a change. How about something new and kicky? Something daring.”

  “Hmm… Why now? For months, I’ve been after you to put in some high and lowlights and do a shorter, spikier hairdo.” She reached for her brush and pulled back some of Jillian’s hair to demonstrate. “See how your eyes pop with some shaggy bangs? Does this have anything to do with Brian?”

  “We broke up.”

  “Aw, Jillie, I’m sorry. And right before Christmas? That’s cold.”

  “No problem. I only had three months invested in him. It’s for the best. Now…go for it. I’m putty in your hands.”

  “Great! Merry Christmas, then. Let’s make you gorgeous!”

  Jillian was under the dryer, with silver foils in her hair, when someone poked at her shoulder. She adjusted the dryer hood a little to see out. “Yikes! What are you doing here? I’m awake.” She pinched her arm. “I’m awake. I know I’m awake. We’re in the middle of the mall!”

  Oprah-slash-bag-lady had morphed into a calypso dancer complete with swirling skirt and a bowl of fruit on her head. Her hoop earrings were as big as hula hoops. Jillian half expected her to burst out with a version of Copacabana. “What the hell…oops, sorry…what the heck? You look like Carmen Miranda.” She leaned out from under the dryer. “Please tell me I’m hallucinating.”

  Carmen folded in her bright red fingernails and pretended to look them over. “So, y’all don’t like Melah’s calypso dance outfit, Shug?” She snapped her fingers over her head. “Laissez les bons temps rouler.”

  “Melah? Is that your real name? It’s a beautiful name,” Jillian said, as she clapped eyes on the woman’s off-the-shoulder concoction of a costume: a bodice with puffed sleeves in black and white stripes, a tight, patterned skirt in three bold colors with high-low ruffled hems, and a bright yellow turban topped with a banana, a plum, and a bunch of grapes.

  “This was my outfit for my last Mardi Gras parade. Pretty, huh?”

  “You lived in New Orleans?” Jillian glanced around nervously. No one was paying them the least bit of attention. You’d think she and Melah were invisible.

  “Born and raised in N’awlins. I oversaw the muffulettas at Central Grocery and Deli. You ever been to N’awlins, Cher?”

  “Nope, but I have the actual muffuletta recipe from Central Grocery. Muffulettas are the greatest sandwich ever.”

  Melah threw back her head and laughed. “Nobody has the real recipe but me, Shug. Now, get up. We got to go.”

  “Huh?” She pointed to the foils in her hair. “I can’t go anywhere. Do you want to fry my hair? I might as well shave it all off. I can’t leave until Yolanda finishes me.”

  “No time for that. We startin’ now. I got my orders.” She yanked on Jillian’s arm. C’mon. I ain’t got all day. Well, I guess I do got all day, but we got to see what we got to see.”

  “You sound crazy again, and I’m not going anywhere with you. I’ll scream if you try to force me.” Even though she had raised her voice, no one had batted an eyelash. Obviously, nobody at the Cut and Caboodle was going to help her escape from Carmen Miranda.

  Melah sat under one of the dryers with her fruit turban under the hood. “Okay, we can stay by this place. I ain’t gonna force you, even if it’s for your own good. Don’t you wonder why I’m here?”

  “I figure you’re a figment of my imagination. Maybe I’m going crazy, maybe I…have a disease, yeah…probably a brain tumor. Or maybe I hit my head—”

  “You know it ain’t any of those, darlin’. Ask me something I couldn’t possibly know about you.”

  “If you can’t answer, will you go away and leave me in peace?”

  “Yep, gladly.”

  Jillian took a moment to think while Melah fiddled with the dryer hood until she was only visible from the nose down. “What’s my most treasured possession?”

  Without a moment’s hesitation, Melah answered, “A wrist corsage. Tristán Solano gave it to you for your senior prom. You keep it in the original box in the bottom of your maw-maw’s cedar chest. You take it out every so often and sniff at it. I don’t think it smells too good anymore, but you don’t care. It has a blue ribbon, which matched your prom dress, and red and white baby roses with what they call baby’s breath, but why they call it that, I dunno.”

  Jillian sat down heavily on an unoccupied shampoo chair. “But how…?”

  Melah disappeared from under the dryer hood and appeared right next to the chair. She knelt and took her hand. “Let me do my job, Boo. Please?”

  What was she going to do? Melah was obviously some kind of apparition, but apparitions couldn’t hurt you, because they were only in your head, right? Otherwise, how could the woman know her innermost thoughts? Maybe she should cooperate and just get it over with.

  “All right. I’ll go with you if you can guarantee my hair won’t be fried.”

  Carmen Miranda grinned and said, “Put your hand on my shoulder and hang on. This is the fun part.”

  Chapter Eight

  It was like being on the roller-coaster’s first gigantic dip. Jillian’s stomach lurched, and Melah screamed in her ear. When she opened her eyes, they were at Nola’s Diner. “Can anyone see us? I’ve got foils all over my head.”

  “Nope. We invisible. Watch. Just pretend we’re by the movies.”

  Jillian scanned the restaurant. As usual, Nola was at the grill, and suddenly Melissa came around the service window with a platter full of orders. She headed to the last booth, where a family of four waited for their food. “Hey! That’s my friend Melissa.”

  “Yep, I know everything, remember. Just watch.”

  Something about the scene felt familiar, like she’d seen this movie before. Sure, it was Nola’s Diner, and she spen
t a lot of time here. Then—holy moly. She watched herself come in the front door of the restaurant and wave at Mel. She took a seat in one of the booths. She had on the same outfit she’d worn last Wednesday. Mel sauntered over after she served the family of four and poured water into her glass on the table.

  “No Cleo?” Melissa asked.

  “No, she had to stay in with a few students.”

  “Have-lunch-with-the-teacher reward day?”

  “Yep.” She set the menu down. “What do you recommend?”

  “I suggest the special. It’s meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and green beans—out of the can, though. It comes with a small piece of blueberry pie.”

  “Okay. And I’ll have hot chocolate. It’s freezing outside. Hey! Maybe we’ll have snow for Christmas. Did you catch the weather report this morning?”

  “Blue skies and thirty-six, but don’t change, Jillie. Stay the optimist—or pessimist, depending on your feelings about the fluffy white stuff. Be right back with the special. I have a break coming up, so I should be able to take five.” Melissa walked away.

  Jillian scrubbed at her face. “This is the other day, when I came in without Cleo to have lunch. Why do you want me to see this? Or why does my subconscious want me to see this again?”

  “I’m not your subconscious, Cher. I told you, I been sent.”

  “But you’re not God, and you’re not an angel. So what are you?”

  “I was a cook in N’awlins. I done tol’ you already.”

  Jillian swallowed, took a breath, and asked, “How did you die?”

  Melah seemed nonplussed by the question. “I dunno. Guess it helps you move on by, the not-knowing part, I mean.” She fussed with the bunch of grapes that had drooped to one side of her turban. “Here we go. Watch.”