A Christmas Rescue

by Diane Michaels

  “You’d be up for helping us? I mean, you already have your grandmother to care for and your job. Plus, the cats like you. It would be a big help for Taara if you continued to handle the breakfast feeding on weekdays for a while.”

  “I can manage another responsibility. I have until the twenty-first to finish the manual. I’ve translated eight pages out of one hundred in two days. I’ll be done way before the deadline. Let me help you.”

  “Well, since you love spreadsheets so much, I definitely won’t stop you. That would be cruel.” He grins and tosses a handful of sand on me.

  I brush it off and gather ammunition of my own. He leaps from his towel and runs for the water. “Don’t you dare!”

  I chase after him into the water. He flattens his hand and paddles a wave into my face.

  Coughing from the spray, I say, “Oh, it’s on!” I lunge toward him only to face-plant in the surf. He laughs as if nothing could be funnier. And in a rare departure from my normal state of hating when things are messy or embarrassing, I erupt into a fit of giggles.

  CHAPTER 12

  My grandmother and I seem to have settled into a comfortable routine. In the mornings, I’ll make us tea, and if we’re having more than just toast or cereal for breakfast, I’ll prepare the meal, too. I translate one page of the manual, do a little housework, and help my grandmother with anything else that requires two hands before I go out and help Xave feed the animals. After a shift at the shelter, I head back home to meet my daily page goal.

  Truthfully, when I return to my room to work, I take advantage of the privacy to update the spreadsheet I use to evaluate my grandmother’s wellbeing. She hasn’t been to any raves recently, nor has she handed out money like an ATM, so I have less to report to my father. But I do have my doubts about her, hmm, sanity. She told me last night that each month when she prepares to pay her bills, she throws them in the air, studying the pattern of where they fall to determine which to pay first.

  Even though my grandmother’s quirkiness has me a little uneasy, after only four days in Australia, I’m feeling at home. I’m even starting to appreciate Gus’s company. He’s a sweet dog and seems to enjoy that he gets free rein over the property while his fellow canines have to stay in their enclosure. Xave explained to me that they can only let a couple out at a time and the dogs have to be on a leash, otherwise they try to run away. I told him I won’t be volunteering for dog-walking duty anytime soon, but I am more willing to get involved with other tasks, like caring for the wildlife, than when I first arrived.

  For example, it was easy to fall in love with the baby possum that became separated from its mother. Australian possums are so much cuter than the ones you see in Michigan, and as soon as I spotted her, I wanted to tuck it into my pocket and take her everywhere with me. When I found out she had to be hand fed, I immediately enlisted myself for the job. She spends most of her time inside a dark pouch in a carrier so she can feel safe, but once she’s a bit older, she’ll be released into the wild. When I first offered to feed her, Xave laughed.

  “You do realize they need feeding as often as human babies?”

  “That’s OK. Just let me know what I have to do.” I silently thought it would be good practice for when I had my own children.

  So now I do most of the day shift feeds for the little critter, who Xave has temporarily named Xena. I’m guessing he has an affinity with the letter X. And I really look forward to those moments, helping something small and defenseless slowly gain independence.

  I’ve even gotten to know most of the cats and enjoy seeing them each day—although no one has yet been able to win over Big Mama. And I almost teared up when someone adopted the calico cat who had befriended me my first day volunteering at the shelter. I don’t know how Xave can handle being around all these animals and then slowly have them removed from his life one by one.

  I have two hours until my next session with Xena, so I make my way over to the office, where I plan to work on the fundraiser. Taara is already in there, sitting at an old computer. It looks like something from the eighties.

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  “Oh, just updating the shelter’s Facebook page. I’m not great at coming up with interesting stuff, though.”

  “Do you want me to have a go?” Now that I know she and Xave aren’t dating, it feels less awkward around her. I’m not sure why, but I guess I’m not the odd one out anymore, at least from a romantic perspective. I am more aware than ever of the cultural differences between Aussies and Americans. Grandma constantly uses words that I assume are descended from the country’s English influence. Cookies are biscuits. The trash can is the bin. The sidewalk is the footpath. And when I explained to Grandma why Americans no longer refer to flip-flops as thongs, which is still the preferred word for them here, she laughed until tears streamed down her cheeks.

  “Sure. Do you have experience with business-related social media postings?”

  “Sort of. I used to update the page at the school where I taught. My posts seemed to get good engagement.”

  “You feel like hanging around after Christmas? We could use someone like you here.”

  “Oh, that’s really sweet of you, but I’m not sure my employer will allow me to work remotely indefinitely. And of course, my boyfriend is back in Michigan…”

  I’m not sure why I didn’t mention Brett before my job, but I put it down to the fact we started the conversation by talking about work.

  “That’s right. I remember you mentioned him. You said you had a bit of an on-again, off-again relationship? Have you spoken to him much since you arrived?”

  “Uh, a little.” We haven’t, in fact, heard each other’s voices since I landed. Brett seems to be having a lot of trouble making himself available at the times of day when I’m awake. I know he has to work, but he should have time before he leaves for his morning commute or in the evening after dinner. I’ve had to make do with what feels like half-hearted text messages from his end, and it’s starting to frustrate me.

  I sit down and start creating a teaser post for the fundraiser, pretending I’m too busy to talk about frivolous things like my love life.

  I think Taara gets the message and busies herself over in the corner with a sewing machine.

  But then, of course, I want to know what she’s doing. “What are you making?” I ask.

  “Possum pouches. Sometimes the animals tear them up, so we need lots of spares. Hey, what are your woodworking skills like?”

  “Not great. But my sewing skills are OK. I can possibly make a few pouches later if you show me the pattern.”

  “Perfect. I guess we have Xave to do the boxes, which is why I was asking about your other talents. The possums are usually released back into the wild in one. Sheila is quite handy constructing them too, but I imagine she’ll be out of action for a while.”

  “You all do so much!”

  “I know, but I can only help out on weekends and some weekdays most of the year. I’m a teaching assistant at one of the local primary schools, but if I could get paid to work full time here at the shelter, I would quit my other job in a second. God knows Xave could use me. At least I have six weeks over the holiday break where I’m able to do longer hours here.”

  I’m just about to talk to her about how she finds working with children when my phone rings.

  It’s Brett!

  “I hope you don’t mind me taking this,” I say to Taara. “I won’t be long.”

  “Of course not.” She waves me off.

  I press the answer key as I make my way outside.

  “Hi!” I say, a silly grin on my face.

  “Hey. I finally figured out the time difference. It’s ten there, right?”

  “Yes! How are you? It feels like forever since I’ve seen you.”

  “I know. It’s been busy here, but I was thinking today about how much I miss you.”

  “You have?”

  “Yeah, I have. I moved my stuff into the studio, b
ut it’s kind of lonely here on my own. I thought I would love it, but it’s just made me realize how far away you are.”

  “Aw, you’re so cute. I miss you, too. I mean, I don’t have a lot of downtime in between helping out Grandma and Xave…”

  He cuts me off. “Who’s Xave?”

  “Oh, he owns an animal shelter next door. Grandma normally helps out, but I’m taking her place while she recovers.”

  “What’s he like?”

  I try not to let the smile enter my voice. “He’s a nice guy. Why? Are you jealous?” Brett has never said anything in all the time we’ve dated that might indicate he felt threatened by another man.

  “Of course not. I know all Aussie guys don’t look like surfer models.”

  I have to stop myself from giggling. “You’re right. They don’t.”

  Although, the one living next door does.

  “Have you worked out what you’re doing for Christmas yet?” he asks.

  “Don’t remind me. I’ve been assured that I will love the southern hemisphere’s version of the holidays, but I’m not yet convinced. Someone even mentioned it would be a treat if we hired a barbecue pontoon. I assume that’s a boat of some sort.”

  “It sounds like fun. I’ve always thought it might be interesting to spend Christmas somewhere else.”

  “You know, if you wanted to, you could come and join me here for this one? I’m sure Grandma wouldn’t mind, and there’s plenty of room.”

  He’s quiet for a moment. “Uh, Han…”

  I can tell immediately what he’s going to say.

  “Never mind. It was a crazy idea. I know you have work…and booking a flight so close to Christmas would be expensive…”

  “Exactly. And I have to unpack my stuff. I’ve only been home for a few weeks, so I need a chance to catch my breath.”

  “I know, I know.” I don’t think I was really expecting him to take me up on the offer, but I still can’t help feeling a little rejected. “You’re right. So, what have you got planned for the rest of the evening?”

  “Not a whole lot. Probably just some Netflix and an early night.”

  “I can’t wait to see the new apartment when I get home.”

  “And I’ll look forward to showing you.”

  I hear a noise in the background and Brett suddenly sounds distracted. “That’ll be my pizza delivery. I have to go. But I promise to call again in a day or two.”

  “OK. I love you.”

  “Love you, too.” He says it quickly and hangs up. I suppose I shouldn’t be upset at the fact he ended the call so abruptly and that his way of saying the L word was so clinical. At least he said it.

  I go back inside and sit back down at the computer. I have a fundraiser to organize.

  CHAPTER 13

  I’ve developed a new system to reward myself for doing my work. After each two hundred and fifty words I translate, I allow myself time to surf the internet to find inspiration for Xavier’s fundraiser. But the daily emails I receive from my boss reminding me the completed translation is due on December 21 make me crave a better reward for enduring his micromanaging. It’s as if he knew I had fallen behind. I’ll catch up. He has no reason to worry.

  However, an automatic steering system can’t compete with the image I find of a wattle tree like the one at the back of my grandmother’s property, twinkling with lights. My meticulous efforts with the lights for our family Christmas tree pale in comparison.

  I haven’t cleared it with Xave yet, but I’ve settled on going full-on Christmas for the theme, albeit with a casual, Australian bent. My grandmother, Taara, and a couple of volunteers will donate their patio furniture for the event. To create a cohesive statement out of the mismatched furniture, I’ll fabricate the same tablescape for each. I’m picturing boughs of eucalyptus woven around white pillar candles. I couldn’t resist buying a collection of brass native animal figurines to scatter amongst the boughs.

  The biggest project will be to imitate something I saw on Pinterest. I want to suspend branches above our heads horizontally between trees and hang Christmas lights and bouquets of flowers and herbs from my grandmother’s garden on them. I’ll also have to track down loads of pinecones to spray paint gold and intersperse amongst the bouquets.

  It’s wrong that I’m enjoying the planning more than my career. My job uses my degree—not to mention offers a connection to my family’s German heritage—and I’m employed by the only company my parents have worked for during my lifetime. The translation project on my laptop is the strongest bond I have to the life I’ve left behind. So why doesn’t it sustain my interest?

  My grandmother’s bedroom door squeaks open. “Grandma, can I do anything for you?” I spring to my feet, ready to unclog a toilet, wash her hair in the kitchen sink, or tackle whatever chore she needs me to do.

  “I’m heading to the shelter. I volunteered for the midday shift to feed the baby possum.”

  I slam the screen of my laptop closed. “Here. Let me go with you.”

  “Weren’t you moaning over breakfast about how much time you need to spend doing your job today?”

  “It’ll keep.”

  “I enjoy your company and certainly have no intention of telling you what to do; it’s not my style. But raising two kids makes me an expert at recognizing stalling tactics. And you, my dear, seem to be equally expert in avoiding work.” She adjusts a diaphanous purple scarf around her arm sling, pretending she didn’t just call me out.

  I hang my head. “Busted. But my project doesn’t require forty-hour weeks for me to complete it. I’ll be fine.”

  “How many pages have you translated thus far?”

  “Off the top of my head, about twenty-five?”

  “And how many pages are in the manual?”

  “One hundred. And then I have to proofread everything.”

  “At a rate of twenty-five pages per week, you won’t be done translating until at least Christmas. Will it take long to proofread?”

  Oh, crud. I haven’t done the math.

  My grandmother purses her lips. “Mhmm. You don’t have that long, do you?”

  “No, my translation is due on the twenty-first.”

  “I can’t believe I have to be this person again. Hannah, you’re turning me into a responsible adult who plans her life, and I don’t care for it.”

  Here is a new side to my grandmother. She’s behaving the opposite of someone incapable of caring for herself. If the responsible aspect of her nature lies close to the surface, my father and aunt are entirely wrong to assume she needs a permanent caregiver. But can I trust a single incident to negate all of the kooky, irresponsible things she has done since I’ve been here?

  She furrows her brow when I don’t respond to her. “Aren’t you the person who loves to plan everything within an inch of its life?”

  “I do love maintaining order and control, but something about the tropical air and baby possums and the beach…”

  “Now you understand why I moved to Noosa. Please do me the favor of explaining the appeal of our lifestyle to your father and his sister. Perhaps then they'll leave me alone to enjoy my life here.”

  I shudder, wondering whether she has inferred why I’m really here. I guiltily envision the spreadsheet on my computer and contemplate whether I should delete the whole thing and inform my father I refuse to be his spy.

  Grandma, failing to notice my internal dilemma, continues talking. “But back to you. How have your stools been since you arrived?”

  Her gray eyes implore me to take her seriously, but I giggle embarrassedly. “Um, I’m fine in that department.”

  She shrugs. “Your body knows the true answer.” Her left hand hovers a couple of inches from my cheek. Slowly, she follows the contours of my head to the crown of my head, sliding her hand across the air in front of my face, throat, belly, groin (I will never unknow the experience of my grandmother reaching for my crotch), and finally stopping in the center of my chest. “Ah, here’s t
he blockage. Once we fix your heart chakra, you’ll find the self-discipline you need to finish your project.”

  I let out the breath I’d been holding since her hands gave my lady parts more attention than they had seen recently. I had expected she’d have more to say about the heart chakra. Perhaps along the lines of the cure for a blockage being to—

  “My advice is to have sex. You say you have a boyfriend, but your body tells me your relationship might be the cause of your blockage. Neither you nor he loves you enough to keep you in balance.” She adjusts the strap of her sling. “And now I have to see about a baby possum. You need to get to work. But first, perhaps you’ll take advantage of my absence and show yourself some love.” She gestures to my bedroom with her head. “A little quickie may be just the boost you need to focus.” She blows me a kiss on her way out.

  ❅ ❅ ❅

  “I can’t believe your grandmother told you to masturbate.” Taara has not stopped laughing since I described my chakra reading to her. “Well?”

  I glance furtively at the people in the local pub, hoping no one is eavesdropping. “You can’t be asking me to answer your question, can you? Is this a thing here? Sharing intimate details concerning what goes on in the bathroom and the bedroom?”

  “Nah, it’s just a Sheila thing. Trust me: we’ve all been through it.” She takes a sip of her wine. “Do you want another Prosecco?”

  I spin my nearly empty glass on the table. “I wouldn’t mind another. What about you?”

  “One is plenty for me. I’m your designated driver. But, according to your grandmother, you need to loosen up, so you can’t say no to having another glass. I’ll be right back.”