Catching Christmas

by Terri Blackstock

  The Apple salesperson approaches, wearing his trademark black T-shirt and holding his digitized cash register in the palm of his hand. “She wants to buy an iPad,” I tell him. “Could you show her a few of the models?”

  Of course he starts with the most expensive model. “This one comes in two sizes, and you can get a keyboard case and a pen to go with it.”

  “My granddaughter is a lawyer,” Callie says, smiling up at him. “She’s very pretty. Are you married?”

  “Um . . . yes, ma’am. But if she’s a lawyer, she might really like this one, and the bigger version might be really handy for her with the pen.”

  Callie looks at me. “What do you think?”

  I wonder if she remembers my name. “Me? Oh, yeah, I think she would like that a lot. It’s kind of pricey, though.”

  “You can pay for it right here,” the guy says. “All I need is a credit card.”

  I don’t want to get involved, so I clear my throat. “I’m going to step outside for a minute, get some air. Let me know when she’s ready.”

  I go outside to an iron bench on the sidewalk and drop onto it. I hope Callie isn’t frantically looking through her purse for her credit card. I don’t want her to be embarrassed.

  He hasn’t wheeled her out to me yet, so maybe she’s actually making the transaction. She’s been much more lucid today. How does that work? She could hardly hold a thought the first day I met her, but now she’s purchasing the latest tech gadget.

  What could be wrong with her? Is it Alzheimer’s that comes and goes, or some other kind of dementia that gives her good days and bad days? Or was she just feeling so awful a couple of days ago that it affected her memory?

  The tech guy leans out the door. “Sir? She’s ready.”

  I get to my feet. “Already? Really? That was way too easy.”

  I step back into the store and see the white Apple bag sitting on her lap. Callie is smiling like a contest winner.

  “Did you get what you wanted?”

  “Yes. We can go now, sweet boy.”

  I roll her out to the car, get her into the back seat, and hook her in. She holds tightly to her bag the whole time.

  “She’ll like this,” she says as we drive away. “It’s the first time I’ve bought her anything she’d really like.”

  “I’m sure everything you’ve given her is nice.”

  “No. Sweaters and perfume, mostly. Nothing that makes her face light up.”

  “Well, I can promise you she’ll like this one.”

  I glance into my rearview mirror. She’s smiling as I drive. I find myself smiling, too. “Home now?”

  “Not yet,” she says. “One more place.”

  “Where to?”

  “I need a tree.”

  “A tree? What kind of tree?”

  “A Christmas tree!”

  I groan and shake my head. “I’m afraid I can’t do that, Miss Callie. I’m not set up to carry trees. No can do.”

  An hour later, I’m driving away from the Christmas tree lot with a six-foot tree netted on my roof.

  CHAPTER 14

  Syndey

  The judge, who has an iron bladder, doesn’t give us a recess until three thirty, and as I’m hurrying to the ladies’ room, John Darco blocks my way.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” the mogul demands.

  “Going to the restroom, sir.”

  “No, I mean in there. With my son. That lawyer is killing us, and you’re just sitting there.”

  “We’ll get our chance.”

  “But the witnesses are saying horrible things about Steve. They’re making him seem like a spoiled rich kid who does whatever he wants.”

  I find myself speechless. It’s as if there’s something blocking my throat, cutting off my words. I need the Heimlich maneuver. Somehow I clear my throat and force my voice to work. “We’ll shoot that down when I cross-examine them,” I say. “Believe me, they’ll see him as a Boy Scout when I finish.”

  “In the meantime, they’re taking all these shots, and the jury is sitting there lapping it all up.”

  “Steve is very good looking.” That’s the best thing I can think to say about him. “I made sure we have young women on the jury. Trust me, they’re going to side with him.” Even as I say the words, I realize I’m a traitor to my own gender. I hope college girls aren’t that stupid. I hope they see right through him.

  But my whole case rests on their being hypnotized by his blue eyes.

  How did I get here?

  I check my watch. “Mr. Darco, I have to hurry.”

  He raises his finger and points in my face. “If my son loses this case, I’m never doing business with your firm again. Do you understand that?”

  “Yes, sir, I do. It’s just that this is a tough case, since he actually did bring the alcohol and ram his car into the BK.”

  I know right away that I shouldn’t have reminded him of that.

  “I’m warning you,” he says.

  “Yes, sir.” I feel like I need to bow, but instead I skirt around him and hurry into the bathroom.

  When I return to the courtroom, Steve isn’t there. I hope he makes it in time. While I’m waiting for him, his father comes back to me. “I was thinking,” he says in a whisper. “You need to dig up dirt on those witnesses. They’re college students. There must be a ton of stuff you can use against them.”

  “We’ve looked for things to discredit them,” I say. “There isn’t much.”

  “Then make it up!” he hisses. “They’re practically kids. You can say whatever you want and they can’t prove differently. Knock them into the dirt if they testify against my son.”

  I’m a little sick. “I can’t lie, Mr. Darco. I don’t want to be disbarred.”

  “Real lawyers know how to do it without doing it,” he says through his teeth. “Do your job.”

  Steve rushes in as his father returns to his seat. His shirttail is out, and his dirty hair has fallen back into his face. He reeks of marijuana.

  I gape at him. “What did you do? Get high in the bathroom?”

  “No. I just ran out to my car for a minute.”

  “They’ll smell you from the jury box!”

  “Hey, you told me to quit drinking. It’s legal in Colorado.”

  “It’s not in Missouri. We still have five minutes. Go wash your hands and face.” I dig into my bag for the gel I gave him this morning. “Slick some more of this on your hair to cover the smell.”

  His eyes are red and a little puffy. I’ll have to make it look like he’s been crying. I’ll pretend to comfort him when he gets back. I wait, practically holding my breath. As the jury is reseated, Steve stumbles over a shoelace as he heads back to the table.

  My days are numbered. I’ll be in the unemployment line by New Year’s Day.

  CHAPTER 15

  Finn

  My mood has gone south by the time I get Callie home. She’s napping in the back again, so I go up to her door and grab her key from under her mat so I don’t have to wait for her to find it in her gigantic purse.

  I get the stupid tree off my roof and drag it into the house. Then I wake her and get her out of the car. “Miss Callie, I’ve already put the tree in your living room.”

  “What tree?” she asks.

  I really don’t want to do this. “Never mind.” I take her to the door and get her inside. Unfortunately, she sees the tree still netted on the floor. “Oh, bless you! I have a stand in the attic.”

  I’m ready for this. “No, ma’am, I’m not going to your attic. I have to go. This was supposed to be my day off. I just came over to get paid, and somehow I wound up—”

  “Pay you? Yes, I need to pay you.”

  I tell her what she owes me for today. As she digs out her checkbook, I say again, “Miss Callie, you’re spending way too much on having me drive you around. You should hire an assistant who can help you at home and drive you. I’m way too expensive.”

  “You’re worth it,�
� she says as she slowly fills in the blanks on the check. When she’s finished, she tears off the check and hands it to me.

  I take it, figuring it will probably bounce, along with the other one I haven’t cashed yet.

  “My attic door is in the hall.”

  “No, ma’am. I can’t go to your attic.”

  “But how will I stand it up? How will I decorate it?”

  “Ask your granddaughter. I’m sorry, Miss Callie. I have to go now. I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

  “Thank you, sweet boy.” She takes my hand and won’t let it go.

  “I hope Sydney likes her Christmas present.”

  Her face lights up again. “I want you to come for Christmas. I want you to see her face when she opens it.”

  “I appreciate that, Miss Callie. But I can’t. I have plans for Christmas Day.”

  “What are they?” she demands to know.

  I laugh at her pushiness and think of telling her that I’m not going to be Sydney’s Christmas fix-up, that Sydney doesn’t even like me, that she probably doesn’t have any trouble getting her own dates, and that eating with the two of them sounds like the most depressing way to spend Christmas I can think of.

  Truth is, I want to spend it watching a recorded UFC fight I’ve been saving and pretending it’s like any other day.

  “I have plans with family,” I lie.

  “Your mother?” she asks.

  “No, ma’am. My mother died a few years back.”

  “A grandmother? Aunt?”

  I didn’t expect her to get so specific with her questioning. I don’t like lying about a day that’s supposed to be holy. Even though I’m no more than an ambivalent believer in the events that Christmas celebrates, I don’t want to invite some kind of Christmas curse.

  But how can it get any worse? I’ve spent Christmas the same way for the last few years—almost as if I’ve been punishing myself for my treatment of my mother, who loved to make Christmas special every year. I don’t deserve anything nice on that day.

  Maybe spending it with Callie is just what I deserve. Maybe that is the Christmas curse.

  “I’m going out of town,” I say, thinking I’ll do just that to make it true, even if it’s to the next town over. “I’m sorry, but again, I appreciate your thinking of me.”

  She just smiles as if she knows I’m ditching her.

  CHAPTER 16

  Finn

  The next morning my Stockholm syndrome is working full-tilt. Patty Hearst had nothing on me. Callie has made herself a daily fixture in my life. She’s like gum on the bottom of my shoe. There’s no way to get it off without making a mess.

  When LuAnn called me before I even logged in for the day, I lit into her. “LuAnn, if you’re calling to tell me that I have to drive Callie again, you might as well know that I’d rather drive my cab off a bridge. It’s someone else’s turn.”

  “She asks for you, Finn.” LuAnn is enjoying this way too much. “Except she refers to you as ‘that sweet boy.’ How can I say no to that?”

  “Like this. No! No, no, no. Do you know that she made me get her a Christmas tree yesterday? I had to strap it to the top of the car.”

  “It’s just that she needs to go to the doctor again, and you’re the only one of my drivers who won’t just drop her off at the curb.”

  The doctor? Why is she going back to the doctor? Is she sick again?

  “After what you told me about last time, I thought maybe you wouldn’t mind. But don’t worry. I’ll call Butch.”

  I imagine Butch taking care of her. He’s a brillo pad of a man who’s usually ramped up on caffeine and is always looking for a fight. “No, he can’t handle her. How about Lamar?”

  “No, he’s off today. Finn, she’s a sweet old lady. Can’t you do it?”

  I sigh loud enough for her to hear it. “All right, LuAnn, but this has to stop.”

  “Keep the meter running. She has been paying you, hasn’t she?”

  “Yes.” It’s true. Her checks didn’t bounce, and I was actually able to pay my rent. But I like having time between fares to think and be on my own.

  Still, I don’t want some grouchy cabbie to drop her at the curb outside the hospital. “Okay, I’ll take her.”

  “Thank you, Finn. I knew you would.”

  I hang up angry and grab my jacket.

  The doctor’s office is the same as last time. I roll her in and go through the arduous process of getting her checked in. Instead of parking her there alone, I sit down next to her this time, intent on waiting it out as long as I have to. While she seems somewhat lucid this time, she’s a little weaker than before. Her shoulders are more slumped, her hands more limp, and her breathing sounds a little heavier. I reach to the magazine stack sitting on the table next to me and pull out one about parenting. Mindlessly, I open it to an article about potty training. When I realize what I’m doing, I drop it back on the stack. I wipe my hands on my jeans as if the magazine has soiled me.

  Yeah, I’m losing it.

  I turn to Callie. “So this appointment, is it something that you made because you aren’t feeling well, or is it a follow-up to the one you had before?” Either she doesn’t want to answer or she doesn’t know the answer. She just looks up at me. Her eyes are red, but I don’t know if that’s age or illness or fatigue or what. I haven’t really stared into her eyes that much before.

  Callie turns her attention to a woman carrying a baby. “You know, some babies just aren’t that cute,” she says way too loudly.

  I glance at the mother, hoping she didn’t hear. She didn’t seem to. Stifling a smile, I say, “Miss Callie, that wasn’t very nice.”

  “My Gloria . . . beautiful baby.”

  “Sydney’s mom?”

  “When she had her baby, I didn’t think she had the sense to take care of her. She made a lot of mistakes. Her biggest one was dying too soon.”

  A blind person with a seeing-eye dog walks by, and Callie is distracted again. “Imagine bringing a dog into this place,” she says.

  This time I know her target heard her. I think of getting up and standing against the wall where no one knows I know her, but suddenly the door to the examining rooms open and the nurse calls out, “Mrs. Beecher?”

  I jump up, thankful. “That’s you.” I unlock her wheels and push her toward the door. When I’ve rolled the chair to the nurse, I stop. “I’ll be out here waiting.”

  “You don’t want to come back with her?” she asks.

  Haven’t we been through this before? “No. I’m just her ride. In fact—” I slap my pockets for the phone number I’ve written down. “Whatever her family needs to know, you should tell Sydney, her granddaughter. I think she’s already been in touch with you.”

  The nurse looks a little concerned. “When I called this morning, Mrs. Beecher said she would have her granddaughter with her.”

  The doctor’s office called her? No wonder she didn’t mention it yesterday.

  When the nurse takes her, I go back to the chairs and sit there, jiggling my knee, hoping the appointment doesn’t last too long. Today’s a big day for Christmas travelers since school is out. I don’t want to miss this surge in the taxi market because I’m sitting here in this godforsaken waiting room.

  But the wait is long. Two hours pass, and I find myself watching the soap opera on the TV in the corner of the room with the sound turned down. I wonder if Callie’s sitting alone in an exam room or if they’re actually doing something. Finally, I catch the nurse when she comes out to call the next patient.

  “It’s been a long time. Is Callie Beecher still back there?”

  “The doctor sent her for an MRI and a PET scan,” she says. “She’s waiting to talk to the doctor again.”

  I should have known. They must have a back way to slip people out without their cab drivers knowing.

  Now I feel stupid for waiting here. I could have been working. I force myself to wait longer.

  Finally, after another twent
y minutes, Callie is wheeled back to me. She seems weaker than ever. She’s wiping her nose with a wadded tissue.

  “It’s very important that the doctor talk to a family member,” the nurse says. “He tried to call her granddaughter, but he just got voice mail. Is there someone else?”

  “I think her granddaughter is in court.”

  “Then he really needs to talk to you.”

  “Trust me. I’m not your guy. Aren’t there HIPPA laws?”

  “If the patient is with you and approves our talking to you, then we can.”

  I feel cornered. “No, I don’t want to know. I’m just some guy. None of this is any of my business.”

  “Okay, sir. Take it easy.”

  Looking at me like I’m dangerous, the nurse retreats back through the mystery door.

  Callie is quiet as I wheel her out to my car and put her into the back seat. It isn’t clear to me whether she’s been crying or just has a runny nose, but she seems to stare off into space as I get behind the wheel. I look back at her. “Miss Callie, are you okay?”

  She doesn’t answer, and I wonder if she’s even heard me. I’m pulling away when she finally speaks up. “I need to go to church.”

  I glance in the rearview mirror. “Miss Callie, it’s not Sunday.”

  I wonder if her need to go to a holy place is based on some kind of bad news that she’s gotten at the doctor. I almost wish I’d found out . . . then I snatch that thought from my brain. I can’t get involved in this. Whatever it is Callie is going through, I’m not going to be pulled in or entangled.

  “I know,” she says. “I need to talk to my pastor.”

  My heart jolts. It is bad news. “Okay,” I say. “What’s the name of the church?”

  I recognize the name and head that way. What is going on with her that she needs to talk to the pastor? Does she need someone to pray for her?

  Worry suddenly tightens my chest, but I shove it away. I don’t have time for this.

  But as I drive, my thoughts drift back to the sad justifications I made when my own mother was dying. What is wrong with me?

  By the time I get to her church, I half expect her to be asleep, but she’s awake and staring out the window. I help her back into her wheelchair and roll her in.