by Greg Kincaid
Christopher said, “They buy their own stuff, so they don’t need Santa.”
“Really?” Mary Ann asked. “Are you getting them a present?”
“I don’t know.” He hesitated and then added, “Sometimes my mommy helps me get something for my daddy and we wrap it together, ’cause I don’t have much money.”
Mary Ann smiled and remembered how hard it was for children. She confided, “Sometimes my children shined their dad’s boots or cleaned up his shop for him. That doesn’t cost money.”
“You have children? Are they elves?” Christopher asked, wide-eyed.
“Not elves, regular kids like you, but all grown up now! And Santa and I have five.”
“I have a sister.”
“I know. She’s next in line. Christopher, do you want me to tell Santa what you would like for Christmas?”
“Yes, I want money.”
“Money?”
“Yes, so I can buy my mom and dad and sister a good present, too.”
She held him tightly. “You’re very sweet, Christopher, but Santa’s helpers can’t make money. Maybe you could draw them a picture or make them something nice.” The other kids in the line were growing impatient for their turn, so she prodded him, “How about you? Would you like a toy, a book, or something else?”
“I like Dusty Crophopper.”
“Okay. I’ll tell Santa. Now, jump down and tell your sister that she’s next.”
It took almost an hour and a half to get through the line. Mary Ann was skilled at keeping the conversations short and to the point. What surprised her the most was the Lady Luck effect; it was so satisfying—blissful, really—to hug each of these children and talk to them about giving. There was a joyful energy that seemed to swell up inside her that pushed at the edges of her being.
As the end of the line came into view, Mary Ann felt exhausted but pleased with her first attempt. George was standing there, waiting patiently. After the last child climbed off her lap, he walked up to her and kissed her lightly on the cheek. “Good job, Anna Claus.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive. I’m telling you all the parents were shaking their heads in amazement. Kids were buzzing with a different kind of excitement. What you were doing—it’s working. Don’t stop.”
“George, I’ve been so afraid of messing this up. Do I look okay?”
George took his cell phone out of his pocket as if he were answering a call and held it to his ear. “Hello, yes, this is her personal assistant….Yes, she’s here right now. Excuse me just a moment and I’ll ask her.” He covered the phone and said to her, “It’s Glamour magazine calling. They want an exclusive interview with you. Something about Anna Marie Claus—a whole new cover girl for a whole new world.”
“George,” she chided. “If silly was a commodity, we’d be rich.”
One of the news crews interrupted. “Mrs. Claus, I wonder if we could get a few words from you?”
George shrugged and smiled the way he did when he wanted to say, See, I told you so!
Link’s apartment—actually, his friend Sam’s apartment, where he’d been crashing on the sofa for the last few months—was on the way to the new animal shelter, so he stopped and changed clothes, exchanging his courtroom dress shirt and tie for work clothes. Just what I need to scoop poop, he’d thought as he laced up his old work boots.
He hadn’t planned on having to walk all the way to the edge of town to the shelter, but that’s what he was doing now. After he got back into his truck to drive out, the battery, which had been threatening to quit on him, finally keeled over, good and dead. Perfect timing, he thought. He had no spare cash to replace it, so he headed out on foot, thinking about how pathetic his money situation was.
His unemployment check barely covered the modest rent his roommate charged and the monthly child support he sent Abbey. There were no savings. He’d told himself he couldn’t waste money on gloves when he could just as easily put his hands in his pockets. Unfortunately, not long after he set out, he had to conclude that unlined pockets were for spare change and keys, not cold hands. He rubbed his palms together and then exhaled on his fingertips, using his warm breath to thaw the joints out.
“Are you Hayley Donaldson?” Link asked as he entered the animal shelter.
Hayley looked up from behind the front counter, which was decorated with cheery blinking Christmas lights. “Yes.”
“It’s cold today. Oh, I almost forgot.” He extended his hand. “I’m Link Robinson.”
“Hello, Link. Nice to see you again. Oooh,” she said as she took his freezing hand. “You’re right! It’s cold!”
“Have we met?” Link asked.
“High school,” Hayley said warmly, “but you wouldn’t remember me. It was a long time ago, right? Doc Pelot just called—he told me you were going to volunteer here with us for a while. We’re very excited to have the help. We’re behind, and things also get busy around the holidays.”
Link was her first regular volunteer. She desperately needed the help—but this was a very unlikely source. She remembered Link and Abbey from high school. They were two years behind her, already dating as sophomores when she was a senior. Popular kids. A good-looking couple. Everybody knew them. She doubted he would remember her. She was in a different group. Boring, studious, quiet, and struggling with her weight—hardly memorable.
Time had changed them both, Hayley thought, her for the better. But here he was, talking to her, still good-looking, yet the cocky charm had vanished. He seemed dejected, humiliated, and from what Doc had told her, Hayley knew that Link was in a bad way. His clothing was wrinkled and shabby, as if he were living out of a suitcase somewhere, and from what she’d heard, maybe he was—he and Abbey were going through a divorce. Sad. Still, committing to twenty hours a week—that was a near miracle. She was so thankful for another pair of hands. When she had complained to Doc Pelot about their shortage of help—they’d been busier than they’d anticipated as word of the reopened shelter spread—he told her he would work on it. He knew some people who could benefit from having a purpose. Then this afternoon he told her that Link Robinson was on his way over.
Hayley’s firm handshake and smile hinted at something Link hadn’t felt in a long time—respect. He thought about setting the record straight. He wasn’t a real volunteer. Doc Pelot was his sponsor, not his friend. He was a drunk and an almost-jailbird looking for an easy way out, not some do-gooder. But his story, his drama, was none of their business, and besides, full disclosure would be awkward for everyone. She probably knew the truth anyway, so there was no point in sharing it all. The fact is, the judge had given him a choice. He chose to volunteer, and here he was. There was one thing he needed her to understand, though, so he told her. “I’m looking for a paying job, but until I find one, I can help out here.”
“Sure, I understand completely. We’re just glad to have your help for as long as it lasts. I’ll show you around, but first I want you to meet Todd. We run the shelter together. He handles the animals; I handle the operations.” She gestured down the hallway, where Link saw a grown man sitting on the linoleum floor with a small dog tugging gently at the other end of the towel he was holding.
Link recognized Todd. He’d been a rather nerdy kid, two years behind Link, whom others teased. Link vaguely remembered intervening, telling somebody to leave Todd alone. Now Todd seemed like he was trying to teach his rather funny-looking four-legged opponent something. He was rewarding the dog with treats.
Hayley was tempted to say, And now you see one of the reasons why we’re behind, but realized it would be unprofessional, so she tried to reframe her frustration into a more positive observation. “Todd is very good about giving the dogs the attention they deserve.” Notwithstanding the reframe, some of her frustration still came out from between the lines.
For the second time in ten years, Link came to Todd’s rescue. “Liking dogs must be part of the job description.”
Hayley smil
ed, pleased by his response. “You’re absolutely right. I didn’t mean to complain. It’s just that we’re really behind right now.” When Todd looked up, Hayley continued, “Todd, meet Link Robinson. Our first volunteer.”
Todd looked up. He in turn recognized Link. It was a fond memory—one of the few good ones he had from that period in his life.
—
High school had been mostly a dark, unpleasant time for Todd. At home he’d always been made to feel that he was good, worthy. In his very small elementary- and middle-school classrooms, his teachers had protected him. But in his first two short weeks at Crossing Trails High, his self-esteem was quickly challenged. His teachers returned homework assignments that described his work as failing. When he walked down the hall, a few boys would get close behind him, slapping at his shoulders and uttering strange one-word sentences. “Retard.” “Dumbo.” “Idiot.” They laughed and made a game of it. He knew that the names were meant for him, but he didn’t know what to do or say. He ignored them and walked on.
One day, when the group of boys had ballooned to five or six, their taunting was hard to block out. He felt fear along with confusion. One boy in particular was breathing down his neck. His arm was on Todd’s shoulder, gently but still menacing. He chanted those one-word taunts. Repeated them. Todd might not have fully understood the language being used, but he knew enough to realize that he was experiencing cruelty, not kindness. His eyes filled with tears, and his heart pounded. He didn’t know what to do.
Then suddenly the hand was gone. There was a crashing sound, like a body slamming against a locker and falling to the floor. When Todd turned around, everyone in the hall was silent. Link Robinson stood over the boy lying sprawled.
—
“ ‘You’re the moron,’ ” Todd said out loud with a big smile. Hayley raised her eyebrows, but Link looked even more surprised.
Todd continued smiling broadly at Link, remembering that day with clarity.
“What did you say?” Link asked, trying to figure out why this guy looked so happy and whether he was being insulted.
“That’s what you said to the boy who called me names: ‘You’re the moron.’ I remember.” He paused and finished the thought. “When we were in high school. You said that to him.”
Hayley immediately put it all together. Todd often made comments that seemed to come out of nowhere, but in fact they always had a source. This one makes total sense, she thought, as she could see how this old event stored deep in Todd’s memory had just been triggered. It made her think better of Link. “Todd, it’s hard to find people in the world who will stand up for you. Sounds like Link is one of them.”
Stand up for you. Todd had not quite grasped what the expression meant. Now he thought he understood. “Yes, thank you for standing up for me.”
The details of the incident were long forgotten by Link, but it sounded like something he would do and say. Anger management wasn’t his strong suit. “Yeah. I probably did. No problem. Glad if I helped you out.” He looked at Todd more closely. “Your mom is Mrs. McCray, the guidance counselor, and your dad is George. Right?”
“Yep. Mom is Mrs. McCray, and Dad is George. I’ve got brothers and a sister, too.” All the while, though he looked up a few times at Link, Todd encouraged the dog to keep steady pressure on the towel.
“I’ve done some work at your farm, helped your dad with the hay. Just once or twice.” Link had never been a pet person. He didn’t have them when he was a kid and just saw them as an extra mouth to feed. He shook his head. He didn’t get where Todd’s connection with the dog was coming from. “Looks like you and that dog get along well.”
“Her name is Elle. I’m training her to be a service dog.”
“What’s a service dog? Like for blind people?” Link asked.
“Good question. But you’re thinking of Seeing Eye dogs. It’s more than that. A service dog does something helpful for people who can’t do it so well on their own. I’m trying to get Elle to tug gently on this towel. The next step will be to get her to pull gently on a shirt cuff. That way, for a person who can’t undress himself, she could help.”
“I never knew a dog could do that.”
“Yes, and a lot more, too.”
A bit intrigued, Link sat down beside Todd. Elle quickly found a new task. Todd and the towel were like yesterday’s leftovers. Link was a buffet of fresh scents and unusual energies—fearful, guarded, and sad. Elle approached him slowly. When Link reached out his hand, she sniffed it. His hands were as cold as frost on her nose. She moved a little closer, and Link gently lifted her onto his lap. She rested her head on his chest and let him stroke her big, soft ears. It reminded Link of something. His little munchkin. When Emily was tired, she rested her head on his chest the same way—something small and helpless trusting him to keep her safe. It created a very soothing feeling. He felt Elle whimper with pleasure. He ran his hand through her coat. She felt good.
Todd said, “I think she likes you.”
“Really?” Link asked. “Why do you say that?”
“Unless the house is on fire, she won’t usually abandon a good game of towel tug.”
“I have an idea,” Hayley offered. When both men looked up, she continued, “Link, if you could walk some dogs, it would free Todd up for other tasks.”
The idea of going back into the cold didn’t appeal to Link. He still felt chilled to the bone. “Is there any work I could do indoors? I don’t have a hat or gloves. It’s pretty cold out.”
Hayley said, “Of course. I’m sorry. I should have thought of that.”
Todd shrugged, walked over to his coat, and pulled out his sky-blue stocking cap and heavy fleece-lined leather gloves. “Wear mine.” He took one of several leashes from the wall. “Here, take this, too. You should keep Elle on the leash at all times. She likes to run off.” He snapped one end of the leash on the dog’s collar and held out the other end to Link.
Link had led plenty of horses and even a cow or two. A dog couldn’t be that different. After putting on the hat and gloves and zipping up his jacket, he accepted the leash and stared at the squat little pooch. Her hind end rested on the concrete floor, with her tail wagging energetically.
Hayley went to the back door, grabbed the knob, and prepared to open it for them. “Twenty minutes per dog is fine. We try to do the east row in the morning and the west row in the afternoon.” She looked up to the ceiling as if appealing to a higher source for relief. “Except Elle. Todd takes her with both groups.”
“She needs more exercise than most,” Todd added.
Link started for the door. He pulled slightly on Elle’s leash. “Giddyup, Elle.” He gave the leash a small tug, and the floppy-eared dog looked at Todd and then up at Link, but she didn’t budge.
Todd encouraged her. “It’s okay, Elle. Go with Link. I’ve got work to do!”
Hayley opened the door, as if to give added permission for Elle to leave with the stranger. Hesitant, Elle walked very slowly toward the door. Link flipped his wrist so that the slack in the leash worked its way up the line like a ripple that ended at Elle’s collar. Elle cautiously approached the door, and Link encouraged her as best he could. “It’s okay, Elle. Nice puppy.”
When Elle was five feet from the door, she turned back and looked at Link with loving brown eyes. She then took a few more tentative steps before bolting out the door. Like a bootlegger with Melvin Purvis and his G-men on her tail, she was gone.
“Whoa, Elle!” Link yelled as the red leash disappeared out the door with no human on the other end.
Hayley yelled for the umpteenth time, “Elle, no!”
Todd matter-of-factly advised Link, “It’s better if you hold the leash tightly.”
Link nodded. “I’ll remember that.”
The Two Trails Café is directly west of the courthouse on the Crossing Trails Square. Under the restaurant’s name, in red letters, the owners proudly proclaimed, SERVING CROSSING TRAILS SINCE 1954. Locals liked to jok
e that the worn and dated decor made the sign redundant. The café also served as an informal meeting spot, drawing courthouse personnel, holiday shoppers, businesspeople, and friends. Mary Ann McCray and Abbey Robinson had met there twice in the last two weeks. Today they would meet again.
Mary Ann remained committed to doing what she could, but she was also careful to make sure that Abbey understood she was not taking sides. If requested to do so, she could meet with Link, too. Or, for that matter, both of them. She had called Link and left a message to let him know that she was sorry to hear about the divorce and was thinking about him. George tried to call him, too, with the same result. No answer.
Abbey gave Mary Ann a quick pat on the shoulder, pulled out a chair, and took a seat at the chrome and red-Formica-topped table. Remembering her predilection for soda, Mary Ann had ordered Abbey a Coke, which was waiting for her when she arrived. Abbey took a long swallow and said, “Thanks,” as she leaned down and dug through a tote bag she’d set on the floor, the bag filled with the library books on divorce and various legal documents. She pulled out a few sheets of paper on which she’d jotted her thoughts and questions.
The steam from the kitchen fogged the windows of the small restaurant. The lunch crowd was shrinking, but still Mary Ann tried her best to keep her voice down. “How are you today?” she asked.
Abbey had less than an hour for lunch, so she wanted to use her time efficiently. She looked over her notes before answering. “I’m okay. I think Emily is okay. It’s Keenan who worries me. My brother had some ‘man-to-man’ talk with him last week and said something about Keenan being the man of the house now. That was a stupid thing for him to say.”
“I agree.” Mary Ann frowned. “Shall we thrash him?”
Abbey laughed. “He’s six foot four. I doubt we’d have much luck with that.”
“Why people suggest that little boys suddenly have to be men is beyond me.”
“I know,” Abbey agreed. “It’s not like Link is dead!”