The old woman wailed, clawing at her hair with her fingers. Everything she owned was inside that cart. Well, almost everything. She had kept her surprise for the boy’s grave inside the shed at the cemetery, stored in a shoe box she had tucked away in the back corner. She still had that.
The cigar man helped the old woman up. He dug his hand into his soiled overalls pocket and pulled out a crumpled dollar. “It ain’t much, but it’s all I have.”
The old woman shook her head, tears staining her weathered face.
“Ain’t taken no for an answer,” Cigar Man said. “You take it. Buy yourself a cup or two of coffee.”
The woman’s hand shook as she took the dollar, her crooked fingers folding it into a tiny square. The only wheels she had ever owned were gone. And so was her walking stick. She nearly crawled back to the cemetery. No one took things from you there.
Peter
Peter ate his burger and fries.
“Another lager?” the bartender asked.
Peter looked at the bartender, who he thought looked more like a gangly teen than a young man, and nodded. He’d have one more before calling it a night.
He noticed a man pull out a chair for a curvy woman dressed in diamonds at the end of the bar. She slid into the seat and the man sat down beside her. The man ordered a Manhattan and the woman wine.
Peter smiled, remembering the night he proposed to Camilla. It involved a walk in the park under a starry sky and a crescent moon. She loved the diamond ring he had saved months to buy, but Camilla told him he could have given her a soda can tab and she would have been happy.
Camilla never took the ring off. And when she died, neither did he. It was the last thing he touched before they closed the coffin.
The bartender, a college student at Tampa U, reminded Peter of his younger self. He smiled, remembering his senior year at Penn State and the day he met Camilla. She was studying journalism and on the student newspaper. She interviewed him for a story she was writing on the university’s student-managed investment fund. He was smitten by the second question, and by the time the interview was over, he had her number. By the next day, they had their first date.
Back then, he didn’t have a lot of money. So he found things to do that were free or didn’t cost a lot. Their first date was to the creamery for ice cream and a movie on campus. Each week, they’d take turns coming up with a cheap date night. Camilla loved museums, so when it was her turn, the date usually involved a visit to one of the museums on campus. Her favorite was the Palmer Museum of Art. Her least favorite was the Frost Entomological Museum. She hated seeing dead things on display.
“A butterfly is meant to fly until it dies,” she said.
She was my butterfly, Peter thought.
Willow
Willow walked Max down High Street and turned around when she got to the high school several blocks away.
As a teen, she wondered what it would be like to attend public school. Willow loved being home-schooled, but sometimes she felt lonely. And when she was with her friends from church and they started talking about something that happened in school, she felt like an outsider. They tried to make Willow feel like she was a part of their world, but she never really was.
Her world was her music, and it remained so until the birth of her son. When Luke entered her life, he became her world. And when he died, a huge part of her died, too.
She walked past Mr. and Mrs. Hamme’s, a two-story brick house with a wooden swing set in the backyard. Luke had enjoyed playing with their twin granddaughters. They were the same age, and every time Willow saw Katie and Lizzy playing outside it made her smile and think of Luke. The girls were getting so big; it made her wonder how big Luke would be.
She passed Mrs. May, who was sweeping off her front porch, and Mr. Tillman, who was raking leaves. The last house before hers was Mr. Good’s. She hadn’t seen him in a while. Maybe she should check on him. He was pushing ninety, and he didn’t have much family. His wife had died when Willow was a child and over the years his world had become smaller and smaller. He rarely left the house these days.
Willow knew she was headed down the same path and she hated that she knew it and yet was allowing it to happen. Closing windows and doors might keep the pain out, but it also kept the joy out. Perhaps, Willow thought, it was time to open the windows and doors. Some fresh air might feel good.
The Old Woman
The old woman hadn’t realized how dependent she had become on the metal shopping cart. Losing it was like losing a finger or toe; you never realize how important it is until it’s gone.
She got on her hands and knees and crawled up the stone cemetery steps. When she got to the top step, she turned around and sat. The step was cold and it seeped through her black polyester pants, chilling her backside. She sucked in the cold air and a heavy breath bled from her parted lips. All she wanted to do was get inside the shed and collapse. But, without the help of her cart, the shed seemed as far away as the moon.
The caretaker, who was finishing up for the day, noticed the old woman sitting on the step without her walking stick or cart nearby. He figured something must have happened to them. He had never seen the old woman without them, and he knew she relied on the cart and stick to help her get around. He didn’t have a cart in the shed, but he could probably trim a tree branch and turn it into a walking stick for her, he thought. There were plenty of trees around.
He went into his shed, got a small hand saw and went in search of a sturdy branch that would work. He found one near the mausoleum near the back of the cemetery. He sawed it off and trimmed the smaller branches jutting out from it. He created a handle by wrapping one of the ends with masking tape. He figured if he taped it, the bark wouldn’t scratch her skin. When he was done, he took it to her.
She jumped as he approached, despite him making noise on purpose so he wouldn’t startle her.
The man nodded and his lips turned slightly up at the ends. He didn’t want to scare the old woman, so he maintained eye contact while he laid the stick down on the ground and slid it slowly toward her.
The old woman blinked her bloodshot eyes. She grabbed the stick and held it tight, like a dog grabs a bone and clenches it in his jaw. She wanted to make sure the caretaker wasn’t going to take back the walking stick. Most people took back what they gave her. And she grew up with people teasing her, thinking that they were going to give her something only to see them turn their backs and mock her stupidity and trust. So, she stopped trusting and expecting and hoping.
The man held up his hands in a gesture meant to calm her fears. He slowly backed up and then turned around and walked away. He never said a word, and neither did the old woman.
After the man left, the old woman used her new walking stick to help her get up from the damp stone step. Leaning on it for support, she wobbled to the shed.
She wasn’t sure how much time it took her to get from the stone steps to the shed, but it seemed like a thousand years.
She lifted the rock under which the shed key was hidden, grabbed the key and opened the door. The caretaker had spread out the sleeping bag and left a bag of peanuts he found in his coat pocket. He figured she needed them more than he did.
When the old woman saw the peanuts, it was like manna. She would make a feast out of them, eating one at a time, chewing each one thoroughly before swallowing. But first, she needed to rest. She was tired, so tired, and the plaid, flannel sleeping bag looked soft and warm. She crawled inside and pulled it up to her chin and closed her eyes.
The Next Day
Peter
It was all Peter could do to get through the grueling day of interviews. He was awakened by a couple arguing outside his hotel door in the early morning hours. He spent the rest of the night tossing and turning.
He sat across from the CEO, a tall man with long arms dressed in a black suit, white shirt and red tie. He was explaining his vision for the company and the role Peter would play.
Peter li
stened, maintained eye contact and nodded at all the appropriate moments. He even asked a question or two. But Peter knew he had made a mistake. He shouldn’t have come. His compass was pointing north, not south. And the sooner he shared his realization the better.
“Excuse me, Ron,” Peter said. “This all sounds great. It would be a great opportunity, but I don’t think it’s for me.”
“Are you crazy?” said Ron, sitting up straight in his overstuffed leather chair. “I’m offering you twenty grand more than you’re making to start. This is what we talked about over the phone. What’s holding you back?”
“Me,” Peter said. “It’s just not right for me. I’m sorry for wasting your time. I thought the move might be a good one, but I know in my gut that I need to stay where I’m at.”
Peter couldn’t believe what he heard himself say. The words tumbled out of him like coins from a winning slot machine. The money was great. He liked the warmer climate. It was a beautiful area. Why was he turning down this job before really giving it a chance? He knew the answer. He had always known the answer. He just hadn’t been honest with himself.
He knew he needed to start over, but he needed to start over at home. Running away from the hurt and pain wasn’t the answer. Maybe it was the easy thing to do, he thought, but it wasn’t the right thing. He had thought about going into business for himself. It’s what Camilla had encouraged him to do but he held himself back, afraid he’d fail. But lately the idea had appealed to him. The idea of taking a chance while he still could followed him like his shadow. And no matter how hard he tried to get away from it, it stuck with him.
Besides, the woman in the cemetery. There was something about her. Something so familiar. He couldn’t place her. But he wanted to see her again. Hear her play her again. Oh, such sweet notes. He still heard them in his head. He wanted to sweep away her sadness, like he was trying to sweep away his own.
He was caught in a sticky cobweb that was so complicated and had ensnared him for so long that he wasn’t sure he could find his way out. But for the first time since Camilla died, he felt hope. And every inch of his soul was telling him to hold on to that hope. North was where he needed to be.
Willow
“Mom,” Willow said. “What’s wrong? You sound out of breath!”
Willow had just gotten home from a run at the high school track. She was about ready to jump in the shower when the phone rang.
“It’s your dad,” her mom said. “He had a heart attack. We’re at the hospital.”
“Omigod! No! What happened? Is he going to be OK? I’ll take the first plane I can,” said Willow, sitting down on her bed.
“Wait until I hear from the doctor, Willow. Until we know more.”
“No. I’m not waiting. I’m going to get the first flight I can. I’m sure Sally will watch Max.”
Willow’s mom knew better than to argue with her daughter. Willow was stubborn, like her father.
“You know your dad’s going to be upset you made such a fuss over him.”
“Then he’s just going to have to be upset,” Willow said. “I’ll call you when I know my flight plans.”
Willow called Sally, who agreed to watch Max. By that evening, Willow was headed to Fort Myers. There were no available flights into Fort Myers, so Willow had to fly into Tampa and rent a car. She wasn’t crazy about the two-hour drive, but at least she’d be by her father’s bedside by later that night.
She hadn’t flown since Luke died, and as she boarded the plane her heart raced wildly. She took deep breaths, trying to calm herself. Sitting in business class helped. It gave her more space and she didn’t feel so closed in. She sat back and closed her eyes, silently praying that the flight went well.
She knew she would have to fly again some time. But she always thought that it would be on her terms, not because of an emergency. Maybe it was better this way, she thought. She didn’t have a choice. She had to get through it.
She had talked to her mother before boarding and knew her father had been moved to the cardiac unit. Her mother was waiting to speak to the heart specialist so she didn’t have a lot of information. Of course, that only made Willow worry more. She couldn’t get there fast enough.
Willow, an only child, had always been daddy’s little girl. Her father was her Zeus, her hero and she always felt that she never found Mr. Right in part because she was looking for someone who was as kind and loving and selfless as her dad.
A two-hour flight leaves plenty of time for reminiscing. Willow closed her eyes and the film rolled. She’s a toddler. Her father’s twirling her around and around. She’s giggling. “Again, Daddy. Again.” And he picks her up again and twirls her, making airplane noises before they both tumble onto the spring grass.
She’s five and making him look pretty. Combing his thick dark hair with her small pink comb and styling it with her baby barrettes. Her doctor’s kit is out and she’s checking his blood pressure. The plastic dial spins round and round. She puts the plastic stethoscope earpieces in and, laughing, presses the chest piece against his heart. It’s beating. He’s healthy. He’s always healthy.
Tears filled Willow’s eyes. She’s a teen and talking back. Her dad sends her to her room and tells her not to come out until she can be nice. No one understands her. Not even Zeus. Why doesn’t he understand that all of her friends are dating? She’s the only one not allowed. She’s fourteen, certainly old enough to go out with an eighteen-year-old. He’s ruining her life.
She’s sixteen and mad that she doesn’t have a car of her own and mad that he rarely allows her to drive her mother’s or his. He tells her it’s not that he doesn’t trust her; it’s that he doesn’t trust other drivers. He wants to keep her safe.
She’s eighteen and he’s moving her into her dorm room. She’s not expecting her heart to hurt, but it does. It hurts like it does now.
The Old Woman
The old woman stirred. The morning sun poured in through the dirty shed window. Usually when she slept in the shed, she covered the window with a piece of cardboard to block the morning sun. But she was so tired when she had finally managed to get inside the shed the night before that she hadn’t bothered.
For a few seconds, she had forgotten about being robbed, but then she remembered. Her cart was gone. Her favorite fuzzy blanket was gone. And the lucky quarter she had found in the coin return of the soda vending machine in the city parking garage was gone.
The old woman had made it a habit to check the coin returns of every vending machine she passed. Over the years, the money she found had bought her a warm meal or two. But this quarter, the first she ever found, was special. It reminded her that sometimes life returns unexpected goodness.
She inched out of the sleeping bag. She rubbed her wrinkled hands together. She spotted a peanut on the concrete floor. She must have dropped it the night before. She bent over and picked it up, pinching the morsel between her thumb and index finger. She rolled the peanut in her mouth, using her tongue to tumble it. She sucked the salt out of it before chewing and swallowing. She looked around to see if there were any more crumbs, but found only dirt.
She grunted, reaching for the walking stick the caretaker had made for her. Using the stick to steady herself, she stood. She swiped her slimy teeth with her tired tongue and winced. Normally, she’d brush her teeth in a public restroom where she’d also fill the sink with water and, using paper towels and soap from the wall dispenser, clean herself as best she could. But her toothbrush was in her cart. She’d have to find a new one.
She made a mental note to check the trash on nearby Maple Street. Tomorrow was trash pickup and everyone put their trash bags out the night before. The old woman learned over the years on what streets she was most likely to find what she was looking for. She learned, for instance, that people who lived in big, fancy houses threw out a lot of good food. She found the best leftovers in their trash. They also tended to be the people who seemed to discard items that still had a lot of life left in
them – like toothbrushes. Once, she even found a toothbrush that hadn’t been opened. She didn’t understand how they could throw something away when it could have been given to someone who really needed it. Like her.
Of all the treasures she’s found in others’ trash, her greatest find she kept in a shoebox in the back corner of the shed. She smiled just thinking about it. She pictured the small Christmas tree on the boy’s grave. She wanted to do something special for the boy’s mother, and the black night she found the trash bag full of treasures she knew just what she’d do. She had waited all year to be able to give the boy’s mother her gifts, and she figured that she’d see the tree sometime around Thanksgiving. She had a few more weeks to wait and she felt as anxious as a child waiting for Santa.
She never cared for anyone the way she cared about the young woman with the violin – and the dead boy. Why, she didn’t know. But there was something about the music, something about the woman and the boy that made her heart dance.
The old woman wobbled to the shed door and opened it. The sun was bright and she squinted, unsure if she was seeing what she thought she was seeing. Sitting outside the door was a new metal cart and inside of it was a new fuzzy brown blanket.
Peter
Peter checked out of the hotel and headed to the Tampa airport. He had expected to stay another day, but there was no need to now. Luckily, he was able to reschedule his flight.
He felt badly about the interview, about wasting Ron’s time. Peter had left on good terms, though. Ron made it clear that if Peter changed his mind, they could talk some more. But Peter knew that he wasn’t going to change his mind. He had been searching for answers and the answers were there all along. He just hadn’t opened his eyes.
It probably wasn’t the best time to venture out on his own, but thinking about it made him happy. And he figured that had to count for something.
He grabbed a black coffee after getting through airport security and headed to the gate. He turned on his iPad, figuring he had about an hour.
The Christmas Violin Page 4