Christmas Blessings

by Katherine Spencer

  “No worries, Dad. We’ve got this covered,” Darrell promised.

  Darrell turned the chair around the side of the house, and Jessica turned to smile at Sam. “Look . . . Darrell built a handicapped ramp for you. He had it up before I even knew what he was doing.”

  Sam’s eyes widened at the sight. A sturdy ramp, built at the perfect angle for his chair to be rolled easily to the door.

  “Nice job. You even matched the paint to the house trim?”

  Darrell shrugged, but Sam could tell he was proud of the project. “Glad you approve, Dad. Now for the real test,” he said, pushing the chair toward the house. “Tyler tried it on his skateboard, but we haven’t driven a loaded wheelchair over it yet.”

  “Now you tell me?” Sam was not alarmed but didn’t mind teasing Darrell a bit. The ramp was as solid as it looked. He didn’t feel the planks budge, not even a slight buckle or dip.

  They reached the door and Jessica held it open while Darrell pushed Sam inside. Tyler and Lily were at school, which was just as well, Sam thought. They would be home soon enough.

  The rush of leaving the hospital had tired him out, along with the pain medication he still needed to take. But he was eager to get into his office and try to sort out his tangled business problems.

  Once they were inside, Darrell helped him remove his hat and jacket and the one glove he was able to wear. Once again, Sam felt reduced to a childlike status, with his son playing caretaker. It was an odd feeling and one he didn’t care for.

  “Would you guys like some lunch?” Jessica asked. “How about some soup or a sandwich?”

  “I’ll take both, please,” Darrell said.

  “Just soup for me, Jess, thanks,” Sam said. “Can you bring it into my office, please?”

  “Sure. I’ll bring a tray in, in a few minutes.” Jessica turned and headed for the kitchen, stepping over the baby gate she used to corral any animals she was keeping indoors.

  Darrell carefully steered the chair through the doorway of Sam’s office. “We took the couch out and set up the hospital bed in here. The wheelchair won’t fit behind the desk, but Mom thought this wood table would work for you.”

  Darrell parked the chair near a small table that was just the right height for Sam’s use. Sam saw his laptop along with a pad of paper and a jar of pencils and pens from his desk, and his cell phone charging station. “Nice setup,” he said. “And thanks for the ride.” Though the chair was motorized, Sam hadn’t yet learned how to use the controls. It was going to be a bit challenging with his left hand. “I’d better learn how to drive this thing. You’ll be going back to school tomorrow, and I won’t have anyone to push me around.”

  “You’ll get the hang of it once you practice. If ninety-year-olds can drive one of these, you can, too . . . Do you need anything else from your desk?”

  “I’m fine for now. This is great. Thanks.” If only the rest of the problems his injuries had caused could be solved so easily. Sam picked up the pad and a pen, and began to make a list. He felt Darrell watching and looked up to meet his son’s dark brown eyes.

  Sam knew that Jessica had needed Darrell’s help until he got home from the hospital. But Darrell had been in Cape Light since Monday, the day of Sam’s fall. Now it was Thursday, and Sam was worried that Darrell was missing too much school.

  “Thanks for springing me from the hospital, buddy. When are you heading back to Boston?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. In a while, I guess.” Darrell stood in the doorway and crossed his arms over his chest.

  “No sense driving back in the rush-hour traffic later. It will take you twice as long.”

  “Yeah, I know,” Darrell said lightly.

  Before Sam could prod his son further, Jessica called from the hall. “Sam? You have a visitor—”

  Sam waited, expecting Emily and Dan or maybe Reverend Ben.

  But it was Bart Begossian.

  “Hope you don’t mind me stopping in, Sam. I should have called first, right? The guys got together and bought you a little get-well present. It’s DVDs—the complete series of that fishing show you like. I just wanted to drop it off, see how you’re doing.”

  “I’m doing fine. It’s good to be home. You don’t need to rush off, Bart. Sit down a minute,” Sam said eagerly.

  Bart sat in an armchair and set the gift bag he was carrying on the table. He seemed uneasy, Sam thought. But maybe he felt self-conscious, stopping by without warning or an invitation.

  “How do you feel? Are you in much pain?” Bart looked over Sam’s leg casts and shoulder.

  “Sometimes,” Sam admitted. “Then I think of the alternative, and it doesn’t seem so bad. If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t be here to tell the tale. I can never thank you enough for sticking around that day. Especially considering I was telling you not to.”

  Bart looked embarrassed by Sam’s gratitude. “Good thing I didn’t listen to you,” he joked. “I didn’t do much. Nearly had a heart attack when I saw you take a dive off that ladder.”

  “Good thing that didn’t happen. So, any news from the crew?”

  “Not much news to tell, Sam. You know that.”

  The work on Sam’s three jobs had come to a grinding halt with his fall. Sam guessed that Bart—along with the rest of the men on the payroll—wanted to know if it would start up again anytime soon.

  “I do, Bart. I’m sorry about that. I’m still trying to sort things out. It’s going to take a day or two more.” Or even longer, Sam knew. But he didn’t want to alarm anyone.

  “I know you’re in a bind, Sam. I wouldn’t wish this on anyone, especially you. But everyone wants to know if we’re going to pick up the work again. Or should we look for other jobs? Christmas is coming. It’s hard to do without a paycheck,” he added.

  “I know it is, believe me. Everyone will get paid for this week, their full hours,” Sam promised.

  He had called each man on his crew and assured them they would receive their pay at the end of the week. But he felt bad that he couldn’t promise more than that right now. He knew most were restless, even after three days. He couldn’t blame them if they looked for other work.

  “I understand where you’re coming from, Bart. I’d be asking the same thing. Could you please wait a day or two more? I’m trying to keep the work going. I really am. But I’m not sure yet how I can work it out.”

  “Sure. I know you are, Sam. I didn’t mean to pressure, honest. You have enough on your shoulders right now. Your good shoulder,” he added. Bart came to his feet and pulled his gloves from his pocket. “I’ll tell the guys I saw you and try to slow them down. I’ll wait to hear from you,” he promised.

  “Thanks, Bart. I appreciate it. Tell the guys I really appreciate the gift—gives me something to look forward to. And Bart, I’d hate to do without you on the job,” Sam said sincerely. Lots of men tended to come and go in Sam’s line of work, but Bart was a keeper. He sure hoped Bart didn’t jump ship.

  Bart seemed pleased by the compliment. He gently patted Sam’s good shoulder. “You’re looking better already. You’ll be up and shouting orders at everyone before you know it.”

  Sam smiled. “I hope so.”

  Jessica came in carrying Sam’s lunch tray. She set it on the table and chatted with Bart a moment.

  “I’d better be going. I’m visiting my father in Rockport,” Bart said, glancing at his watch. “You take care, Sam.”

  “I will. Thanks again for stopping by,” Sam said.

  Jessica showed Bart to the door then returned to Sam’s office. His wife’s homemade chicken noodle soup looked and smelled appetizing, but he only took a few spoonfuls before setting it aside. He was too eager to start making phone calls, and he searched his contacts for the numbers he needed.

  Jessica had taken a seat at the other side of the table. “Something wrong with the soup?
Is it too hot?”

  “Tastes great, honey. But I’m trying to get some work done while I eat. No time to lose. Bart says the crew is losing their patience. They’re looking for other work.” He picked up a cracker and took a bite. “If I can’t get the projects going again somehow, I won’t have workers to do the jobs.”

  “That’s too bad. It’s only been three days.” Jessica took a cracker off his plate. “Did you talk to Bart about being a foreman?”

  Sam shook his head. “He’s a great guy and a great carpenter. But managing other men is not his thing. I might be able to find someone if I call around. Or find other contractors who will take over the jobs . . . if the customers will agree to let them finish the work.” Sam showed her the list he’d been working on. “I already called a few of these guys from the hospital. The good ones are super busy this time of year. And I don’t want the unreliable fast-and-dirty guys ruining my reputation.”

  “Of course not. That wouldn’t do you any good in the long run.”

  “You need to know—if I can find some good outfit to take over, I’ll need to pay them the bulk of the fee. I won’t end up with much profit, Jess. I might even lose money.”

  Jessica stood up and began smoothing the bedding, folding an extra quilt. Trying to hide her concern, he thought. “What about your customers? How do they feel about the delay? They were all very concerned when they heard about your accident. Some called the house. Others sent get-well cards. They might not mind a break from construction right now, with the holidays and everything.”

  “That’s one way to look it.” Sam was trying not to squash her hopeful note. “Most of them wanted their new kitchens and dormers done in time for Christmas. I don’t think they’ll be happy decorating around some stalled-out construction.”

  “It’s a complicated situation,” Jessica agreed. “But there is a solution right under your nose.”

  “Darrell has to finish his semester. That solution is not under my nose; it’s off the table, Jess. You know how I feel about that.” He hadn’t meant to snap at her, but she shouldn’t have brought it up again. “Maybe I can find a reliable guy to oversee the work for me. I’ve been sifting through all my contacts and asking other outfits for recommendations. If I make a few more phone calls, I’m bound to find someone.”

  Sam didn’t feel nearly as sure of that outcome as he was trying to sound. All the best foremen already had jobs. He also knew the way friends in this business tried to throw each other work, giving a good reference that wasn’t always accurate. He was down to calling guys he hardly knew, and they were recommending men who were total strangers to him. It would be hard to trust someone he knew well with his customers and business reputation, much less a stranger.

  Jessica walked over and stood behind his chair. She placed her hands on his shoulders. “You’ll figure this out, Sam. I know you’re between a rock and a hard place, but you always manage to find solutions. You will this time, too,” she said quietly. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  He smiled, despite the way he felt, and reached back to cover her hand with his own. “Thanks, honey. You’re already helping me.”

  His cell phone sounded, and he snatched it up, hoping it was one of the contractors he had called earlier. But he quickly saw that the caller was a customer—Suzanne Prentiss, who had hired him to remodel the second floor of her house.

  “Suzanne, how are you?” Sam greeted her.

  “I should be asking you that question, Sam. Are you still in the hospital?” she asked with concern.

  “Out early, on good behavior. I just got home this morning.”

  “That’s great news. I’m so happy for you. There’s nothing like resting and recovering at home.”

  “Absolutely. My wife is already plying me with chicken soup.” Sam was fine with friendly chatter with his customers, but he was sure Mrs. Prentiss had called for a reason beyond checking on his recovery. “What’s up? Anything I can help you with? I’m so sorry the work on your house has been delayed. But I’m doing my best to get the job up and running again.”

  “I know you are, Sam. And I’m sorry to bother you. But I have a real problem here today. A big truck pulled up this morning, and now there are bales of insulation and all sorts of wood and heaven only knows what in our driveway. It’s not only inconvenient, but I’d hate to see any of these materials ruined in this weather.”

  The delivery from Harbor Lumber . . . he had forgotten all about it. And she was right. A lot of those supplies would get ruined if it started raining again, or possibly snowing.

  “No worries, Suzanne. I’ll get that cleared out for you, ASAP. Are you home today?”

  “Yes, I am. All day.”

  “I’ll call you back and let you know when some men will be over to move it. Thanks for letting me know.”

  “No problem, Sam. Thank you for taking care of it. By the way, any idea when the work will start up here again? I’m sorry to pressure you, but we’re having some family in from out of town over Christmas. If we can’t use the second floor, we’ll have to find them hotel rooms. I’d need to make those reservations right away. You know how it is.”

  “Yes, I know.” Sam felt his heart sink at her tone. Despite her kind words, she was losing her patience. And Suzanne Prentiss knew everyone in town; he didn’t need her giving his company bad reviews. He wondered if he should offer to pick up the hotel expenses but decided to wait on that. Her project could be finished by Christmas. If there was some kind of miracle, he thought.

  “I’m making a million calls today, trying to get my ducks in a row. I’ll let you know the status of the work very soon. Thanks for your patience, Suzanne.”

  “Not at all. You take care.”

  Sam sat back in his wheelchair, his shoulder and head throbbing. He suddenly felt hungry but now the soup was cold.

  Jessica looked over at him. “A problem already?”

  “I’ve got to get some guys over to the Prentiss house. But somebody’s got to tell them what to do . . . and smooth things over with Mrs. Prentiss.”

  “Why don’t you call Bart? Is he good with the clients?”

  “He can be. If I coach him. But he told me he was headed to Rockport today. He’s probably gone by now.”

  Sam was so lost in the quagmire of his problems, he didn’t notice that Darrell had come into the room until his son stood right in front of him.

  “I’ll go for you, Dad. I know how to talk to your clients.”

  Sam knew that was true. Darrell had great social skills, especially for someone so young. When he worked for Sam in the summers, all the clients loved him. But Sam still wasn’t persuaded.

  “I thought you were heading back to school today. I thought you came in to say good-bye to me.”

  “It’s too late to make any classes today. What’s the difference if I go now or tonight or tomorrow?”

  Sam stared at him, his eyes squinting. “That’s what you said yesterday. And the day before.”

  “And I know Mrs. Prentiss. She was an art teacher at the high school. She always liked me,” Darrell added with a wide, cheesy grin.

  “That’s right. She loved Darrell. She’ll be happy to see him,” Jessica said. “Besides, he can take care of the problem. I’m sure he can. He’s practically a certified architect. He knows as much about building as Joe Kelley ever did. Or Bart Begossian, for that matter.”

  Their points were persuasive, and all his problems crashing down at once had worn down Sam’s defenses. Still, he was reluctant to send his son out to fill his shoes.

  “I can visit your other jobs while I’m out, too, Dad. Talk to the clients, see where the work is at. If you find another contractor or foreman to take over, you’ll need to give them a project status report.”

  “So now you’re flinging architect talk at me, is that it?” Sam countered.

  “It
’s more the way engineers talk,” Darrell replied. “You know what I mean.”

  Sam sighed. “Okay, you can go. I’ll call the other clients and find out who you can see then text you the info. I’ll also have a few guys meet you at the Prentiss house. Be superpolite and find out where we can store the materials. Maybe in her garage or basement. Make sure the men are moving everything carefully. If you can’t leave the stuff there, you’ll have to bring it back here and we’ll put in the barn.”

  Jessica made a little sound and Sam glanced at her. “I hope there’s room. I’m expecting a pony tomorrow. She’s so sweet. Her name is Sassy. She was dragged around for children’s parties and abused by her owner for years. Someone heard that he was going to put her down just because he’s retiring and moving away. So they called me. Just in time, too.”

  “That’s one lucky pony. Good for you, Mom,” Darrell said.

  “I’m glad you could save her, Jess,” Sam said evenly. He was actually dismayed that the pony was going to take up space he might need to store the supplies. Couldn’t one thing go his way today? But what could he do? He had agreed that Jessica could start this animal rescue work in earnest, and abused ponies were part of the deal. He winced inwardly. There were definitely more needy animals to come.

  • • •

  Darrell often drove his father’s truck, but this time felt different. As he rode down the Beach Road toward the village, he was careful to ease up on the gas pedal. The truck had a lot of power, a lot more than his small, aging Subaru. He didn’t need a speeding ticket today. Not after he had finally gotten his father to agree to let him help with the business.

  Darrell felt sure he could get his dad’s projects up and running again. He already knew enough about the field to design a skyscraper, let alone a finished basement. But writing papers and making models for his courses were a whole lot different than dealing with half-finished dormers and annoyed clients.

  As he turned down Cherry Lane and pulled up at the Prentiss house, he felt a fit of nerves. He parked the truck and took a few deep breaths before he jumped out. Two men stood talking by a small blue truck. Darrell recognized them from working last summer for his dad. Darrell walked toward them and smiled. “Terry . . . Bobby . . . good to see you.” Darrell held out his hand and greeted them warmly.