A Christmas Rescue

by Diane Michaels

  We don’t speak while I go through a flow of poses and she completes her taxing routine of exercises. The heat from the stone patio seeps through the towel I use as a mat, relaxing my muscles. I’m no longer verbalizing my thoughts in my head, and for a short while, I’m ready to declare yoga the perfect panacea for my woes.

  Exercise doesn’t have the same impact on my grandmother. Her face grows pinched and aged. She catches me staring at her. With a shake of her hair, she regains her signature energy. “I’m fine. You’re the one who needs healing. Let’s find a way to bring love into your life while we eat breakfast.”

  “It’s not polite to speak with food in my mouth,” I say with a smirk before scooting into the house.

  “Smart aleck! We have plenty of time before breakfast will be on the table. Describe your love to me.”

  I pull the loaf of bread from the freezer. “He’s six-one, brown—”

  “Pfft! I’m not interested in your man’s physical appearance. Describe the love within you. Where is it leading you?”

  “I plan to be married before I turn thirty.”

  She shakes her head. “Do you even understand what love is?”

  I scowl. Why is she treating me like a child? She’s not asking me questions that make sense or could point me toward the answers she wants. “Of course, I know what love is. I love Brett.”

  “Does his love for you make the world a better place?”

  “How odd. Xavier said the same thing recently. He believes the number one goal of love is to make him the best person possible.”

  “And the problem with his theory is…”

  “I want to show Brett my love by being the best partner for him. But we also have to remain individual people. Before we met, I knew I wanted to live in Frankenmuth because living near my parents is important to me. And I am happiest in my hometown, thanks to its beauty and its year-round reminders of Christmas.”

  “We’re getting somewhere. You are your best when you are with family and surrounded by an inspiring landscape. But, if I’m being picky, I’d say nothing you’ve described has anything to do with romance. Does Noosa inspire you?”

  I have an urge to slap myself when I picture Xavier delivering the breech puppy or splashing in the waves at Tea Tree Bay. I plot a hasty retreat away from man-shaped sources of inspiration. “It does, but in a different way. Even with decorations everywhere, nothing here really reminds me of Christmas. But—this is going to sound weird—the lush gardens and exotic trees affect me more personally or, oh, I don’t know, maybe more intimately than admiring a stranger’s light display. I love the snow, don’t get me wrong, but I’m not a fan of the bitter cold. After a quick trip through Frankenmuth to see the decorations, all I want is to head home for hot chocolate. Your garden draws me into it. I want to linger.” I arrange slices of avocado onto pieces of toast, my mind drifting back to my grandmother’s patio.

  “What I’m hearing is you’re discovering that home is not the fixed locale you had imagined. And perhaps your Christmas wonderland isn’t where you’ll find your romantic love.”

  I have to point her back to where I belong. “But I have my future mapped out, and my plans were coming together before I arrived in Australia. Brett has his job at a local bank; I have mine a few miles away. And now we’re considering whether to find a house in Frankenmuth.”

  “I have one final question for you, and then we’ll enjoy our breakfast in peace: is Australia to blame for your unhappiness or has stepping away from your old life allowed you to see that the life you had planned isn’t making you happy?” Her eyes lift to the ceiling. “I lied: I have another question. You mentioned having insights on Xavier’s notion of love. How interesting! Do you care to elaborate on why the two of you have spoken about love?”

  I stuff half a slice of avo toast in my mouth and point to my chipmunk cheeks. Now, can I manage to keep my mouth full of food for the next few weeks to avoid having to answer her questions?

  CHAPTER 18

  I pretend to receive an important email just as I’m finishing my breakfast and mime to Grandma that I will be responding to it in my bedroom.

  “I know what you’re doing,” she says.

  “Hmhmhm,” I say, acting as if the final mouthful of toast is obstructing my ability to communicate.

  “Go on, then. But you can’t hide from me forever!”

  I hurry off, grateful for the reprieve.

  I actually do have work to complete, and I sit on the bed with my laptop resting on my thighs. I think I’m deliberately self-sabotaging so that I won’t be able to stay in this position for long. But then, who wants to be inside on a glorious day such as today? It hasn’t rained once since I’ve been here, although Grandma assures me that this will change towards the end of the month. January and February are traditionally the wettest times of the year.

  Despite my initial reservations, I am quite enjoying the warm weather. I’ve learned to stay out of the full sun between ten and three, but the rest of the day isn’t too bad. And when the sun sets, the frogs and crickets contribute to a tropical chorus I find utterly enchanting.

  I plug away at a particularly boring page of translation and give up after only completing half the goal I set for myself.

  Instead, I open the spreadsheet I created for the upcoming fundraiser and run through my list of to-do items so I can check what still needs following up. Grandma has talked to one of the bands she saw the night I first arrived, so the entertainment is taken care of.

  A few days after commandeering the shelter’s social media from Taara, I started using it to advertise the fundraiser. My strategy of dropping teasers every couple of days seems to have worked. Too well. Two days into my campaign, we had sold nearly every ticket. Even when we hit our magical target of one hundred attendees and had to turn away potential donors, they still opened their wallets and sent us donations.

  After our guest list grew beyond our expectations, I made the executive decision to ditch having volunteers provide the food. Friends of Taara’s who run food trucks at the markets have offered to cater our event at cost. We went with vegetarian options since we’re raising money to support animals.

  And Xave knows a guy who runs one of the breweries in town, so he’s providing the beer and some specialty cocktails made with gin and vodka distilled at the same location.

  All I have to do now is finalize the decorations and some prizes to give away in the raffle. I talked the local day spa into donating a treatment voucher, and I got a gift certificate from a boat rental company that entitles the bearer to a stand-up-paddle-boarding tour on the river. I’ve been meaning to ask Xave whether he followed through with the offer to get a surfing lesson voucher from one of his friends, and also maybe to get one from a restaurant, or even a hotel.

  I should have gone to help feed the animals this morning, and I feel guilty I’m not pulling my weight. I shut down the laptop and figure I’ll kill two birds with one stone by checking if he needs any help and also ask about the prizes.

  I think about the phrase ‘killing two birds with one stone’ and decide it’s completely inappropriate considering where I am.

  Xave is in the office and smiles broadly when he sees me. “Hey, sleepyhead. I didn’t see you this morning.”

  “I know. Sorry, I had my work back home to catch up on.” There’s no way I am filling him in on the conversation I had with my grandmother or the cause of my sleeplessness last night.

  “Of course. I wouldn’t want to get you into any trouble with your boss. Is everything on track now?”

  “It’s getting there.”

  “Good. Do you want to take the next Xena feeding?”

  “Sure. But I also wanted to talk to you about the fundraiser. I have the day spa and stand-up-paddle-boarding vouchers. Did you talk to your guy about the surf lesson or find anyone who would be willing to give a meal or some accommodation as a prize?”

  He gives me a look that I immediately read as no.

/>   “Oh, God. I’m sorry, Hannah. I totally forgot. I told you, I’m no good at keeping track of stuff. Sometimes I wonder how I manage to keep this shelter operational.”

  I sigh. “Well, if you give me their names, I could call them on your behalf. Do you think they’d be open to talking to me?”

  “No, no, it’s totally fine. I’ll take care of it this week. We still have six days. That’s plenty of time.”

  “Well, it is, and it isn’t, but I understand it’s easy to forget things when you have so many competing priorities. At least everything else is sorted. Taara confirmed the food trucks, Grandma is talking to the band, and you’ve confirmed the alcohol…”

  He gives me the same look he displayed a few seconds ago.

  “Wait. You haven’t confirmed the alcohol?”

  “Well, I told Mitch that we’d be using him for the fundraiser, but I may have neglected to give him any details or quantities.”

  “Xave! We have one hundred thirsty people attending this event! Six days might not be enough time for him to organize the drinks.”

  “We can always just buy some regular beer and wine from the shop.”

  “I think that should be a last resort. We already put Mitch’s business on the advertising. People will be expecting a particular experience.”

  “OK, I’ll call him now. I’m sorry, Hannah. I know you’re really excited to make this a special event, and I’m grateful. But you know, the people who are coming to this thing would probably be happy with a barbecue and any drinks as long as they contained alcohol.”

  “That’s not the point. You should be trying to maximize the amount of money you raise, and by making the event look professional, you’re increasing the chances of higher donations and engagement.”

  He smiles. “Did you read that in a marketing handbook?”

  “No. But it makes sense, doesn’t it?”

  “I suppose. Yeah, you’re right.” He gets out his phone. “After you feed Xena, can you please check on Rosie and the puppies as well?”

  “Why? Did you forget to feed them or something?” I tease.

  “Ha-ha. No. But I would like it if you weighed them. I may have, uh, forgotten to do that…yesterday.” He says the last part so quietly I almost don’t hear.

  “Sorry, what was that?” I ask, holding my hand to my ear.

  “I should have weighed them yesterday, but I got sidetracked by an injured kookaburra that someone brought in.”

  “Fine. I’ll sort them out. But you’ll definitely call Mitch and whoever else you need to in order to obtain gift vouchers?”

  “I will,” he assures me.

  I head off to Xena, wondering how Xave even remembers to tie his shoes in the morning. I guess I’ve always been used to Brett remembering every detail about everything. Despite his flaws, he’s an organized guy and has an impeccable memory. I never had to worry about him showing up on time for a date when we first got together because he was always early.

  Once I reach Xena’s enclosure, I mix up some formula. Baby possums are fed via a syringe filled with a specially designed milk powder. I then secure her in her pouch and begin the feeding ritual. It’s soothing and somehow overwrites the part of my brain that likes to obsess over things.

  But I still find myself thinking about Brett and Xave. Why do I keep comparing them? Perhaps it’s because my grandmother keeps raving about what a great guy Xave is. And sure, he’s easy to look at, and his job makes him a freaking saint, but it’s not like I’m casually dating two guys and trying to make a decision on which one to pursue seriously. I already chose Brett years ago. And I’ve been happy with my decision for the most part. Until last night, obviously.

  Is one drunken kiss, that he might not even have initiated, serious enough to end an eight-year relationship? I haven’t decided yet.

  I finish feeding Xena and move on to the puppies, meticulously weighing them and updating their files. They’re all putting on weight at the same rate, which is reassuring.

  As I pass the general dog enclosure on my way out, I notice some of the water bowls are running low, so I quickly top them up, surprising myself by not feeling even remotely nervous about being around so many dogs.

  People always tell you that you should find what makes you happy and pursue that dream.

  But what happens if that dream no longer makes you happy and something completely different and unexpected comes along?

  Is it worth taking the risk to follow it?

  I’m seeing Xave and Taara do things that enrich their lives, and by volunteering here at the shelter, I’m starting to feel more alive and purposeful too.

  Perhaps it’s time to rethink the direction my life is heading.

  CHAPTER 19

  “Taara, I want to thank you again for inviting me out for drinks the other night, but I wouldn’t have been very good company if I went. I would love to have met your friends, though.”

  “No worries. You’ll meet them Saturday at the fundraiser.”

  It’s now Tuesday evening, and we’re in the office/nursery at the shelter, fulfilling our usual duties. Taara prepares to feed baby Xena while I weigh each of Rosie’s puppies.

  I hold pup number five in front of me. “Rupert, have you been hogging your mommy’s milk again? And don’t pull your Mr. Innocent nonsense with me. You weigh half an ounce more than any of your siblings.”

  “But I’m a growing boy. And I don’t know how to do anything besides eat and sleep because I’m only four days old.” Taara alters her voice into a cartoon version of a staffy puppy. In her normal voice, she says, “They should have their eyes open just in time for Christmas. And then the fun starts. Speaking of which, are you getting more in the Christmas spirit?”

  “Planning the decorations for the party helps. But the pictures my mother sent me of the eight inches of snow from yesterday’s storm remind me of what I’m missing.”

  “Is the snow all you’re missing?” Her eyebrows spike upward.

  “Perhaps I no longer miss everything about home,” I confess.

  A stream of formula squirts from the syringe, dousing poor Xena’s head. “Ooh, little baby. I apologize for my clumsiness. Your Aunt Hannah is making me thirsty for a juicy bit of gossip.”

  “No juicy gossip. Sorry.”

  “Did you break up? Or did you forgive him?”

  I sigh. “Neither. He said the kiss was entirely one-sided. He pushed her away a second after my friend saw him. He even talked about our future in terms of getting married and buying a house.”

  “You don’t sound convinced.”

  “Hence my dilemma.”

  She places the empty syringe on the desk and wipes Xena’s head with the hem of the possum carrier. “I doubt I have any decent advice for you, not that you asked. It’s easy to align with either the ‘dump him’ or ‘forgive him’ camp in a hypothetical cheating scenario. But ultimately, it depends on the guy and the situation. The fact that you’re on the opposite side of the world from him makes it even harder to decide, doesn’t it?”

  “Yeah, though I expected I’d feel worse about Brett than I do. Of course, the news hurt initially, but I can’t say I’m obsessing over the pain anymore. It could mean I don’t love him.” I cross my arms tightly against my chest. “Or perhaps it’s a protective impulse since I don’t want to make a decision until I can look him in the eye.”

  Taara tucks Xena into her crate. “Which will come soon enough, not that any of us besides you is counting the days until the end of the year.”

  “You may get your wish to keep me here a little longer. If my grandmother doesn’t do her exercises faithfully, it’s anyone’s guess when I can go home. I overheard her physical therapist giving her a stern talking to yesterday. He doesn’t like the pace of her recovery and blames it on her not taking an active role.”

  “How unlike Sheila.” She furrows her brow. “I’ve always admired her independence and strength. But with her injury, she has almost given up. I suppose it’
s a shock to her to discover she’s not entirely invincible.”

  Taara’s observation makes me uncomfortable. All along, I’ve assumed my grandmother’s odd behaviors could indicate she needs my aunt to care for her in the long term. Doesn’t a change like giving up tell me more accurately that Grandma needs help? The pressure of being in charge of making this decision tangles my gut.

  I shake off my thoughts. “I don’t know her as well as you, but I bet you’re right.”

  “I’ll quit dispensing wisdom while I’m ahead. The animals ran me ragged today, so I’m headed home to bed. You’re OK from here?”

  I tap my fingers as I run through my list. “Cats are fed, puppies have been weighed, you’ve given little Xena her eight o’clock feeding. We’re good. Xavier’s taking care of the next feeding, provided he remembers.”

  “He forgets to feed himself half the time, but forgetting to feed the animals? Never!” She grabs her pocketbook and heads for the door.

  “Has he always been disorganized?”

  She halts. “Yes and no. He’s always been a ‘live in the moment’ kind of dude, but when he watched his friend die on the construction site, it left him defeated. Despite being injured himself, he single-handedly tried to rescue his friend from under the crane. Another guy I knew was on the scene. He said Xavier was a madman. They couldn’t pull him away. And being unable to save his friend, I suspect Xave has since found it hard to believe anything he does can make a difference.”

  My eyes bulge. “But he built the shelter. He makes a huge difference.”

  “Of course, he does. Sadly, he doesn’t focus on the big picture of what he does or how to continue to provide his services. Which is why you’ve been a godsend. You have raised an inconceivable amount of money for us and developed a donor base the likes of which we’ve never seen.”

  I look away, uncomfortable with her praise. “I’ve messed around a little on social media, that’s all. But you said you needed to go home to bed. Don’t let me keep you. I want to play with my puppies for a few minutes before I leave. I’ll see you tomorrow. Have a good night!”