Christmas Jars Reunion

by Jason F. Wright

  Hannah was working as a waitress, something she’d not done since college, and Lauren was home with a house full of grandchildren.

  Clark sat parked in his truck two miles down U.S. Highway 4 on the lookout.

  Hope stood outside the diner on the phone. “I know,” she said for the seventeenth time, “it’s unbelievable.”

  “I’m so sad I’m not there with you,” Marianne said.

  “It’s fine. Aren’t you having the time of your life?”

  “And then some,” she answered. “This is unlike any place I’ve ever been. Of course. Books don’t do it right, Hope. You have to be here.”

  “And I’m glad you are. Truly.”

  “So what time are you expecting them?”

  “Anytime. Clark’s down the street watching out so we get a little heads up. Did I tell you the producer said they’re bringing two cameras?”

  “You did.”

  “I’ll try not to be in every shot for this piece since they’re flying me to New York for a live interview when the piece runs.”

  “That makes sense, dear.”

  “Do you know what could come of this?”

  “The sky’s the limit, Hope, it really is.”

  “I know, right?”

  “Who else is there today?”

  “The gang’s all here, for sure. They’re excited. And Al’s here, of course, doing his thing,”

  Marianne paused. “His thing? What’s his thing, exactly?”

  “Oh, you know—organizing, giving ideas. Making phone calls. This interview wouldn’t be happening without Al pulling some strings.”

  “Interesting.”

  “Yessiree . . . He’s been really helpful, I have to admit.”

  “You trust him?”

  “Sure. Why wouldn’t I? He’s a bit of a salesman, yeah, but he’s committed. I can’t complain about that, right?”

  “I guess not . . . Oh, boy, I’ve got to go, the tour bus is leaving. I love you.”

  “Love you, too. A hug to Nick.”

  The line went quiet and Hope hung up. This is the big time, she thought, blowing warm air into her hands.

  “Here we go!” Hannah opened the back door and whistled for Hope’s attention. “How do I look?”

  But Hope didn’t hear the question. She turned and faced her. “How do I look?”

  Hannah smiled. “Like a vision.”

  The network team from New York took control of Chuck’s like they were the new owners. They rearranged booths for better shots, shifted pictures from one nail to another, powdered noses without bothering to ask, and used every outlet they could, lighting the diner so bright it could have been Chuck’s newest franchise on the sun.

  Gayle kept her distance, content to soak in Hope’s biggest moment in the national spotlight. She sat at a table with Al as far away from the lights and cameras as possible.

  Joel and Mike hovered near the segment producer, determined to protect the image, good reputation, and homegrown feel of Chuck’s. No one had crossed their imaginary line just yet, but they were willing to defend it if things became uncomfortable.

  The two cameras were set up at opposing angles, focusing on the same front-window booth where Hope had been discovered twenty-five years before. The producer interviewed Mike and Joel, Randall, Hannah, Preacher Longhurst, and even Lili, Chuck’s chicken-suit-wearing granddaughter. Lauren arrived late, Hope noticed, but still in time for a turn before the cameras. She spoke of Adam’s role in the spreading of the tradition and praised Hope for tastefully taking it to the next level.

  While the camera crew was shooting exterior shots of the diner and the famed Cluck Truck, three teachers from the preschool Hope once attended arrived to deliver a total of twenty-four small jars. Known to every child in town as simply Miss Stephanie, Miss Corinda, and Miss Nan, the three dedicated women presented eight jars each. “We trust you,” Miss Stephanie said to Hope, “to distribute these to people with the greatest need.”

  The producer gushed about what “great TV” the teachers had provided to the story.

  Gayle was asked three times to go on camera, and the producer made a more compelling case with each request. Eventually Gayle agreed, making a short statement, and finishing with, “But this isn’t about me. It’s about Hope and the jars. We just give them a headquarters for their work—”

  “Ministry,” Hope corrected, and the producer liked it so much he had Hope use the word during her own sit-down interview. She’d planned to anyway.

  Everyone agreed Hope shined. She sat for a portion of the questions, but stood without warning to point out the heartfelt letters and news articles on the walls and under the glass countertop. As the cameras rolled, she also posed in front of the Board and explained their mission of 1,001 jars. “A record,” she claimed, “for our little unofficial non-profit ministry.”

  Two hours after descending on Chuck’s, the cameras, lights, and boom mics were loaded back into a long rental van. “I think we’ve got what we need here,” the producer said. “Mrs. Maxwell offered to let us swing by and get a few shots of their place. So we’re gone.”

  “I’ll come along,” Hope said. “Just in case, you know, in case you need anything else from me.”

  “Sure. Fine.” The producer saw Al sitting at Gayle’s table. “Why don’t you come too?”

  “I’d love to,” Al answered, and before the words had traveled across the diner, he’d risen to his feet and mounted his crutches.

  Hope stole a look at Gayle, raised her eyebrows, and followed them all out to the parking lot.

  “Al, why don’t you ride in the van,” the producer said. “It’ll be a heckuvalot easier to get in and out of with that bum leg.”

  Al agreed and climbed in.

  Hope climbed in too, but not in the van—in her own car. She trailed very closely behind.

  ~~~

  I found a shiny new penny on the roadside, my first for this year’s Christmas Jar. I now have a new, anonymous (and thus profoundly influential), way to give, as I have received.

  —Marie

  Twenty-Two

  ~~~

  It took some time, but the excitement in Chuck’s eventually trailed off and the diner slowly emptied. Only Gayle remained; she sat at the same table where she’d been all afternoon. In the back, Randall, a dishwasher, and two part-time waitresses finally ate their own late-lunch.

  Gayle stared through the window at the field where Chuck’s funeral had played out under the giant green tent. So much had happened since his funeral just three weeks earlier, she’d hardly had a moment to relive that afternoon and replay Preacher Longhurst’s remarks in her mind.

  It’s a cliché, she thought, but the day was more a celebration of life than a day of grief. Just as he wanted.

  As she lost herself under the tent, the television crew’s van pulled back into the lot and Gayle watched the producer help Al step out. He handed Al his crutches, shook his hand, patted him on the back, and then climbed back in the van. They drove off, and Al swung his way in the front door of the diner.

  “You’re back,” Gayle said.

  “You’re still here.”

  “Just enjoying the quiet. At last.”

  “It is quiet, isn’t it?” Al noticed that, for the first time since his arrival in town, the diner was empty. “I’m an idiot. I should have had them drop me off at the hotel. I wasn’t thinking.”

  “Nonsense. Have a seat and enjoy the quiet for a moment.”

  He took his same seat from earlier, directly opposite Gayle, but the sun had dipped just enough that the light now drenched Al’s chair. He put his crutches in the chair instead and moved around to Gayle’s side of the table.

  The same Christmas music that had been on repeat all afternoon played in the background.

  “What a day, huh?” Al said.

  “It was something to behold, that’s for sure.” She looked at him. “How’d it go at the Maxwell’s?”

  “Great, I figure.
I don’t see how the story can go wrong. Hope’s a natural on camera, and I’m good with networking and making things click. I think that number over there is going to look small by the time we’re done.”

  “You’re confident.”

  “Of course. These opportunities are so rare in life, I just feel so lucky to have stumbled into this one. Something’s happening here, don’t you feel it?”

  “I suppose I do. Hope certainly appreciates your help lately, even if she forgets to tell you. I know she does.”

  Al was lost in his own thoughts. He hadn’t noticed before just how tired Gayle’s eyes were. He wondered if she’d had a full night’s sleep since her husband’s funeral. “How are you holding up?”

  Gayle’s eyes brightened a shade. “I’m hanging in there. You’re kind to ask. Thank you.”

  “I had to wonder if you’ve been lost in the shuffle the last few days.” Al looked at the Board across the diner.

  Gayle looked away from Al and out the window. “Oh, no, I wouldn’t go that far.”

  “Still, you’ve been so graceful. At least from my view. It must be hard to lose your husband.”

  Gayle nodded.

  “I wish I could have met him. From all I’ve heard about him he was really something.”

  “Oh, he was something alright,” Gayle said, staring at the Cluck Truck in the parking lot. “It’s not losing a husband that’s hard. It’s losing a best friend.”

  “I’ve never thought of it like that.” Despite his many relationships, Al had never had a best friend who was also his girlfriend or fiancée or wife. For Al, best friends were the guys who went with you to games, car shows, and fishing trips. Guys who laughed at your edgy jokes.

  “Have you ever been married, Al?”

  He hesitated.

  “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. That’s not my business.”

  “No, it’s fine. I’ve been married, yes. Just . . . just not very well.”

  “That’s an interesting way to put it,” Gayle said with kindness, not judgment, in her voice.

  Al took a drink of the same watered-down lemonade he’d left behind. “I don’t know. I’ve been a slow learner, I figure.”

  “At least you admit that. Most relationships end because one or the other—or both—think they’re the ones doing everything perfectly. When the reality is that relationships are meant to be imperfect; at least that’s the way Chuck and I saw it. That’s what makes a good marriage so wonderful. They don’t happen by accident.”

  “I always figured if it was meant to be it would be natural. You know, it wouldn’t take so much work.”

  Gayle laughed. “Not in my experience. We loved each other, but we worked at it. Constantly. We almost gave up more than once early on.”

  “Really?”

  “Sure. We loved each other dearly. That much we never doubted. But it took work every day. Discussion. Compromise. I teased him when he said this, but after one of our biggest fights—it was about the diner actually—Chuck said we were two rough stones stuck together, plunging down a long, steep and challenging hill, being smoothed and refined as we rolled along together. But it wasn’t just life’s hill doing the smoothing, it was us.”

  Al pictured the faces of the women whose hearts he’d won and broken. “I’m afraid more often than not I’ve been the hill,” he said.

  Gayle looked at his profile. “We’re always hardest on ourselves, Al.”

  “Hard to believe,” he said. “Plenty of people have been plenty hard on me.” He hadn’t necessarily meant to make the conversation about himself, yet somehow he had. “Maybe if I had been harder on myself I would have realized how much better I could have been doing.”

  Gayle began to reply, but the front door opening startled her.

  “Hello,” Lauren said.

  Gayle stood and hugged her. “I didn’t think I’d be seeing you again today.”

  Lauren looked down at Al. “I just needed a break. The house is full of kids and grandkids, and some kids I’m not sure I even recognize.” She looked back at Gayle and smiled. “And I wanted to check on you.”

  “You’re wonderful, but you didn’t need to come all the way back over for that.”

  “We widows have to stick together,” Lauren said. “Don’t we now?”

  Gayle grinned but wasn’t nearly comfortable with the term yet.

  “How about you two?” Lauren asked, looking down at Al again.

  Gayle extended her hands and did a full rotation. “It’s a miracle. Quiet at Chuck’s. This doesn’t happen very often, does it?”

  “Not lately,” Lauren said.

  Al shuffled to his feet. “I should get going. Big day tomorrow.”

  “Can I give you a ride?” Gayle said.

  “No, I’ll—”

  “How about I run him back?” Lauren offered. “You go home, Gayle, and get some rest. Big couple of days coming.”

  “You sure? I was thinking maybe I’d visit the cemetery for a moment before dark.”

  “Wonderful idea,” Lauren said. “Go do that. I’ll take care of our friend.”

  Gayle hugged Lauren good-bye and thanked Al for the pleasant conversation. When he said “You’re welcome” and extended his hand, Gayle hugged him instead.

  Then she pushed through the swinging door into the kitchen to say good-bye to the staff.

  “Ready?” Lauren asked Al as she handed him his crutches.

  “Uh-huh.”

  As they pulled off onto the highway and toward Al’s temporary home, Lauren asked matter-of-factly, “Can we talk?”

  ~~~

  My family received a jar with money in it.

  It was just enough to pay an overdue electric bill.

  I feel this was a miracle.

  —Ashley

  Twenty-Three

  ~~~

  December 23rd

  I wish you were here.”

  “I know you do,” Marianne said. “But Hope, truly, what could I do that you’re not doing so brilliantly all by yourself?”

  “It’s not that so much. It’s just so exciting. I can barely stand it. I can’t wait for you to get home. I have so much to tell you.”

  “And I can’t wait to hear it.” Marianne was enjoying her dream honeymoon even more than she ever imagined, but doubts were creeping into the joy. She began to wonder if she’d made a mistake. “Hope, are you being careful with the money?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “All those jars and all that money. It must be thousands—”

  “Oh, it is. Many thousands, I think. We’ve not counted it and I don’t think we will this year, so long as we hit our goal.”

  “Is the money safe?”

  “Of course. It’s all at the diner and it’s always being watched.”

  “And you trust everyone?”

  “You’re kidding, right? Of course we do, silly woman.”

  Marianne took an extra breath before finishing, “Just be careful, sweetheart. Be sure no one is looking to take advantage of the situation, of all the goodwill.”

  “I will.”

  Hope promised to check in again after the interview and reminded Marianne how excited she was that she was living her dream in the Holy Land.

  “Be careful,” Marianne said.

  “You too.”

  “I love you.”

  “Me too.” Hope hung up. She walked to the wall and looked at the pictures of Louise, replaying another of that morning’s phone calls in her mind.

  “Everyone was great,” the producer had said.

  “Really?”

  “The footage looks great, Hope. This is going to be a tear-jerking, heartwarming story. Everyone is really amped up here.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, yes, yes. Oh, and we’ve got a little surprise for you, too. You’ll love it. It’s great TV.”

  “Awesome!”

  “And seriously, we’re going to blow up that number on your white board.”

 
“I hope you’re right.”

  “I am. See you tomorrow morning in New York. My assistant will call with logistics for your car.”

  “Car?”

  “We’re sending a limo.”

  “Oh, right, of course.”

  And we’re going to blow up that number on your white board. She loved the thought. And we’re going to blow up that number on your white board.

  Hope’s stomach was a knot of excitement and anxiety.

  “Knock knock.” Clark pushed her apartment door open. “You always leave this thing open?”

  “I do when I know a cute boy is coming over.”

  Clark licked his pinkie and ran it across his eyebrow.

  “Sit for a minute. I need a couple favors.”

  “A ride to the airport isn’t enough?” he teased.

  Hope didn’t hear it. She ripped a page from a legal pad and handed it to him. “Just a few things. Some of this is for Hannah, obviously, but she knows most of it already.”

  Clark read the list silently. “Who’s Mrs. Lytton?”

  “Another teacher who has some jars to drop off. Only two, but they’re loaded. Make sure they get locked up in the office right away. I get nervous with a lot of cash out front.”

  “You’ve got jars everywhere, Hope.”

  “Not with cash in them. When Mrs. Lytton called the diner she said they were mostly cash. More cash than coins.”

  “I didn’t know teachers did so well,” Clark quipped, but once again Hope hadn’t heard. She’d hopped off the futon and ran into the bedroom. She came back a minute later with a key ring.

  “Here’s a key. Do you mind coming by tonight and checking the front porch for jars?”

  “You’re serious?”

  “Yeah, I usually get a jar or two.”

  Alrighty then, his scrunched brow said.

  “Don’t worry,” she mocked. “I always give them away again.”

  He continued reading the to-do list. “These people I’m calling—you have numbers for them?”

  “Not here, I’m afraid. They’re on my desk at the newspaper. Maybe you could run there and pick them up?”

  “Sure.”

  “It’s a simple call. We’re just reminding them that we’re coming by tomorrow night with jars.” She took the list back from him. “This one,” she pointed, “at the group home—he’s the only one who’ll be surprised. I didn’t even know he existed until I got the tip. He’s way off the grid, but they can use the jars. We’re planning on giving them quite a few.”