Clementine for Christmas

by Daphne Benedis-Grab

  “I’m so sorry,” Gabby said. “Let me know if I can help you put up flyers or anything.”

  Josie’s mouth moved in what was an attempt at a smile. “Thanks, but my mom and her work friends are taking care of it,” she said. “Since they’re out all over town delivering mail, they can put flyers up everywhere in just a couple of hours.”

  “Great,” Gabby said as they walked into the hospital, the warmth and the sounds of carols playing softly in the lobby wrapping around them. “I bet someone will call.” She actually wasn’t so sure of this—she knew from cop shows that the longer someone was missing, the less likely it was that they would be found. Well, on the shows it was missing people, but she was pretty sure it was the same principle for lost dogs, too.

  And by the way Josie’s eyes filled with tears again, Gabby knew she felt the same.

  “Let’s not talk about it,” Josie said. “I want to just try to forget about it for a couple of hours, you know?”

  Gabby knew. “You’ve got it,” she said. But as they took the elevator up to the second floor, she thought of something. “Everyone’s going to ask you about it, though. Why don’t you let me go ahead and ask Nurse Joe to tell people she’s not back yet, and that you’d rather not talk about it.”

  “That would be great, if you don’t mind,” Josie said. This time, her smile came closer to the real thing.

  So Josie waited in the area right outside the ward while Gabby gave Nurse Joe the heads-up.

  “I’m on it,” he said after she’d explained. “In two minutes, everyone will know not to say a word about Clementine.”

  “Thanks,” Gabby said, heading back to get Josie.

  When she turned the corner, she saw that Josie wasn’t alone. She was standing with the woman from the X-ray department and two guys in lab coats. Gabby hurried over.

  “This is Javier and Baxter,” Josie said. “They want to do the skeleton Christmas skit for the Festival.”

  “Awesome!” Gabby bubbled.

  “Yeah, we have some good ideas,” Javier said, rubbing his palms gleefully.

  Gabby laughed, and Josie made a sound that was almost a laugh. “I can’t wait to see it,” Gabby said.

  The three X-ray techs walked toward the elevators, and Gabby turned to Josie, beaming. “You did it,” she said happily. “You signed up a brand-new act for the Festival.”

  “Yeah,” Josie said, smiling her first real smile of the afternoon.

  Oscar was already in the lounge when they got there, though instead of sitting on the sofa, he was standing up and looking out the window. “I have to go early today,” he said when they walked in, no hello or anything.

  “No problem,” Josie said.

  Gabby waited for him to at least give Josie a sympathetic look, but he just gazed back out the window silently. Yet another moment of him being selfish, which irritated Gabby—Josie deserved better than that. But there was no point in bringing it up since it would just upset Josie, so Gabby moved on to something she knew would make Josie happy. “Let’s talk about the Festival really quick before we go see the kids,” she said, reaching into her pocket for her phone. The one thing she could think of to cheer Josie up was to make the Festival happen. “We have seven acts so far, which is awesome.”

  Josie nodded. In the harsh light of the lounge, her eyes looked almost bruised. She clearly hadn’t slept much, if at all, last night.

  “For a full show, we just need two more acts,” Gabby went on, keeping her voice cheery. “And then we need someone to lead the carol sing-along and we have to get started with the sibling act.” She raised an eyebrow at Oscar, ready for another one of his lame excuses.

  “Right, I had an idea for that,” Oscar said. “ ‘Frosty the Snowman.’ The kids can act out the story and then sing at the end.”

  Gabby was impressed, despite herself. “That sounds good,” she said.

  “Totally,” Josie agreed.

  “Okay,” Oscar said. “So maybe I’ll go now and see which siblings want to sign up.”

  He was out the door before Gabby could offer to get him in touch with her brothers. Which she thought was kind of weird—what was the rush?

  But Josie looked pleased. “I told you he’d come through,” she said, not in a smug way, just happy it had worked out.

  “I guess I was wrong about him,” Gabby said. She actually wasn’t so sure, but she was glad he was finally taking care of the act. It cleared the way for Gabby to pitch her new idea to Josie.

  “I was thinking something, too, actually,” she said, tucking a curl behind one ear. “I know you don’t want to do a solo, but what about leading the carol sing-along? You could wear a costume and you’d be with a group of kids up onstage, so you wouldn’t be alone or anything.” This was a compromise for Gabby—she really wanted to see Josie do a solo and completely awe everyone. But she couldn’t pressure Josie now, when she was so sad about Clementine. And maybe if Josie did the sing-along this year, it would give her the courage to perform by herself the next time.

  Josie was biting her lip. “I’m not sure,” she said. “I mean, there will be a lot of people there.”

  “Right, but you’ll be all dressed up with a big crowd of kids around you,” Gabby said.

  “Let me think about it,” Josie said.

  Gabby sighed but didn’t push—at least Josie hadn’t said no. “Sure,” she said. “And who else should we ask to perform?”

  Josie considered for a moment, then shook her head. “We’re running out of people to ask,” she said, beginning to twist the sleeve of her sweater.

  “We haven’t asked administrators,” Gabby said. “Or any of the orderlies and nurses who work in other wards.”

  “I think most of the nurses in the hospital who will be here are doing something,” Josie said. “Either in Nurse Joe’s skit or helping out backstage.”

  “What about orderlies and administrators?” Gabby suggested.

  “We can ask them,” Josie said. “Though right now we should probably get ready to go see the kids.”

  “Right,” Gabby said. She liked how Josie just knew she was coming along without even asking.

  They headed into the closet and selected their costumes, then headed out for an afternoon of performing.

  A LITTLE BEFORE it was time to go, Gabby left Josie to sing in Melanie’s room and went to the staff lounge. There was no way she could make Josie ask for Festival volunteers when she felt this bad, so Gabby was hoping to sign up another act herself. There were two orderlies there who both claimed stage fright but said they’d ask around. They also volunteered to help pass out programs at the show, so her trip down there wasn’t a total loss. Still, they were getting down to the wire. Gabby made a quick detour to the administrative office, but it was closed for the day. A sliver of anxiety poked into her but she put on a smile when she got back to the peds ward and found Josie.

  “We’ll go to the administrators tomorrow,” Gabby said after she’d updated Josie and they were heading to the volunteer room. “And maybe one of the other orderlies will want to do an act.”

  “I hope so,” Josie said. She had perked up for their performances, but now she drooped a bit in her costume and was picking at her thumbnail. She was probably dreading going home without Clementine in addition to worrying about the Festival, and Gabby wished she could have brought back better news.

  Oscar had joined them for a few songs and mentioned that he’d gotten some siblings to sign up, but he was already gone when they walked into the lounge. Which was annoying because Gabby wanted to get the names for her list and also give him her home phone number so he could invite her brothers. They were going to be very excited. But there was time for that tomorrow, too.

  “Henry loved it when we sang ‘Up on the Rooftop,’ ” Gabby said as she and Josie went into the costume closet.

  “Yeah, but he missed Clementine,” Josie said. Her eyes welled with tears as she said her dog’s name.

  “We all do,” Gab
by said, putting a hand on Josie’s arm. Josie was wearing a candy cane–striped dress with none of her usual flourishes, which was almost as sad as the tears that slid down her cheeks.

  “I broke my own rule about mentioning her,” Josie said, rubbing the tears off her face. “Let’s talk about something else.”

  “We can talk about whatever you want,” Gabby said.

  “Really?” Josie asked.

  “Sure,” Gabby said. She was distracted by how hard it was to pull off a curled elf shoe. Though it had been quite fun marching around the hospital in them.

  “Why did you want to help us with the Festival?” Josie asked quietly.

  The boot came off suddenly, causing Gabby to fall backward. She took a moment to regain her balance and figure out what to say.

  But then she looked up at Josie, who had always been honest with her. And she knew she owed Josie the truth.

  “Remember how I asked you not to tell anyone about my epilepsy?” she asked, tugging absently on a curl.

  Josie nodded.

  “It’s just—I couldn’t trust that you’d keep my secret,” Gabby said. “I didn’t know you well then, and I thought you might want to tell people.”

  Josie was looking at her blankly.

  “Some people like to spread gossip,” Gabby clarified. “And I wasn’t sure if you and Oscar were like that. So I figured if I was helping you, you’d, I don’t know, feel obligated to help me back.”

  “So you wanted to help us so that we’d owe you,” Josie said.

  “It sounds awful when you say it like that,” Gabby said. “But yeah. I really needed to keep it a secret.”

  “Why?” Josie asked.

  Gabby bit her lip. She wasn’t sure she could tell this story.

  “It’s just,” Josie went on. “Epilepsy is no big deal, and it seems like it’s probably stressful to keep it hidden.”

  So Josie was a mind reader.

  “Um, maybe a little,” Gabby said, spinning half-truths and veiled stories through her head to see which one would work best. But then she looked into Josie’s warm brown eyes that were full of concern. And Gabby knew she could tell this story: She could tell it to Josie. “Everyone at my old school hated me because of it.”

  Josie’s forehead wrinkled. “That’s so weird,” she said. “Because epilepsy is seriously no big thing. It’s not like you had leprosy and big chunks of skin kept falling off you when you walked down the hall.”

  At that, Gabby giggled, something she would not have believed possible when discussing what had happened to her that year.

  “So why did people freak out?” Josie asked. She was leaning back against the shoe shelves.

  Gabby had never imagined she would say the words out loud to anybody, ever. But now, in the cozy costume room surrounded by piles of satin and velveteen and bright colors that smelled of mint and pine, with Josie listening so carefully, it turned out it was easy. “I had a seizure in front of my best friend and I wet my pants.”

  She waited for Josie to gasp and put a hand to her chest, or race out of the room in disgust. But Josie did none of those things.

  “So?” she asked. “I mean, that can happen during a seizure, but so what?”

  Gabby fought an urge to throw her arms around Josie. “Jenny thought it was gross and she told everyone and then the whole school started calling me a bed wetter,” Gabby said.

  “That’s so dumb,” Josie said, a flash of fire in her tone. “Why do people do mean, stupid stuff like that?”

  Gabby shrugged. “Jenny always liked spreading gossip,” she said. “And I don’t think she expected it to blow up as much as it did.”

  “She should have realized what immature jerks fourth-grade boys can be,” Josie said.

  Gabby snickered at that.

  “Jenny was stupid and petty and I bet she regretted it after she did it,” Josie went on.

  That had certainly never occurred to Gabby. “Why?” she asked.

  “Because she lost you as a friend,” Josie said. “And you are a really good friend.”

  Josie thought they were friends. Real friends, the kind Gabby had sworn she’d never have again because of what had happened with Jenny. But Josie, in her candy-cane dress, with her indignation at Jenny and her staunch defense of Gabby—she was a friend. A good one. And even if Gabby wanted to, there was no backing away from that now.

  And as Gabby grinned at Josie, she realized something. She didn’t want to. She was ready to have a real friend in her life again.

  Oscar had ducked out of Melanie’s room while Josie and Gabby were singing “Up on the Rooftop.” He was pretty sure they hadn’t noticed him leave. They’d been having so much fun laughing together, they barely even noticed he was there, which was a good thing. Right now, Oscar didn’t want either of them, especially Josie, noticing him.

  The gray afternoon had turned into a glacial evening, the kind where just walking through the icy air made Oscar’s face sting from the cold. He hurried down Buttercup Avenue, the lights of the hospital disappearing in the darkness behind him. He’d come to enjoy volunteering over the past weeks, but now that had changed, kind of how everything was changing.

  Just thinking of his parents’ separation was a sharp punch right in the center of his rib cage. Oscar drew in a shaky breath. The days since the announcement had been more bitter than the cold numbing his cheeks, and Oscar wasn’t sure how he’d managed to get through them. Well, he was, actually. There was something that had helped, a lot, although it was kind of another whole mess he’d have to fix.

  Oscar opened the door to his dark house and heard happy barking. A moment later, a little fur missile launched into his arms, covering his face with warm, sloppy dog kisses.

  “Hey, Clementine,” Oscar said, hugging her tight.

  OSCAR HADN’T PLANNED to take Clementine, which he thought made the whole thing just a little bit better. The dog had followed him out of the hospital, and Oscar hadn’t even noticed until they were several blocks away. At first he was going to turn right around and take Clementine back. But when she pressed herself against him, warm and snug, he remembered what he was going home to, how awful it all was. And he knew it would be just a little bit easier if Clementine was there.

  “You can walk home with me,” he’d told the dog, who yipped as though she understood. “And then we’ll call Josie.”

  So together they walked through the snow to Oscar’s house.

  His mom had been surprised when she got home and discovered Clementine.

  “She belongs to a friend,” Oscar had said. “Can we watch her for a little?” He was starting to realize there was no way he could give Clementine back that night. It just felt too good having her there. He’d tell Josie the next day at school instead. It would probably be easier for her to pick up the dog then, anyway.

  “Sure,” his mom had said. “A little furry company would do us some good, I think.”

  And so it had.

  That night Oscar had lain in bed hearing his parents’ past arguments echoing in the dark. He remembered the time the family took a trip to Lake Placid, and his mom, who was driving, messed up the directions and got them lost. His dad couldn’t stop stewing about how anyone could possibly get lost when they were using a GPS, his mom exploded, and they were barely speaking when the family finally arrived. Then there was the time his dad forgot to come to his last baseball game of the season. His mom had muttered about that for weeks, long after Oscar himself had gotten over it. The worst arguments were always at Christmas, though. Last year, when his parents fought over whether to get a real or artificial tree. The year before, when they stopped speaking for days because they disagreed on how much to spend on presents. And the year before that, on Christmas Day, when his dad, who had been working late for weeks, forgot to get something for his mom and wrapped up a homemade gift certificate for something lame. Oscar couldn’t remember what the certificate was for exactly, only that it had been so weak, his mom had been infuri
ated, saying that if he cared about her at all, he’d have found five minutes to get her something decent. Maybe if they’d just skipped Christmas every year, his parents would still be together. Which made Oscar hate Christmas almost as much as he hated the fact that his family was breaking into messy pieces, like a vase shattered on the floor. And who knew what would become of the shards?

  That was what sat like a ball of wet cement in his stomach, and the only thing that helped was the fuzzy dog next to him, cuddled up close and licking the tears off his face.

  So one night had turned into two, and Oscar was no closer to returning Clementine to Josie. Which was awful, Oscar knew; he really did.

  But the thought of facing his father’s stony gaze or the sound of his mother crying when she thought Oscar was asleep—how could he live through those things without Clementine?

  “Tomorrow,” Oscar told the cuddly dog, finally releasing her and heading for the kitchen to give her dinner. “I’ll take you back tomorrow.”

  “I brought you something,” Josie said to Oscar. She’d waited for him in front of the school and ran to meet him when she saw him trudging up the path through the snow.

  “I hope you like blueberry muffins,” Josie said, handing him the bag of fresh muffins that her grandma had gotten up early to bake for Josie. Her family had been doing all they could to help ease the pain of losing Clementine. Josie had thanked her grandma, but ever since her beloved dog had disappeared, Josie had barely been able to choke down food at all. Still, she knew someone who could use the muffins, someone who was having a hard time, just like she was. So she’d packed them up for Oscar.

  The bag was moist and warm, steam spilling out when Oscar opened it.

  “Thanks,” he said, not quite looking at her and not taking a muffin as they walked up the recently cleared steps of the school. He’d been distant like this for days, and Josie ached for her friend who was going through so much.

  “Go ahead and eat one,” Josie said. “They’re good.”