by Anna Schmidt
“That’s kind of the plan. I figure we can always catch a cab if one of us decides she’s not up to the hike.”
They were standing near a lamppost, and she read clearly the challenge in his grin. “You are on, buster.” She was already several steps ahead of him when he caught up to her, took hold of her hand, and spun her so that she ended up in his arms.
“Truth is, Sarah, I don’t care if we walk or not. I just wanted to have some time with you—without an entourage—either yours or mine.”
“I’d like that.” She placed both hands flat against his chest, and it seemed the most normal thing in the world to kiss him. He tightened his embrace, and she wrapped her arms around his neck. The kiss seemed to last forever and at the same time be over far too soon. She knew that once she was half a world away she would treasure this moment. “Now that’s what I call a Christmas present,” she said when the kiss ended.
He took her hand in his, and they started walking. The streets were pretty much empty. Both of them were silent for several blocks, and yet her head resounded with the one thing she wanted so desperately to ask him. She had just worked up her courage to form the words when he spoke.
“I read all the stuff you gave me about the relief mission and the job, but I can’t come with you, Sarah. It’s too soon, and I can’t shake the idea that if ever I went back it would be to help those buddies still over there in the thick of things. I’m sorry.”
Her heart felt as if it were breaking. She’d guessed that this might be his decision, and to that end she had placed a notice for the position with no results. She’d told herself that she understood. But now that the words were spoken she felt only sadness. “It’s all right,” she hurried to speak before he could say anything more. She wasn’t sure why, but deep in her heart she felt that allowing him to try to keep explaining would only make things worse. Because it wasn’t all right at all. She had allowed herself to imagine them working side by side, helping people make a better life for themselves and their children. She had allowed herself to believe that they could build a future not only for others but for themselves. She had allowed herself to fall in love with him.
* * * * *
Nothing was going the way Max had planned. He had so carefully rehearsed what he would say to Sarah. How six months wasn’t that long, and while she was overseas he would get settled into a civilian life—a civilian job so that when she returned they could be together. He had allowed himself not only to rehearse what he would say but what she would answer. “It’s all right” had not been in the script. “It’s all right” sounded like she thought this was nothing more than him turning down a job she’d suggested. “It’s all right” did not in any way indicate feelings—the kind of deep forever feelings he had begun to have for her.
It was an ironic twist on their past. After that first date when the towers had been hit and he’d gone without hesitation to enlist, Sarah had been the one he had called first. Before telling his parents or Grace or even Gramma Karen, he had called her. Why? Because he had been sure that she would understand—and she had. Now she was the one going off to save the world. He had allowed himself to imagine that she would plead with him to come with her, or better yet that she would tell him she would stay. He had allowed himself to imagine that she felt what he did—that she loved him so much that she could not imagine six months without him. And yet he had also known that she had a commitment—a duty to her work that it would be unfair of him to try and change. That’s why he had decided to play the whole thing the way he had. He had it all worked out in his mind, but now his doubts nearly overwhelmed him.
He shoved his free hand in his pocket and felt the small jeweler’s box he was carrying. Inside it was something he had ordered at the same time he ordered the tokens for the attendees at the party. It was a pendant on a silver chain that he’d decided to give to Sarah so she would always remember the day—and wear until they could be together again. He had taken the idea from what Gramma Karen had said about something for the homeless people—something they could touch and remember. But he had to face facts. He and Sarah were not at all on the same page. Her life was light years ahead of his in terms of friends and work she loved. His life was up for grabs. Was he so desperate to find someplace—someone—to change that? It wasn’t fair to Sarah to expect that simply because he’d walked back into her life after all these years those feelings she might have had for him when they were in high school would still be intact.
He was an idiot. This was the way Sarah lived her life—seeing people in need and trying to help. She had obviously thought that by offering him the position on the relief team she was doing him a favor, giving him a purpose. “Just friendship” had been her only ground rule. But in his imagination he had taken things several steps beyond that. He didn’t blame her. She was just being Sarah. After all, she had built an entire career—her entire life—around helping others find their way.
“Max? About the opening on the relief team . . . I mean, I just thought . . . Well, you’d be perfect, but I get it that it’s too soon. I’m sorry if it felt like I was pressuring you. You don’t need that right now.”
“Thanks for understanding,” he managed and then started scanning the street for a cab. “You know, I’m not sure this was my best idea—walking for miles. It’s late and we’ve both got a full day tomorrow, plus it’s getting colder.” He spotted a cab, hailed it, and held the door open for her.
Her expression was one of confusion, but she got in and scooted to the far side, leaving room for him. Instead he handed the driver enough money for the fare to her place. Then he took hold of her hand and squeezed it. “Merry Christmas, Sarah. See you tomorrow.” He closed the door, knowing the cabbie would take off at once, and then he stood in the middle of the street watching until the red taillights disappeared. “Wolzak, you’re a total jerk,” he muttered as he headed for home, his hand in his pocket clutching the small box.
* * * * *
What just happened?
For the second time Max had simply walked away. His actions were almost as confusing to her as her feelings for him were. She knew exactly why she had thought of him to fill the vacancy on her team. Two reasons: one, he knew the area and the intricacies of the various groups they’d be dealing with, and two, it was the only solution she could come up with to keep him in her life while she did her job. Reason number two had been primary, although she had not allowed herself to admit that until tonight.
Okay, so she had fallen for the guy—again. But this was no high school crush. What she felt for him now was the real deal. But as had been their history, their lives were on parallel tracks. Back then, he had been the one to follow the call of duty. Now she had to go and, for now at least, he needed to stay until he could figure out his next steps. Maybe when she returned in six months . . .
Sarah barely paid attention to the ride as the cabbie barreled down streets and avenues on his way to the address that Max had given him. She stared out the window, but the passing traffic and neighborhoods were little more than a blur. As they neared her building, she tapped the barrier separating her from the driver. “Anywhere here is fine,” she said. She pulled a five-dollar bill from her pocket in spite of the fact that Max had already paid the driver. “Merry Christmas,” she said, handing him the tip as she got out.
“You okay, miss?”
The cabbie had rolled down his window and was looking at her with a worried frown. He was older with wispy white hair. He was wearing a faded red jacket. It was Christmas Eve, and her driver looked like Santa. Sarah smiled. “Just need to think,” she said.
“Church back a couple of blocks looked like it was open for midnight services,” he suggested. “Want me to take you back? No charge.”
She smiled. “No. I’ll be fine walking. Thanks, though. It’s the perfect place.”
She’d passed the old church many times, always admiring the way the light from inside illuminated the beautiful windows after dark. She’d already spent most
of her Christmas Eve in churches, so why not this one? Only this time, instead of performing with a choir or setting up for a Christmas Day party, she could just be still and wait for her jumbled thoughts to settle. She could find her way again.
Inside, the sanctuary was crowded, and Sarah squeezed into a seat in the last row of pews. There was no choir or minister retelling the Christmas story. Someone was playing the organ very softly, as if to avoid disturbing those who had come. Around and across from her Sarah saw everyone had their heads bowed, so she bowed hers as well and waited for the prayers to come—prayers of thanksgiving for the many blessings in her life, prayers of request for the safety and good health and happiness of those near and dear to her, and prayers of wonder that she had been given this time with Max and Grace and little Molly.
Never had she dreamed that her very best present this Christmas would be a reunion with her childhood friend and the chance to reconnect with Karen Wolzak who had been like a second mother to her. Never had it occurred to her that this was the Christmas when she might fall in love.
I do love him, heavenly Father. I don’t know what Your plan for us might be, but You have shown me how to love again—truly love without condition, and I am so very grateful for that.
It was true. The one reality that Sarah understood was that life came with no guarantees. The very fact that she had had this time with Max was indeed a blessing in itself. She would not ask for more.
The music had stopped, and for several minutes the church was completely quiet except for the occasional cough or rustling as someone shifted positions. Then a man near the front of the church turned to his neighbor and shook hands. “Merry Christmas,” he said, speaking in a normal voice. That set off a chain reaction, as throughout the crowded sanctuary people greeted one another. Soon the church that had been so still just minutes before was alive with laughter and conversation. She shook hands and greeted those around her and then slipped quietly out to the street, the light from the church spilling over the sidewalk through the open doors.
Above her the stars were visible because in this part of the city most buildings were dark at night. Behind her the church bells chimed out twelve rings.
It was Christmas Day.
* * * * *
Christmas morning was chaotic at the Wolzak house. Grace, Jack, and Molly arrived early for the family’s traditional gift-opening and breakfast. Mike took over the kitchen, where once they were all gathered around the table, he would turn out slices of his trademark eggnog French toast until the orders stopped coming.
“Help your mother cut up the fruit,” Max’s dad instructed. “She wants to talk to you about something. And play nice, okay? Don’t get your guard up before you even know what’s coming.”
“Occupational hazard,” Max muttered. He picked up a paring knife and moved to the other end of the large kitchen island. It occurred to him that the only time he’d ever seen his mother wearing an apron was on Christmas morning. “Need some help?”
She held out a mango. “I may live to be an old woman, but I will never understand how you cut one of these things without throwing two-thirds of it away. Here, you try. I’m much better with strawberries.”
“Watch and learn,” Max said as he set the fruit on the cutting board with its stem down. “Now, set your knife about a quarter inch from the center and cut straight down.” He demonstrated then handed her the knife. “You do the other side.”
“Here?” She positioned the knife.
“Perfect. Now slice.”
The smile his mother gave him when her half of the fruit fell away was radiant. “Now what?”
“Okay, now turn your piece on its back—skin side down and cut into the flesh but not all the way through the skin.”
She followed his lead. “You make it look so easy.” She watched him turn his piece a half turn and cut horizontal rows until he had a checkerboard pattern. She did the same.
“And now you simply flip it, push the skin in so the fruit pops out, and either scoop out the fruit with a spoon or separate it from the skin with the tip of your knife.”
“Oh, Maxie, where on earth did you ever learn to do this?” She picked up a second mango and began the process again. She had not called him by his childhood name in years.
“I had a buddy who grew up in Florida—he taught me. He was a terrific cook—very inventive.” He realized that this was probably more information about his military friends than he had ever before shared with his parents.
His mother concentrated on the mango and then very softly she asked, “Is he, this friend, did he . . . ?”
“No, Mom. He died. Stepped on a landmine.”
“I’m sorry . . . for your loss. He was obviously important to you.”
Max did not know what to say so he concentrated on capping strawberries instead.
“Is Sarah important to you, Max?”
Okay, did not see that coming. “She’s . . . It’s good to have her back in our lives—mine and Grace’s.” And speaking of landmines.
“Grace seems to believe that it’s more than just the return of an old friend. So does your father.”
“Sarah’s leaving tomorrow for her next assignment. She’ll be gone for six months.”
Having cut up the second mango, his mother turned her attention to rinsing and sorting through blueberries. But suddenly she grew very still as the water ran over her fingers and the colander filled with the berries. And then to Max’s shock he saw that she was crying.
“Mom? Mother?” His hand hovered close to her shoulder. With anyone else—Grace or Gramma Karen or especially Sarah—he would have wrapped his arm around her and comforted her until she revealed the source of her tears. But this was his mother, who had resisted open displays of affection her entire life.
She batted impatiently at her tears with the back of one hand and only succeeded in splashing more water on her face. Max glanced back, hoping his father would notice what was happening, but he’d left the kitchen. They were alone, and Max saw no sign of reinforcement coming.
“Mom, tell me what’s wrong. Dad said you wanted to talk to me.” A horrible thought struck him. “Are you ill, Mom? Is there . . .”
She shook her head vehemently and then placed her wet palm against his cheek. “The only thing I ever wanted, Max, was for you and Grace to be happy. Grace has found her happiness with Jack. But you . . . you still seem so lost, and I don’t know how to help you find your way.”
Relief flooded through him, and it hit him how terrified he had been of the mere thought that his mother might have some deadly disease. “Hey, I’m all grown up, and it’s not for you to—”
“Hear me out,” she interrupted. “First, let’s get one thing straight—I do not judge others based on their social or economic backgrounds. It’s true that my parents tend toward that sort of thing, but I don’t. Is that understood?”
Max actually felt himself blushing as he nodded.
“Good. Second, if Sarah is the one for you, then for heaven’s sake, son, do not let her just walk away. I know she has a job to do and I respect her for her dedication, but there have to be some ground rules here—why are you smiling? This is no laughing matter, Max.”
“I’m smiling at your use of the term ‘ground rules.’ It’s an inside joke between Sarah and me.”
“Well, that’s a start at least.”
“So what are the ground rules as you see them?”
“Sarah clearly cannot abandon her work. And Grace tells me that for whatever reason, you have turned down Sarah’s offer for you to fill a vacancy on her team and go with her. But, son, you must stay in touch—and I mean in close touch. Surely in the six months she’s over there she will have some breaks, so you meet her in Paris or Rome or Venice or . . .”
Max’s grin spread even wider. In his mother’s world, everything could be solved by a trip to Paris . . . and he realized that he loved her for that simple naïveté. “It is what it is, Mom,” he said as he wrapped
his arms around her. “It will be what it will be. God’s will be done. Isn’t that what you always taught us?”
His mother frowned but did not pull away from his affection. “Well, hopefully I never taught you to simply sit on the sidelines,” she replied. “God expects us to do our part, so you’ll speak to Sarah?”
“I will. I will text and e-mail and phone and—”
“I mean today.”
“And say what, Mom?”
“What you feel for her. Be honest about that. Did you buy her a gift?”
“Not exactly.” He thought about the jeweler’s box.
“Oh my goodness. Here,” she said as she dried her hands on her apron and then handed him the gold bangle bracelet she was wearing.
Max took hold of her wrist and replaced the bracelet. “Thanks, Mom—truly. And not just for the bracelet. I just realized that I have something else that might be perfect.”
“Good. Now go tell your father that it’s time to start making the French toast, or we’ll never eat.” She patted his cheek and dumped the drained blueberries in with the rest of the fruit then tossed the mixture lightly before taking the dish to the dining room.
Max watched her go. His dad had been so right. He’d held a grudge for far too long and had missed really getting to know this woman who had just admitted that her best Christmas gift would be his happiness.
Chapter Eight
• • • • • • • • • • • •
Sarah was at the church basement early. She wanted to be sure that everything was ready, and someone had to get the coffee started and the stew simmering. Even so, she was not the first to arrive. The church organist was at his post playing a concert of carols that were broadcast to the outside and accompanied at intervals by the ringing of the church bells. Upstairs in the sanctuary, people had already begun to fill the pews to wait for the service that would start at four and precede the meal and party downstairs. It was amazing how Molly’s simple idea had blossomed as the minister, his staff, and several members of the congregation pitched in to help and offer more ideas.