A Small Town Christmas

by Sheila Roberts

  Children, there was another road she was not going to let her thoughts wander down. She pulled the last of the requested canned goods from the shelves and went to get bread and milk.

  By the time she returned with the groceries, Ariel had gotten the kids settled at a little table in one corner of the reception area and they were happily munching on gingerbread boys donated by the local bakery.

  “Do I have some customers for vegetable soup?” Carol asked.

  “Oh, yeah,” Ariel said.

  The smell of soup had permeated the reception area now, and Carol hoped it gave the little house a homey smell. She ladled it into bowls, then set them on the counter. “So, how’s it going?” she asked.

  Ariel shrugged. “Okay, I guess. But maybe I won’t take that tree after all.”

  “Why not?” It really wasn’t any of her business. She probably wasn’t supposed to ask. On the other hand, no one had told her when she went through her volunteer training that she couldn’t show an interest in someone’s life.

  “I don’t have any ornaments,” Ariel confessed. “Well, I have a few, but not enough for one of those monsters.”

  Carol could see the disappointment in the girl’s face. It wasn’t right to not have a tree for a child at Christmas. She had three huge boxes filled with tissue-wrapped ornaments and enough lights for two trees just collecting dust on a shelf in her basement.

  “You know. I think we’ve got that covered.”

  Ariel looked at Carol as if she’d just promised a trip to Tahiti. “Really?”

  Carol nodded. “So, write down your address and phone number.”

  Ariel was grinning as she wrote.

  And Carol was still grinning when Darren returned an hour later with his grocery store finds. “Are you up for making a Christmas tree delivery?” she asked him.

  He smiled like a guy who had just gotten a date for the prom. “Change your mind?”

  “This isn’t for me, it’s for one of our single moms. But we do have to swing by my house to get some ornaments.”

  “Works for me.”

  “I’m done in an hour.”

  “That works for me, too. I’ll be back,” he said and sauntered out of the kitchen.

  “Now you’re getting smart,” Gert murmured from her post at the desk.

  Carol sighed. The last thing she wanted was to give Darren the idea she was interested. She should have handled that differently—she should have just sent him to deliver the tree. She could have gone home, gotten the ornaments, and dropped them by later, after he was gone. Actually, she could still do that.

  She scrawled Ariel’s address on a fresh piece of paper, then hurried outside to catch Darren before he drove off.

  He was just about to back his big, manly-man pickup out of its parking slot when she called his name. He rolled down the window and stuck out his head, an expectant smile on his face.

  Now that she had his attention she wasn’t sure what to say. As she ran up to the cab she dug around in the corner of her mind where she kept polite refusals. It wasn’t all that well stocked, at least not for things to say to a man who was interested in her. Too many years of married life honesty.

  “You know, I was thinking,” she began.

  “Yeah?”

  Great. Now he probably thought she was going to throw in dinner at her place. Oh, Lord, this was awkward. “I think, if you don’t mind, I’ll just have you go on over to Ariel’s.”

  His smile fell as he took the slip of paper with the address. It was a quick fall because male pride demanded he instantly cover the hurt feelings he’d just betrayed. He picked up the corners of his mouth and looked questioningly at her.

  She should be honest, just blurt out that she was depressed and scared and bad company and not even remotely interested in getting involved with anyone. But that could be even more awkward. After all, he hadn’t exactly asked her out. And maybe his Christmas tree offer earlier was simply kindness. Then she’d look egotistical and make them both feel like fools.

  So, of course, that left only one option. Lie. “I forgot I’ve got a commitment later. If you can just tell Ariel I’ll be by with the ornaments that would be great.” Carol started backing away from the truck, still talking so he couldn’t edge in any awkward questions or offers to go at a different time. “Thanks so much for doing this. I know she’ll really appreciate it.”

  Now he was making a frown that could have meant puzzlement or disappointment or just plain irritation. She didn’t want to stick around to find out what, exactly, it did mean, so she turned tail and ran back into the building.

  Her heart was dancing like the little drummer boy on speed by the time she got back inside the food bank. Then she had a new thought. What if he followed her? He didn’t seem like the kind of guy to get pushy, but you never knew. She went into the bathroom and locked herself in. Then she leaned against the sink and let out a sigh.

  “Oh, Ray,” she whispered. “Look what you’ve done. You died and I’m in hell.”

  A knock on the bathroom door made her jump. “Are you okay, dear?” came Gert’s voice.

  Carol gave herself a mental shake. “I’m fine. I’ll be right out.”

  Fine, what a lie. But whether you were in heaven or hell, life went on. She looked in the mirror and gave her wilted reflection a pull-it-together look, then came out and went back to work. And prayed that Darren wouldn’t show up again before her shift was over.

  Fortunately, he didn’t. She took Ariel’s phone number home with her and called the girl later in the afternoon. “Did your tree arrive?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Ariel said. “He even put it up for me.”

  “So, are you ready for some ornaments?”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Heavens yes. I’ve got tons, and I’m not doing a tree this year.”

  “You’re not?” The girl sounded shocked.

  “Too much mess.” Too much everything.

  “Oh.”

  Carol could tell by the sound of the girl’s voice that she couldn’t imagine letting such a flimsy excuse keep someone from putting up a tree. “So, is your tree delivery guy gone?” She sure wasn’t coming over until he was.

  “He left a couple hours ago.”

  Perfect. “Is this a good time for me to come over?”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  Just hearing the excitement in the girl’s voice made Carol feel good. This was going to be fun.

  And it was. Ariel insisted Carol stay and help trim the tree. Her little girl, Chloe, timidly helped hang ornaments, and when it was all done and lit, the child stood staring at it, an expression of wonder on her face.

  Looking at the little girl, Carol felt a swirl of emotion—sorrow, self-pity, but also a small glow of satisfaction for having helped someone in need, and pleasure in seeing a child so happy.

  “Would you like to stay for dinner?” Ariel offered.

  She couldn’t. This girl was surviving on food bank offerings.

  “I’ve got mac and cheese. And we can bake up that brownie mix I got today.”

  Carol realized her would-be hostess wasn’t just being polite. Ariel really wanted her to stay. She probably missed her own mom, who was far away. “Well, who can resist brownies and macaroni and cheese?” Carol said with a smile.

  Ariel smiled, too. She looked down at her daughter. “Want to make some brownies?”

  Chloe nodded, smiling.

  So they made brownies, and ate macaroni and cheese and drank Kool-Aid. It was the best meal Carol had eaten in months. “So,” she said as she prepared to leave for her knitting group, “you guys will have to come to my house for a meal.”

  They had talked about Ariel’s rat boyfriend, about her money struggles and how much she missed her family. Ariel had openly envied Carol’s good life and Carol had shared a little of the not so good parts. But now Ariel seemed almost shy, as if they were strangers once more. Ariel looked pointedly at Carol’s gray wool slacks and her black cashmere sw
eater. “I don’t think I have the right clothes to wear.”

  “Since when is friendship about clothes?” Carol countered. Ariel still hesitated, so Carol pulled out her trump card. “We can make some Christmas cookies and have hamburgers.”

  “Hangubers!” cried Chloe, jumping up and down, clapping her hands.

  “I guess we’ll come,” Ariel said.

  Carol nodded. “Good. How about Friday? Will that work for you?”

  “Let me check my calendar,” Ariel said. She cocked her head and put a finger to her chin. “What a surprise. It’s clear.”

  “Good. I’ll call you. Bye, Chloe. See you soon.”

  Chloe, suddenly shy, clung to her mom’s leg.

  “Thanks,” Ariel said as Carol turned toward the door. “For…everything.”

  “My pleasure,” Carol said, and meant it. She smiled as she went down the walk, a new emotion pushing away all the others: happiness, pure happiness.

  Eleven

  “Glen’s doing our Christmas party,” Laura told Joy as they drove to the Stitch In Time for their weekly Monday night knitting session. “Want to come?”

  “I’d come in a heartbeat, but with Bob in charge of our social calendar, don’t hold your breath waiting for us to show up on your doorstep.”

  Laura gave her a sympathetic look. “Poor Joy.”

  Joy shrugged, like missing out on all the fun was no big deal. “What can I say? I’m married to Herman the Hermit.”

  Laura turned sideways and studied her. “You two are so different. How’d you ever get together, anyway?”

  “Opposites attract. One of nature’s little jokes.” Only these days she wasn’t laughing.

  “Tell me about it,” Laura said as Joy stopped the car for a light.

  “You two aren’t really that opposite, are you?” Joy asked.

  Laura rolled her eyes. “One of us is a grown-up and one of us is a big kid. I’d say that’s pretty opposite.”

  “Well, other than the obvious.”

  “Oh, I guess not. We both like to have a good time. What I don’t like is to have to do all the work while he does all the playing. And he is a slob, which makes even more work.” She smiled over at Joy. “But I’m betting by the end of the strike he’ll be a changed man.”

  The way things were going with Bob, Joy wasn’t making any bets.

  The light turned green and they drove into downtown Holly. With its festive decorations, it looked like a scene out of It’s a Wonderful Life. How Joy hoped this strike would wind up with her George Bailey appreciating what he had!

  They parked the car and walked into the knitting shop to find it abuzz with excited voices.

  Debbie waved to them from the cash register and called, “Saw you in the paper. I saved you a copy.”

  “Thanks,” Joy said, trying to sound appreciative. The last thing she wanted was another copy of that picture of Bob and herself and the Bob Humbug tree. She caught a whiff of cinnamon and cloves and hot apple juice. Mulled cider. Good. She needed a stiff drink.

  “Hey, there, fellow strikers,” Sharon greeted them. She looked like Christmas in her red sweater with its appliquéd snowmen. “How’re y’all doin’?”

  “Life at my house is good,” Laura bragged. She dropped her knitting on the table and made a beeline for the pot. “All right, cider!”

  “Deb knows how to keep up our morale,” Kay said.

  “How are things going at your place?” Laura asked her.

  “It’s going. You should have seen Jack’s eyes bug out when he read my name in the paper. Of course, he had a rude remark to make,” she added in disgust.

  “What did he say?” asked Laura.

  “He said we’d probably save a ton of money because I wouldn’t be out buying decorations we don’t need.”

  “What a weasel,” Sharon said.

  Kay’s lips thinned. She looked like a general in the war room. “That’s a polite way of describing him,” she said, and dipped into the little bowl of holiday Hershey’s Kisses that Sharon had brought. “What about Pete? What was his reaction?”

  Sharon scowled. “Not the right one, I can tell you. He thinks he’s doing fine and he’s one happy camper. And if he calls me Yulezilla one more time he’ll be pushin’ up daisies.”

  Joy wasn’t surprised by Pete’s nickname for his wife. No matter what the weather, Sharon’s car remained shiny and clean, and she, herself, always looked like she’d just had an Oprah makeover. Joy could easily imagine Sharon’s house looking like something right out of Southern Living, and at Christmas it would, of course, have to be perfect.

  “According to Pete I go overboard every year and drive them all insane,” Sharon continued. “Just because I like to have the tree look a certain way and the house decorated nice.”

  “How do you like the tree to look?” Laura asked.

  Sharon’s cheeks bloomed pink, but she raised her chin and said, “I always coordinate the ornaments and the wrapping paper, and I like to put the breakable and smaller ornaments up on the top with the larger ones on the bottom, and the tinsel hung, not just thrown.”

  “Who bothers with tinsel?” Laura said.

  Carol smiled and gave a knowing nod. “Boys like to throw.” Her eyes turned misty. “My son was a thrower.”

  An awkward silence settled over the women. Joy knew it had been nearly fifteen years since Carol’s son died, but losing a child wasn’t something from which a woman ever recovered. She reached over and patted Carol’s arm.

  “It’s okay,” Carol said, pulling herself together. Then to Sharon, “They grow up so fast. Having a messy tree can be kind of fun.”

  Sharon frowned. “I guess. Anyway, Pete claims he and the boys are doing it this year and they’re going to show me how to do it right. They’ll probably break half my ornaments.”

  “Hide the ones you really want,” Laura advised. “That’s what I did.”

  “So, how’s Glen doing?” Sharon asked. “I’ll bet reading your interview in the paper went over about as well as a flannel nightgown on a wedding night.”

  A corner of Laura’s lip lifted. “He said it made him look like a jerk. Imagine that.”

  “Him and every other husband represented here, bless their hearts,” said Sharon. “I swear, this is the first time in years I’ve read an unbiased news story.”

  “I’ve got to admit, he’s being a sport,” Laura said. “So far he’s decorated the tree, gotten the Advent calendar, and taken the kids to see Santa. And he’s started on the Christmas cards. Oh, and he’s already gone through half a bottle of Excedrin,” she added, making her fellow strikers snicker.

  “How about our fearless leader?” Sharon asked. “How’s Bob doing?”

  Too well. “So far this isn’t working out like I’d imagined,” Joy confessed. “Someone could make a movie about us and call it Scrooge Wins.” She sighed. “I think I need some chocolate therapy. Somebody pass me that candy.”

  Jerri shook her head like a frustrated Dr. Phil as she passed the bowl to Joy, and Carol said, “Some things play out better in our heads than in real life.”

  “Hey, this is playing out just fine for me,” Laura said with a snap of her gum.

  “And me,” Sharon agreed. “My Pete’s going to find out it’s not so easy to pull off Christmas.”

  Kay maintained a thoughtful silence.

  “Kay?” Joy prodded.

  She gave a little shrug. “I’m just wondering how I wound up with such a tightwad.”

  Joy sensed her friend paddling from the burbling waters of playful retribution toward more dangerous currents. In an attempt to turn Kay back from the looming waterfall, she said, “Most men are budget-conscious.”

  Kay looked her straight in the face. “This is more than that. If he had to choose between me and his savings account, I think he’d pick savings.”

  “Oh, don’t be silly,” Carol chided. “Of course he’d pick you.”

  “Maybe,” Kay said, and rubbed a finger
over the modest diamond on her left hand.

  Watching her, Joy began to worry that all was not well in the Carter castle. Kay had nine years invested in this marriage, and she’d always seemed relatively happy. Except for the times she complained about her husband’s tight fist in all matters financial.

  But every man had his faults. A woman couldn’t just give up on hers because they didn’t see eye to eye on one or two things.

  “Don’t worry, honey, he’ll appreciate you by the time Christmas is over,” Sharon predicted. “That’s what this strike is for, to open our men’s eyes.”

  “I’ll drink to that,” Laura cracked, and hoisted her cup of cider in salute.

  Joy saw Carol and Jerri exchange a wise woman glance, and she couldn’t help feeling petty and trivial.

  “I know you think this is silly,” she said to Carol later that evening as the women made their way out of the knitting shop.

  “I do think it’s beneath you,” Carol said, “and I don’t really understand why you’re doing it.”

  “Menopause-induced insanity,” Joy suggested. Carol gave her a look that said, “Be serious,” and she shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess my marriage isn’t as perfect as yours was. Maybe I want to make it into something more before it’s too late.” She sighed. “You’d think after so many years of marriage a couple would have all their differences worked out.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Carol said. “You’re always two different people.”

  “Even when you’re different, you still have to live together. I thought I could, somehow, push us onto some middle ground where we could both share more of the holiday experience. Bob hates so much of what I love.”

  “And vice versa?” Carol suggested.

  The three little words hit Joy like a rock-hard snowball. They were on the street now, next to her car. If she’d come alone, she’d have jumped in and driven away fast. She leaned against the door. “So, you’re saying I’m selfish.”