A Christmas Miracle

by Anna Adams

  Three girls and two small boys, all covered in white goop, along with two women who apparently had some connection to the shrieking children, seemed to be wrapping mummies at the small table opposite the cash registers. Their animated voices drowned out Fleming’s attempt to calmly instruct them. A third woman had given up to retire, laughing, behind the checkout area.

  Fleming caught sight of Gabe and Jason, and said something that got lost in the racket. From her look of consternation, Jason had to assume she wasn’t rejoicing at his arrival. Nearly encased in papier-mâché herself, she squared her shoulders, smoothed the white stuff off her hands onto the newspaper-covered table and smiled.

  “Good afternoon. May I help you?”

  Jason, bemused, didn’t have to answer. The two smallest girls bolted for Gabe and pummeled his suit with their sticky hands, shouting “Daddy!” with the elation of children who’d thought their father might have disappeared forever.

  One of the women looked at Fleming, her body language an expression of sheer helplessness. Fleming dampened a length of paper towel in a plastic tub of clean water and passed it to her.

  “Gabe,” the woman said, “maybe we should stay here in Bliss tonight. I think we’ve got the hang of this papier-mâché thing, and the girls want to finish their ornaments.”

  The older daughter, clearly bored and nowhere near as coated in goop and glue, shook her head. “I don’t.”

  “The girls want to finish their ornaments,” her mother said again. Then she lifted both hands, sticky still, and now slightly fluffy with paper-towel remnants. “And so do I.”

  “Then, by all means.” Gabe turned toward Jason. “Maybe you could give me directions to a good hotel?”

  “Sure.” Jason brought up the web page for Lyle’s place and texted a link to Gabe’s phone. “You can call and arrange for a room. Or just walk down the block. It’s on the right at the end of the square.”

  “Go ahead, Gabe,” his wife said. “We’ll meet you over there after we finish.”

  “Jason, this is Anita. Anita, my friend Jason. And these are my daughters. Starting with the tallest and least interested in hanging out with the family,” he said, grinning with affection, “Delia. And this one—” he flattened his hand in the air above a small, glue-laden head of brown hair “—is Kay. Last but not least, this limpet on my leg is Georgina.”

  The small redhead clung to him with all her gluey might. “Daddy, I come with you.”

  “After you finish your art project,” Gabe said with justifiable reluctance. “Jason, join us for dinner tonight.”

  He should welcome the break. Some time with people who didn’t owe his family or the bank anything and had no reason to resent him. But he dreaded more questions, and he suspected Fleming and her store might be a topic of dinner-table talk now that Gabe and his family had met her. “Thanks,” he said, “but—”

  Without thinking, he glanced at Fleming, and she ran her fingers through her hair, streaking it with white. She took a moment to decide to take mercy on him, but then came to his rescue. “Actually, Jason and some friends and I have plans for tonight. We’re planning...” She stopped, her blank expression certainly not helping Jason’s cause. “A Christmas thing. On the square. Caroling.” She finished with a look of triumph.

  Gabe’s smile was crooked with disbelief. He glanced at Jason assessingly, as if he couldn’t decide how best to make fun of him. “Okay. See you in a while. Anita, hose the kids down before you let them be seen in public, will you?”

  He hit the sidewalk, wiping at his suit.

  His wife made a face at his back as he walked away. “He was joking.” She dampened her hands again with the clear water. “I think.”

  “Jason, why don’t you come make an ornament?” Fleming asked, with irony in her voice as if she expected him to say no to the possibility of participating in something fun. “We’re doing a test run today, but we’re thinking our methods need a little work. Let us try some changes on you.” She waved toward the young woman behind the cash register. “This is Julia Walker. She’s our instructor for today.”

  “Julia.” He couldn’t help doubting her skills, because the place was covered in glue and globs of wet paper. He looked back at Fleming with a nod. Did she think she could scare him off with a challenge?

  She came around the counter, rubbing her hands together like a mad scientist on a bad television show. “We may have to turn these snowflakes into snowmen. Here we go again.”

  * * *

  “OF COURSE YOU turn out to be a papier-mâché prodigy,” Fleming said later that afternoon, as she scooped the last of the glue off the table with a scraping tool Julia had lent her before she’d left for a dinner date.

  Jason twirled his ruby-colored ornament above her head. “I think I’ll lacquer this.” He held it out to her. “You want it?”

  Somehow, his not wanting to keep it made her feel as if it didn’t matter to him. But why should it? He didn’t go in for things like tradition. “You aren’t planning to have a tree?”

  “I don’t even know where I’ll be on Christmas.”

  “With your family?” She couldn’t imagine Christmas without her mother and Hugh.

  Could Jason be that detached? Didn’t his family celebrate, even with several different mom-and-child combinations?

  He still hadn’t answered her question.

  “Aren’t you going home?” She handed him a moist paper towel, but he wasn’t entirely covered in glue the way everyone else had been: she and Julia and Anita Kaufman and the rest of the small class who’d agreed to be her guinea pigs.

  “Christmas is like Thanksgiving. It’s just a day, Fleming. I don’t have children. I don’t have to eat cookies for Santa or carrots for Rudolph.”

  “You have family. Surely you all want to be together.” She hated the thought of his loneliness; it seemed so sad to her. Someone ought to do something about it.

  “Can we talk about something else?” he asked, though it was clearly not a question.

  She didn’t want to make things worse for him, but a small voice whispered that he hadn’t stayed within the bounds of temporary bank manager. He’d intruded in her life just because he thought he should. Surely she could return the favor. But he’d interfered with her business life. That was different.

  “Okay,” she said. “We have to go to carol practice, anyway.”

  “What?” He looked as eager to sing carols with her and her friends as he might be to make another ornament for a tree he didn’t plan to put up.

  “What if Gabe and Anita see the rest of us practicing on the courthouse steps, and you’re not with us?”

  He stared at her, not following. “There’s really a group?”

  She laughed. “They started practicing at Thanksgiving.”

  He remembered. “You think Gabe and his family are going to search a crowd of carolers for me?”

  “I have no idea. But you turned him down for dinner, and when you looked as if you needed help coming up with a reason, you made me your accessory. You have to come sing with us.”

  “You don’t take ‘no’ easily,” Jason’s grin told her he didn’t see that as a bad thing. He looked doubtful, but not entirely against the idea.

  “I can’t sing,” he warned. “Your group will be sorry if you force me to do this.”

  “No one is against you here, Jason.” She smiled, letting herself feel how much she liked him, but so much emotion startled her enough to make her try to take it back. “Well, hardly anyone.”

  “Thanks,” he said, his wry tone touching her.

  “You don’t have a choice about this unless you want to hurt your friend’s feelings. You should have let him take you to dinner.”

  “Maybe I should have.” Jason gazed at her as if he couldn’t believe she’d caught
him in this net. She wasn’t sure how she’d done it, either. She wasn’t even sure she should have, but she wanted time with him whether getting close to Jason was good for her or really bad.

  She excused herself to the back room and changed quickly, wondering whether he’d duck out the door if she took too long and there’d be no decking the halls, after all. To her surprise, when she walked out, hopping to put on one of her ballet flats, she found Jason righting the train cars and tracks that had suffered derailments during the class.

  “You like those,” she said.

  “It was this or pretend I didn’t notice all the people walking past the window, staring in and wondering what I’m up to.”

  She looked outside. Lights flickered green and red and blue from the stars on the streetlamps. “I’ll bet they did stare. I didn’t think of that. There’ll be talk about us in the old town tonight.”

  Jason glanced at the window again, to find an elderly man peering at him with disapproval as he passed. Fleming laughed. Mr. Fogerty never approved of anyone, but Jason wouldn’t know that.

  “Apparently so,” he said.

  “Julia told me people have been suggesting you’re offering me special treatment.”

  “But you know that’s not true.”

  “Not unless you also have a soft spot for Mr. Limber,” she said. “I’m not going to worry about what anyone says—let’s just enjoy the fun this evening, even if we are hoisting on our own petard.”

  “How old are you?” he teased, holding the door for her, and then following her through and waiting while she locked it. “My grandfather says that.”

  “Think what you like. I spent a lot of time with elderly people when I was young,” she said. “I was shy, and my mom’s older friends liked me. I liked their stories. I didn’t know I wasn’t cool.”

  What the heck was wrong with her and her loosened tongue? Something about Jason Macland compelled her to confess her every thought, as if she were under spotlights in a police station.

  He didn’t need to hear all about her. He already knew too much.

  She wouldn’t worry about that, either. Tonight was about having a good time. It wasn’t a lifetime commitment, and she didn’t have to let him get too close.

  And that would be easy. He didn’t want to be close at all.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  HE DIDN’T RECALL ACTUALLY agreeing to join the carolers, but somehow, there he was. It was dark, and sleet was falling from the night sky when they walked up to the group gathering once more on the piazza in front of the courthouse entrance.

  Conversation came to a halt as they approached. Fleming was right about the gossip around here. Jason didn’t feel particularly welcome until she got the attention of the crowd, smiling, her hair shining in the lights from the building.

  “Everyone, this is Jason Macland. He’s going to sing with us.” Already he knew her well enough to recognize the pleasure in her tone.

  “Really?” That was a man’s voice. “I didn’t know he was going to stay for Christmas.”

  “Yeah. Christmas doesn’t really seem like his thing,” another man said.

  Fleming swung around. “Excuse me? Since when are we rude to someone who wants to join our caroling group?”

  “Oh,” said the second man’s voice. “Sorry.”

  “No problem.” Jason had been more insulted in his own home. His dad had believed in toughening up his kids with harsh comments. And then there were the clients who hadn’t been thrilled with Jason’s advice.

  “No, man.” The guy came forward, and Jason recognized Denny Harnell, who owned a small restaurant that specialized in hot dogs and different iterations of fries, on the road out of town that led to the resorts on Bliss Peak. “I shouldn’t have said anything. You’re just doing your job. Same as the rest of us.”

  “I get it.” Jason shook his hand, and Denny pounded his shoulder.

  “What are we starting with?” Fleming asked. “‘Good King Wenceslas’?”

  “Your favorite,” said a chorus of voices, as if repeating a familiar chant.

  Jason didn’t even know the words to the song. He stepped into the group and it seemed natural to end up next to Fleming.

  In the cold night air, she let her elbow rub against his. He felt like a teenager, happy because a woman he cared too much for didn’t pull away from him.

  Not at first, anyway. After a few seconds, she edged far enough away to apply an elbow to his ribs. “You’re not singing.”

  “I am.”

  She laughed at his lie, and he felt ridiculous. Why was he even here? The singers around them sent them both reproving looks. The good people of Bliss took their caroling seriously. Jason mouthed words, not even close to whatever they were singing, as Fleming belted them out beside him. Shouldn’t they have some sort of songbook?

  He plunged his hands into the pockets of his wool overcoat. Even if he had printed lyrics, he wouldn’t be able to hold them, since his fingers had gone numb.

  The longer they stood on the courthouse steps, singing, the larger the crowd they drew. He’d never seen carolers practice before. But their audience began to sing along with them. As soon as they got King Wenceslas back into his castle, someone on the frozen grass below began a thin warble of “White Christmas,” and everyone except Jason joined in.

  “Even you have to know this one,” Fleming said.

  He did, but was still reluctant for her to hear his tuneless singing voice. When she nudged him with her elbow again, he finally gave in and sang as close to silently as he could manage. Fleming’s grin, and the way she leaned into him, made him feel less foolish.

  He stared at her, because he couldn’t look away. Even troubled by her business with the store, she could put her problems behind her to join in celebrating the holiday with her friends. He’d never managed to blend the two parts of his life so well.

  Business, he understood.

  Watching Fleming’s changing expression, the way her lovely mouth curved, promising sweetness, he joined in, decking halls and warning about naughty and nice lists and Santa coming to town.

  Jason forgot the cold and kept time with the others, singing as if he knew how. Finally, before he realized any time had passed, a guy in front called out that it was late.

  “Practice on Friday again.” He waved his arm at the singers and then turned to the crowd of onlookers. “Y’all come back on Friday and sing with us, too.”

  Families broke off from the audience and ambled toward cars or homes. The singers stayed and mingled for a moment. Some agreed to go to dinner, including Fleming, who looked at him, so he guessed he was in for that, too. While Fleming chatted with a man on her other side, Jason turned to the lady on his left.

  She turned at the same time, but the smile froze on her face as she recognized him. Amelia Albright, owner of Flowers to the People. She’d missed six payments, and they’d both suffered through an uncomfortable meeting two days ago.

  “I wouldn’t have pegged you for a singer,” she said.

  He tried to smile, but his face hurt because business wasn’t as satisfying when doing it right hurt a woman. “Nice to see you.”

  “I’ll bet.” She folded her hands together and started down the steps.

  “Amelia,” he said, not certain what he was going to say next. She didn’t turn around, but looked back over her shoulder. He had to produce words. What was wrong with him? “I’m sorry,” he said. “I wish I could have done something to make things easier for you.”

  She said nothing at first. Sleet that had started falling like diamonds from the sky, stung his cheeks. He should have kept his mouth shut.

  Amelia glanced at the others, now streaming to their cars. Except for Fleming, who was lurking beside a large, empty planter as if she had urgent business with
it.

  “I know it’s not your fault,” Amelia said.

  “You didn’t have to say that. That isn’t why I said I was sorry.”

  “It’s an awkward situation.” She shrugged. “I never thought I’d be in a tough spot like this, and it’s even harder at the holidays.”

  As if he’d had the choice of when he came to town and ruined people’s dreams. Why hadn’t he seen that this would be the worst time?

  Even if he had, this was his job. He’d still have had to make the same choices. He couldn’t put the bank at risk just to be kind to clients who couldn’t make their payments.

  He felt as if he was making her situation even worse. “I still wish there were something I could do to help you.”

  She shook her head as if she couldn’t understand him. “See you around.” She left, and he didn’t think to ask her to stay and have dinner with the rest of the group, not until she was already too far away.

  “Are you okay?”

  He turned back to Fleming, whose eyes were dark with concern. Her serious expression seemed to thin her face and leave her more fragile.

  “I’m fine,” he said. He glanced after Amelia Albright. “She’s not.”

  “She’s a nice woman. She won’t blame you.”

  “I don’t think she does blame me, but that doesn’t make it better.”

  “You’re not getting involved, are you?” Fleming asked, and he understood her teasing tone was for his benefit, an effort to ease his guilt.

  Before he could answer, the guy who’d suggested dinner named an eatery and told them all to show up in ten minutes.

  “We don’t have to go,” Fleming said.

  We, she’d said, as if they were together. He wasn’t with her. He wasn’t with anyone in this town.

  “How many people do you think I’m foreclosing on around here?” he asked.

  “I think it bothers you to foreclose on anyone.”

  “You’re not wrong. I am human.” And he hoped he wouldn’t have to foreclose on Amelia. He hated to hurt these people, but the sad, tired truth remained. He had to do his job. “Let’s go.”