Candy Cane Wishes

by Leah Atwood

  He grabbed today’s paper and settled into his recliner, briefly lamenting how the newspaper trend had shifted sharply to digital mode. He could admit to enjoying a good book on a tablet, but nothing could replace the feel of a newspaper in his hands, spreading the pages wide, and losing himself in articles and editorials. There were times he wondered how long the industry could survive.

  Too many of his colleagues had lost their positions at their newspapers. Although The Daily Nativity had a strong list of assets and was financially sound, that could change over the course of any year if subscriptions decreased and advertisers pulled their accounts.

  Worrying about the future when everything was going well was a residual effect of his divorce. If he hadn’t been able to see his marriage crumbling, what else couldn’t he spot? When his mind traveled in that direction, he stopped and prayed, recited the verse about not borrowing trouble from tomorrow. God’s power and grace far exceeded any problem he could face.

  Once he’d read through the entire newspaper, including the comics—a guilty pleasure he’d never admit to anyone—he reached for a pen and completed the crossword. He came to 5 Down and read the clue — recovering readily from adversity. Nine letters and the seventh one was E. He tapped his pencil on the armrest, running through a mental list of words until he came to the one that fit.

  Resilient. Like Zoe.

  She didn’t recognize it in herself, but it no doubt described her. He couldn’t have guessed her history, which cut him to the core. All his trials and tribulations of the last four years paled next to what she’d gone through. And as much as it hurt to not have Brody all the time, he still had his son. Anytime he wanted, he could pick up the phone and call him, hear his voice. Those every other weekend visitations didn’t seem so far apart when compared with the possibility of never seeing him again this side of Heaven.

  When Zoe had agreed to let him come along, her response surprised him almost as much as when he’d asked the question. He didn’t want to intrude, but as she talked about the purpose of the candy canes, and he saw the healing she’d received from them, a force tugged at his heart. He donated to charities, packed shoeboxes, sponsored a paper angel. All those activities he believed in and gladly participated in, but something about the candy canes called to him.

  His stomach growled, and he realized he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. That bowl of apple cinnamon oatmeal wouldn’t sustain him until he came home at who-knew-what hour. He closed the newspaper, folded it in half, and set it aside. Rummaging through the fridge and cabinets, he settled on a grilled cheese and a can of beef with barley soup. Not the most gourmet or healthy option, but fulfilling and satisfying nonetheless.

  Time crept forward. At eight forty-five, he slid his arms through his jacket sleeves, wrapped the black and white plaid scarf around his neck, and pulled his gloves over his hands. He locked up and rushed to his car, feeling the wind’s bite. Halfway to Zoe’s apartment, he remembered the travel mug of decaf coffee sitting on his kitchen counter.

  The temperature would only decrease as the night wore on, and the forecast predicted the wind to remain at a steady eighteen miles per hour through tomorrow morning. The coffee shop closed at nine, but if he hit no red lights, he might make it in time for a cup. Unwilling to speed on the chance of hitting a patch of ice, he drove cautiously and pulled up to the drive-thru speaker with two minutes to spare. He paid for his decaf black coffee, leaving a generous tip for showing up at the last minute.

  Nerves struck again when he drove through the gate of Zoe’s complex. He wasn’t accustomed to them, and they were beginning to annoy him. Mind over matter. He performed trained breathing exercises—Thank you, college phys ed class elective that I thought I’d never use—until he parked. Unknowing if they’d take his car or Zoe’s, he carried his coffee with him to Zoe’s apartment and knocked.

  She answered the door dressed to go, wearing a red wool coat, white scarf and matching gloves. She had a large bag slung over her shoulder. “You came. I wasn’t sure you would.”

  “I wouldn’t have missed it.” He caught the nervous twitch in her right eye. “Unless you changed your mind and called to tell me not to come.”

  “I thought about it.” She lifted her shoulders, and a sheepish smile took over. “Almost did, a few times.”

  “I’m glad you didn’t.”

  “Me, too.”

  He pointed to the bag. “Are the goods in there?”

  She erupted into laughter he hadn’t expected. “You make it sound so clandestine, but yes, they’re all in here.”

  “Great.” He jingled his keys. “My car or yours?”

  “Yours, if you don’t mind driving. There are a lot of places I can hop out, make the drop, then jump back in.”

  “Sounds great.” He waited until she’d locked her apartment before heading down the steps and entering the cold. Once in the car, he glanced over and saw her buckling. “Where to first?”

  “The hospital. They have a children’s program tomorrow which will bring in extra visitors.” She paused and met his eyes with a solemn expression. “Visitors who will need extra encouragement this year.”

  “Were you here the year the church’s Christmas project was providing toys for every patient at the hospital?” He drove in the direction of the hospital, remembering the experience.

  “No, but I’ve heard about it.”

  “It’s one of those nights I’ll never forget. The older generation’s gratefulness humbled me. They’re an overlooked group this time of year.”

  Zoe turned a dash vent toward her. “Is it true that the able-bodied patients gathered together to help deliver presents to the children?”

  “Yes.” A warm shiver passed through him, reminding him of the Christmas spirit that filled the entire hospital that year. “If anyone ever questioned the possibility of having joy in the midst of trials, their doubts would have been erased that night. Even Deana, who wasn’t given to displays of emotion, was brought to tears.”

  “I wish I could have been there. There is nothing like experiencing the joy of Christmas firsthand.” Her smile lit the dark space between them. “I spend several hours each Christmas morning at the homeless shelter, and I’m touched by the generosity of Nativity. Not a single child goes without gifts, and the joy on each face is priceless.”

  “This town has always gone above and beyond to reach the less fortunate. I’m sure you know Mr. Abbot, the shelter’s director. His heart knows no bounds for those who have fallen on hard times. If he could eliminate homelessness and hunger, he would.”

  “Did you know the homeless rates have actually gone down here? The statistics are deceptive because Nativity receives an influx of vagrants from other towns. Word has gotten around about our shelter and the work done to get people off the streets, working, and into their own homes.”

  He let the information sink in. “That’s amazing. I’ve seen the numbers, and they didn’t make sense to me, but now I know why.”

  “It’s impressive while at the same time humbling. The work never ends, and there’s always another family coming in.” Her hands became animated the more she talked. “But when I see a mom cry because her child has a safe, warm place to sleep that night, I know that every minute I spend there is worth it.”

  “I’m blessed to never have known true hunger, or wonder where’d I’d spend my next night. Times were lean for my parents when I was a child, but my brother and I never wanted for anything.”

  “Tori and I wanted for nothing tangible, but we’d have done anything for our parent’s time and affection.” She quieted, then cleared her throat. “Spend a day at the shelter and one with my parents, and you’ll see firsthand that money doesn’t buy happiness.”

  Unsure how to respond without sounding trite, Donovan pointed ahead. “Where do you want me to park?”

  “Visitor parking. The ER lot is best, but I don’t want to take a spot from someone who might need it.”

  “Where in the
hospital do you leave the candy canes? Isn’t security tight?”

  She shrugged. “Not really. They have security cameras, but I distribute them in a way as to not cause attention. Bathrooms, the chapel, waiting rooms. Last year I came up with the idea of sitting in a waiting room and pretending to read a magazine. Before I get up, I leave a candy cane inside the magazine.”

  “That sounds time-consuming.”

  “It can be, but imagine the delight of picking up a magazine and a candy cane wish falling out to greet you.” She lifted the bag, poising herself to exit. “People who gather in waiting rooms generally aren’t here for a celebration—save labor and delivery. They’re concerned for their loved ones, waiting to see them and praying they’ll get well. Coming here is the most time-intensive stop and poses the highest risk of being caught, but I can’t ignore the need.”

  “I wouldn’t expect less.” He flashed a smile to convey he understood before leaving the car.

  She was rummaging through the bag and looked up when he opened her door. “I have a specific set of messages that I leave here, but they fell to the bottom.” She showed him a bundle held together with a ribbon and untied it. “Found them.”

  “What do those messages say?”

  “I wrote out Matthew 11:28 and Psalms 103:2-4, which took very small handwriting to fit all of it on the slip of paper.” She laughed briefly then stepped out of the car. “I wanted to offer reminders that God gives us rest when we’re weary and that He covers us with His love and compassion.”

  He held her elbow as she stepped over a patch of ice. “I love that you put so much thought into what you write.”

  She shook her head. “It’s not thought. It’s prayer.”

  “Even better.”

  The next three hours flew by. Donovan didn’t realize the clock had passed midnight until he pulled into his driveway after making plans to help Zoe again tomorrow night.

  Although tired, his mind ran in circles, but positively, not the stay–up-all night-and-worry mode. He hadn’t enjoyed an evening this much in months and his soul filled with deep satisfaction for the work done tonight. His respect for Zoe grew after witnessing the effort she put into the candy cane wishes. It wasn’t a happenstance endeavor, but a well thought-out, planned, and prayed-for mission.

  To top off the great night, for the first time since his divorce, he felt the sparks of his Christmas spirit ignite on their own accord—not just for the sake of his son—and looked forward to the entirety of the season.

  Chapter Seven

  Zoe looked forward to Donovan’s return but prayed he had a great weekend with his son. After having his assistance and company with the candy canes for a week, Zoe discovered she enjoyed his presence. Of course, it took not having him nearby all weekend for her to have this epiphany, but she’d come to a conclusion, nonetheless. What to do with that information was a different story.

  Did she dare allow herself to have a friend? A tremble coursed through her. Even friendship meant being vulnerable. She’d had enough heartache to last a lifetime plus infinity. Dare she risk opening her heart?

  Her heart? Where did that come from? As a friend, Zoe, as a friend. Don’t jump ahead of yourself.

  Weren’t they already friends? In a week’s span, he’d learned more about her than any other person in Nativity had in the five years she’d lived here. She’d told him more than she’d even told Mrs. Jacobs. She trusted him, felt comfortable confiding in him, and it wasn’t one-sided. He’d entrusted her with information he claimed not to have told anyone, and he’d gain nothing from lying.

  They brought each other coffee, and hot cocoa, and tea. She didn’t have any social media accounts to friend him on, but they exchanged text messages that increasingly had nothing to do with the candy canes.

  That reminded her …

  She pushed Snowball from her lap and went to the kitchen and unplugged her phone from the charger. Sent a text to Donovan and hoped she hadn’t overstepped her bounds. — Was at the mall this morning and saw the Freddy Turtle play set in stock. I asked if they’d hold it for you, but they wouldn’t since it’s the number one toy this season. I went ahead and bought it for you.

  As she expected, no immediate reply came. He’d mentioned Mondays were meeting day at work, and he set his phone to silent during them. More evidence of their friendship. Though she knew the career fields of most people whom she interacted with at church, she didn’t know their employer, let alone anything about their schedules. Only Donovan’s.

  While she was in the kitchen, she fed the cats and gave them fresh water. A black blur jumped down from the top of the refrigerator and pounced in front of her. Her heart skipped a beat until she realized it was Coal, who often hid up there when Snowball wanted to play, and he didn’t. With her extra fluff, Snowball hadn’t figured out how to get that high.

  She cleaned her dishes from breakfast and lunch. A defying laugh escaped. Of all the changes in her life in recent years, they weren’t all bad. The old Zoe never would have left a dish in the sink, but the new Zoe understood life’s brevity. Nothing had been hurt, and the world wasn’t worse off for her leaving the dishes until after she’d run errands this morning. The release of perfection came with a high price tag, but she’d glean every lesson possible from the death of her family.

  Her phone beeped when she was halfway done sweeping. She finished the chore before checking. Expecting a reply from Donovan, she smiled until she saw her mother’s number and message. — Happy Thanksgiving, Darling. We’re home from Austria and leave for Colombia next week.

  She sucked in a long, angry breath. Some things never changed. Happy Thanksgiving? It was over a week ago. No “Can you come visit while we’re home,” or “We miss you.” Nothing. No sign of affection. She shouldn’t be surprised, but the truth stung regardless. After Tori’s death, her parents threw themselves further into work.

  Oddly, their reaction told her they did care and needed an escape from the pain. At the same time, she wanted to throw respect to the wind and shake their arms and tell them she needed them to be parents. Just once, she could have used them as a shoulder to cry on, but that wasn’t their style. Hands off best described their method of parenting. For better or worse, they were the parents God gave her.

  Swallowing all her pride and resentment, she typed a reply. — Happy Thanksgiving to you, as well. Safe travels and I love you.

  She might get a reply. Might being an optimistic hope. When was the last time her parents had told her they loved her? After Aubrey’s funeral before they jetted out of the country. Before that? She couldn’t remember.

  She’d made it a point to tell Aubrey every day of her short life that she loved her. Not a day passed she hadn’t told her those three words that could fill a heart. Knowing wasn’t enough. A person had to hear the words. Another hard-learned lesson from her parents.

  When her phone beeped again, she considered not looking. If Mom had replied with another impersonal message, Zoe would throw her phone across the room. Figuratively speaking—maybe. Curiosity got the better of her, and she checked the screen, relieved to see Donovan had replied. — Thank you! I’ve searched everywhere in town and online to no avail. I’ll write you a check tonight. Brody will be a happy boy on Christmas thanks to you!

  — No problem. She started to tell him not to bother with paying her back, then thought better of it. Even though she didn’t care about the money, it wouldn’t be appropriate, and Donovan would insist on repaying, anyway.

  — Still on for tonight?

  — Yes. Why don’t you come early for dinner? My way of saying thanks.

  Had she really sent that? No, no, no! Her impulsive behavior was a thing of the past. Apparently not. She’d considered asking him to show her appreciation for his help but hadn’t decided yet if she could. At least she hadn’t thought she’d decided. There had been a miscommunication between her brain and fingers. She gave a resigned sigh. What’s done was done. He’d say yes or no, and th
ey’d go from there.

  — Sounds good. What time?

  — Sevenish

  — Might be closer to 7:15 if this meeting runs late, but I’ll be there. I’ll bring dessert.

  —You don’t have to bring anything.

  —The wife of our sales manager sent in goodies for everyone. I have six pecan tarts and a pumpkin roll. She owns the bakery off Sixth street, so they’ll be delicious, but goodness knows I don’t need to take them home and eat them all by myself.

  Zoe chuckled. Donovan could afford a few treats without impacting his trim figure, and she wouldn’t turn away anything from the bakery. She had a fondness for their almond cake. And their pumpkin muffins. And the pecan tarts. All right, she loved everything she’d ever eaten from there. Fortunately, she’d inherited a great metabolism that allowed her to indulge without gaining weight—if she didn’t do it every day.

  —Some of my favorites!

  —I have to get to this next meeting. If anything changes, shoot me a text.

  She filled her lungs with a long breath and exhaled. Does sharing dinner together constitute friendship? As much as it petrified her, she had to admit she’d formed a friendship with Donovan. Though scared, she found a measure of comfort. True friendships had been a rare commodity in her life, and she welcomed a new one.

  Especially close to Christmas, and with someone who understood loss. As tragic as her loss had been, her husband, child, and sister hadn’t chosen to leave her. Donovan’s wife made a choice to leave him, and Zoe imagined that incurred a different level of pain. Life could be cruel, and she’d be forever grateful for her sustaining faith in God.

  What could she make for dinner? She hadn’t cooked for anyone but herself in years, other than the occasional potluck dish for church socials and she wanted to offer him a better meal than cornbread pudding and mac and cheese. She always made kid-friendly recipes after seeing the lack of options for kids.

  She knew Donovan wouldn’t complain about anything she made—his personality wouldn’t allow it—but he deserved a nice dinner for all his help. Damien had loved her shrimp scampi, but that seemed better suited for a romantic dinner.