“The usual?” he asked filling two Cherry Cokes and a large bag of popcorn.
“You sure do know how to treat a lady,” Tyra said. “That Donna’s a lucky woman.”
“Thanks, Al,” I added following Tyra out of the lobby and toward the theater bays.
“No problemo, chicas.”
We sat down right as The Transporter started. “Really? Again?” I asked. “Didn’t we just see this?”
“No this is the new one,” Tyra hissed.
“They’re all the same,” I whined.
“Shhh!”
One hour and thirty-six minutes later we walked out of the dark, mothball-scented theater. My mind was numb from the multiple car chases and explosions. I guess that was the point though. I was at least distracted from the Christmas letters—until I hit the escalator.
Al came running. “Hey, Rae. Catch.”
He threw a white ball in my direction. Tyra reached up and snatched it. I watched as she unwadded the paper ball. But it wasn’t a ball. It was the next letter. The number seven was scribbled under my name.
“Who gave you this?” Tyra shouted back at Al.
“Dunno. It was on the counter when I came back from the John. Some schoolboy gotta a crush on you, Rae?”
“Something like that,” I muttered.
Tyra and I opened the note together while waiting for the bus. The harsh December wind blasted down the block making me shiver. My ungloved hands shook as I unfolded the note. A French wire earring with a gold feather dangling from it was taped under the Christmas verse.
‘On the 7th day of Christmas my true love sent to me: 7 swans a swimming.’
“That’s your favorite earring!” Tyra squawked as soon as she saw it. “I thought you lost them.”
“So did I.”
My heart raced. Alex bought me those earrings for our two-year anniversary. We always argued about the date we actually started dating. Alex said it was the day we met because ‘it was love at first sight.’ I stood firmly that it was the day he knocked on the front door of the duplex and handed me a daisy he’d picked from the front yard and asked me to be his girl.
He said that was just a formality—which I pretty much demanded on principal. Because most of the time, sharing a duplex with sixteen foster kids didn’t make for a romantic dating atmosphere. Plus, I didn’t want him to think I was easy and made out with every boy I shared a wall with.
I knew deep down he didn’t think that about me. He knew he was my first; my first kiss, my first love, my first everything.
An uneasy feeling crept into my stomach, tying it in knots. The feather earrings went missing a few days before Alex disappeared. If he was the one sending me these letters—and I was just about positive he was—than that meant he’d known he was leaving with enough time to take back the earrings, and he hadn’t cared enough to tell me.
Why?
Did he pawn them for cash?
Was some creepy stalker following him around collecting trinkets from our lost love life?
My eyes welled with tears. “Can we go home, Ty?”
“Sure, boo.”
Chapter 9
The number six was printed on the letter I received yesterday.
It’d been wedged in the stick hand of the sorry excuse for a snowman some of the foster kids tried to make in the front yard. Tyra found it and helped me use the communal hairdryer to thaw it out so we could unwrap it without cracking the frozen paper.
The decrepit hairdryer was probably from the 1960’s and a definite fire hazard. After a grueling twenty minutes taking turns with it and blowing the fuse twice, we were able to dissect the soggy pages.
This was the seventh letter.
The number six was barely legible under my name after we dried the paper. Inside was the next verse.
‘On the 6th day of Christmas my true love sent to me: 6 geese a laying.’
Under that was a recipe for Christmas quiche.
Quiche Navidad
6 eggs
2 ½ cups of milk
2 cups shredded cheese
¼ cup chopped onion
¼ cup chopped red peppers
1 bag bacon bits
½ tsp salt
¼ tsp paprika
2 Tbsp yellow mustard
10 oz chopped cooked spinach
4 frozen pie shells
Bake 40 mins at 400 degrees.
My eyes watered. It was the recipe Alex made the first Christmas he spent with us. He made me and Tyra help him prepare it for all the foster kids in the duplex. He said his mom used to make it for him every Christmas so he wanted to keep the tradition alive.
His mom passed away when he was thirteen. That’s how he ended up in the system. It was also why he had his life together compared to the rest of us. He’d been raised in a loving, stable home by a mother who adored him for thirteen years.
I could still hear his voice as he proudly served it. ‘Mama called it quiche Navidad because of the vegetales verde y rojo. If you eat it up, you’ll have a happy and healthy new year.’
Besides the fact that cooking while listening to Spanish Christmas music was one of the most entertaining things I’d ever done, the quiche Navidad was delicious.
Alex laughed at my awful cooking skills, but in the time we’d known each other, he patiently taught me all his culinary secrets. He swore it was all in the hips, making me dance while I stood at the stove.
Chapter 10
“We’re here.” Tyra says, breaking me from the melancholy of my memories.
Once we set foot inside EJ’s Luncheonette we’re smothered by a heat wave of greasy diner air. I love the familiar scent, but it tightens the lump in my throat.
We shed our winter gear at the door and hang it all on the packed coat tree. I wave to Francine at the bar as I knock the last of the wet sludge from my boots.
“Hey gals!” she shouts over the din of regulars. “Long time no see! Ruthy’s workin. Sit in her section! She’ll be jazzed to see yous.”
I nod and lead the way through the crowded aisle to the narrow blue and white booth for two. Just being here drives the knife deeper in my heart.
We used to come with Alex. We sat at the bar then—Alex always in the middle.
We’ve only been back a handful of times without him. It just never feels right and I always leave with a stomachache and a half-eaten meal.
I fight a losing battle with my emotions when suddenly I’m swallowed in a sea of red curls! “Hot damn! My gals are back!” Ruthy exclaims. “Franny told me, but I couldn’t believe it ‘til I seen it with my own two eyes. Where the devil ya been? I’ve missed ya!”
Ruthy doesn’t wait for an answer. She just crushes me in a sweaty hug. Her 50’s diner hat clinging to her bouncing red curls for dear life.
It always amazed me how it never moved from its precarious perch. She must use a gallon of Aqua Net every shift to fight the greasy air in the kitchen and win.
She gives Tyra the same attention, stretching her tight white uniform to its limit. “Damn it’s great to see you gals. I’ll be right back with the usual,” she says bustling away before we get a word in.
Tyra laughs. “Some things never change.”
She has a smudge of red lipstick on her cheek from where Ruthy kissed her. I pick up my napkin knowing I probably have the same and she mirrors me.
Tyra grabs an abandoned newspaper on the table next to us and starts dissecting what’s left of it. I bask in the noisy glow of the busy diner on the Sunday before Christmas.
People flood the streets with packages tucked under their arms as their fingers cling to the handles of their paper shopping bags. Only five shopping days left. Tyra was right, the city is alive with the magic of Christmas.
More like the magic of sliding that little plastic card that buys a gift every name on their shopping list.
For a moment I let myself wonder what it would be like to belong to a life like that. One where I could afford Christmas gif
ts.
Not that I had anyone to buy them for.
My lonely heart squeezes with thoughts of Alex.
One of his favorite games to play as we watched the hustle and bustle of the city was ‘Poor me.’
We’d make up stories about the lives of the New York rich and fabulous as we watched them walk by. Once he even made Tyra snort chocolate shake out her nose with his commentary about an animated trust fund brat who berated his malti-poo for peeing on his designer suit in front of the diner window.
“Here we are,” Ruthy says, interrupting my musings. “Stack of Flapjacks and a triple-chocolate shake with extra cherries.”
My heart plummets when I see three black straws sticking out of the thick chocolate shake. She catches my expression and her pencil-drawn eyebrows draw together. “Still no news about our boy?”
I shake my head.
In a rare quiet moment, she puts a hand on my shoulder and squeezes. “It’s on the house gals.” Then she grabs the third straw and takes it with her as she retreats from our table.
Tyra’s busy slurping up the last of our shake when Ruthy comes back to the table. “Oh good! I’m glad you’re still here. The courier just dropped this by for ya.”
My mouth drops open when she slides the folded white paper in front of me.
She grabs our empty dishes, eyeing me suspiciously. “You expecting this?”
“Oh, yeah. Thanks, Ruthy,” Tyra says since my brain seems to have stopped working.
I wait for Ruthy to hurry away before ripping into the note.
“It says number four.” Tyra whispers. “What the heck? Did we miss one?”
I shrug and start reading. “On the 4th day of Christmas my true love sent to me: 4 calling birds.”
“What else?”
“It’s a calling card,” I say, examining the flimsy plastic phone card inside.
“For real? Who still uses payphones?”
I hand her the card. “There’s more.” I read her the lyrics to a catchy Maroon 5 song. “‘I’m at a payphone trying to call home. All of my change I spent on you. Where have the times gone? Baby? It’s all wrong. Where are the plans we made for two? Yeah I, I know it’s hard to remember the people we used to be… It’s even harder to picture, that you’re not here next to me. You say it’s too late to make it, but is it too late to try?’ Then he wrote ‘Please tell me it’s not to late.’ And he left a phone number.”
“What? Gimme!” Tyra says, snatching the note. Her eyes hungrily scan the notebook paper. A gigantic grin spreads across her face. “It’s him, Rae! Alex is telling you to call him! Come on!”
She drags me from the booth and out the door before I even have a chance to put on my coat.
Chapter 11
I’m numb, but not from the frigid New York weather. My whole body is covered in goose bumps at the idea that I might find Alex’s voice on the other end of the old payphone I clutch in my hand on the corner of 3rd and 106th.
“Ready?” Tyra asks.
“Yeah.”
Her painted fingers nimbly dial the number on the phone card and I follow the prompts until it’s time to enter the number on the note. There’s a bunch of tones followed by silence, and I about jump out of my skin when I hear the first ring tone.
“It’s ringing!” I whisper to Tyra.
“It’s ringing!” She dances in place blowing her frozen breath over her naked fingers as she rubs them together for warmth.
The phone rings three more times before I hear a click. My heart jumps to my throat. “Hello? Hello, Alex—”
“Merry Christmas”, a detached voice greets.
My heart sinks. “It’s a recording,” I whisper to Tyra.
“Thank you for calling. Please press 1 if you’re trying to establish a connection with a lost loved one.”
I press the shiny silver button where the number one has worn off.
“Thank you. Your message has been recorded. Goodbye.”
“No! No, wait—” But the dial tone is already buzzing in my ear.
“What happened?”
My eyes meet Tyra’s, but I have no words. My face must say it all, because she pulls me into her chest and we both cry until we have nothing left.
“I don’t get it,” Tyra says as we walk back up the stairs to our room. “There has to be something we’re missing.”
“Yeah, like our sanity. Someone is just messing with us. This is some weird sick joke,” I say.
“Yeah, but who would bother going through this elaborate scheme just to mess with us?”
“I dunno, Ty. People do all kinds of messed up things. Especially during the holidays.”
“The whole ‘lost loved one’ thing is throwing me for a loop. What if . . . Rae, do you think he’s dead? Maybe that’s what they mean by lost loved one?”
Ice rips through my veins. It’s not like I hadn’t had the thought before, but hearing Tyra say it makes it feel too real. I sit down to catch my breath. Suddenly, I feel light-headed.
“Rae! I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything,” Tyra says fanning me with her gloves. “You’re white as a ghost.”
“It’s okay. You’re only saying what I’m thinking. But if it was the morgue or something like that, the voicemail would’ve said so, don’t you think? Plus, they would send all his personal affects at once, not play some twisted 12 Days of Christmas game with us.”
“Yeah, you’re right.”
Crap, now I’m the one sounding hopeful.
I flop down on my bed. “Let’s just get some rest, huh?”
Chapter 12
I wake up to Aileen poking me in the face.
“What’d ya need, hun?” I ask groggily.
She just giggles and drops something onto my chest before skipping out of the room.
I sit up and rub my eyes. I see a blurry white shape on my crocheted pink and brown blanket. My heart leaps and I reach for my glasses. With them on the world comes into focus. There’s a note lying on my lap!
Desirae Hartley.
#3
My fingers tremble as I unfold it.
‘On the 3rd day of Christmas my true love sent to me: 3 French hens.’
Inside is a bus ticket from La Salle’s Travel. The tiny Eiffel Tower logo mesmerizes me for a moment but I snap out of it and read the details.
Port Authority Station
Depart 2nd Street Terminal, December 22nd – 11:30 am.
NYC to Montauk
“Ty!” I scream.
I hear her footsteps thundering down the hall.
“What’s in Montauk?” Tyra asks, perched on the edge of my bed after examining the letter.
“I dunno.”
“You guys never talked about running away there or something?”
“We talked about all kinds of things, Ty. I can’t say we never daydreamed about taking the Jitney to some quaint little B&B, but that was all just talk. You know our only real plan was for the three of us to get an apartment in the city.”
The stiffness of her shoulders eases a bit. “Just checking. It seems odd that there’d only be one ticket. Don’t you think Alex would have sent two?”
“Yeah. Maybe I shouldn’t go?”
“You have to! If it is him, you can send for me. Maybe he only had money for one or something. Plus, I get it. I know you’re his boo and all,” Tyra says picking at the pilling threads of my blanket.
I have a sudden urge to hug her, so I do.
“Don’t get all mushy on me, Rae.”
“Ty, you know you’re my sister, right?”
“Yeah, yeah. I know.”
“If it is Alex, the first thing we’re gonna do is come back for you.”
“You better!” Her eyes twinkle brightly. “So that means you’re going then?”
I nod, unable to hide my excitement.
“Alright! We better get you packed!”
Chapter 13
At nine in the morning, Tyra and I waltz out the front door. There’s lig
htness to my steps knowing there’s a possibility I won’t be coming back to the state home.
We hop connections until we arrive at Port Authority. I find my terminal and glance at the clock. Twenty minutes until departure, we’re right on time. Nervous excitement spikes my pulse rate. I have to keep reminding myself to breathe.
“You ready?” Tyra asks.
I look at her and well up instantly. “Come with me, Ty! If it’s Alex, I know he’ll be so excited to see you. If it’s a dead end, I’m gonna need you to pick up the pieces.”
“Nah, this is your journey.”
My lower lip begins to tremble and she pulls me into a fierce embrace that doesn’t last nearly long enough. We wrap our arms tightly around each other, trying to convey the love, loyalty and sisterly bond we hold.
“Stick with the plan, Rae. Plus, I gotta go back so I can cover for us. The Warden will flip if she knows you’re gone.”
“Ty—”
“I know, boo,” she says cutting me off. “I love you, too. I’ll see you soon.”
She gives me a peck on the cheek, blowing me another kiss, and then walks backward until she’s absorbed by the crowd. I can still feel the cold steel of her lip ring against my cheek where she kissed me and I put my hand up to it, feeling the sting of fresh tears.
I climb aboard the coach, validate my ticket and find a seat near the back. I sit down and put my backpack next to me, hoping it’ll deter anyone from sitting with me. I pop in Tyra’s ear buds and dial on the iPod to a playlist labeled ‘Chill Shiznit’.
Tyra is so confident we’ll be reunited that she let me take her iPod. That’s serious business. Ty’s iPod is her prize possession. I clutch it tightly, hoping to absorb even an ounce of her swagger that may have rubbed off on the tiny device.
It doesn’t work.
The butterflies in my stomach morph into violent French hens once the bus starts moving. I take deep breaths and crank up the music trying to drown out my nerves.
'Tis the Season for Love: A Charity Box Set Page 48