Christmas Jars Reunion

by Jason F. Wright

  Hope’s eyes flashed open. “Um, hello!” she snapped.

  Clark stepped back, partly embarrassed, but more amused than anything.

  “You scared me to death,” Hope said, sitting up on the table and fluffing the back of her flattened hair.

  “Obviously.”

  Hope slid from the table to her feet and straightened her dress. “How long were you watching me?”

  “Long enough to make sure you weren’t dead.”

  “What made you think—” She stopped herself and set down the Bible. “Whatever. You don’t just hover over someone, dead or alive.” She looked around the tent to see who else had been watching her nap. “It’s rude.”

  Clark extended his arms and invited a hug. “My mistake. You’re clearly alive and in good health. And, I might add, looking as beautiful as ever.”

  Hope took a deep breath and stepped quickly in and out of the hug. “It’s good to see you, Clark.” She backed away and picked up the Bible again. “How’s your dad? Did he come?”

  “No, but he’s good. Health isn’t the best, but he’s cranking along.”

  “Good. Tell him I said hello.” Hope moved to the chair she’d been sitting in earlier and folded it up.

  Clark followed and folded up the other.

  “You’re late, obviously. Most everyone has gone. Your mother is home with the grandkids. Your cousins went to the gravesite quite a while ago.”

  “The twins?”

  Hope nodded.

  Clark took Hope’s chair from her and rested both upright against the table. “That’s alright. I was pretty sure I wouldn’t make it in time. And I didn’t really know Chuck as well as most in town did.”

  “How could you not know Chuck?” Hope wondered, thinking that Clark must have forgotten their first meeting at the diner.

  He folded his arms across his chest. “I guess I never was a fried chicken kinda guy.”

  Hope’s face said, That’s odd. Then her mouth said the same thing.

  Three men entered the tent from the main opening. “Oh, sorry. We didn’t know anyone was still here.”

  “You’re fine,” Hope said and walked quickly toward them, grateful for the distraction. “We’re done. You here to take this tent down?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “It suited us perfectly.”

  She smiled politely and walked out into the cooling late-afternoon air.

  Clark followed. “Hope,” he called to her as she crossed the parking lot, heading to the back door of the diner. “I thought I’d hang out a bit and wait for the twins. Could I come in and get something to drink?”

  Hope opened the door. “I imagine so.”

  They wove through the kitchen and into the dining room. Chuck’s two sons, Joel and Mike, sat in a corner booth.

  “Hi, guys,” Hope said. “This is Clark Maxwell. Uncle JJ’s son.”

  They stood and shook hands. “Of course. We’ve met once or twice,” Joel offered.

  “Sorry about your dad,” Clark said.

  “Thanks.” Joel clapped Clark on the shoulder. “It’s been a tough week.”

  Hope handed Clark a glass of ice water. “I’m going to check on the guys outside. You’re on your own.”

  Joel and Mike sat again in their booth. Mike made notes on a notepad and Joel tried to see how many sugar packets he could stack before they toppled over.

  Clark sat on a round red stool at the old-fashioned counter and spun around to face the heart of the diner. A Christmas tree was up by the cash register, decorated with lights and silver tinsel and what appeared to be laminated coupons. Even the twenty-five-cent vending machine full of plastic toy bubbles had been draped with tinsel. Hidden inside the bubbles were tiny rings with funny chickens instead of diamonds. They might have been the only things unadorned by Christmas in the entire diner.

  On the floor by the register was an upside-down box top holding a dozen or more Mason jars. On the wall behind the register were large framed photos of Christmas Jars with handwritten labels under each one. Most indicated location and amount. Some jars were short and fat with lids, others were only half-full of coins but topped with bills. One looked like a plastic five-gallon water cooler full of pennies. Clark scanned some of the labels.

  ~~~

  $142.83—Buffalo, NY

  $374.40—WW Robinson Elementary School

  $3,103.50—Alpha Delta Kappa, Hot Springs, VA

  $29.55—Portland, OR

  $1,100—West Point Junior High

  ~~~

  Now that Clark had noticed them, he realized there were similar photos on every wall of the diner. He spun back around for his water and saw newspaper clippings displayed under the glass countertop. He’d seen them there before, but had never bothered to read them.

  ~~~

  Christmas Jar Saves Home from Foreclosure

  Christmas Jars Ministry Takes Flight

  Virginia Middle School Raises $800.00 with Christmas Jar for Accident Victim

  Local Cancer Patient Receives Multiple Christmas Jars

  Small Change, Big Hearts

  Christmas Jars and Hope

  Diner Becomes Home to Annual Christmas Jars Project

  ~~~

  Clark read them all. He’d learned of the tradition from his father and his family had practiced it, but not annually and not to the extent that his Uncle Adam and Aunt Lauren had. He had no idea it had become such a movement or that Hope was now a pseudo-celebrity.

  Clark lingered an extra moment on a story that included a color photo of Hope: Hope’s Christmas Jars Mission: Two Years Later. The piece ran in the Daily Record and told of the two-year anniversary of Hope’s inaugural Christmas Jar experience. It was also the anniversary of her reunion with her birth mother, Marianne. The story was written by Hope’s new editor, Aimee, and proudly reported how the Christmas Jar tradition had grown beyond the county and was finding traction across the state. Clark looked to the left and right and spotted even more clips neatly displayed one after another all the way to each end of the counter.

  Before he could finish reading another article, Hope, the twins, and their husbands reappeared from the kitchen.

  “Clark!” Clara and Julie burst through the swinging door and hugged him at the same time. He put his broad arms around their waists and lifted them both off the ground.

  “Look what I found,” Clark said. “Pip and Squeak.” He kissed both of them on the cheek before gently setting them back on the floor. Tyson and Braden gave a quick wave and slid into the corner booth with friends Joel and Mike.

  “You’re here,” Clara said. “So you’re doing it? I hadn’t heard.”

  “Not sure yet, but it seemed like the right time to come.” He gestured for them to sit and they took stools on either side of him. “I’m sorry I missed the service today.”

  “No worries.” Julie stole a sip of Clark’s water. “We’re just glad you’re here. How long are you staying?”

  “Until I decide about the shop, I guess.”

  “Hope, did you know Clark was thinking of taking over the business?” Clara asked.

  “I’d heard.” Hope took a clean rag and began wiping down counters that didn’t need wiping down.

  “I just don’t think Hannah and Dustin are happy doing this anymore,” Clara continued in a half-whisper. “And Dad would want them to be happy. It’s so much harder than they thought it would be. I don’t think any of us realized how much work the shop was and how much of it Dad was doing alone. I can hardly stand to go in there anymore because it just doesn’t feel like Restored anymore.”

  “It’s different,” Julie added.

  “Sure is,” Clara agreed.

  Clark finished his water and began crunching a piece of ice. “Who knows what the future holds, but I promised Aunt Lauren I’d spend some time here during the off-season and think it over. It’s a huge step moving here, but I loved your dad and maybe I’m ready for a change.”

&nbs
p; “What about that big baseball career?” Hope asked.

  “My heart’s still in the batter’s box, but my swing isn’t. We’ll see . . . maybe I can make it work here.” Clark slipped another ice cube in his mouth and began chewing it.

  Hope abruptly stopped wiping down the counters and carried the rag back into the kitchen.

  Clark waited to see if she’d return. When she didn’t, he stepped around to the other side of the counter and leaned over to whisper at both girls. “What’s her deal?”

  “Deal?” Julie said.

  “I’ve never seen her like this. She’s spun tighter than a kite spool.”

  “She’s just stressed,” Clara said. “You know how she gets. And you didn’t exactly leave on great terms last time.” She punched him in the arm.

  “Have you ever left on good terms?” Julie added.

  “Of course,” he said. “Chuck’s Labor Day picnic.” He smiled, already lost in the memory of a water balloon fight gone terribly wrong.

  Clara looked at Julie. “No comment, right, Jules?”

  “Right-o. Hope’s like a sister now,” Julie said. “More than ever. We love her, Clark. Mom loves her, too. And Dad thought the world of her. Hope misses him almost as much as we do. Especially during jar time.”

  “She’s just focused right now,” Julie added. “That’s all. If she seems cold it’s just because she’s buried in Christmas Jars.”

  “It’s taken off?” Clark asked.

  “Uh-huh,” Julie nodded. “Like no one ever predicted. Way bigger than last year even. People all over give jars now and Chuck’s has become the center of it—the hub. It’s not a formal organization or anything like that, but it’s become almost a Christmas Jars Ministry here. Some even call it that. Hope and Marianne run everything from here. Hope’s been on the news, in magazines. It’s a movement now.”

  “And your dad started it all,” Clark said. “You must be proud.”

  “We sure are,” Clara spoke up and Clark remembered how in sync the twins had always been. “After Dad died Chuck totally picked up the idea and ran with it. Chuck was a big believer in the jars. He probably gave away as many as Dad did in just a couple years.”

  “How’s Hope’s day job?” Clark asked.

  “Going great. Hope’s column was picked up this fall by some other papers. She’s syndicated now—probably in a dozen or so small papers, right Jules?”

  Julie nodded. “Uh-huh. It’s a big break. She changed the name, too. It’s called ‘Hopeful Words’ now. She’s getting really good.”

  Hope swung back through the door.

  “Quit fussing, Hope, and come sit down,” Julie said.

  “Maybe later. I’m having dinner with Marianne and Nick. They’ve got some big announcement.”

  “Any idea what’s up?” Julie asked.

  “Not a clue. With those two, who knows. Could be anything. I’ll see you all soon though.” She gave the twins each a hug and went to say good-bye to the four men in the far corner of the diner. She patted Joel on the shoulder. “If there’s anything I can do, call me, OK? Your dad would be so proud of his boys.” She hugged them all good-bye and walked back toward the kitchen door.

  As she neared Clark he stood and extended his arm to block her path. “Gotta pay the toll. Don’t I get another hug, too?”

  She smiled sarcastically. “You can’t afford another one.”

  “Ooooh,” the twins cackled in unison.

  “Come on, let’s start fresh.”

  “Riiight. We can start fresh when you buy me new shoes and apologize for dumping me in the river in front of my boss at the picnic.” She lifted his arm and passed underneath and out the door.

  Clark wasn’t smiling, but Hope sure was.

  “She’ll get over it,” Clara said.

  “Yeah, she’ll warm up,” Julie nodded.

  “To what?” Clark asked. “Freezing?”

  ~~~

  I saved all year and am so blessed to be able to do this. Will I do it again? Without a doubt. This has allowed me to reopen my heart.

  —Kathy

  Five

  ~~~

  In his hospital bed, Al crunched ice from a Dixie cup and stared across the room at the tiny television suspended from the ceiling. The dino-era television remote had an unpredictable demeanor he could relate to. It only worked about half the time; at the moment, it wasn’t.

  Al’s nurse had become gradually grouchier as the afternoon became evening and the last thing he wanted—besides another date with the bedpan—was to see Nurse Jessica again. Unable to change the channel since her last visit to his third floor room, Al had been watching an infomercial for a groundbreaking men’s girdle that promised better fitting slacks and shorts. He was quickly running out of ice . . . and patience.

  “Listen guys, trust me”—the announcer had a fake British accent that sometimes slipped into Australian—“your pants will feel like they were custom-made for your waist. Your shirts will drape differently, you’ll have the flat stomach you always wanted but couldn’t achieve even with sit-ups, crunches, or those disgusting diets. Plus, the patent-pending Flab Strap doesn’t just pull in the flab and seal your tummy in place, it also burns fat by raising your core body temperature with our revolutionary heat strips sewn right into the fabric.”

  If it didn’t end soon, Al was prepared to throw things at the tiny power button on the front of the television until it either powered off or the set fell to the floor and shattered.

  He turned away from the TV and noticed a nurse passing down the hallway holding hands with a young girl in a hospital gown who looked remarkably like his sidewalk heroine.

  Suddenly the Australian-Brit’s voice rose to a near shout. “Men, call right now. Don’t wait another second. And women, yes, women, you too, pick one up for your sweetheart who’s let himself go. Call in the next ten minutes for your Flab Strap and I’ll throw in a second Flab Strap, and I’ll ship it for free, and . . .” The pitchman’s voice rose as he stretched his hands out toward the camera with his index fingers extended and pointed at his eager viewers.

  “Wait for it . . .” Al said to the television.

  “There’s more!”

  Al pushed the nurses’ button. “Nurse? Please, any nurse.”

  A moment later Nurse Jessica appeared in the doorway. “Everything OK?”

  “Could you change the channel for me? Anything but this.”

  She stood next to the television and quickly flipped through the hospital’s eleven channels. “See anything you like?” She didn’t work very hard to mask her impatience.

  “One more time. Wait! What was that on channel thirteen?”

  She pushed the up arrow until the channel indicator read “13” and on screen a middle-aged man with a goatee was sitting beside a pool being interviewed. A graphic at the bottom read “Matt B., Farmington, Utah.”

  “I don’t want to exaggerate,” the man said thoughtfully, “but the Flab Strap has changed my life.”

  “Off!” Al blurted. “Just turn it off.”

  Nurse Jessica hid a grin, but not very well, Al noticed. “You could sleep,” she said. “It’s after midnight.” She checked his IV and pushed a few buttons on the monitor. “How’s the pain?”

  “Painful,” he said.

  “I can’t give you more medication without checking with Dr. Garman, and he won’t be back until morning.”

  “Fine,” he mumbled.

  “Try to sleep, Mr. Allred. It’s been a long day.” Then she mumbled under her breath, “Mostly for me.”

  He turned his head to watch her walk out. He’d decided the first time she came in that she was cute, but she was probably twenty-five years younger than he was, so there wasn’t much use being nice.

  “Nurse,” he called. “You ever tried to sleep with pins in your legs?”

  “Can’t say that I have, no.”

  “Come back and give me advice when you have.”

  She forced a polite smile and
began to leave the room, but before the door was completely shut behind her, she pulled it back open, returned to the television, and flipped it back on.

  Her next smile wasn’t forced at all.

  ~~~

  I received a Christmas Jar.

  It brought tears to my eyes and gave me goose bumps.

  It’s such a beautiful secret.

  —Karen

  Six

  ~~~

  6:45 am. Hope awoke in the same apartment she’d shared with her mother during college. The same apartment she’d returned to one Christmas Eve to find it broken into and ransacked. But most important for Hope, it was the same apartment where she’d discovered the tradition of the Christmas Jar, and, eventually, been reunited with her birth mother, Marianne.

  No one could deny the tradition and rapidly spreading movement hadn’t just changed Hope’s life, it had changed Hope. Once driven to win a Pulitzer for breaking the story-of-the-century and later to run the newsroom at the Washington Post or New York Times, she now spent her days expanding the Christmas Jars tradition and writing her syndicated column, “Hopeful Words.”

  The columnist gig began with her original Christmas Jars front-page story, the piece responsible for bringing Marianne back into her life and laying the first stones on her path to forgiveness with the Maxwell family. Reader reaction was so passionate that her editor asked for three additional columns on the tradition and her reunion with Marianne. The articles also included anecdotes from other real-life jar givers and recipients. Not only had Hope met her goal of putting herself on the map, but she’d also made famous the Daily Record, Chuck’s Chicken ’n’ Biscuits, and the tradition itself.

  Hope rolled over in bed, slid her arms under her pillow, stared up at the ceiling, and replayed dinner the night before with Marianne and Nick.

  After leaving the funeral and the diner, Hope had hurried to Marianne and Nick’s home for dinner and a quiet evening after three hectic, frantic days. Their home was just three blocks south of Main Street and a short walk to Marianne’s salon. Hope was grateful to have them so close. Their cozy Cape Cod cottage offered an escape from life, from Chuck’s, from writing deadlines, and from bad dates.

  Hope and Marianne had slipped into a comfortable relationship. It wasn’t the same as she’d enjoyed with Louise—the woman who’d raised her—but it was sweet and tender in different ways. And though Hope still missed the woman who discovered her at Chuck’s and raised her as her own, she thanked God everyday that he’d delivered Marianne back into her life.