by Sydney Logan
My sister smiles as she hands me the credit card receipt. “Yes, I do. Your appreciation comes to just under $2000. Our store, and my commission, thanks you.”
I grin. “Don’t lie. You enjoyed yourself.”
“My brother hands me his platinum card, points me toward the toy department, and tells me to go nuts. Yes, I enjoyed myself immensely.” She glances at the mound of toys and frowns. “How are you going to get them wrapped?”
“Umm . . . don't you have employees who will do that for me?”
Mackensey snorts. “It's ten o'clock on Christmas Eve. My employees are at home. With their families. Which is where I should be.”
I tiredly rub my face.
“But you are my brother, and you’re doing a good thing here, so I’m happy to help. I can call some guys and get this stuff delivered, but I can’t hire gift-wrappers for you. You’ll have to figure that out on your own.”
“I really appreciate this, Mack.”
Mackensey reaches for the giant teddy bear. “I don’t know how you’ll wrap this fella, but good luck with that.”
I glance at the drum set. It’s red and white. Most importantly, it’s clean.
“Maybe I don't have to wrap anything. Maybe just having the presents waiting under the tree will be surprise enough.”
Mackensey shoots me a disapproving glare. “You can tie a big bow around the bear, but everything else needs to be wrapped! That's part of the excitement! The brightly-wrapped gifts and the mess to clean up afterwards. It's all part of the Christmas morning experience.”
I have no idea what Luke's normal Christmas experience is like. Will this be his first?
If so, it was going to be one he will never forget.
“Well, little sister, I suggest you get our brother on the phone and call our parents. Tell them there is a gift wrapping party going on at my house, and I expect everyone to bring their own gift wrap and tape.”
Mackensey’s eyes soften. “You're really attached to this little boy, aren't you?”
“He just . . .” my voice falters as I try to wrap my mind around the situation. “He has nothing, Mackensey. I can’t imagine his parents would just leave him, you know? He's living in a cardboard box in the alley, and his only possessions are a lantern and a drum. He devoured Megan’s chili as if he'd never seen food in his life, and then I watched as she bathed him in a tub full of bubbles. Right now, he’s wrapped in her arms and sleeping like a baby. So, yes, you could say that we've become attached.”
Mackensey walks around the counter and wraps her arms around my middle, squeezing tightly.
“We'll make Christmas perfect for him,” she says.
The delivery guys arrive just after midnight. They don’t seem happy, but I tip them outrageously, which seems to brighten their moods a little.
Now to get it all wrapped.
Paul, Haley, and my nieces were on their way over, as were my parents and Mackensey. After calling and giving them strict instructions to not ring the doorbell, I peek into the guest room to find Megan and Luke still fast asleep.
Should I let her sleep?
Megan loves to wrap gifts. It’s an obsession, really, and I have a feeling she’ll kill me if she doesn’t get a chance at this mound of toys.
I slowly walk over to her side of the bed and kneel onto the floor. It takes several soft kisses against her forehead before she begins to stir.
“Justin?”
“Hi, sweetheart.”
“What time is it?”
“It's pretty late, but I want to show you something.”
Through sleepy eyes, Megan glances down at the sleeping boy in her arms.
“He's been restless. Bad dreams, I think.”
With a life like his, I can only assume nightmares are common.
“We'll keep the door open,” I tell her.
With a nod, Megan gently slides Luke out of her arms and wraps the blanket tightly around him before following me out into the hallway.
I’m a little nervous about this reveal. My wife and sister are the very best of friends, but Megan is rarely happy when I hand Mack my credit card. Mackensey likes to shop, and she’s good at it, but she has our mother’s expensive taste, which clashes with Megan’s idea of casual comfort.
“Okay, don't get mad,” I tell her.
“Why would I—”
Megan’s eyes grow wide when we enter the living room. We might as well have walked right into a toy store. Every flat surface is covered with some type of toy. The giant teddy bear is nestled close to the tree. The drum set is perched right next to the bright blue electric car. There’s a red bicycle with training wheels and the deluxe train set that surrounds the tree. We have Legos, action figures, and a gaming system with enough video games to last until he’s a teenager. Mackensey, in her brilliance, didn't just buy toys, however. There are more clothes, shoes, bedding, and enough books to open a library.
The room is filled with literally anything and everything a child could ever want on Christmas morning.
Megan has yet to say a word.
“I know it’s a lot, Meg, and I know we’re probably going to argue, but . . . I just wanted him to have a perfect Christmas day. It might be his first. We don’t know. And I just wanted to make it special for him.”
With tears sparkling in her eyes, she wraps her arms around my neck.
“Thank you, Justin. Thank you for making it perfect.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. “Now we just have to get it all wrapped.”
Her face turns ashen, and I laugh.
“Don't worry. I've called in reinforcements.”
It’s nearly dawn by the time my family heads home. Luke hasn't stirred, even with the commotion of our family as we wrapped gifts and placed them under the tree. They all promised to be back later so they can meet the little boy who has completely stolen our hearts.
“A Mercedes-Benz?” Megan smirks at me as I finish tying the bright red bow around the hood of the toy car. “What? Was the Porsche sold out?”
“As a matter of fact, yes.”
She smiles brightly, and I can’t recall the last time I’ve seen my wife this unbelievably happy.
Exhausted, but happy.
“Come here.”
I take her hand and pull her toward the couch. She snuggles close as the two of us admire our handiwork. The gifts are bright and beautiful as they encircle the giant Christmas tree. What I once thought was just an ordinary tree is now something . . . more. Something beautiful. And it has nothing to do with the gifts beneath its branches. It’s beautiful because it symbolizes so much.
Hope. Love. Family.
What more could any little boy—or any grown-up, for that matter—want on Christmas morning?
“You know, I've heard a drum set is the leading cause of divorce.”
I wink at my wife. “You'd never leave me.”
Megan’s face softens, and she snuggles deeper into my arms. “True. Why would I? You've given me the world, and I don't think I've ever truly appreciated it until now.”
“It's just a bunch of toys, Meg.”
“Not to Luke, it isn't. It's been an amazing day, and you made that happen. Look at him.”
I smile and watch as Luke examines his new drum. Of course, out of all the toys under the tree, it’s his favorite.
I have felt true happiness twice in my life. The first was on my wedding day. The second was the day we found out we were pregnant. Today, I have a third moment to add to the list.
The absolute joy on Luke’s face as he tiptoed into the living room.
“For me?”
With every rip of the wrapping paper, he had uttered those words, and more than once, I had caught my mother wiping away her own tears. Our family fell in love with him, and I know that nothing under any of our trees could be better than the gift we had given each other today.
Joy through the eyes of a child.
We had given him that.
We had given tha
t to each other.
The day had been a whirlwind. Megan and my mom prepared a gigantic breakfast, and my family had gathered around our living room floor while we ate. Luke would take a few bites, then jump up and play for a while before returning to his plate. Even I could sense that it was probably sensory overload for the kid, and no one was surprised when he started complaining with a tummy ache. My sister-in-law, Haley, simply grabbed her cell, dialed the number to her pediatrician, and within an hour, he was making a house call on Christmas Day.
There are definite perks to being in the Banks family.
The initial diagnosis was simple indigestion—too much food on a sensitive stomach that probably hadn't seen a decent meal in ages. Still, we made an appointment for the next day to give Luke a complete physical exam. I listened with pride as my wife went into full Mama Bear mode, asking a million questions that I never would have even considered.
It’s just one of the many reasons why I love her.
Now we’re alone, with just the rhythmic sound of his new drum echoing in our ears. Admittedly, the drum is a little loud, but we don’t mind. Luke’s happiness is worth any headache.
“You really took care of everything.”
I kiss the top of her hair. “I told you I would. As long as I'm breathing, you'll never want for anything, and neither will our children—biological or otherwise.”
Megan tilts her face toward mine. A single tear streaks down her cheek, and I gently wipe it away.
“You have my permission to spoil them rotten.”
I smile and kiss her gently.
The next day is blustery and cold as we drive to the pediatrician's office. His building is close to Luke's alleyway, and Megan and I both see the fear in the little boy's eyes as he watches it pass just outside the tinted windows.
“I need my lantern,” Luke whispers from the back seat, his voice filled with fear.
“Why do you need your lantern, sweetheart?” Megan asks.
“What if it gets dark again? What if it gets cold again?”
I tighten my grip on the steering wheel and try to hide how much his words break my heart. Megan—always a hundred times stronger than I could ever hope to be—just whispers her promise that he will never be cold again.
Once Megan and Luke are inside and registered with the receptionist, I decide to go back to the alley to grab that old lantern and look for any clues that might have been hidden in the darkness.
It looks even worse in the daylight.
The filth is the least of it. Rats scurry from the dumpster as I walk toward the cardboard box that’s now covered with snow.
The wind must have blown it in. If I hadn't found him . . .
“I bet you're looking for this,” a voice echoes behind me.
I turn to find myself face-to-face with the old homeless man. He’s still wearing the same clothes from the night we met, and he’s holding Luke’s lantern.
“Sir, I can't thank you enough. I never would have followed the sound of the drum if you hadn't brought it to my attention.”
“Sir. It’s been a long time since anyone’s called me that.” He lets out a chuckle and nods. “Little Luke beats on that drum every night, and no one notices. It's amazing what we can hear if we just take a moment and really listen.”
“How long has he been living here?”
“A few weeks. Three days ago, his parents went to get food, and they never came back.”
Bile rises in my throat.
“They were good people and loved their son very much,” the man says, noticing the rage on my face. “I'm sure it wasn’t by choice that they didn't return.”
Suddenly, I’m even angrier at the man standing before me. “You knew he was living back here! You knew he was cold and alone, and you did nothing?”
He looks at me quizzically. “What could I have done?”
“You could have taken him to a hospital! To a shelter. To the police. You should have gotten him some help!”
The old man's smiles sadly. “I’m sure you've called the police, and I'm sure they told you what happens to homeless kids and orphans.”
My blood runs cold. Group home.
“Still, that would have been better than letting him freeze to death!”
“The lantern kept him warm.”
“Lanterns run out of oil, eventually.”
“Some do, yes.”
I angrily rip the lantern out of his hand. “He's just a little boy, and you should have helped him.”
The old man smiles, but this time, his face is peaceful.
“I did help him,” he says quietly. “Granted, it took some time. I didn't think you were ever going to leave your office. The snow helped.”
My eyes narrow. Was the old man a stalker?
“I did help him,” the man whispers, placing his hand against my shoulder. “And I helped you. Merry Christmas, Justin.”
A gust of icy wind blows across my face, and I close my eyes to shield them from the cold.
When I open them again, the old man is gone.
One year later
“Shall I play for you?” Luke asks me. His smile is bright and his eyes are clear and happy as he sits down at the piano.
It’s amazing the difference a year can make.
It’s Christmas Eve, and our family dinner party is in full swing. Megan and Luke spent the day baking cookies and pies. For the first time, she allowed me to call a caterer for everything else. Juggling motherhood with her job at the law firm had been an adjustment for Megan, but the happiness that glowed from her beautiful green eyes assured me that she wouldn't want it any other way.
It had taken several heartbreaking months and endless mounds of paperwork, but this Christmas, Luke is officially our son.
As we had feared, his parents had succumbed to the harsh winter, and their bodies had been identified one week later at the county hospital. The only other family we found was a cousin in St. Paul—a mother of five who made it clear that the last thing she needed was another mouth to feed.
After that, the paperwork had moved right along.
Luke's fingers sail seamlessly along the keys of the grand piano, filling the air with the sounds of Christmas. We had finally convinced him expand his musical horizons for something a little less deafening, and he had taken to the piano like a fish to water.
Our son is amazing.
He is now seven years old and in the second grade. We had considered having him repeat first grade, but his teachers felt that, with a little encouragement over the summer, he would be more than ready to keep up with his second grade classmates. Megan had taken a leave of absence from the firm in order to work with him, and by the time school began in September, our son had been doing multiplication—a skill his classmates wouldn't be learning until later in the year.
Needless to say, Luke is now a little bored at school.
He has piano lessons twice a week and karate lessons with his Uncle Paul every Friday night. He is well-adjusted, healthy, and happy, and the absolute joy of our lives.
The nursery had been quickly converted into a “big boy's room,” and the books which had lined the shelves for so long are now read each and every night. Sitting on top of his dresser is the lantern and his old snare drum.
He couldn't bear to part with them.
Neither could we.
So much has changed, and I can’t imagine life can get much better.
And then it does—with one last Christmas gift from my wife.
“I didn't see this under the tree.” I grin as she hands me a small package.
It’s late on Christmas Eve, and our family has finally headed home. Luke is asleep in his room, and Megan and I are getting ready to arrange the gifts from Santa around the Christmas tree.
“I know,” Megan says. “I didn't want you to open it in front of everyone else.”
Intrigued, I raise the box close to my ear and shake it gently.
It rattles.
Interest
ing.
“Just open it,” Megan whispers, her eyes filled with tears.
Very carefully, I pull the ribbon and lift the lid. Nestled inside the gift tissue is a shiny, silver rattle.
I look at her with wide eyes as tears stream down her face.
“Merry Christmas, Daddy.”
Words fail me, but none are really needed. I just lift her into my arms and hold her close.
Suddenly, the unmistakable sound of sleigh bells can be heard in the distance.
Megan gasps. “Is that . . .?”
I remember the words of the old man who has truly given me everything I’ve ever wanted, and I smile.
“It's amazing what we can hear if we just take a moment and really listen,” I whisper.
Amazon bestselling author Sydney Logan holds a Master's degree in Elementary Education. She is the author of three novels - Lessons Learned, Mountain Charm, and Soldier On. Sydney has also penned four short stories and is a contributor to Chicken Soup for the Soul.
A native of East Tennessee, Sydney enjoys playing piano and relaxing on her porch with her wonderful husband and their very spoiled cat.
Visit her online at www.sydneylogan.com.
Christmas short stories have become a holiday tradition for me. With this new story, I decided to combine it with my two previously published shorts and offer it in both digital and print format. I know some readers, like my mom, prefer to hold a book in their hands. This is for you.
Thank you to my dream team of editors, Wendy Depperschmidt, Shaina Hanson, and Kathie Spitz. They’ve edited every word I’ve ever published, and I am beyond grateful for their hard work and for their friendship.
To T.M. Franklin, who took time away from promoting her new book to make the beautiful cover for this collection. Thank you for being my friend.
To the ladies of Author to Author for helping promote, offering advice, and being voices of reason. Special thanks to Sandi Layne for the applesauce.
To Jessica and Chasity, my publicists at Rock Star PR, for being fun and professional! I appreciate all you do for me.