Christmas Jars Reunion

by Jason F. Wright

  Marianne’s much-hyped “exciting announcement” was just that. After thirteen Christmases together, and two more working alongside Hope and the gang at Chuck’s in the Christmas Jars Ministry, Marianne’s dream was coming true.

  “Hope,” Marianne began after they’d finished loading the dishwasher together and joined Nick in the living room. “We’ve got some news, some exciting, wonderful, never-thought-it-would-really happen news.”

  Nick took her hand.

  “This has been a dream of mine for so long,” she continued, “but when you experience what I have—the trials, the heartbreak, the loneliness of being single for so long before Nick came along . . . Well, I guess you give up on things like this.”

  Nick winked at Hope.

  “When Nick and I were dating I told him this was a goal of mine, something I wanted—no—needed to do and I wasn’t getting any younger. I made him promise we’d do this. Because you know the older you get the harder it is to—”

  “Heavens, Marianne,” Hope sprang from the couch. “Are you pregnant?”

  Marianne looked at Nick, confused.

  Nick looked at Hope, confused and terrified.

  Hope asked again, “Well are you?”

  Marianne and Nick fell into laughter and in Marianne’s case, uncontrollable giggles, which were likely heard on Main Street.

  “Sweetheart,” Marianne said, wiping tears from her eyes, “what in the world gave you that idea?”

  Hope, still standing, put her hands on her hips. “Blah blah, the older you get the harder it is to—”

  “Travel.” Marianne finished her sentence and began laughing again.

  Hope fell back into the comfortable cushions of the leather couch.

  “Hope, Marianne is fifty years old.” Nick tried not to laugh, but it was hard with Marianne’s head buried in a throw pillow on his lap and her entire body shaking.

  “OK, OK,” Hope said, “I get it. Ha-ha, joke’s on Hope.” Even she couldn’t help but smile.

  Marianne sat up and fussed with her hair. “Oh, my, that’s one for the journal.”

  “How did we miss that coming?” Nick said and tenderly wiped a stray eyelash from his wife’s cheek.

  “Oh, my,” Marianne said again as she reached into her purse on the floor by the couch. She pulled out a handful of brochures and set them down on the coffee table between them. “We’re taking a trip.”

  “That’s the big announcement?”

  “Not just any trip, dear, a vacation. And we wanted you to be supportive.” Marianne looked at Nick. “Right?”

  “Of course,” he said, nodding.

  “That’s wonderful. Why in heaven’s name wouldn’t I be supportive?”

  “It’s a long trip,” Marianne said.

  “Terrific.”

  “Three weeks,” Nick said.

  “Fantastic, where are you going?”

  “Pretty far,” Marianne said.

  Nick nodded again. “That’s an understatement.”

  “This is so exciting! When do you leave?”

  Marianne and Nick looked at one another.

  “We leave in two days,” Marianne said as she slid the brochures across the coffee table to Hope.

  She picked them up. “Jerusalem?” Her mouth hung open.

  “All of it. The Garden Tomb, Bethlehem, Galilee, Jordan, Mount Sinai.”

  Hope stood and stepped over the table to hug Marianne. “This is your official honeymoon, isn’t it? You’re finally getting it! I am so, so, so happy you’re doing this.” Hope tugged on Nick and lassoed him into the hug.

  “Wait.” Hope stepped back. “You’re not nervous about traveling there? Isn’t it dangerous?”

  “Not as much as you’d think, dear. And that’s partly why we’re doing a group trip—there’ll be about fifty of us total. Strength in numbers and very good security.”

  “I guess that’d be true,” Hope reluctantly agreed.

  “Just one more thing, Hope,” Marianne said. “We’re also going to Cairo, to see the Pyramids, the Valley of the Kings, the Luxor Temple—”

  “The whole shebang,” Nick interrupted.

  “How long did you say you’d be gone?” Hope asked.

  Nick and Marianne sat again and pulled Hope down on the couch between them. “That’s the thing, sweetheart, it’s a three-week trip because there’s so much ground to cover.”

  Once again Hope did math in her head. “Oh.”

  “Is that alright? I never thought it would work out this way, I really didn’t, but we’re saving money by going on a tour with other couples, and it’s a special December trip. We’ll wake up Christmas morning in Bethlehem. Imagine that!”

  Hope did. And though she’d miss them both and their annual dinner at Chuck’s, she knew Marianne deserved nothing less.

  “I think it’s the sweetest thing ever.” Hope kissed Nick on the cheek. “You’re a good man.”

  “You’ll be OK with the project this year?” Marianne patted Hope’s hand. “Because honestly, Hope, that’s what made this so hard. Not being here to help you with the jars. I told Nick probably a hundred different times we should cancel. Especially with Chuck’s passing. It’s a lot to leave you with.”

  “Now stop. Don’t you dare. We’ll be fine. Gayle needs to be busy right now anyway. So she’ll carry a little extra load. Plus with Lauren, Eva, Hannah, the twins—we’ll get it done.”

  All three stood up and Marianne again pulled Hope into a tight embrace. But this time she didn’t let go before speaking. “I love you, Hope Jensen. You’re such a good girl. Louise would be so proud of you this year.”

  “You think?”

  “I know,” Marianne said. “Thank you for being happy for us. Now you give those jars away, you change some lives, and then you write all about it just like we planned.”

  “I will,” Hope said, still wrapped up in Marianne’s arms.

  “Nick says we’ll have Internet access at most of the places we’re staying, maybe all of them, so I’ll be watching for your columns.” She finally released her and put her hands on her face. “You can do it.”

  “Thanks.” She looked into Marianne’s eyes. “I’ll break the record, trust me. I’ll give away more jars than ever. I’ll do it for Adam, for Chuck, for you. I promise.”

  “Just remember,” Marianne said with just the slightest hint of authority. “It’s not about an army of jars. It’s about one. One jar. One birth. One Savior.”

  ~~~

  I feel so blessed. God has given me so much and I just can’t imagine why He allowed me to be blessed even more with this Christmas Jar. I am very humbled.

  —Kimberly

  Seven

  ~~~

  Mr. Allred?”

  Al heard the voice, but was convinced it was the public address announcer in his dream where he’d just won the gold medal in ironing-board surfing on the North Shore.

  “Mr. Allred? It’s Dr. Garman.”

  Al opened his eyes just enough to see the too-young and too-slender doctor standing over him. He didn’t know what blinded him more: the lights above, the doctor’s cleanly pressed smock, or the doctor’s perfectly white teeth.

  “Welcome back,” Dr. Garman said. “You slept well.”

  “I did?”

  “You sure did. Night shift said you had a difficult time dozing off, so a colleague approved something a bit stronger for sleep.”

  “A bit?”

  Dr. Garman smiled. “You slept for fourteen hours.”

  “So why do I feel worse than I did right after the surgery?”

  “That will fade. We’ve still got heavy meds in your drip.” Dr. Garman flipped open Al’s chart and made some notes. “How’s the leg?”

  “I feel like the Ten-Million-Dollar Man.”

  The doctor met Al’s sarcasm with the same “Whatever” reaction he’d flashed when he’d first been introduced to Al’s sense of humor twenty-four hours earlier. “Let’s take a look.” He pulled the blanket
back and checked the bandages. “Oh, very well done. You stayed nice and dry through the night. Good job.”

  “Gee thanks, kiddo.”

  “Touché.” He gave a thumbs-up. “So here’s the plan of attack, Mr. Allred. We’re going to keep you another day. Surgery went well, took longer than expected, but the result was positive. Sometime tomorrow we’ll put the leg in a cast and get you home. I thought we’d need to go all the way to the hip, but the damage was confined below the knee. You’re going to be sore, the knee especially, but you’ll get a calf-and-ankle cast only.” He started writing on the chart again. “Take it easy, as easy as life will allow, and come back in a few weeks.”

  “Why?”

  “X-rays. We’ve got to be sure the pins don’t move around on us.”

  Dr. Garman covered Al’s leg again and adjusted his IV. “It doesn’t sound or feel like it today, but you’ll be fine. Your break was serious and there was a lot of bone to piece back together, but I’ve seen worse. You’ll make it. Be patient, take your time to heal, and you’ll be back to normal in no time.”

  “What about working?”

  “You can work in a couple days, if you feel up to it, but you’ll still need to keep the leg elevated as much as possible. Maybe a pillow on the chair next to you, something like that.”

  “Driving?”

  “In this cast? No. I’m afraid you won’t be driving for a month—you shouldn’t be that is, but I can’t baby-sit you. Play it by ear depending on how fast you heal.”

  “Terrific.” Already Al was wondering how long it would take for Cowboy Craig to pick up the keys to the van and warehouse.

  “But there’s good news,” Dr. Garman said. “You’ve got visitors. They’ve been in the lobby for two hours waiting for you to wake up.”

  “Visitors?”

  “Yes, I’ll send them down.” He pulled open the door, but Al’s voice stopped him.

  “Is one of them wearing a cowboy hat?”

  Dr. Garman shook his head and left.

  Moments later the little girl and her mother opened the door. The girl carried a shoebox with both hands. Her mother carried a plate of pecan brownies.

  “Hi, Mr. Allred,” the girl said. “How are you?” She began to sit on the side of his bed, but her mother tugged on the back of her pants. “No, no, dear, we can stand. We have to be very, very careful around Mr. Allred. He’s in a lot of pain.”

  The girl set the heavy shoebox on the bed instead. “Does your leg still hurt?”

  “Oh, yes,” he stammered. He put his hands at his sides and pushed himself up to a half-sitting position for the first time since tumbling down the stairs and snapping his leg into several pieces.

  The girl leaned in and probably meant to whisper, but it came out only slightly softer than her typical too-loud speaking voice. “My name is Lara Ross, or Queen Lara, or just Queen if you like, and this is my mother, Laura, but with a U, in case you forgot.”

  “He didn’t forget,” Laura said.

  “Of course not,” Al answered. “You don’t forget names like that.” Al didn’t recall ever actually knowing their names, but he was sure he wouldn’t forget them now. He reached for his water but quickly realized Dr. Garman had moved the tray back when he accessed the IV stand.

  “Here, let me,” Laura said and she handed him the cup.

  “Thanks,” he said and took a long drink, capturing an ice cube with his teeth before stretching again to reach the tray he knew was still out of reach.

  “I got it,” Laura offered.

  “Thanks.”

  As Al pushed himself up a few more inches, the door cracked open and an unfamiliar nurse poked her head in. “Hi, Queen. I thought that was you I saw downstairs.”

  “Hi, Nurse James!” Queen ran and hugged her in the doorway.

  Nurse James bent down and whispered something in Queen’s ear.

  Queen covered her mouth and giggled. “Yes, ma’am. See you tomorrow.”

  The nurse waved good-bye to Queen’s mother and let the door shut behind her.

  “We don’t want to keep you, but we brought you some brownies. We thought you might enjoy something from outside the hospital.” Laura set the plastic-wrap-covered paper plate on his tray and slid it within reach.

  “They’re the very best brownies Mom makes,” Queen chimed proudly. “Mom likes chocolate and she makes a lot of brownies—pecan, caramel, walnut—”

  “Alright, sweetheart, why don’t you show him what’s in the shoebox.”

  Queen started to take the lid off, hesitated, and returned it to its place. “We haven’t even found out how he’s doing yet.”

  Laura folded her arms. “It’s not polite to pry, Queen—”

  “It’s no problem.” Even Al was a little surprised the words came out. “If not for you two, I might still be lying on the sidewalk.”

  “I was the one who spotted you,” Queen said.

  Al’s eyes smiled. “Yes, you did.”

  “So is your leg better now?”

  “Not better, but fixed. They put pins in my leg to hold all the bones together.”

  Queen raised her hand. “Mommy puts pins in my church dress sometimes.”

  “His pins are a little different, Queen.” Laura walked around to Queen’s side of the bed and put her hands on her shoulders. “Why don’t you show him what you brought.”

  Queen removed the shoebox lid and pulled out a glass jar full of coins. It had a lid on it, but someone had tied it shut anyway with green yarn. It also had a black-and-gold label across the side that read Christmas Jar.

  She held it out for Al.

  “What’s this?” He took the jar and looked up at Laura.

  “It’s our Christmas Jar,” Queen answered instead. “We’ve been saving change all year for you.”

  “Not knowing it was for you, of course,” her mother said. “It’s a tradition we’ve done for a few years—ever since we got our first jar—and normally we would give it away anonymously, but Queen insisted we hand it to you personally.”

  Queen’s face lit up.

  “She can be persistent,” her mother added.

  “I bet,” Al said. He twisted the jar around, marveling at how heavy a few dollars in change could be.

  “That’s nice, but I can’t take it.” He set the jar back down in the shoebox.

  “Why not?” Queen asked.

  “I barely know you.”

  “So?” Queen’s voice rose.

  “It’s not about that, Mr. Allred,” Laura said. “It’s about a small token. It’s not a lot of money, as you can see, but we’re passing along the tradition the way someone passed it along to Queen and me. That’s how it works.”

  “I’m flattered you thought of me, and it was nice of you to come visit, and I will keep the delicious brownies, but give the jar to someone who needs it more.”

  “I think you need it,” Queen pressed and her blue eyes narrowed.

  “Lara Q! That’s enough now. Let’s leave Mr. Allred to rest.”

  Queen put the lid on the box, lifted it up, and cradled it in her arms.

  Al slid back down and rested his head on his pillow.

  “Is there anything else we can get you?” Laura asked.

  “No, thanks.”

  “Good-bye then,” Laura said. “Hope to see you around the complex soon.”

  He nodded and looked at Queen, but she simply turned around, the shoebox still clutched tightly against her chest, and walked out the door her mother held open.

  When the two were both in the hallway and the door had finally drifted shut, Al watched through the window blinds as Laura bent down and said something to her downtrodden daughter.

  Queen said something back and smiled.

  Then they hugged for a minute or two before Laura took Queen’s hand and they disappeared around the corner.

  Al ate a brownie, then another, drank a cup and a half of water, and dozed off to sleep again. When he awoke there was a familiar looking Chr
istmas Jar on his bedside tray with a blue hospital sticky note on the side.

  ~~~

  Mr. Allred, Queen always wins. :) The miracle starts with you.

  ~~~

  I was given a gift of hope tonight, a Christmas Jar.

  It said, “It doesn’t matter where things come from, what matters is that someone CARES.”

  —Robin

  Eight

  ~~~

  Hope spent a quiet morning in her apartment. She hadn’t realized how long it had been since she had nowhere to be, no one to comfort, no meals to plan, funerals to attend, or deadlines to meet.

  She took a long shower, so long, in fact, that she ran out of hot water, something she’d rarely done since the days of sharing a hot-water heater with her departed mother, Louise.

  Hope dressed, towel dried and combed her hair, fixed a bowl of oatmeal and ate it sitting on the futon with her feet propped up. Her toes needed polishing, she noticed, and she made a mental note to get them done before Christmas at Tres’ Bella, a new and swanky salon northwest of town. But she examined her feet more closely and, fearing the thought would be lost like so many others, she picked up the phone and called for an appointment.

  There were dishes in the sink, Hope remembered, some almost a week old. My mother would ground me if she were alive, she thought. She did them quickly.

  The scrapbooks Louise left behind hadn’t been cracked open since summer. Hope pulled one from the shelf and savored the memories. Photos of Louise in front of a home they often cleaned together when Louise still had her cleaning company. A photo of Hope sitting in a booth at Chuck’s Chicken ’n’ Biscuits celebrating her Sweet Sixteenth, with her arm around Chuck’s wife, Gayle. Another photo from the same day—Hope sitting behind the wheel of one of Chuck’s prized Mustangs. He’d let her drive it up a few miles and back down U.S. Highway 4. She suddenly felt blue recalling how she’d turned around that day in the very cemetery that Chuck now rested in.