Love Finds You in the City at Christmas

by Anna Schmidt

  His dad chuckled. Max’s parents had a long-standing tradition that one gift for his mom would be something small that could be hidden somewhere in the tree and not found until they were removing the decorations and storing them for the next year. It was always the very last present to be opened.

  “Well, she’s going to be surprised—that’s for certain,” his dad said. “Not sure if it will be a good surprise or not.”

  “Jewelry or gift card?” Max knew that some years the gift was a piece of jewelry or a gift card to one of his mother’s favorite boutiques.

  “It’s a gift card, but not one she usually expects. It’s a handwritten one to Bernie’s Diner.”

  “In Brooklyn?”

  “Yeah. That’s where I proposed to her and I thought . . .” He frowned.

  “She’ll love it, Dad.” Max wasn’t at all sure how he knew that, but looking at the woman leaning on a broom talking and laughing with Sarah, he was suddenly very sure that his dad had chosen exactly the right thing.

  He patted his pocket, hoping that the gift he’d chosen for Sarah would be equally well received.

  * * * * *

  As the night wore on and the first hint of dawn lightened the sky, Sarah was relieved to see that the storm had passed. True to their word, the street people woke and stretched, lined up for one final cup of coffee and the last of the cookies, and then one by one made their way out the door and disappeared into the city. She stood at the basement window next to the stairway that led to the street and watched the last of them go, and she was sure that the tears in her eyes were as much the result of wishing she could have done more as they were of exhaustion.

  She gave herself a moment to collect her emotions before turning back to the empty church hall. Mary and Ned had arrived in time to take the final shift and were now clearing the coffee urns and cookie trays while Max stacked the chairs and bagged the last of the trash.

  “Well, this was certainly a Christmas that I will remember for the rest of my life,” she said as she went to do her part to make sure they left everything as clean as possible.

  “You and everyone who had a part in it,” Ned agreed. “I just wish Mary and I had gotten here earlier.”

  “You were here when it counted,” Sarah assured him. “Thank you.”

  “You look exhausted,” Mary said. “Will you please go home and get some rest? I promise to make sure you’re at the airport in plenty of time to make your flight.”

  “I am pretty beat,” Sarah admitted.

  “Another Christmas miracle,” Ned teased. “The woman confesses to being human like the rest of us mere mortals. Now come on. I’ll get our coats.”

  “You two go on. I just want to check the restrooms before we go to be sure they’re clean.”

  “Ned and I will check the restrooms. You get your coat. Better yet, you sit down here and Max can get all our coats, okay?” He glanced across the hall to where Max was just returning from taking out the last of the garbage. “Hey, Max, Ned and I will pull latrine duty while you collect coats and make sure that Sarah stays awake long enough for us to get her into a cab, okay?”

  “My pleasure.”

  By the time Max collected their coats and sat down next to her to wait for Ned and Mary, Sarah was having trouble keeping her eyes open. But when Max handed her a small box with a purple ribbon tied around it, she instantly perked up. “What’s this? I thought we agreed . . .”

  “We did no such thing, and besides, this is not a Christmas present. It’s something I want you to open when you are on that plane tonight.”

  “Why not now?”

  “Because . . . just trust me. It’ll be better tonight.” He tucked the box into the pocket of her jacket and zipped the pocket shut. “Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Mary and Ned were scrambling around finding cleaners to wipe out the sinks and polish the mirrors and gathering the last of the trash from the restrooms. All of a sudden she and Max seemed to have nothing to say to each other, so she said what was in her heart. “I wish you were coming with me.”

  “Maybe once you’re there you’ll find somebody for the team.”

  His comment irritated her. “That’s not what I said.” She stood up and shoved her arms into the sleeves of her jacket and walked toward the restrooms. “Mary? I’ll catch a cab. Got to finish packing, so I’ll see you later, okay?”

  She didn’t wait for an answer but walked straight to the door and out. A cab was just cruising by and stopped the second she raised her hand. She was already inside when she saw Max emerge from the stairwell and start running after the taxi.

  Chapter Nine

  • • • • • • • • • • • •

  It was still early when Max let himself into the brownstone, changed clothes, and then took to the streets for his morning run. His feet pounded the pavement, marking out the cadence of his misery. She was leaving today . . . today . . . today.

  She had said that she understood why he could not bring himself to return to that part of the world. He had gone back twice and to what end? Nothing had really changed except maybe the names of the countries killing each other’s children. Sarah still believed she could make a difference, but he knew better. Maybe she could change the life of one child—maybe even a dozen—but there would be more in need. There always were.

  But it wasn’t just about the children or the work she did or the place where she did it. It was about them—Sarah and him—and the future he’d allowed himself to imagine for them. That morning he had stopped short of declaring his love for her—what would be the point? She was going. She should be going. It was her job, her calling. Why complicate her life?

  He ran through the park and out onto Fifth Avenue. Soon the street would be filled with people out to shop the sales or to return gifts they didn’t want or to get back to work. The city had been on pause for a night and a day, but now it was time to return to reality. Just like it was for Max. Deciding not to reenlist had been the easy part—a no-brainer once he really thought about it. Why tempt fate? He had made it through years of combat with life and limb intact. Going back would mean that he actually thought he could make a difference when the evidence was overwhelming that he couldn’t—hadn’t.

  The trouble was that he had allowed the time with Sarah to rekindle a sense of hope—of possibility that things could be different. But somewhere, blocks farther downtown, Sarah was closing up her loft and packing the last of her gear for the six months she would spend overseas. Her plane was scheduled to leave from JFK airport early that evening.

  Their parting had not been anything like he’d hoped it would be. The truth was that Sarah couldn’t seem to get away from him fast enough. By the time he realized that she was walking out without him and went after her, she was already in the cab. She had not looked back.

  Max slowed his pace—a full-out run—to catch his breath before continuing. As he sucked in the cold winter air, he realized that he was standing outside St. Patrick’s—possibly the most famous cathedral in America and certainly a stop for tourists of all faiths. But at this hour of the morning, there were only a few people coming and going—a woman in a black coat with a shawl that covered her head and half her face was leaving as a man and a boy walked slowly up the stone steps and through the open doors.

  Over the years Max had developed a habit of stopping at the grand old church whenever he was in town to light candles for his fallen friends. He was not Catholic, but he was pretty sure God didn’t keep score—at least on something like that. He’d been so busy since coming home this time—and had gotten so caught up in spending every moment he could with Sarah—that the tradition had slipped his mind. Well, no time like the present to rectify that. He wasn’t exactly dressed for church—desert fatigues—but again he doubted God would care.

  He entered the church and stood at the back for a moment, allowing his eyes to adjust to the sudden shift from daylight to shadow. A memory washed over him—a time back in A
fghanistan when he had led his company through a burned-out village. They had checked the ruins of every building looking for survivors. They had found only the charred bodies of the villagers who had not escaped. Max remembered it was that moment when he’d first thought that if he made it back to America alive, he would never come back. There were no answers, he had decided. Not for this part of the world anyway.

  He’d been the last to leave the village, following his comrades through a narrow street, when he’d heard something in a small shed behind a house. One of his buddies heard it as well. Max had motioned for the others to keep walking, wanting whoever was hiding in the shed to believe that they had left. In the meantime he and the other soldier circled back, signaling each other with gestures as they got into position. Together they rushed the half-open door, throwing it all the way open so that the strong noonday sunlight lit the area.

  There, crouched in a corner of the room, was a girl not more than fourteen, her eyes wide with fear but also determination as she clutched a bundle to her chest. Max had handed his rifle to his buddy and motioned for the girl to give him the bundle. He’d been certain that it was a bomb—how often over the years had he seen children used as carriers? The girl had scooted more firmly into the corner. She had shaken her head in a firm and universally understood refusal.

  Now, in the church, as the sweat from his run dried and he felt a sudden chill race through his body, he remembered that it had been winter then as well, and that the girl had not worn more than a thin dress. Max had taken off his outer jacket and laid it carefully on the ground in front of her, then gestured that he would trade—the jacket and warmth for the bundle.

  She had considered it but then once again firmly refused. All the while, Max’s partner had kept his rifle trained on the girl, nervously looking around, spooked by the silence and the shadows.

  And then the bundle had moved, and Max heard the weak but undeniable cry of a baby. His partner heard it as well and instinctively lowered his rifle. Max remembered how he had knelt on the dirt floor and inched his way close enough so that he could place his jacket around both the girl and the baby. All the while he had murmured the few words of Arabic that he knew and hoped they were the dialect that she understood. “Hospital,” he had said softly. “Food. Medicine.”

  He had held out his arms and instead of the girl surrendering the baby as he had expected, she crawled to him and settled herself and the baby against his chest, her silent tears running unchecked down her dirt-streaked face. That was when he realized that she couldn’t walk—that her legs had been badly burned.

  Now as he stood at the back of the main sanctuary to the famous cathedral, he wondered what had become of that girl. They had gotten her to a MASH unit, where she and the baby had been stabilized before being airlifted to a hospital. He had tried to follow up a few weeks later when he got leave, but the staff at the hospital couldn’t tell him anything except that she and the baby had been doing well, and then one day they had simply disappeared.

  Max wondered if she was alive, and not for the first time he wondered if the newborn she had so fiercely protected had been her own child. He sat down in a pew, and because the kneeling pad was there, he slipped to his knees. He folded his hands and looked into the glow of lights in the distance—the glow surrounding the altar. And he prayed.

  He prayed for the girl and her child. He prayed for all the children caught up in wars they had no part in. He prayed for his buddies—those who hadn’t made it, those who had sustained such injuries that their lives had been forever changed, and those still there somewhere in that endless mountain and desert wasteland where borders were bitterly contested, where power mongers set family against family, friend against friend, all too often in the name of God.

  He bowed his head, resting his forehead on his clenched hands as the images of all that he had seen in all the years he had spent over there flashed through his mind. He had never really permitted himself to remember those things—certainly he could not avoid the way they replayed in his dreams—but awake he refused to give them a single moment more of his life. And yet on this day the memories came freely—the faces, the names, the losses—so very many losses.

  He stayed there for a long time after the memories had finally settled back into the recesses of his brain. He turned his prayers to the present—to Grace and Jack and Molly and the miracle of new life that Grace carried. He prayed for Gramma Karen to continue to enjoy good health and thanked God for the blessing of her in his life. He prayed for his parents, asking forgiveness for the years he had wasted in not appreciating his mother’s fears and self-doubts when it came to parenting. And finally he turned his thoughts and prayers to Sarah. “Keep her safe,” he begged. “I love her so much.” This last he prayed aloud in a whisper that was barely more than the movement of his lips. “I love her,” he repeated as if he needed to make the point—as if God didn’t already know that.

  After a moment more he raised his head and pushed himself back onto the pew. Then he stood and went to a bank of candles. He dug out the crumpled bills he had stuffed in his pocket—in case he got injured and needed a cab or decided to stop for breakfast—and left them in the donation box. Then he lit a wooden taper and slowly lit candles—one for his buddies who had died, one for those who were alive but so severely injured in body or mind that they might well wish they were dead, one for his family—his wonderful, intact, loving family—and then one last one for Sarah and her team that they would do their work and come home again.

  When he turned to go, he saw the man and boy he’d seen enter the church before him. They were watching him as if waiting for him to finish his prayers and tributes before approaching him. He nodded and started for the exit. As he stepped outside the man and boy caught up to him.

  “Forgive me, sir,” the man said. “You are a soldier?”

  Was he? Not anymore. “I’m a civilian now.”

  “Were you in Iraq?”

  “No. Afghanistan mostly.” He studied the man—older than he had first thought. “My name is Max Wolzak,” he said and offered a handshake.

  “Jahmir Rahman, and this is my grandson Sanjay.” He had accepted Max’s handshake with a slight bow. “We wish to thank you.”

  “I think you must have me confused with someone else,” Max replied.

  “No. I have told my grandson here that it was a man like you who saved him. My son and his family were caught in a firefight during the war. They were all killed, but an American soldier found Sanjay here lying under his mother’s body. He was only seven. That soldier got him to a hospital, and how he managed this I will never know—for we never knew the soldier’s identity—but somehow he learned that I was here in New York and made the necessary arrangements through a group working with the United Nations to bring the boy here. We have no words, Max Wolzak.”

  Now he was grasping Max’s hand with both of his, and the boy was smiling at him. “I am American now,” he said proudly, “and one day I will serve as well.”

  “But in peace,” his grandfather hastened to add. “Always in peace. There has been too much war.”

  “When I finish school, I will work for the United Nations,” Sanjay told Max. “I will work for peace as my grandfather wishes, but I will also do this work because it is the only way.”

  In the boy’s eyes, Max imagined Sarah’s smile. If only she could hear Sanjay speaking with such conviction. Here was someone who would believe in what she believed in, would follow her to the ends of the earth in his certainty that the work she and others like her did was the only cure for the world’s woes.

  “I know of many stories like our family’s story, Max Wolzak,” Jahmir continued. “And I know that had it not been for that soldier, my grandson would not be alive today.”

  Max straightened to his full height and turned to the boy. “Do you have something to write with?”

  Sanjay nodded and pulled the stub of a pencil and a small notebook from his jacket pocket. He handed
them to Max and waited while Max wrote down his name and cell number.

  “When you are ready to go to work, call me. I may have a contact who can make sure you at least get an interview.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “And blessings be upon you,” his grandfather added as Max waved and set out running again—this time back the way he had come. For suddenly he knew what he needed to do—for himself and for the possibility of a future with Sarah.

  * * * * *

  Sarah could not recall a time when she had been more reluctant to head off for a new relief mission. Usually she was filled with anticipation for the work she and the others on the team would do—for the surprises they were bound to encounter and the blessings that would come back to them tenfold. But as she packed the last of her things on this day after Christmas, she could not seem to focus on the mission. Instead, all her thoughts were on Max Wolzak—and for what?

  She reminded herself that they had known each other for only a little over a month. Yes, they had known each other as teenagers, but that was way different from an adult relationship. The problem was that she had allowed herself to act as if they were those teenagers—starry-eyed with their whole futures ahead of them, blind to the dangers of the greater world and certain that no harm could ever come their way.

  And then the planes had flown into the supposedly indestructible towers and into the Pentagon and into a deserted farm field in rural Pennsylvania—and the world had shifted on its axis for everyone. Within a week Max was off to basic training, and the single date he’d had with Sarah faded into a distant memory as she tried to decide what future she might choose that would truly make a difference.

  And here they were—all grown up and no longer naïve about the capacity for evil. And yet she found hope in her work—a spark of possibility that drove her to return to troubled areas around the globe on the off chance that she could make a difference. Max had followed a different path, although he too had set out determined to put a stop to terrorism and violence against innocents. Once, he had been as certain as she was that good could conquer evil, but after spending so much time with him these last few weeks, she understood that he no longer believed that was possible.