Colors of Christmas

by Newport, Olivia

  Then the Apollo project ended, and all the missile specialists and engineers were laid off. The family moved to Philadelphia, where Peter worked as a civil service engineer. A few years later, he got sick.

  During the war, Peter was in the German navy. He had been hospitalized in a military hospital in Greece with yellow jaundice for several months. His liver was badly damaged, although he never felt ill until all those years later. By that time he had interviewed for a dream job in Alexandria, Virginia. The evening he returned from his interviews, ebullient, seven times excruciating spasms gripped him. He passed out. The liver damage caught up with him with a vengeance. Astrid called an ambulance. The last time Alex and Ingrid saw their father was when Astrid smuggled them into his hospital room against the rules. Three days after the first pain, he died in the hospital.

  Astrid sat in her kitchen, wondering what to do next. The phone ringing startled her, and for a moment she wanted only to make it stop. At the ninth ring, she picked it up.

  A call from Virginia.

  A voice full of enthusiasm to have Peter on their team.

  When might they reach him?

  Astrid let a long silence hang across the miles. No one could reach Peter now. He was in God’s hands.

  Astrid swallowed hard in the telling of all this.

  “How awful for you,” Carly said, her own eyes moist.

  “No.” Astrid shook her head. “We had twenty-one years together, and I never regretted a moment of it. I’ve been so blessed.”

  “Blessed?” Carly said. “You just told me about how your husband died.”

  “No,” Astrid said, “I told you how he lived. How we both lived. How we raised our children to live.”

  “The war took so much from you.” Carly pulled a tissue from the box. “In the end, it even took Peter.”

  “It also gave me Peter. The same dream for a better life that brought me here with Heinz also brought Peter. And it has been a better life.”

  Carly moistened her lips. “Even all these years … alone?”

  Astrid shook her head. “I am never alone. God is always closer than we realize.”

  Carly looked at her lap.

  “Think about it,” Astrid said. “We all have stories, and it’s a wonderful thing when our stories catch up with just the right person. It’s the beauty of God Himself, showing Himself among us by pulling our stories into His great story of grace.”

  “I wish I could believe that.”

  “I wish that for you, too.”

  Carly blew out her breath. “I’d better get back upstairs. I have a patient.”

  CHAPTER 21

  At home Astrid was accustomed to lunch out with a friend at least once a week. It was never anything fancy, just a chance to satisfy a craving or have a catch-up conversation away from the distractions that inevitably came up at home.

  Astrid wanted to go out to eat.

  Not because she didn’t like Sam’s menu, and not because she could identify a craving that the food of Sycamore Hills wouldn’t meet. It was because she wanted to be at least a little bit nosy. Carly’s face was more drawn each day and her posture more slumped.

  When the posted lunch hours in the dining room began, Astrid instead went to the therapy and exercise room. She recognized the finishing-up movements of Carly, who laid a gentle hand on her patient’s shoulder and handed her a photocopy of some suggested exercises, just as she had done for Astrid when their sessions ended. This time, though, Astrid wasn’t there for therapy. She had deduced that the therapists avoided appointments at lunchtime so none of the residents would be anxious about missing a meal. She rolled in and waited for the fellow resident to gather her things and leave the room. Another therapist across the room similarly was finishing a session.

  Carly looked up, a question in her features.

  “I’m here to offer you a deal,” Astrid said.

  “A deal?” Carly said. “Have you got another therapist hidden away somewhere?”

  Astrid smiled. “I would never do that to you.”

  “Glad to hear it.”

  “Do you get a lunch break?”

  “Sort of. We usually catch up on documentation or make plans for sessions.”

  “I’d like to offer you an alternative, if you think you can squeeze it in.”

  “And this deal is?”

  “Lunch. An actual lunch break involving food outside these walls. I’d love to treat you to lunch if you provide the transportation.”

  Carly narrowed her eyes. “I don’t know. It’s kind of wintry. Are you sure your physical therapist would approve of your going out?”

  “I have a feeling she could be persuaded.” Astrid winked. “Would there be anyone more safe for me to go out with? If you’ve got a car, I’ve got the cash. Let’s go.”

  “Where?”

  “You pick,” Astrid said. “Someplace close and quick.”

  Carly slapped the manila folder she held against an open palm. “It might be nice to actually eat lunch.”

  “Indeed.”

  “You need a coat.”

  “I can just zip down the hall for it.”

  “Okay. I know a place with fast service. Let me get my things.”

  Astrid imagined Carly might don a jacket and scarf, and perhaps a purse. But once she was dressed for the cold outside air, she picked up that duffel and arranged its strap on her shoulder.

  “Do we need all that?” Astrid said. “Just for a bite of lunch?”

  “My purse is in it. I have to have my license to drive.”

  Astrid didn’t argue the point further. Obviously Carly could have extracted her purse and left behind the bat and whatever else was in the bag.

  Carly settled Astrid, coat on, in a chair in the lobby, nearest the doors, while she went to get her car from the back lot and bring it around to the portico. What was Carly afraid of that prodded her to carry a baseball bat? Fear was the only explanation Astrid could believe. But was it a justified fear? And would a baseball bat really solve it?

  Astrid offered chitchat all the way to the restaurant, which was only a mile or so away from Sycamore Hills along the highway that wound its way through several towns in this part of the state. Carly assured her the place had good parking and she would have no trouble navigating her scooter inside. Once she had parked, Carly jumped out of her seat and scurried to the passenger side to assist Astrid. She pulled the scooter from the backseat, made sure Astrid had a good grip on it, and then reached back into the car for the duffel.

  “Why don’t you leave that?” Astrid said softly. “We’ll eat, we’ll talk, and we’ll both feel better.”

  “I can’t leave it,” Carly said, her hand still on the open back door.

  “Would I be intruding too much if I said I would like to understand why it’s so important?”

  “It’s hard to explain.” Carly’s face twitched, her eyes shifting from Astrid to the duffel that was half out of the car.

  “I’m a patient listener,” Astrid said.

  Carly sucked in her lips. Astrid waited and looked toward the restaurant entrance, only thirty feet away.

  “I’ll just put it under the table,” Carly said. “It won’t be in the way.”

  “Of course you must do whatever makes you comfortable.” Astrid lifted her chin and eyed the bag that had seen better days.

  Carly blew out her breath. “All right. You’re probably right. I should just leave it. But I have to get my purse out.”

  Carly unzipped the bag, moved the bat into sight for a few seconds while she groped underneath it for her flat cross-body bag, and then slammed the back door.

  “Let’s eat,” Carly said. “I’m suddenly ravenous.”

  “So am I.” Astrid steered her scooter toward the entrance. Despite the cold, it felt good to be outdoors even if only for the time it took to get from the car to the restaurant. She felt stable on the scooter, but Carly was a little jumpy and kept a hand outstretched to grab a fistful of Astrid’
s coat as if that would keep Astrid from falling. Inside, they easily found seats at a small table in the middle of the restaurant.

  “I’ve never been here,” Astrid said. “Do you have a favorite menu item?”

  “They make an incredible roast beef and Swiss on sourdough.”

  “That sounds delicious.”

  They ordered and settled in, each with a soft drink to occupy them while they waited for sandwiches. Carly held her cell phone in one hand.

  “Thank you for coming out with me,” Astrid said. “I haven’t quite gotten used to the notion that I can’t simply get in the car and go.”

  “You’ll be weight-bearing soon,” Carly said, “and from there it doesn’t take long to get your gait back.”

  “Never mind the shop talk,” Astrid said. “Tell me about your little boy.”

  “Tyler,” Carly said, her lips pulled into a half smile. She set the phone on the table but still wrapped her fingers round it.

  “Does he like his school?”

  “He loves school. I’ve had to shift him around a little, but he adapts quickly and makes friends. The teachers only have great things to say about him.”

  “Sounds like my son,” Astrid said. “He never goes anywhere without making a friend. It was always that way. What does he like to play with?”

  Carly laughed. “Trucks, trucks, and more trucks.”

  “That must make your Christmas shopping easy.”

  An odd hue passed through Carly’s face. “I had a Tonka truck all picked out, and then I had to leave the store unexpectedly. When I went back later, it was gone and I had to choose another model.”

  “You can’t go wrong with Tonka.”

  “That’s my philosophy.” Carly jiggled her straw around before sucking in a long draw of cola.

  “This is nice,” Astrid said. “Thank you for indulging an old lady.”

  “You’re not an old lady.”

  Astrid grinned. “At least I haven’t yet dyed my hair blue.”

  “I love your hair color. It’s a lovely shade of silver.” Carly pushed her phone a few inches toward the center of the table—within reach but no longer in her hand.

  This was progress. Ordinary conversation felt good. Carly was relaxing. She might yet tell Astrid what was behind her fearful moments.

  “What will you do for Christmas?” Carly asked.

  Astrid shrugged both shoulders. “That’s a bit up in the air right now. My son is delayed coming home from a business trip, and my daughter’s little girl is too sick to travel.”

  “Oh, no.”

  “Something will work out,” Astrid said. She caught Carly’s gaze, which had been panning the surroundings more than settling at the table. “I understand Sam will sing a solo at his church’s Christmas Eve service.”

  “Sam? The cook?”

  “Yes, Sam, the cook. He’s such a nice young man. I thought he might have mentioned the service to you.”

  Carly flushed. “I haven’t run into him the last couple of days. I didn’t know he sang.”

  “One learns the most surprising things about others. A little conversation goes a long way.” Astrid sipped her drink. “What about you? Any Christmas traditions?”

  “Tyler is the center of attention. My mother is knitting him a sweater. He hung all the ornaments on the bottom branches of the tree.”

  Astrid laughed. “Take a photo. Someday you’ll all enjoy looking back on times like that.”

  Their sandwiches arrived. The bread was wider and sliced thicker than what Astrid had imagined. She picked up her table knife to cut it into more manageable pieces. A man approached and stood behind Carly.

  “Can we help you?” Astrid asked.

  “Carly can.”

  Carly spun around. “What are you doing here?”

  “I would think that was obvious,” he said. “Picking up lunch.”

  “Truman, you can’t be this close to me.”

  “Yet I am. What are you going to do about it?”

  Astrid adopted her most firm and in-control tone. “Sir, Carly doesn’t wish to entertain your overtures. Perhaps you can wait for your food at the pickup counter.”

  “I’ll wait wherever I want to wait,” Truman said. “They’ll call my name.”

  “I’m calling the police,” Carly said, reaching past her plate for the phone.

  Truman’s hand got there first. Astrid startled. The baseball bat made sense now.

  “That phone is my personal property,” Carly said. “Give it back.”

  “Wow, Carly,” Truman said. “Something has hardened you since the time we worked together. Maybe you need some help, if you know what I mean.”

  “You’re breaking the law. I have a restraining order.” Carly’s voice rose enough that diners around them turned to watch, the way people gawked at an accident along the highway. “Give me back my phone.”

  “All I ever wanted was to be your friend, and maybe see if we could be something more,” Truman said. “There was no reason for you to get the police involved.”

  “Truman.” Carly packed thick pleas into one word and gripped her purse in her lap.

  He raised his eyebrows at her, unmoving.

  Astrid was tempted to send her scooter rolling in his direction. She started to stand.

  “Don’t, Astrid,” Carly said. “Don’t get involved. I have it under control.”

  Astrid raised her hand to get the attention of a member of the wait staff. The young woman who had brought them their sandwiches a few minutes ago was frozen, and the gasps of several people around them were audible. No one moved in their direction.

  Standing on one leg with the other on her chair, Astrid turned her attention back to Carly. As Carly stood, she let her purse fall on the table—but not before she had taken from it the thing that mattered most in the moment.

  A knife.

  CHAPTER 22

  Astrid gripped the back of her chair to reset her balance. If she were able-bodied, she would have scooted around the table to grab Carly’s arm. She even would have put herself between Carly and this man if such a risk was required to persuade Carly to abandon her ill-thought plan. But from the awkward angle of having her knee on her chair rather than on the scooter, there was little physical action Astrid could take. She couldn’t even reach her cell phone in the quilted and embroidered bag hanging on the front of her scooter. Her eyes darted from Carly to Truman and on to the innocent diners looking up from their menus and meals. Several pushed away from their tables, as if to be ready for a swift getaway. Surely somebody was dialing 911. A toddler squirmed out of his booster seat in one of the booths against the wall and slid down to the floor, pointing at the knife Carly still flashed. The child’s mother reached for him, but he dodged her and set off, pointing still. Another adult scooped him up, and he wailed as he was returned to his mother’s arms and she fastened her hold on him.

  The blade, Astrid judged, was seven or eight inches in length—plenty enough to do considerable damage. It was a German knife. Somewhere in the back of her mind, the brand name was buried under more-pertinent information.

  “Carly,” Astrid said, “we don’t need the knife.”

  “Put my phone down and go away, Truman.” Carly didn’t flinch.

  Two sets of diners abandoned their lunches, widening the circle of safety—for now. All it would take was for Carly or Truman to charge at the other, oblivious to furniture, and someone would get hurt.

  Carly adjusted her grip on the black handle, never wavering as her shoulders rose and fell with heavy breath.

  “Carly.” Truman’s voice lifted in false amusement. “You’re going to get hurt.”

  “I bet you didn’t even order any takeout,” Carly snarled. “You came in here because you saw me come in.”

  “Does it really matter?”

  “Carly,” Astrid said, “put the knife down.”

  Astrid had no doubt that if Carly tried to use the knife, Truman would overcome her, and she mig
ht be the one who was wounded.

  “Not until he leaves.” Carly took a step forward and braced her feet.

  Astrid swept the lunch crowd again. Why were there so many women and children and so few men? The only three men Astrid saw were nearly as old as she was and unlikely to try to tackle a man not yet thirty.

  “Put it back in your purse,” Astrid said. “We can try an outing another day. Let’s go back to—”

  “Don’t say it,” Carly said.

  Astrid bit back her words. Sycamore Hills. Carly was right. If this man had any doubt about whether he had correctly identified Carly’s place of employment, they shouldn’t provide him with the confirmation under these circumstances.

  Carly’s eyes remained fixed on Truman. “Astrid, you should sit down. You’ll be safer.”

  Safe from what? A rolling tussle of an unrestrained man with a grudge versus a frightened woman with a knife? Truman’s hands were lost in the awkward angle of the pockets of his brown bomber jacket. The style hadn’t changed much in the decades since Americans turned up in the village where Astrid’s family had taken refuge. They were the conquering heroes, and the bombing had stopped at last. But their presence also signaled the final days of all five members of the family being together.

  Astrid was a hair’s width from just putting her injured foot on the floor against medical advice and limping toward Carly. Instead she adjusted the knee on the chair for better stability.

  “Don’t do something you’ll regret,” Astrid said.

  “Oh, I’d never regret this.”

  Carly’s eyes had gone steely.

  “If you do this, you can’t take it back,” Astrid said softly.

  “I’d only be protecting myself.”

  “Mama, the lady has a knife.” A child pointed, without leaving the relative safety of the grip of her mother’s hand.

  “Come on, sweetie. We’re leaving.” Like others around her, the little girl’s mother tossed money on the table for the half-eaten food and headed for the exit.

  “Think of Tyler,” Astrid said, her voice measured.

  Carly’s eyes flinched. “I am thinking of Tyler. Every minute of every day.”