The Nine Lives of Christmas

by Sheila Roberts

  Wait a minute. Didn’t he have C-clamps in that old toolbox Dad had given him when he moved out? What else was in there? He couldn’t remember right off. Well, now was as good a time as any to find out.

  He made his way to the second floor, Tom trotting up the stairs beside him. “What a man needs,” he informed the cat, “is to stay busy.” He pulled the chain that let down the ladder and climbed up into the attic with Tom still along for the ride.

  Due to the steep pitch of the roof, Zach had to stoop until he got into the middle of the room. He looked around him and frowned. Chamber of Horrors II.

  The attic of his childhood home, dubbed the Chamber of Horrors by his dad, had been a collection of everything imaginable, from birdcages that had outlasted the bird to childhood toys. One of the biggest messes in the attic had been the boxes of Christmas decorations which his mother had collected since the Mayflower landed. She would spend hours decorating the house each year, always in new colors and motifs. Every year Mom replenished her stock. Zach remembered Dad saying that he would sooner be dragged by the devil into hell than have to schlep any more Christmas stuff up to the attic. But the cache of holiday decorations continued to breed, right along with all the other household detritus—everything from winter boots to washers for the kitchen sink wound up in there, all in boxes, none of them labeled. It became a vortex, sucking in everything and anything.

  Zach looked at the mess around him and shook his head. How did people manage to collect so much stuff so quickly? Over there by the far wall was the basketball hoop he’d taken when he moved out. He’d hauled that dumb thing from apartment to apartment. And now it was here even though he was planning on selling this place and moving to a condo. What did he think he was going to do with a basketball hoop in a condo?

  That was just the beginning. He wove past the neglected markers of his life, wondering why he was keeping all this stuff. There were skis and poles and boots he hadn’t used in the last two years, his lacrosse stick and gloves from high school, boxes of textbooks he’d never read again, and Gram’s old rocking chair that he was going to get around to refinishing one of these years. There was the box of Christmas ornaments, souvenirs from happier times. Mom had left them behind for him along with a note that read, “For your first tree, when you have a family of your own.”

  Dad had insisted he take them. Why was he keeping them? God only knew.

  He was halfway across the attic when he caught sight of the box with his Nintendo. He and David used to play that all the time. Now, that would be fun to haul down and …

  He never finished his thought. Too distracted by the sight of the old game, he forgot to watch where he was walking and tripped over the runner on the rocking chair. Down he went, doing a face plant with a thud and a curse, raising enough dust to give himself a sneezing fit. What was he doing up here anyway?

  “To hell with this,” he decided.

  But just as he was getting to his feet, Tom jumped onto a pile of boxes. It had been stacked haphazardly and the landing wasn’t a success. The top box tipped over and as Tom leaped for safety it broke open, spilling crap across the floor. Lovely.

  Zach scowled at Tom, who was now crouching in a corner, ready to bolt if anything new toppled. “Thanks a lot, dude,” he grumbled.

  Tom flicked his tail, not happy with getting scolded.

  “Yeah? Well, I’m not happy cleaning up after you. What do you think of that?”

  The cat kept his thoughts to himself.

  Zach had come up here to stay busy. He heaved a resigned sigh and made his way over to the box, which held a collection of mementos: his first baseball mitt, a couple of Little League trophies, his high school diploma, senior prom picture, and some photo albums. He took one and plopped onto the floor cross-legged, all the while telling himself he was a fool. Going down memory lane was fun for some people, but his particular path was tangled with thorns.

  Tom joined him now, and rubbed up against him as he opened it. “You’re lucky you’re a cat,” he muttered. “No problems.”

  Tom meowed and rubbed again.

  “And no, I’m not feeding you now. I’m busy.” Wandering uselessly down that thorny memory lane, for no good reason. Except that he was already irritated and wanted to get good and pissed off? Maybe.

  He thumbed through the album, seeing snapshots of himself in his Little League uniform, at Christmas with his first pocket knife (the one he managed to cut himself with less than two hours after opening the present), at the ocean with his dog Dexter, sitting on the deck, drinking lemonade and hamming it up for the camera with his brother, his best friend Henry, and Henry’s sister Anna. In the background, lolling on a deck chair with a drink in her hand, sat Aunt Leslie.

  Aunt Leslie. It had been the greatest day in Zach’s young life when she and her two kids moved in next door. She’d been his mom’s best friend and their two families did everything together. He still remembered how sad he felt when Aunt Leslie moved away and took his friends with her.

  Now, searching through the mists of time, he remembered another thing: his mother on the phone with his grandmother, saying, “She can’t move soon enough for me.”

  Why?

  What did it matter? That was just another relationship his mother decided wasn’t worthy of her. He closed the album with a snap. Small wonder he didn’t do relationships well, given the example he’d had.

  Except Mom hadn’t been the only one scrambling his psyche. There was another album in that box, the one he hadn’t wanted to open, containing pictures of him with Ella, the last woman he’d ever been serious about, on the night they got engaged. They’d been crazy in love, or so he’d thought until she dropped him and broke his heart.

  You were already pulling away.

  “I was not!” Zach insisted forcefully enough to make Tom jump and dash to the other side of the attic.

  He got up and tossed the album and the other useless junk back in the box. Then he picked up Tom and went downstairs to find a TV sitcom, where life was nothing but laughs and problems were solved in half an hour.

  * * *

  Ambrose was puzzled. Something in one of those picture books he’d helped Zach find when he tipped open that box had made Zach stop and do what humans seemed to need to do a lot: Think. Then he’d thrown things back in the box and he and Tom had left that interesting treasure room. Now Zach looked sad, always a bad condition for a human.

  What happened? For the first time in his lives, Ambrose found himself feeling badly for someone else. Discouraged, too. He had tried his best to help Zach and obviously he’d failed. You can only do so much, he reminded himself. Ultimately, like every other creature, humans had to make their own choices and then live with the results.

  Well, Zach would live with them. Ambrose, on the other hand, was on his ninth life and running on fumes. This wasn’t good, not at all.

  THIRTEEN

  There was always plenty to do at the station, but Christmas Eve brought an extra duty. As soon as it turned dark it was time to take the truck, all decked out for the holidays, and visit the various neighborhoods, serenading residents with Christmas songs. This year it was Zach’s turn to be Santa and toss mini candy canes to all the neighborhood kids.

  “We need another pillow,” Ray decided, eyeing Zach’s costume. “Man, you just don’t fill that thing out.”

  “Then let’s put you in it. We won’t need any pillows,” Zach retorted.

  “Amber thinks I’m just fine the way I am,” said Ray, untouched by the barb.

  “She’s known you what, twenty-four hours? Give her time.”

  “We’ve known each other longer than that.”

  “E-mailing on HotHookUps.com,” Zach said in disgust.

  “You can learn a lot about a person that way,” Ray insisted. “Anyway, we’ve had a date.” He grinned. “She’s really nice. And man, is she hot. Almost as hot as Merilee.”

  At least this new chick had distracted Ray from Merilee. That was a
good thing.

  “We should all go out,” Ray said as he shoved another pillow at Zach.

  “This isn’t going to fit,” Zach said with a frown.

  Ray snatched back the pillow. “Never mind. Nobody’s gonna climb in the truck to see how fat you are anyway. We need to get going.”

  And so off they went, armed with prerecorded music and the appropriate equipment to blast it loud enough to wake the dead, the truck decorated with lights and a huge Christmas wreath on its front, Ray driving and Zach hanging out the window, waving like some fool on a parade float. He much preferred the Fourth of July. Then they cruised down Angel Way with the siren at full tilt, looking buff in their uniforms. In this stupid red suit Zach looked like he’d escaped from the mall.

  But this was a town tradition. When the truck rolled into a neighborhood playing “Here Comes Santa Claus” kids ran along the sidewalk, leaping for the candy Santa tossed. Senior citizens watched from their front windows, and moms and dads with little ones waved from their front porch.

  As they drove through Falls View Estates one couple in particular held Zach’s attention. They stood in the doorway of a modest house encrusted with lights, its yard sporting a manger scene. They were young, standing so close together they looked as though they were one person, and the dad held a baby in his arms.

  That could be you.

  Zach quickly pushed away the thought as the truck left the housing development and rumbled off down the road. Yeah, the couple looked happy. They probably were, for now. But it wouldn’t last.

  His reasonable argument should have popped that little bubble of longing. It always had in the past. But not this time. Something inside him insisted, Don’t be stupid—do you want to end up bitter and alone like old man Turner? End up that way? He was already there.

  Next thing he knew, they’d turned and were circling the parking lot of the Angel Arms Apartments. Merilee’s place. Except Merilee wasn’t there. She’d be with her family by now, maybe getting ready to eat dinner. What did her parents look like? How did they look at each other across the table?

  Ray gave him a shove. “Hey, turkey, smile!”

  Zach forced the corners of his lips up. Why was he in a funk? His life wasn’t so bad.

  Maybe not so good, either. They had just returned to the station when the holiday fun began. Dad called to check in. Zach looked at the caller I.D. on his cell and was tempted to let it roll over to voicemail. He loved his father, but he didn’t love hearing from Dad on Christmas Eve. It took three rings for the responsible half of his brain to override his reluctance. He picked up and said a wary hello.

  “Hi, son,” Dad began. “I was just thinking about you.”

  Dad was always thinking about him on Christmas Eve. And David. And Mom. Especially Mom. Especially after Dad had tossed back a couple of holiday drinks.

  “How’re you doing, Dad?” Zach asked and braced himself for an answer.

  For a moment his father didn’t speak and all Zach heard was the tinkling of ice. That would be Dad stirring his Scotch on the rocks with his finger. “Oh, fine. Got the cigars you sent. Thanks. Did you get my check?”

  “Uh, yeah. Thanks.” He should have called the week before when it came, before Dad got feeling too sentimental.

  “I thought maybe you could use it to buy a plane ticket to come see your old man this summer. It’s been awhile.”

  “Yeah, it has.” He should go see his dad. Except every visit somehow turned into a thinly disguised interrogation about Mom. Kind of like Dad’s annual Christmas Eve call. Any minute now …

  Sure enough. “How’s your mother? Have you talked to her?”

  “Yeah, she’s good.”

  Another silence fell, broken only by the tinkling of ice. “Well, that’s good. I’m glad she’s happy.” Dad heaved a big sigh. “You know, after all these years I still miss her. You kids grew up so fast. You know that? How’re you doing, son? I miss you.”

  “We’ll get together this summer,” Zach promised.

  “We had good times, you know.”

  “I know, Dad. How’s Diane?” Zach asked in an attempt to steer the conversation in a less maudlin direction.

  Now the silence went on for so long Zach wondered if the connection had been lost.

  “Dad?”

  “We’re separated.”

  “I’m sorry,” Zach said.

  And he truly was. The old man couldn’t seem to catch a break. Maybe the fact that he was making a habit of allowing Mom to haunt his life like the Ghost of Christmas Past had something to do with why wife number three had left him to ring in the holidays by himself.

  It had been only three years ago that Zach had attended his father’s wedding—a catered affair at the home of Dad’s new in-laws, who were all of six years older than Dad. The champagne had flowed right along with the good wishes. The bride had looked at Dad like he was some kind of paperback hero, and Zach had hoped for the best. Apparently he’d hoped in vain.

  Most people did. True love was myth.

  “Oh, well. You know we really weren’t right together,” Dad said philosophically. “No one’s ever been right for me but your mother.”

  Obviously Mom hadn’t agreed. Zach frowned.

  “When you find the right woman, son, hold on to her.” The ice tinkled. “That’s all I’m saying.”

  Zach sincerely hoped so. He didn’t know how much more of this he could take. “Well, here’s hoping the new year will be better for you.”

  “My life’s in the toilet, son. How’d you say your mother is?”

  “She’s fine.” She’s moved on. You should, too.

  “And how are you?”

  Oh, boy. “I’m fine, Dad.”

  “Are you going to come see me this summer?”

  Didn’t they just have this conversation? “Sure.”

  “Maybe we should go to Australia and see your brother. Three bachelors living it up down under, eh?”

  Picking up women in Australia with his father—there was a visual Zach was going to have trouble losing. “That’s a thought,” he said diplomatically. By morning Dad wouldn’t even remember he’d called, let alone what they’d talked about. Thank God. “Listen, Dad. I’m on duty. I’d better go.”

  “Go? Oh, yeah. Sure. Well, Merry Christmas, son. Don’t forget you’re coming to see me this summer.”

  “I won’t,” Zach promised.

  By summer Dad would probably be getting married again and Zach would find himself at another garden wedding. Poor Dad. Did Mom have any idea what she’d done to him?

  Probably not. Maybe she never meant to hurt him. Maybe they were drifting apart long before they split. Except they’d seemed fine. Everything had seemed fine … until it wasn’t.

  Who knew what happened to anyone? People started out madly in love and then just wound up hurting each other. To get serious with anyone was asking for trouble. There was always somebody in the equation who messed things up. That thought opened the door for more unpleasant thoughts and visions of a not-so-good Christmas future, so Zach gave himself a mental shake and went in search of distraction.

  Ray had popped in the DVD of National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation and the guys were settled around the TV with store-bought Christmas cookies and popcorn. Some laughs, some downtime with his buddies—perfect. Just what he needed. He helped himself to some popcorn and settled in a chair for what he hoped would be a quiet night. After the conversation with his father he needed it.

  The night was quiet until the call came in at ten.

  The Klaxon went off, shooting everybody off the couch like human fireworks. Then the information from CenCom came in over the intercom and it went through Zach like a bolt of electricity.

  Men grabbed their self-contained breathing apparatus and their personal protective equipment and raced for the truck. Meanwhile the printer spat out the information, proof in black-and-white that Zach hadn’t imagined what he’d just heard.

  In a matter of secon
ds they were on the truck and roaring down the street, battling the clock as well as the blaze, knowing it took only eight minutes for a house fire to spread from one room to another.

  Adrenaline was not normally a factor. After a man had been doing this for a while, he concentrated on working with his team and getting the job done in the most efficient manner possible. Get the details, get the engine in place and the hose hooked up.

  This time was different, though. Zach’s adrenaline was flowing like a raging river as the truck roared across town, siren blasting. He knew the address where they were going. Still, he kept thinking, Not my family. Oh, God, not my family. Suddenly it didn’t matter that his mom had turned his childhood upside down and married someone new, that another man had moved into his life and then moved them all in different directions. All that mattered was to get everyone out alive.

  By the time the truck arrived fire was chewing up the east side of the house where the bedrooms were located. The neighborhood was all dressed up for Christmas, with lights on the houses and wreaths on the doors. A light snowfall was beginning to dust the ground. The blazing house made a mockery of the holiday scene. Flames licked the night sky and sparks flew dizzily from the smoke, arcing out like tiny demons.

  A crowd of people had gathered on the street, many still in their holiday best, others with coats thrown on over bathrobes. Zach quickly spotted Mom and Kendra and Natalie. They were still dressed, wrapped in blankets and huddled together, holding each other and crying while a well-meaning neighbor attempted to console Mom by patting her shoulder.

  But where was Al? Where the hell was Al?

  FOURTEEN

  At the sight of the truck, Zach’s mother left the girls and raced up to him. Tears were making a crooked river down her soot-streaked face. Her hair was wild. So were her eyes. “Al’s not here!”

  Oh, God. Zach was going to be sick. Do your job, he told himself.

  He let Daniel the company officer intercept her. It was Daniel’s job to get that kind of information and form a plan of attack. “Where is he at?” Daniel asked Mom as Zach and the others donned their gear and covered their necks and ears with protective fluid to shield themselves from flash burns.