by Anna Schmidt
“Me?”
She looked up at him, her eyes locking on his as she pleaded her case. “It’s only for six months. Our main goal is to set up a school and a factory where the women can learn a trade and start earning enough to support their families. Do you have any idea how many households there are where the men have either been killed or have deserted their families in order to join the Taliban, Al Qaeda, or some other rebel group?” Her tone was passionate as it always was whenever she talked about the suffering she had witnessed.
“Sarah, I’m not sure I’m ready to go back. I’m not that sure that I ever will be. But if I did return, it would be to rejoin my buddies—the ones still there to continue the work I was doing before.”
“But this is that work—it’s just a different version of that work.”
He took his time, wanting to get the words right. “I’m not wired for the work you do, Sarah. Don’t get me wrong. What you and your team do out there is beyond important—every bit as important as what our armed forces are doing. Maybe more, but . . .”
“Just think about it, okay? Let me send you some information about the mission and the job.”
It was impossible to refuse her anything when she looked at him with those wide eyes that mirrored her certainty that all things were possible in this world. “All right. Send me the information.”
“Thank you,” she said, and she squeezed his hand.
Before she could pull her hand away, he entwined his fingers with hers. “No promises, okay?”
“Got it.” But there was that smile again—the one that seemed to say she was already sure he would not be able to resist the opportunity.
“What’s going on with you two sitting back here all huddled together?” Mary asked as she slid onto the piano bench. “People are beginning to talk.” She winked at them and then launched into the introduction for a current Broadway musical score.
Soon others had gathered ’round the piano and were singing along as Mary and Ned took turns playing show tunes both old and new. “How about something from South Pacific?” Mary suggested.
Sarah turned to Max as she began the song that had been one of his solos in the high school production. “‘You’ve got to be taught to hate and fear . . . ’”
She motioned for Max to join her as she continued. “‘You’ve got to be taught from year to year . . . ’”
“‘It’s got to be drummed in your dear little ear,’” Max sang, and then together they ended the verse. “‘You’ve got to be carefully taught.’”
Others joined in on the remaining two verses, but Max kept his eyes on Sarah’s face. He heard the words through her ears, and he knew that this woman did not have an ounce of prejudice in her entire body. He understood that she did not see color or gender or politics or religion when she met someone. All Sarah saw was goodness and potential.
Sarah clearly had never been “taught,” but Max had. He had lived his life under the game plan of “us versus them.” It had started innocently enough, first at home, where his grandfather and uncles were the “good guys” fighting crime in the city. Then in school the lesson had continued on the athletic field, where winning was everything. Then in the military, the lessons were really driven home—there were enemies that needed to be subdued.
But through his conversations with Sarah, he understood that she didn’t think that way at all. For Sarah there was only “us.” Everyone had value. Everyone could be saved. Max had never met anyone quite like her. She made him believe that maybe all was not lost—that maybe he wasn’t as lost as he was feeling since coming home.
Mary and Ned had changed up the playlist once again as they launched into a duet of Scott Joplin’s ragtime music. Max studied the laughing, joyful faces of the people surrounding the piano enjoying the music. No doubt these people had troubles of their own, but right now they were not thinking of those things. They were simply living in the moment. He thought about the times that he and other soldiers had shared similar occasions with their counterparts in Afghanistan—times when their differences in belief and tradition had not existed. Moments when they had simply been soldiers weary of the battle and sharing a rare moment of calm before the next firefight. And he understood that it was moments like this—moments like those shared over there—that made everything worthwhile.
His gaze settled on Sarah. She was watching him in return, her smile a little less certain than usual. She glanced toward the exit and he understood that she was asking if he wanted to leave. He nodded and edged toward the door, holding up his hand in a farewell gesture. He wished he could think of a reason why Sarah should leave with him, but this was her part of town. It would be silly to have her ride all the way uptown with him and then return alone.
Outside, the night had turned cold with a sharp wind that cut through the layers of Max’s clothing. He turned up his collar, hunched his shoulders, and headed for the subway station.
“Hey, wait up.”
He stopped and turned to see Sarah running toward him, her coat half on. And it was the most normal thing in the world to hold out his arms to her and fold her into his embrace the minute she reached him.
Chapter Five
• • • • • • • • • • • •
Standing in the warmth of Max’s embrace, Sarah felt as if she had come home. Now that is simply crazy, she thought as she eased away from him and finished zipping her jacket. They had a bargain—a bargain that was rooted in friendship and was firmly without romantic overtones. But when she looked up at him, he was staring at her as if seeing her for the first time.
“Sorry about that,” she murmured, figuring that he was having his doubts that she could keep things on a platonic level.
“I’m not,” he replied. “It was nice. It felt . . . right.”
Okay, she was now officially confused, and as usual when she did not quite know how to read a situation, she made a joke. “Well, it certainly felt good to get out of that wind. Thanks for acting as a barrier.” She concentrated on pulling on her mittens—an action that took no effort at all but one that she focused on as if she were performing some delicate operation.
Max took her hands in his. “Hey, I’m being serious here.”
“I thought we’d agreed . . .”
He shrugged. “Yeah, well, sometimes things change.” He ran his thumb over the fabric of her mitten. “Look, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, and if that’s the case then maybe . . .”
She leaned in and kissed him lightly on the lips. “We’re not teenagers, Max. I think we can both deal with whatever feelings might come out of this time we’re spending together. The point is—”
He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her back—only this was no light peck on the lips. This was a kiss that spoke volumes—a kiss broken only by the sounds of laughter and conversation as others left the restaurant. Reluctantly Max took a step back and released her.
“Hey you two, it’s warmer inside if you need to talk or whatever,” Ned said as he and Mary caught up to them.
“Just making plans,” Max said, and Sarah could not help but marvel at the casual way he wrapped one arm around her shoulder as they turned to face her friends. “I’ve been promising Molly that we’d go ice skating. How’s tomorrow?”
“I’m in meetings all day.”
“Next week then. How’s Friday?”
Sarah mentally ran through her schedule. She had so much to do, and unless Max took the open spot on the team she was going to have to try to find someone else or go on the mission shorthanded. “I can’t. I have to—”
“Another time then.” He released her and turned his attention to Mary and Ned. “You’ll see that Sarah gets safely home?”
“We usually do,” Mary replied. “And we’ll see you next week for choir practice?”
“I’ll be there.”
With a wave he started walking—no, practically jogging—to the subway entrance. Sarah’s first thought was that he was having seco
nd thoughts about that kiss. Or did he think she was the one having doubts? Did he think she was making excuses not to be with him? As she fell into step between Mary and Ned, she tried hard not to overanalyze the situation. After all, she had been the one to point out that they were adult enough to handle whatever feelings might arise between them. Was she or not? At the moment she felt like a rejected sixteen-year-old.
She stewed about the situation for the duration of the walk back to her loft. Ned and Mary rode the elevator with her to make sure she was safely inside her apartment before heading down the block to their place. They didn’t seem to notice how quiet she was. They were debating changes for the order of songs for the concert and who should do which solo.
“I think we ought to give that part to Max.”
Mary shook her head. “Max? He’s only just joined the group, and what if he decides it’s not for him?”
As the elevator came to a creaky stop, they both turned to face Sarah. “Well?” Mary demanded. “Don’t you agree?”
“What?”
Ned sighed. “That Max might not be the best choice for the solo on a number of fronts—for one thing, Frank Stover will have a hissy fit.”
Mary rolled her eyes. “Frank Stover could not sing a note on key if his life—”
“I think Ned might have a point,” Sarah said as she lifted the elevator’s iron gate and stepped into the hall. “Max is . . . kind of in transition now. He’s only just been discharged from the military, and I think he might be trying things to see if there’s a fit.” Like that kiss.
“So we should not ask him to do the solo?”
Sarah shrugged. “Ask him. Don’t ask him. I’m beat, and I’ve still got a lot to do.” She gave them a little wave as she closed her loft door, knowing they would wait for the sounds of three locks to slide into place. On the rest of their way home, no doubt, the couple would be wondering what was wrong with her. It was unusual for her to be so short with either of them.
Well, what was wrong with her? It was completely out of character for her to be so disinterested in anything that was clearly of utmost importance to her friends. She emptied her pockets, throwing her keys and wallet onto the small table in the entry hall that also held her book of daily devotions. The small dog-eared devotional fell to the floor at her feet.
“Okay, I get it.” She was all too aware she’d been so busy that she often fell asleep with either her Bible or the devotional still in her hands and her prayers unfinished. No wonder she was feeling so confused and out of sorts. She took off her jacket and dropped it on the chair then sat cross-legged on the floor and opened the little book to the current date—the first of December.
The scripture passage for the day was from Luke 2. It was about the call for everyone to report to the place of their birth to pay taxes. It was about Joseph and Mary making the long journey to Bethlehem. The meditation focused on the fact that although surely God could have chosen any circumstance for the birth of His son, He chose to have the young expectant parents end up in a stable—destitute, hungry, and weary from their travels. The meditation went on to remind the reader that millions of people all over the world faced a similar plight every day.
Sarah thought about the people she’d worked with over the years. Fathers who could not find work or support their families. Mothers who were helpless to offer their newborn children milk because of their own malnutrition. Children—age seven or ten or thirteen—so riddled with disease and hunger that they looked years younger. And many of these people lived in countries with the resources to feed, clothe, and house them. Many lived in countries where there were riches beyond imagination.
Many of them live right here in America, Sarah thought, and a wave of guilt washed over her. Guilt that she had been so caught up in her happiness in spending time with Max, enjoying the traditions of the holidays that she had lost sight of how truly blessed she was. There were people probably within her very neighborhood who held no warm feelings for the season. Maybe that’s what Max had meant when he’d talked about all the trappings of Christmas being a farce covering up the reality of daily life.
She picked up her cell and dialed Max’s number.
“Hi,” he said, answering on the first ring.
“This thing with Molly—ice-skating. I assume at Rockefeller Center?”
“Yeah.”
“How about instead we take her with us to help out at a soup kitchen or food pantry?”
“She’s kind of got her heart set on it.”
“Couldn’t we do both?” Ideas were flashing through Sarah’s head the way they did when she found herself in a situation where things were not going according to the original plan. There was silence on the other end of the conversation. “Max? Are you there?”
“What’s going on, Sarah?”
“I just think it’s important that we don’t forget to focus on those who are less fortunate.”
“And you do that every day in your job. I think it’s okay for you to take some time to enjoy the season.”
“You were the one who described everything we’ve surrounded Christmas with as a Hollywood version of the perfect holiday,” she reminded him.
“Don’t pay any attention to me, Sari. I’m far too burnt out as a human being. I’m going to view everything through the eyes of a guy who has seen too much hate and anger and suffering in the world.”
“Then let me show you the other side of that.”
“You’re talking about the job?”
“I’m talking about finding a way for Molly—and you—to experience the lessons of the true meaning of Christmas. I’m talking about the fact that maybe I’ve gotten far too caught up in parades and shopping and such myself. Maybe both of us need to take a step back and look at things through a child’s eyes.”
“We’re not her parents, Sarah.”
“I know that, but don’t you think that Grace and Jack would agree that it’s important for her to learn that Christmas is about so much more than Santa Claus?”
Again a long silence. She was beginning to get used to these. This time she waited for him to speak.
“I thought you had to work.”
“I do tomorrow and I do next Friday. But there are several days in between when I can get things arranged so that I could take off early. We could go after Molly gets home from school—go first to the food pantry and then from there we could go ice-skating . . . Maybe Grace and Jack could meet us if Jack’s schedule allows for him to be off.”
“Do we get to eat anywhere in there?” His tone was lighter, and she was relieved to realize that he was seriously considering her plan.
“Sure.”
“Let me run the idea past Grace and Jack, okay?”
“Absolutely, and in the meantime I’ll see if I can find a pantry or soup kitchen that’s not halfway across town from you.” Sarah felt better—as if she had once again found her bearings. And at the same time she was reluctant to end the call. “Well . . .” she said and found she really had nowhere to go with that.
Max chuckled. “Me too. I could talk to you all night, but you have to go to work tomorrow and save the world, so hang up now and get some rest.”
“Okay. Good night. And Max—thanks.”
“Not sure for what, but you’re welcome.”
* * * * *
The texts started coming within ten minutes of ending the call with Sarah. She had found a listing for food pantries and soup kitchens in the Manhattan area.
This one is close to Central Park.
And then, Oops! Looks like that one has really limited days and hours, none of which work for us. This one?
Followed by, This one does a brown bag thing and is also close to you. Maybe?
There were half a dozen more messages over the next hour—each new place she found had something good and something not so good. But every message made Max smile, and he found himself checking his phone to see if there were any more that he might have missed. Each time he texted b
ack with the same message. You choose.
I can’t, was her reply. There are so many and they all seem worthy.
In the end they decided to let Grace choose. After all, Molly was her daughter and she might not want the child doing charity work around a bunch of homeless people.
“Are you nuts?” was Grace’s succinct response when he called the next morning to tell her about Sarah’s idea. “Jack and I have been racking our brains trying to come up with some way we could insert a little true Christmas spirit along with all the fantasy world stuff. This is brilliant.”
“You and Jack are invited as well.”
“I’ll be there, but Jack’s on duty all that week. It’s day shift. I can see if he could meet us after for the skating part.”
“Then it’s a date.”
Grace laughed. “Well, especially for you and Sarah—seems there have been several ‘dates’ over the last couple of weeks. What’s the story?”
“Just friends, Gracie.”
“Right. Gramma Karen says you’ve joined a choir—as in a church choir. It’s been—what?—a dozen years since you darkened the door of a church?”
“It’s a choir. I was in one when we were in high school, remember?”
“Okay. It’s just that—”
“I’m trying a few things—dipping my toes in the real world again without jumping in head first.”
“And Sarah?”
“She makes it easier to be out in the city. She knows me and . . .”
“Seriously? She knows you? You had one date in high school. You knew her pretty much as my friend until she blossomed into the beauty she is and then you took notice. She does not know you.”
“Gracie, it is what it is. Don’t make a federal case out of a simple friendship, okay?”
“If you say so.”
But Max had no illusions that this was the end of it. As he and Sarah had both expected, Grace was going to see this as a romance whether they wanted her to or not. And after the kiss they had shared, Max had to admit that what he was feeling for Sarah went at least a couple of steps beyond simple friendship. Still, he had to try to give Grace a reality check.