Santa's Special Delivery

by Sierra Hill

  Joy’s quiet voice lifts me out of the fog. “Gabriel? What’s the matter? Is it your grandfather?”

  I honestly forgot for a moment that she was there. My heart pounds in my chest so fast, the blood pumping wildly, returning to the rest of my extremities, that I almost feel faint. I shake my head free of the dizzy spell.

  Joy jumps up to stand next to me, clutching the blanket around her in one hand, but placing another gentling grasp on my bicep.

  “Whoa, there. You don’t look so good. Let me get you some water.”

  I shake her off, brushing past her with large strides toward the door.

  “No, I’ve got to go. He’s in the hospital. I don’t have time for this.”

  With a dismissive wave, I reach the front door and turn the handle before her voice interrupts my disheveled thoughts.

  “Gabriel, let me come with you. It’ll just take a moment for me to get dressed. You shouldn’t be alone.”

  Swinging back around, I know the moment my heart re-erects its cold, icy shell, because I look blankly at Joy and say, “Don’t bother. I’m better off alone.”

  Joy

  After Gabriel left, I debated for hours with a Bailey’s Irish coffee in hand, as to what I should do about him.

  Should I go to the hospital against his wishes, just to be there for moral support for both him and Fred? Or should I obey his request and let him contact me when he knows more?

  But what if he never contacts me again? It’s times like these that have me returning to my former foster days when I was alone and with no one to love me.

  Although Gabriel’s words were very clear that he didn’t want or need me there, I know from personal experience that when people face trauma, they use that as a defense mechanism.

  Their tactic is to push people away because the pain is too great, and they anticipate the worst possible scenario – that they’ll suffer heartbreak if they open up and show vulnerability.

  It’s something I experienced through years of feeling unwanted in the foster program. I learned that by keeping myself bottled up and avoiding emotional connections, I couldn’t get hurt.

  But I also couldn’t be loved.

  And that all changed when I met Deirdre and we lived at St. Marguerite’s. The nun’s there were beyond loving and compassionate, taking care of us as if we belonged to them.

  Frustrated with my lack of indecision, I shuffled around in my reindeer pajamas and booty-slippers, considering my options as I used the time to bake for tomorrow’s event at the Senior Center. At least I was productive as I worried over Gabriel and Fred.

  But by this morning, after a restless night’s sleep, the only decision that truly makes me feel better is getting dressed and going to the hospital. It can’t hurt, right?

  I quickly dress and bundle up, texting D where I’m going, and that I’ll call her later if I had any news. She responds quickly, saying she’ll be home soon to finish baking and asks me to keep her posted.

  I send her a winky-face and an eggplant emoji in response to her question about how the night went with the sexy Scrooge. Which makes me all the more determined to be there for Gabriel and offer him my support.

  Before leaving the house, I gather some food and bottled water from the kitchen and stuff it in a carry sack to bring along. I’m sure Gabriel will be hungry this morning and will need something more nourishing than hospital vending machine crap. Fresh baked banana loaf, a few cookies I’d baked for the sale and some fruit.

  The drive over to the hospital is a short one, although the roads are a bit slick underneath the freshly fallen snow, with the temps having dropped into the teens overnight. I find a visitor spot in the parking lot and make my way in, passing a few staff members and medical personnel in scrubs as I enter the front lobby.

  The front reception desk is decorated in red and green poinsettias and gold tinsel, and an older woman sitting behind the desk has her head bent over reading a recent trash magazine. She looks up and smiles when she sees me standing there.

  “Well hello, my dear. How can I help you?”

  Put a red bonnet on her and she could easily pass for Mrs. Claus at the mall Picture’s with Santa booth. I return her warm smile.

  “Yes, Merry Christmas. I’m here to check in on Mr. Fred Frost. He arrived last night but that’s about all I know.”

  She nods and taps in a few things on the keyboard, her eyes scanning the screen in front of her underneath a pair of cheater glasses.

  “Ah, yes, here we go. He’s upstairs on the second floor, room 218. It looks like he’s to be discharged today. That’s good news. He’ll be home for the holiday.”

  Adjusting the bag in my hand, I give her a little wave of thanks and walk toward the bank of elevators, passing the gift shop along the way. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice some gifts displayed in the shop window. Sitting on a shelf next to a few ornaments and games is a miniature Lite-Brite game.

  Oh, how serendipitous.

  I make the quick purchase and then head up to the second floor, locating room 218 with ease. The door is ajar, and I can only hear the sound of the TV from inside the room. I knock lightly, but loud enough for someone inside to hear.

  Pushing the door open, I peak in. “Hello? Mr. Frost are you awake?”

  The sound of a throat clearing and some movement, and then, “Yes, come on in.”

  I step inside the antiseptic-smelling room, rounding the curtain to find Fred propped up against a bunch of pillows, the tray table over the bed and him hunched over working on a crossword puzzle. The reader glasses he has on are pushed down to the tip of his nose, and when he lifts his head, his eyes toggle between the top and bottom of the glasses until he removes them with a broad grin.

  “Well, had I known I’d be visited today by such a beautiful Christmas angel, I would have gotten myself stuck in here sooner.”

  My cheeks flame red with embarrassment over his compliment, but I reach over the bed to give him a hug, hiding my face in the crook of his neck.

  When I pull back, he says, “Oh, you are a sight for sore eyes, Joy. It is a pleasure to see you again.”

  “You, too, Fred. But certainly not under these circumstances. How are you doing?”

  Fred waves a hand in the air and then pats the edge of the bed for me to sit down. I scoot the blanket over his legs and gently sit next to him.

  “I’m doing better now. But I’ll admit, last night was a different story.”

  “Are you at all hungry? I brought some fresh baked banana nut bread and some cookies for you and Gabriel.” I lift the bag and dangle it in front of him.

  Just his expression alone makes this whole trip worth it. Opening up the bag, I pull out the loaf and a plastic knife, plates and napkins, and he rubs his stomach with a grin.

  “I haven’t had much of an appetite during this ordeal, but that sure does smell good.”

  I glance around the room and lift a brow, slicing a piece of the bread and handing it to Fred. “I assumed Gabriel was here with you and would be hungry too.”

  Fred takes a small bite and moans with pleasure. “Joy, this is delicious and brings back memories of when my late wife, Arlene, baked for me,” he adds quickly, swallowing the bite of bread. I hand him a water glass, and he takes a sip and continues.

  “She was the light of my life and loved to bake for her family during the holidays. And speaking of family, Gabriel should be back shortly. He was a bit surly this morning after spending the night in that chair. He went looking for a decent cup of coffee just a few minutes before you arrived.”

  “Ah,” I say, stuffing my face with some bread so I don’t show my hand when it comes to Gabriel.

  But good lord, after last night, I think I’m smitten. And even though he left me without so much as a backwards glance, I certainly think it was the circumstances that dictated his rude behavior, and not that he doesn’t care about me.

  I must be wearing a dreamy, far-off expression, because Fred quirks a brow up to t
he ceiling, eying me suspiciously.

  “Out of curiosity, Joy, how exactly did you know where to find me?”

  I bite my lip and try to come up with a truthful statement without outing me and Gabriel. I’m just about to respond when Gabriel’s raspy morning voice interrupts from the threshold of the door.

  “Because she was with me last night.” Gabriel steps through the archway of the door, entering in two long strides before stopping at the end of the bed.

  His scowl tells me everything I need to know.

  “And she didn’t listen to me when I told her not to come.”

  Gabriel

  I vacillate between wanting to wrap her in a hug or do the complete opposite and boot her out altogether.

  Working on no sleep, dealing with the plethora of doctor’s orders for granddad’s release, and just simply being scared shitless over the possibility of almost losing him, has dampened my newly found holiday spirt and mood.

  In fact, I just yelled at a twenty-year-old orderly because they didn’t have any goddamn stir sticks at the coffee counter. Not exactly operating as my best self at the moment.

  Which means, my tone is flippant and rude when I speak to Joy.

  “What are you doing here, Joy? I specifically told you I didn’t want you here.”

  She shifts on the bed, obviously uncomfortable by my snippy remark, as her eyes ping-pong between me and granddad before landing on me, a sheepish look across her beautiful face.

  Joy stammers a bit, until she seems to gather some inner strength and presents me with a bag.

  “I thought you might be hungry, and since I spent last night baking, I wanted to share it with you and Fred. And…” she spins around, grabbing a box off the end of the bed, and holding it out to me.

  I stare at the brown paper bag with the gift shop logo printed across the front in her hand. Goddamn it, why does she have to be so kind and generous? Can’t I just be an angry old grump and wallow in my fears and not have some sweet and gorgeous angel trying to pull me from my misery?

  I flick a dismissive hand toward it, obstinately not accepting it. “What is it?”

  My granddad grumbles something unintelligible and I glare at him with an insolent stare. Returning my gaze to Joy, I give a shake of my head and turn my palms up, flatly refusing to take it.

  “I’m not in the mood for this. Just tell me what it is.”

  She lets out an exasperated sigh, removing the paper from the box and lifts it for us to see.

  My heart plummets to my stomach and I feel like a damn is ready to break through with the welling of tears in the corners of my eyes.

  Fuck, I don’t want to breakdown in front of her. She needs a man who’s strong, not weak. Who can love her the way she deserves. And I can’t be that man right now. I can’t even deal with the lack of coffee stir sticks, much less remaining positive in the face of my granddad’s illness.

  She forces a tentative smile. “I saw this downstairs, and after the cute story you told me about this being your favorite toy as a kid, I wanted you to have it.”

  She tucks it into her chest, cradling her arms around it protectively, as if worried I’ll grab it and toss it. I’m sure my expression says just that.

  “It was a lame gift, forget I brought it. Anyway, I need to be going. I have to get to the bake sale at the festival today.” Joy turns to Fred, grabbing his hand and squeezing it gently. A sweet, compassionate gesture that seems to light my grandfather up like the star on the Rockefeller tree.

  “Your visit meant the world to me today, Joy. It’s because of people like you, and what you do for others, that demonstrates the reason for this season. Thank you, sweetheart. I hope to see you again, soon.”

  Joy leans over and places a chaste kiss on granddad’s unshaven cheek and I notice the flush of red that colors his face. His eyes flick to mine and he tilts his chin defiantly toward me.

  “And don’t let this grumpy grandson of mine scare you away with all his bark. He’s not so bad once you get to know him.”

  Joy stands, setting the Lite-Brite toy on the bedside table and turning toward me, a sad, knowing smile peeking from her lips. She brushes past me, placing a hand on my shoulder as she breezes by.

  “Feel free to donate the toy to someone who wants it, Gabriel. And Merry Christmas.”

  And then she’s gone, leaving me alone with granddad, whose scowl tells me exactly what he thinks of my behavior.

  “What?” I growl, taking a slice of the banana nut bread from the tray and shoving it in my mouth.

  Oh fuck, it’s moist, and sweet, and absolutely delicious. Just like Joy.

  I look longingly at the door she just exited, realizing what an incredible gift Joy is to the world. Just like my grandfather said.

  And I just pissed all over her Christmas spirit.

  “Did I ever tell you the story about your grandmother and me before we were married?”

  Rolling my eyes, I grunt a sarcastic reply. “Which one? You have so many.”

  He adjusts himself up against the pillows and nods. “I sure do. And most of them started the same way that just did.” He points accusingly toward me.

  “I would do or say something dumb like that and push her away. Even though I knew she had my heart, I resisted. Never felt that I could live up to her expectations. She was a wonderful woman, and I was just a mechanic. She deserved so much more than I could give her. So, I’d subconsciously do something to get her to realize it.”

  He seems to reflect on this, rubbing his white stubble-covered chin, a faraway look in his eyes.

  “But this one was our first holiday together before we married. I was nervous about meeting her family. She came from wealth and I was dirt poor. I didn’t like myself much back then and worked hard to self-sabotage that moment.”

  Sitting on the plastic chair next to him, I lean over with my elbows on my knees, keenly interested in where this was going. “So, what did you do?”

  “I showed up drunk to her family’s Christmas party.”

  My eyes grow wide in shock because I’ve never seen my grandfather drink a drop of alcohol. Not even wine with holiday dinners. Not a beer when watching a ballgame.

  “But you don’t drink.” I state the obvious.

  “Nope, I don’t. Not now and not for over fifty years. But I did that night. I was ashamed of not being able to give her anything big or baubley for Christmas. Instead, I got drunk and wallowed in my fears of not being good enough. And when I showed up at her family dinner, I was snockered and made a complete ass of myself. I think her dad wanted to kill me.”

  He gives a self-deprecating chuckle, shaking his head at the memory.

  “What happened?”

  “I passed out and when I woke up, I found myself lying across my darling Arlene’s lap, as she stroked my hair, crying softly. Evidently, I blacked out and didn’t remember throwing the gift she gave me in the trash and knocking over the Christmas tree, or nearly getting in a fist fight with her brother, Leroy.”

  I lift my brows and suck in my bottom lip between my teeth. “Whoa. That’s pretty nuts.”

  “It sure was. And Arlene had every right to throw me out that night and never see me again. But she didn’t. She saw through my insecurities and fears, and instead of letting me go, she held on tighter. She saw something in me that I couldn’t see myself. And I spent every day after that for the rest of our lives together trying to be the man she saw.”

  The room grows quiet, as I picture my grandmother, who always wore a loving smile, and loved with her whole heart.

  “Gabriel,” Granddad says in a pleading tone. “Don’t be a fool and let that girl walk out of your life. Don’t let Joy walk out of your life.”

  He winks and pats my hand before reaching for the box on the table next to us, examining it with narrowed eyes.

  “I remember this one.” He jiggles the box. “Those gosh darn little pegs hurt like a mother when you step on them!”

  Joy

 
“Merry Christmas, girls. How much for your delicious gingerbread squares?”

  I smile brightly at Sister Mary, even though my heart hurts inside and I feel anything but joyful at the moment.

  Deirdre gives me a side-eye and takes over the sale. “You can buy one for a dollar or a plate of six for five dollars.”

  My mind wonders from the conversation as I stare off at the people milling about and wandering around the Senior Center where the bake and craft sale is being held. Normally I’m thrilled and filled to the brim with excitement because this festival means so much to me.

  Especially tonight when we’ll be delivering all the donated gifts and packages we’ve collected to the orphanage and foster center, where we’ll spread love to the kids in need.

  But my heart isn’t in it today because I left it torn in half on Fred’s hospital room floor where Gabriel broke it.

  It’s crazy that I’ve only known him a short time, yet I feel it in here. Deep inside my soul and my heart. I somehow belong to him, but he doesn’t want me. He made that very clear earlier today when he rejected me and kicked me out of his grandfather’s hospital room.

  How could I have been so blind? I should’ve realized that he only abandoned his Grinch-like persona long enough to get me in bed and then returned right back to his old cranky, frosty self the minute he got what he wanted. Why did I believe he was a good guy? That he’d be a man I could depend on? Someone with a big heart who would stick around and not abandon me like everyone else has in my life?

  A nudge at my shoulder grabs my attention. “Hey, what’s the matter with you? Are you still mooning over Mr. Frosty-pants?”

  I blink and turn to find Deirdre giving me a weird look. I told her a little bit about what happened today with Gabriel, but it was brief, and we didn’t have time for the details as we set up for the sale.

  Shrugging a shoulder, I pretend to focus my attention on the table, straightening and reorganizing the plates and platters of cookies and baked goods. She stops me with a hand on my wrist.