Under the Christmas Star

by Amanda Tru

  “No,” said the nurse through her teeth. “She’s not on any restrictions.”

  “That’s solved then.” Shelby barely restrained herself from clapping like an overeager sorority girl. “I’ll just pop downstairs and grab some sandwiches. Problem solved.”

  “That’s on you then.” Peter shifted from foot to foot, looking everywhere but at Shelby and the nurse. “I won’t pay for it.”

  “Not a problem.” Shelby held onto her last thread of patience. “It’s on me. For Anne’s sake.”

  Peter’s magnanimous nod made Shelby’s stomach clench, and she could have sworn she heard a snort as the nurse hurried back to her station. Definitely going to have to do something nice for her after Peter leaves.

  “Let me just pop in and say hi to Anne first,” said Shelby, trying to look into the room around Peter’s shoulder. “Then I’ll run downstairs and grab some sandwiches.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that.” Peter took a small step to the side, effectively blocking Shelby’s view into her room. “She’s been feeling really down since they brought her here last night. It was a nightmare for her, laying at the foot of the stairs, her leg twisted under her.”

  Each word was a blow, rocking Shelby to the core. He tried to pat her on the shoulder, but Shelby took a step to the side avoiding his hand. That put him squarely between her and Anne’s room.

  “If only you had been there,” said Peter, a smirk hovering around the edges of his mouth. “She would be home and not in constant pain. After all, you knew there was something wrong with the car. You could have put it into the shop at any time. Heck, I bet you wouldn’t have to pay for repairs. Ed would do it for free.”

  Shelby went cold all over. Any explanation she gave, he would just twist to suit his own needs. There was no way to win with him.

  “So, about those sandwiches,” said Peter. “I prefer ham and cheese. No mayo.”

  “Right,” said Shelby, faintly. “Ham and cheese. No mayo. Anything else?”

  “Nah, I’ll head outside for a bit.” He patted his pants and then his shirt, emphasizing the outline of a pack of cigarettes tucked in the shirt’s chest pocket. “You know, to stretch my legs.”

  “Of course.”

  Peter raised an eyebrow, then jerked his head toward the elevator.

  “Sandwiches ain’t going to make themselves.”

  Shelby was pretty sure the smile she gave him was more sickly than sunny. She headed to the elevator, looking once over her shoulder. He stood in front of the door, a watchdog in human clothing. When the elevator doors closed behind her, she let the disappointment and frustration well up. Peter would continue to be nasty until Anne said something. Not that she would. Shelby squeezed her eyes shut to stop the tears from flowing.

  The elevator thumped to a stop, and the doors slid open. Shelby sniffled once, surreptitiously wiped her nose on her sleeve and stepped out into the first-floor lobby. She followed the signs toward the cafeteria. She’d only been upstairs for ten minutes, but in that time, it appeared that every hospital employee had taken their mid-morning break. She sighed but joined the line, hoping for the best and expecting a long wait.

  Shelby wasn’t disappointed. By the time she got to the front of the line, all the employees had gone back to work. And they’d taken all the good sandwiches with them. She glanced at the sad looking ham sandwich with its wilted lettuce and hoped that Anne wouldn’t mind eating it. More than likely Peter will eat it when you leave, said a small, mean voice in the back of her head. Shelby didn’t want to agree with it but found it difficult not to.

  The coffee, hot when she started the journey back to the second floor, had stopped steaming a few minutes ago. Shelby juggled the tray as she opened the door with an elbow and was particularly pleased with herself when she managed not to drop anything on the floor.

  “Well there you are,” said Anne, beaming at her from the bed. The elderly woman was dressed in a frilly blue housecoat, buttoned all the way to her neck, with a matching cast on her leg. Someone must have combed her snow-white hair because it looked like she’d just gone to the salon. “Where have you been?”

  “Put the coffee there.” Anne pointed to a table lowered to the same height as the bed. “You brought the sweet stuff?”

  “Of course.” Shelby put the tray down where directed and lay a hand on her heart. “What kind of monster do you think I am?”

  All humor fled as a hush fell between them. Shelby swallowed hard before busying herself with getting Anne’s coffee just right. One pink, one yellow. A touch of cream. She handed it carefully to Anne, who instead of taking it from her, covered Shelby’s hands with her own.

  A tear slipped down Shelby’s cheek. Her head was suddenly a hundred tons heavy, and for the life of her, she couldn’t raise it to meet Anne’s eyes.

  “Shelby, this isn’t your fault. Now, look at me.”

  She did, although it was difficult. When their eyes locked, the rest of the tears fell.

  “Oh, now, I knew you’d feel guilty.” Anne squeezed Shelby’s hands and slipped the coffee from her hands. “It was my own stupid fault. I wanted to help.”

  “But…”

  Anne shifted the coffee to one hand and stopped her with the other.

  “No buts about it. I knew better. And yet,” said Anne, with a sigh, “I wanted to take some of the burden from your shoulders. You work too hard for someone your age, between extra hours at the motel and then painting at night. Didn’t seem right that I sat around being waited on.”

  She reached out to Shelby, who caught her hand and held on to it like a lifeline.

  “I needed to be doing something.” Anne gave Shelby’s hand a squeeze and let go. “But I’m paying for my hubris, I suppose. I’ve been having a long talk with God about that.”

  She patted the open bible on the bed next to her. She’d underlined the second half of Proverbs 16:18—a haughty spirit goes before a fall.

  “Too bad you took it literally.” Shelby felt the guilt drain away, leaving her lighter. “Would’ve saved you some pain.”

  Shelby couldn’t keep a straight face—not with Anne’s merry eyes dancing. Anne broke first and let out a girlish giggle so loud she placed her hand over her mouth. That only provoked Shelby’s own giggle. After the wave of humor, Shelby felt better. Maybe Beau was wrong. Maybe instead of a good night’s sleep, one needed laughter.

  “No doubt you’re right. I’ll keep that in mind for next time.” She winked at Shelby before taking a sip of her coffee and immediately spit it back into the cup. “That was disgusting. I thought the hospital’s job was keeping people alive, not killing them with their coffee. Here, take this.”

  “Are you okay? Want some water?” Shelby took the coffee cup from Anne as she scanned the room for something else for Anne to drink.

  “Not right now. Although,” Anne added, in a conspiratorial whisper, “if you want to run out later and get some of that fancy coffee, I won’t stop you.”

  “I think I saw one on the way into town. I’ll see if I can’t get some.”

  She’d forgotten to get Beau’s number from him before he dropped her off. Shelby mentally berated herself as she checked the time on the room’s round clock. She’d only been there for an hour. She still had time to hang out with Anne. Maybe he’d be willing to make a detour before heading home later.

  “Earth to Shelby, come in Shelby.” Anne waved a hand at Shelby. “You were a million miles away. What are you thinking on so hard?”

  Shelby hesitated to tell her. Anne patted the bed next to her, Shelby didn’t have much choice but to sit down. Seemed like she was going to have to tell Anne about the lost job, dead car, and Beau all in one go.

  “Here’s the thing,” said Shelby as she settled herself on the bed. “I lost my job, and the car broke down. Again.”

  “Oh good. You got the sandwiches.” Peter’s voice broke in, making Shelby jump as he walked into the room without any kind of announcement. It was as if he
had an antenna for food and bad timing. “You’ll never believe who came to visit.”

  “Peter!” Anne’s smile ratcheted up a few notches. “Who’s come to visit me?”

  Peter headed directly to the tray with the sandwiches. He picked one up and waved it toward the door.

  “It’s cousin Dale.” Peter peeled the plastic wrap off the ham and cheese sandwich. He took a bite, chewed it slowly, swallowed, and then shoved the rest of it into his mouth.

  “Hey, there cuz.” The red-faced man that Shelby had bumped into earlier pushed his way into the room. “Long time no see.”

  Anne’s humor was nowhere to be seen as she nodded at the big man standing at the foot of the bed.

  “Dale.” Anne’s sharp tone caught Shelby by surprise. She checked to make sure it was really Anne speaking. It was, but all of Anne’s humor had fled, leaving behind a stony expression. “I’m surprised to see you here.”

  “Bygones, Anne, bygones.” He waved a hand at her. Peter brought a chair around for Dale to sit on. “Thanks, Pete. ‘Preciate it.”

  Dale lowered himself into the plastic chair, which groaned under his weight, and scooted it closer to the bed. The noise of the chair scraping along the tile floor sent shivers of disgust down Shelby’s back. Even pressing her hands against her ears couldn’t keep the nails-on-chalkboard noise out.

  “And who’s this?” Dale leaned his arm against the foot of the bed. Anne tried to shift away from him but was limited by the cast on her leg. “Wait. Let me guess. She’s another stray you picked up in SoCal. Has to be with that purple hair. Right, Pete?”

  Dale’s hearty laugh at his own bad joke reverberated around the room. A few seconds later, Peter joined in with a hyena-like laugh. Shelby resisted the urge to tug on the end of her braid. Most people didn’t have the gall to comment on her hair. For a second, she wondered if he was related to Mrs. Tulare.

  “Shelby Matthews, may I introduce Dale Jackson, our cousin twice removed on our mother’s side?” Anne folded her hands on her lap. “Dale, this is my friend, Shelby.”

  “I’m joking,” said Dale, waving his hand toward them. “You’re Shelby… what was that last name?”

  “Matthews,” said Peter. “That’s right. She’s the artist I was telling you about.”

  That can’t possibly be good. Shelby stood a little straighter. Peter never said anything nice about her. Not unless he wanted something.

  “Right, right.” Dale rubbed his chin. “When I heard Anne was rushed to the hospital last night, well, I just had to get down here to see if you were all right. When I ran into Pete here, and he told me about your friend,” he nodded at Shelby, “I just knew it was meant to be.”

  “And what was that exactly?” The frostiness in Anne’s voice should have given Dale frostbite.

  “I’m expanding my holdings.” Dale shifted his weight back, causing a pitiable groan from the chair. “I’m taking over an office there in Bristlecone—the old pharmacy, you know the one—and it needs some artwork. You know, to make it look…”

  “Rich?” Peter licked his lips as if tasting something particularly sweet. Shelby’s stomach turned at his obvious fawning over Dale.

  “Successful, more like,” said Dale. His reprimand stopped Peter’s fawning in its tracks. Oblivious to the hurt on Peter’s face, Dale charged on. “Need to make people think I’m a dependable, stand-up guy. I figure hiring a local artist would help with that. Plus, it’ll help attract the kind of people I want to sell to.”

  “And who’s that?” The words slipped out of Shelby’s mouth, and she wasn’t certain she’d asked it until Dale’s eyes shifted to her. His eyes were flat, despite the smile wreathing his face. She felt a chill sweep over her.

  “Them with deep pockets who’re lookin’ for lumber. Lots of it. I can see it now,” said Dale, his hand waving in an arc as if parting a curtain. “All the dead wood on the forest floors sent out to lumber mills across the country. Maybe even overseas.” He rubbed his hands together, really getting into his vision. “Tell everyone it’s specially seasoned or something. I’ll make a killing on it. That’s for sure.”

  “And it’ll help the environment too,” piped in Peter. “More room for new trees to grow and it’ll help stop wildfires. It’s a good thing, don’t you think, Anne?”

  “I suppose so.” She tilted her head, eyes boring into Dale’s. “But selling it as something it’s not. Well that’s greedy, isn’t it.”

  It wasn’t a question so much as a statement. Dale’s eyes narrowed for a brief moment before his jovial mask slid back into place.

  “Ain’t greed.” He flicked his wrist to the side, dismissing Anne with a single movement. “Just good business sense. So, don’t worry your pretty little head about it.”

  The revulsion Shelby had felt intensified. In a crystal-clear moment, she knew without a doubt she would never sell a painting to Dale Jackson. Not even if it meant that the bills went unpaid or she starved.

  Her pickiness as to who bought her paintings was one of the reasons most of them were leaned against the wall of her studio rather than hanging in someone’s home. It was something Ya Ya kept telling her. In this case, she wouldn’t help him dupe people into buying what he was selling.

  “So, sweetheart, what’ll it be?” Dale’s smile was wide, like a crocodile, and just as trustworthy. “Wanna make a name for yourself?”

  “I do,” said Shelby, turning over the phrases in her head, looking for just the right one.

  “Well hot dog!” Dale slapped his knee with a beefy hand, the sound reverberating through the room like a gunshot. “I’ll have my secretary call you, and you can get started on it.”

  “But not like this. I won’t help fool people into buying into a lie.” Shelby shook her head. “So, thank you for the offer, but I have to decline.”

  Dale’s look was comical as she looked back and forth between Shelby and Peter.

  “She’s joking, right Pete?”

  Peter’s jaw dropped so far down, Shelby was certain that someone could have landed a Boeing 747 in there and still have room left over. It took him a few opening and closings of his mouth to get the words out.

  “Sure, she is. Ain’t you, Shelby.”

  It wasn’t a question so much as a statement. Peter’s weasel stare promised retribution. Shelby shook her head anyway, the tail of her braid sliding back and forth along her spine. In for a penny, in for a pound.

  “I’ll leave you to convince her,” said Dale as he used the footboard of the bed to leverage himself into a standing position. “Got a few weeks until the office is ready, anyhow.” He gave them all a flat stare and then stomped out of the room.

  “Wait, Dale.” Peter reached a hand out toward the door. When he turned back around, his face was twisted in rage. Shelby stiffened when he leaned in close. He hissed in her ear, “I hope you’re happy with yourself. Your selfishness has ruined everything. Everything!”

  He stomped out of the room with a mutter that he was going to catch up with Dale. Shelby had a feeling that Dale wasn’t about to listen to Peter, but stranger things had happened in the world. None of which she could bring to mind at that exact moment. She reached down and squeezed Anne’s shoulder gently.

  “That little episode is why I never like Dale much.” She tilted her head to look up at Shelby, her eyes narrowed enough to make Shelby nervous. “He always sat right up against the right side of God’s law. Sit down, girl, and stop hovering over me.”

  Her sudden command startled Shelby into movement, and she picked up the chair Dale had just vacated. She placed it next to Anne before perching on the edge of the seat.

  “And you have some explaining to do, young lady. What do you mean you lost your job and the car broke down?”

  “Yeah, well, it had been making some funny noises lately. But between shifts and whatnot, I haven’t been able to get it over to Ed’s shop.” Shelby twisted the hem of her sweater. “It wouldn’t start yesterday. I had to leave it at the motel
and walk home.”

  Anne’s eyebrows shot up.

  “You walked home in that nasty storm?”

  “Yes,” said Shelby, pulling the syllable out. “I cleaned up the mud though that I tracked into the cottage.”

  “Shelby, stop. I don’t care about the mud.” Anne tapped a finger against the metal railing of the bed. “Take that back. I do care about the mud. But what I want to know more about at this exact moment is why you got fired.”

  “Fired? I didn’t say anything about being fired.” Anne’s stare took seconds to break Shelby down into a mournful slump. “Okay, I got fired. It was just one too many changes I guess. His wife put her foot down, and it was either her or me. And you can guess who he chose.”

  “Sam Pavey never did have the sense God gave a goose. You’ll find something else soon, dear. You just have to trust the good Lord to know what He’s doing.”

  “Funny you should say that,” said Shelby, as she fiddled with the tip of her braid. “I met someone yesterday on my way home from the motel.”

  Anne blanched. Shelby hurried on. “I mean, he picked me up. No that’s not right either.” She tossed her braid over her shoulder. “I was walking home in the rain, and a truck nearly ran me over. See?”

  She held up her wrapped hand, which only made Anne scoot back against the raised head of the bed.

  “But I’m okay! Anyway, he drove me home and liked the way I made the cottage look and asked me to decorate his house. I think for a party.”

  Anne blinked a few times and then nodded slowly. “Okay, I think I understand all of that. You really need to stop babbling, dear. So, who is this mystery man of yours?”

  “His name is Beau Wright. Do you know him?”

  Anne’s eyes widened until they resembled saucers. “Are you sure it was Beau Wright?”

  “No, I don’t think it was anyone else,” said Shelby, searching her mind for any other name he may have mentioned. “He did say he knew Peter.”