Christmas On Nutcracker Court

by Duarte, Judy

  Her first task had been peeling potatoes while Rosa prepared the main dish and vegetables. They’d continued to work together for more than an hour, but when the first people had begun to arrive, they’d split up, with Susan going into the dining room to start serving meals.

  Susan had expected to see a lot of riffraff, but she’d been wrong. Sure, there’d been several men who’d worn dirty, ragged clothing and appeared to be living on the streets, but they’d been both polite and appreciative. Several of the other “guests,” as Carlos called them, were senior citizens on fixed incomes. And a few of those were veterans, if the military-style hats with American Legion and VFW patches were any clue.

  One of the first to arrive had been a mother with two school-age children. The woman, a brunette Carlos had called Joanie, had worn a threadbare sweater that was no match to the wintry chill outdoors. Susan had been tempted to hand over her own jacket to her, but she hadn’t known how to do it without embarrassing the woman.

  The children, a boy who was about nine or ten and a girl who was a couple years younger, stuck close to their mother’s side, their eyes bright yet apprehensive.

  Susan had been drawn to them, but for some reason, once she’d said hello and served their plates, she’d remained at her post and kept her mind on her work.

  She wasn’t sure why she’d felt so awkward around the small family, and after they’d taken seats, she wished she would have done or said more.

  When she’d seen Carlos discreetly slip Joanie some cash, along with an invitation to attend Christmas Under the Stars in Mulberry Park next week, she’d been relieved. Yet even after the small family left, they’d remained on her mind—and on her heart.

  During a lull, Susan asked Rosa, “Does Joanie come here often?”

  “Not every day.”

  Susan glanced at the clock on the wall, noting the time. “Did school get out early today? Or has Christmas break already started?”

  “Joanie’s kids are in a special program. On Mondays and Fridays they get out of class around eleven, and Joanie brings them here for lunch. Afterward, they attend some kind of family counseling session sponsored by the local battered women’s shelter.”

  It didn’t take Susan long to read between the lines. “Do they live at the shelter?”

  “Not anymore. They’re in a transitional living situation now.”

  “Is Joanie able to work?”

  “She has a job, but it’s only part-time. Her hours were cut, so even with help, they’re struggling. Of course, everyone here has one problem or another.”

  Susan scanned the room, realizing that all of the “guests” had sad stories to tell. And that Carlos probably knew them all. As he made the rounds, he would chat for a while with the various groups who sat together or take a seat next to one who sat alone.

  But there was plenty of work to be done in the kitchen, particularly the cleanup, so Susan couldn’t help voicing her annoyance to Rosa. “You know, there are more productive things he could be doing right now.”

  Taking out the trash came to mind, and so did washing some of the dirty pots and pans piled up in the sink and on the counters.

  “His job is to make each of the guests feel welcome. I’d do it myself, but Carlos is a lot more outgoing than I am.” Rosa shifted her weight to one leg. “We seem to be having a lull right now, so I’ll go back into the kitchen and start cleaning up.”

  “I’ve got a better idea,” Susan said. “I’ll wash the pots and pans while you use the slow time to get off your feet for a while.”

  “No, you stay here. It’s easier if I work in the kitchen. I know where everything belongs.”

  As Rosa turned to go, Susan made a quick scan of the dining room, with its long, rectangular tables providing seating for the nearly twenty people who’d come to eat. At the rear, near the restrooms, two bulletin boards trimmed with a Frosty-the-Snowman border displayed flyers that advertised the community clinic, various hotlines, as well as benefits and opportunities in the area.

  The soup kitchen, Susan realized, did more than feed the hungry. And since she considered Parkside Community her home church, even though she rarely attended Sunday services herself, she couldn’t help feeling proud—and a part of—what they were doing.

  As the front door swung open again, she glanced up to see Maggie enter the room. She hung up her jacket on one of the hooks by the door, then made her way to the buffet line. “I’m sorry I’m late. I meant to get here sooner, but something came up. I’ll need to wash my hands, but what can I do to help?”

  Before Susan could suggest that she assist with the cleanup—or better yet, give Rosa a break completely—the door opened again, and a family of five entered.

  “Oh, good,” Maggie whispered to Susan, “they’re back.”

  “Who are they?”

  “The man’s name is Dave. He’s been out of work for two months, and his wife, Marie, is battling breast cancer.”

  How sad, Susan thought, but she tried her best to put on a happy face and give them a welcoming smile.

  As Susan filled the family’s plates, and Maggie went to the restroom to wash her hands, a middle-aged man entered the dining room wearing a frayed dark jacket and dirty pants. His shoulders slumped when he walked, as if he was weary from carrying a load he’d yet to check in at the door.

  “Hey, Jerry,” Carlos called out. “It’s good to see you, buddy. How’re you feeling? Did you finally get rid of that sinus infection?”

  The ragged man smiled, and his shoulders seemed to straighten a bit. “It’s better, Carlos. That doctor down at the free clinic prescribed some medication, and it worked like a charm.”

  “Glad to hear it.”

  Susan was beginning to see that Rosa had been right. Carlos had a way of making the guests feel important. He treated them as though he were the owner of a mom-and-pop-style diner, and they were friends and patrons, rather than people in line for a handout.

  Jerry had no more than reached the buffet line, when Carlos called out, “I almost forgot to give you this.”

  “What’s that?”

  Carlos crossed the room, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a plastic baggie filled with chunky brown pellets. “I’ve got some treats for you.”

  What in the world was he doing? Giving dog food to a man who was down on his luck?

  “How’s ol’ Rex doing?” Carlos asked.

  “Just fine.” Jerry took the bag and placed it in his jacket pocket. Then he nodded toward the door. “He’s waiting outside for me. I got him tied to my cart.”

  The homeless man had a dog when he couldn’t even support himself?

  As the door swung open and shut again, Susan looked to the entrance, where an elderly couple made their way inside. Even bundled up in a bulky jacket, the man appeared short and frail. The stooped and gray woman, whom Susan assumed was his wife, walked with a cane.

  After hanging their outerwear near the door, they shuffled toward the buffet line.

  Susan offered them a friendly smile, just as she’d seen Carlos do.

  “Good afternoon,” she said. “My name is Susan.”

  “I’m Stanley Grainger, and this is my wife, Edna.”

  “It’s nice to meet you. Can I get you some meat loaf and mashed potatoes?”

  “Yes,” Edna said. “Please.”

  “Green beans, too?” Susan asked.

  They both nodded.

  After filling their plates, Susan pointed to the table to the left of her. “There’s coffee and punch to choose from. The glasses and cups are right there. But if you’d like to take your plates and find a place to sit, I’d be happy to get your drinks and bring them to you.”

  “That would be nice.” Edna smiled, softening the craggy lines on her face. “Thank you, Susan.”

  “My pleasure. What can I get you to drink?”

  “Punch for me,” Edna said. “I’ve been told to cut back on caffeine. But my husband would like coffee—black, with a little suga
r.”

  Stan placed a liver-spotted hand on his wife’s back. “There are a couple of seats at the front table, honey. Let’s take those so you don’t have to walk too far.”

  It was heartwarming to see the affection the elderly couple shared for each other. And Susan wondered if she and Hank would have grown close like that, if he’d lived and they’d been in their golden years.

  She’d like to think that they would have.

  After delivering Stan and Edna’s drinks, Susan took a moment to chat with the couple, just as she’d seen Carlos doing with the other guests.

  “Is it getting any warmer outside?” she asked.

  The old man shook his head. “Not really. Our car isn’t running, so we almost didn’t come today. But fortunately, our neighbor was able to give us a ride.”

  “He’s a nice young man,” Edna added. “He lost his wife in a car accident nearly a year ago, but he’s a good father and is trying to make the best of things this Christmas. Stan and I would like to help, but there’s not much we can do. I did knit the girl a muffler and mittens with scraps of yarn I had.”

  Susan wasn’t sure if a child living in a coastal community in Southern California would appreciate snow wear, but she didn’t want to put a damper on the spirit in which the gift had been made, so she said, “That’s really sweet of you. And it’s great that you have a nice neighbor. I’m glad he was able to give you a ride today.”

  “So are we.” Edna picked up her paper napkin and placed it in her lap.

  “By the way,” Susan told the couple. “We have apple cobbler for dessert today. Just give me a wave when you’re ready for a serving, and I’ll bring it to you.”

  Edna reached out and patted Susan’s hand. “You folks sure are good to us.”

  The sincerity in her gaze mocked the frailty of her hand as her fingers pressed gently on Susan’s wrist, warming her from the inside out. Susan hadn’t been touched like that, with so much feeling, in years. “You’re more than welcome, Edna.”

  Twenty minutes later, as Stan went to throw away their paper plates and trash, Edna slowly got to her feet and reached for her cane.

  Knowing that Maggie could handle what little traffic they had at the buffet line, Susan left her station and went to open the door for the elderly couple. “Let me get that for you.”

  “Thank you,” Stan said.

  As the elderly couple shuffled outside, Susan couldn’t help noting a grocery cart loaded down with odds and ends and covered with a blue vinyl tarp. A short-haired shepherd-mix with a dirty red collar was tethered to the side with a frayed piece of rope.

  Poor little mutt, she thought, as she gazed upon him and spotted the gray hair around its snout. He was old and homeless, too—a tough life, even for a dog. No wonder Carlos had given Jerry those treats for ol’ Rex.

  She had to admit that it was certainly nice—all that he and Rosa were doing. She wondered if Hank would have ever given of himself like that to make life easier on the disadvantaged.

  Probably not. He really wasn’t like Carlos, whom she’d begun to think of as a good man.

  The next time Susan married, she would have to find a man like Carlos, a man who was willing to put others ahead of himself.

  “There he is,” Stan said, pointing to a silver Jeep Grand Cherokee that had just pulled into a parking space in front.

  The driver must be the neighbor they’d mentioned earlier, the widower facing his first Christmas without his wife. Of course, he wasn’t actually alone; he had a daughter.

  Susan studied the redheaded girl in the passenger seat, who wore her hair in pigtails. As Edna neared the car, the child jumped out of her seat and offered it to the old woman.

  For some reason, Susan continued to stand in the doorway until the elderly couple had climbed into the vehicle and the driver began backing out of the parking lot. Then she lifted her hand and wiggled her fingers in a wave.

  When Stan and Edna were as good as gone, she took one last look at poor ol’ Rex, then returned to her post at the buffet line and stood next to Maggie.

  Lowering her voice to a discreet whisper, she said, “I know there are a lot of people who are hungry and needy in this world, but I’ve got to tell you, Maggie, I can’t help feeling sorry for Jerry’s dog.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Well, the man can’t even support himself, yet he has a pet. It just doesn’t seem fair to the animal.”

  “Actually, Jerry found Rex in a parking lot behind the bowling alley. He’d been hit by a car and left for dead. But Jerry nursed him back to health, and they’ve been inseparable ever since.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “Everyone deserves to love and be loved,” Maggie said.

  Susan hoped she was right.

  Because she was beginning to wonder if she’d ever loved or been loved at all.

  Chapter 9

  Assuming the dog would eventually find its way home, Max spent the afternoon working on his manuscript. But even though the wind had caused the tree branches to scratch against the windowpanes, and it seemed to be growing darker and colder outside by the minute, Hemingway still hadn’t returned.

  It served the dumb mutt right to get lost, Max decided. Yet in spite of his best effort to focus on the story he was writing, he wasn’t having much luck. So he’d gone outside and walked up and down the street, calling Hemingway to no avail.

  He’d finally returned to the house, grumbling all the while that the dog deserved whatever happened. Yet he couldn’t quite seem to put his worries behind him.

  An hour later, he was back on the front porch, whistling again.

  “Hemingway!” Max hollered one last time, hoping the mutt hadn’t been picked up by the dog catcher and taken to the pound.

  Of course, if that’s what had happened to him, at least he’d be safe until morning.

  The wind had kicked up with a chill that would do the North Pole proud. Okay, so that was just a Southern California native’s opinion on an unseasonably cool winter day, but it was brisk enough to require a jacket and shoes.

  At the sound of an approaching vehicle, Max looked down the street and saw Grant Barrows returning home. As his neighbor got out of his car, wearing sweats and carrying a gym bag, Max crossed the street to ask if he’d seen Hemingway.

  He braced himself for a snappy retort, though. Grant wasn’t a fan of the dog and might actually be glad he was gone. In fact, he might have even been annoyed enough to call animal control and turn him in.

  Max decided to make a little neighborly chitchat first, then ask him about Hemingway in a roundabout way. “Hey,” he said upon his approach, “how’s it going, Grant?”

  “All right.”

  “I’ve been meaning to ask. How did your interview go the other day?”

  “Which one? I’ve had three so far, but I haven’t heard anything positive yet.” Grant closed his car door. “Something tells me no one’s going to make any hiring decisions until after the holidays and the beginning of the year.”

  “That’s a possibility.”

  They stood there for a moment, Max’s big question looming in the night. Finally, he said, “By the way, my dog got out again this morning, and he hasn’t come home yet. I don’t suppose you’ve seen him.”

  “No, I haven’t.” Grant leaned against his vehicle. “It’s a bad night for him to be roaming the streets.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I’m thinking.” Max shrugged. “I know he’s been a nuisance lately, and I’m really sorry about that. I’ve been doing everything I can to find out how he’s getting out of the yard.”

  Max waited for a response, maybe even a reminder that he owed Grant a new dress shirt for the one Hemingway had stained the other day.

  Instead, Grant said, “I’ve always believed there was something to the old adage about turning something loose. If it doesn’t come back, it was never yours in the first place.”

  Maggie’s words came to mind, and Max couldn’t help wondering if
there was some truth to it all—the old adage and her comment. Maybe Hemingway was out looking for his old owners.

  In truth, though, Max really thought all that dog whisperer crap was a crock.

  “He’d probably be happier if he lived with a family,” Grant added. “Don’t you think? He’d have children to keep him busy and leave him too tired to jump the fence and create havoc in the neighborhood.”

  Max didn’t think Hemingway had been going over the fence, but that didn’t really matter. Grant had a point, and he couldn’t help considering the fact that—no matter how far-out the possibility—the dog might be missing the kids he used to live with.

  But that didn’t mean Max was buying in to Maggie’s tale. Dogs didn’t communicate telepathically with people—even crackpots.

  “Hey,” Grant said, “I’ve got a question for you.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Do you know Lynette? Helen’s pretty, blond friend?”

  “Just by name and sight. I really haven’t talked to her, why?”

  “I just wondered what her story was.”

  “I have no idea. Maybe you ought to ask Helen when she gets home. Or even Maggie, her house sitter.”

  “I’ll probably wait. Maggie seems a little . . .”

  “Off?” Max supplied. That had been his take, too.

  “I don’t know.” Grant paused, as if giving it some thought. “I’m not really sure what I mean.”

  “I had the same feeling. What makes you think she’s a little . . .” He wanted to say “whacky,” but ended his sentence with “odd” instead.

  “I’m not saying that I think she’s crazy. It’s just that she has a way about . . . Well, knowing things.”

  At that, Max couldn’t help perking up. “Like what things?”

  “She seemed to know something about the last interview I had. And there’s really no way she could have.”

  “What did she say?”

  Grant glanced down at the ground, then back up again. “The HR person asked me if I had a family, and when I said no, he acted a little . . . Well, like he was sorry to hear it. And then, after I got home, Maggie brought over a plate of cookies that one of Helen’s friends had made. And while she was here, she told me not to feel badly about the interview, that the company was very family-oriented, and that something better would come around.”