by The Awethors
Humming, she took a ladder and carefully climbed. Balancing, she reached for the clock. She nearly fell when she pulled too hard, expecting the clock to come free. It did not. More prepared she tried again. When she still had no luck, she tried to push her fingers behind it hoping to find some sort of catch. But she did not. She kept searching until she finally was so tired she was afraid of falling. And even more afraid she would drop it if she succeeded in pulling it free. She descended the stairs and stood frowning at it. She had the strangest feeling it knew what she was doing. Finally, she had to open the store.
She was disappointed, but she was suddenly not so enthusiastic about the clock. She smiled at a passing customer. She would not let it ruin the best time of the year. It was two days before Christmas. Many of their old customers came in as well as new ones and the few employees she supervised were kept busy all day. She circulated making sure everyone was offered Christmas cookies.
But she found herself glancing back up at the clock periodically. Hours passed, however. And soon, the customers were out, and the Turnbulls were in. It was time for their own Christmas party.
“You lovely people, Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas!”
Mrs. T, as she was known to one and all, was the shortest person in the room. At four foot five, it was not her stature that made her the most noticeable person in the room. Mrs. T would always be the center of attention wherever she went.
She was bright as the jewel in violet brocade against her silver hair. Behind her, Mr. T, staggered under the weight of an enormous toy sack. He was dressed in his usual Santa suite that was complete with white beard and enormous tummy.
“Audrey, my star!” he cried, smacking her with an enormous kiss. “How goes it my dearest girl?”
“Exceedingly well, Mr. T. And you, sir?”
“It is Christmas! I have two wonderful women in my life! I am wonderful! Now, to the presents.”
Mrs. T interrupted with, “My dear, Audrey, you look so lovely,”
“How could I not? You, should not have bought it!”
“Nonsense, someone with your beauty should dress so! And, well, there is a little surprise Mr. T and I have for you, and I wanted you to look you best.”
Mr. Turnbull began to chuckle.
“What surprise?”
“I am afraid that would be me.”
She turned to find a man she did not know standing behind her.
Mrs. Turnbull said, “Audrey, this is our friend, Aaren. He is from our country.”
Aaren smiled and took her hand.
“I was so glad to know that over the years when I could not be with them, that you have given my dearest friends the love of a daughter they so richly deserve.”
Completely surprised, Audrey struggled to speak. “Believe me, it is I who owe them.”
The Turnbulls had disappeared, leaving Audrey even more flustered. If Aaren noticed he did not comment.
He murmured, gazing at her, “The store is a lovely thing.”
The store? “Um, yes. They are truly experts at the in their field,”
Aaren smiled. Audrey was totally unnerved. A friend? She certainly had never heard the Turnbulls speak of him. He was nice looking, but exotic with very dark blue eyes and black hair. His smile was warm and when his gaze fell on the Turnbulls as it did now as they danced to some silly song, it was affectionate. She did not think he was counterfeiting the emotion. He caught her glance and said,
“Yes, I genuinely care about them. I am sure you were wondering.”
Audrey stared at him. “I…is that why you came?”
“Perhaps. And, it was time. I need not have worried. Your care is genuine as well. Why did you keep glancing at the cuckoo clock earlier?”
This time she was so startled, she spilt a little of her cider. Aaren deftly took it from her hand and sat it on a table.
“Well, I could not help but notice that you kept glancing at it. Does it upset you?”
“What? Yes! I mean, no! Oh…let me explain.”
He listened with a quiet attentiveness. When she had finished, she felt ridiculous. She also realized that everyone else had left, including the two matchmakers. But she felt a relief, which is what she said.”
“I did not even know I was upset.”
“It is that way when you love.”
Audrey met his gaze.
“You seem so sure.”
“Christmas is a time of love, is it not? Do you believe in miracles, Audrey?”
“The Turnbulls are a miracle in my life.”
“Indeed, but, you will have more.”
“What…country are you from, Aaren?”
Aaren smiled and said, “You will not have heard of it.”
She answered his warm smile with one of her own. He helped her on with her coat and they left the store to Santa’s Cleaning service pulling in the parking lot. A few minutes later, there was the sound through the store of:
“CHIME CUCKOO CHIME CUCKOO”
At Any Moment
Chrissy Moon
She finished the last of the wine and looked toward where her husband lay. He was there, as he had been throughout their entire picnic.
She smiled. “Happy anniversary, baby.”
It was quiet everywhere today, probably because the weather was crisp this December afternoon. Most folks were at home in a heated house, not sitting on a blanket on the grass outside.
But those people probably didn’t have Christmas Anniversaries.
Who gets married on Christmas? people would ask. Who would take away the Lord’s day from family and friends and make it about themselves?
Well, they did. But not for selfish reasons. They married on Christmas Day seven years ago, because their love was as sacred as their beliefs.
She wrapped her wine glass carefully in one of her poinsettia-patterned napkins, and then placed it reverently in the picnic basket sitting on the edge of the blanket. Later, she would wash it out and prepare for their next picnic next anniversary.
She sighed and lay back on the blanket, close to her husband. She looked over and saw her husband’s name. It was at that point she realized she could no longer hold it in. She burst out in sobs, in heartbreaking tears, her voice rising and cracking in grief. She scrambled to the tombstone, falling down at one point as her knees were unaccustomed to the pressure. When the tombstone was within a foot of her, she threw herself on it and cried, her arms reaching around it in a hard, freezing, uncomfortable embrace. For a moment she imagined that she was not hugging an inanimate object but the warm, living body of her beautiful, perfect man.
Minutes passed and she still did not cease her awkward grip, did not stop watering the flowers on his grave with her tears. She finally sat back and traced his name with her fingers, just like the old days when she used to trace the lines of his face. Then she glanced at the blanket which was a bit of a mess now, as well as the picnic basket that contained her used wine glass and the small bottle of wine.
She had believed that she was over his passing, truly believed it as she was starting to live again, going out with friends and volunteering at animal shelters, but she knew now that she would never be over his being gone. They were both so young when he died and had so much living to do, but an accident caused by a mindless texting driver had changed that for them forever.
She straightened out the picnic blanket, dragging it so it was closer to his tombstone. She positioned herself so she would almost be lying next to him.
And then she fell asleep.
When she awoke, she saw that the sun was hanging low in the sky and beginning to set. She felt cold and suddenly wanted to be home. Still disoriented from her unexpected nap, she got up and folded the blanket, stuffing it in her basket; she fished her keys from her jeans pockets and left the area so quickly, she didn’t notice how flat and empty the expanse of grass was.
The drive home was quick as she lived very close to the park. When she got home, she pu
t the blanket and her poinsettia-patterned napkin in the washer and cleaned her wine glass, then dried it carefully with her kitchen towel before putting it in its usual spot in the cupboard.
The house was quiet this evening.
She walked up the stairs and headed toward her bedroom. Their bedroom. When she got there, she saw a man-sized lump under the blankets. A sob of relief escaped her as she threw herself on the bed and on him, pausing only to get under the covers with him and feel him. Her hand pushed under his arms to his chest, where she placed her hand over his heart to feel its rhythmic thumping. She could not get enough of feeling that proof of life under her hand.
He moaned a bit as he woke to the sound of her sniffing his natural smell, to the feel of her face pressing against his naked back. “Are you done with your little wine trip already?”
She lay on her back now, looking up at the ceiling. “It’s my last one. I don’t think I need any more of those solitary, I-need-alone-time drinks at the park.”
“Oh, I don’t mind them. I know you’re an independent woman and you need time to yourself. As long as you use those single-serving bottles and don’t drive drunk, we’re okay.”
“No, I’m serious. I had an awful dream today, baby.”
“What was it about?”
Tears started to form at the thought. She couldn’t tell him; she refused to entertain the idea of him being dead, of them not having any time together. “You don’t want to know. Let’s just say I am never leaving your side. I’m going to change my hours at the office a little bit too.”
He snuggled up to her this time, and she stroked his arm affectionately. “But I thought you wanted to work overtime so you could get more done and move up in the company.”
“We don’t need the extra money.” He scoffed a little, and she laughed in response. “I mean, we’re not exactly rich, but we’re not struggling too much. I’d rather have you than money. I want to enjoy every minute we have together.” She thought of adding because one of us could die at any moment, but she couldn’t bring herself to say it.
“Okay. Deal. We’ll both change our hours.” His voice was uplifted. Happy.
“Really? I would love that. I never really told you, but I don’t like you working the night shift at the hospital. I worry about you.”
He sat up. “I’ll ask another nurse if I can trade shifts with her.”
She sighed with relief, feeling as if a huge burden had been lifted off her shoulders. “Also… don’t ever text while you’re driving, okay?”
He gave her an odd look; he was old-fashioned and has never attempted that form of communication. She knew that. Everyone knew that. But he sensed this was an important request, so he didn’t make light of it. He nodded.
“Never do. Merry Christmas.” Then he smiled and held out his hands for her. She accepted them and stood up, and they walked downstairs to prepare their anniversary dinner together.
A Very Pepper Christmas
Markie Madden
Dedicated to Pepper the miniature Boxer, who has given me so much joy and unconditional love. I treasure the past six years that you’ve been in my life, and I hope we’ll have many more memories to make! And to Rain, our ‘mother hen’, who watches over us still from her place across the Rainbow Bridge. Girl, you’re still loved, and I’ll eventually get to you!
My humans were acting very odd lately, and I wasn’t sure what to make of it. They planted a tree in the house! Only, it didn’t smell much like a tree, and it certainly didn’t taste much like a tree. Blech! I can tell you all those funny, shiny things hanging from the branches of the not-tree were certainly fun to play with. Until one fell off, all by itself of course (innocent face), and exploded into a million pieces.
Mom scolded me, half teasing, while she picked up all the pieces of the bright red ball. Then she moved all of them further up the not-tree, where I couldn’t play with them anymore.
Oh, I guess I should introduce myself. My name’s Pepper, and I’m an eleven month old Boxer/Jack Russell terrier, AKA miniature Boxer. Mom found me when I was just five weeks old, cold and wet and roaming about in the dark all by myself. I don’t really remember anything from before that or how I got lost in the first place. I was so glad she brought me home to her family. Everyone loved me, even the other two dogs who greeted me into their pack, and I had two kids to play with. I never had to worry about being cold or wet or hungry again, and I would never be alone.
But, I digress. I was telling you about the funny not-tree that my family put in the living room. I wasn’t sure what it was for. I had never seen anything like it before in my whole life. Up to that point, at least. Then one day, I woke up and waddled into the living room for a drink of water, like I did every morning. Something looked different. I stopped and stared. There were lots of things underneath the not-tree that were not there the day before! So, of course I had to go investigate these strange items.
Each thing I saw was wrapped in colorful paper, with shiny bows on many of them, and ribbons wrapped around others. Some were shaped like boxes, but some had strange shapes that I couldn’t begin to describe. Some of the packages were flat and square, and some were round and lumpy. When I went closer to get a good sniff, all I could smell was the scent of paper and human hands, mostly my mom’s. The items were all placed with good care under the tree, and I got in trouble when I tried to squeeze my way between them and the wall to reach the ones in the back. Not big trouble though, just a little trouble.
The days went by and the packages remained under the not-tree. Sometimes, new ones would turn up, so I had to go sniff them and look carefully at them and wonder what all the fuss was about.
As time went on, I could sense a building anticipation in my humans, most especially the kids, and I felt it was due to these odd items. I spent a lot of time focused on the mysterious things underneath this not-tree. I would often crouch low and sneak up on the parcels, hoping that I would catch them doing something, anything but just sitting there! But every time, the wrapped things would just remain tantalizingly still, mocking me! Not once did I get any response from these unusual items!
Snow fell outside, something else I’d never seen before. When the other dogs and I were let outside, I decided I didn’t quite like it. It was cold and wet and it reminded me of the time I was lost in the cold and wet. Besides, I had very short fur that didn’t hold in much heat, so I preferred to be indoors where it was warm, usually snuggled up to my mom. But the kids made a big deal about it, so I guessed that it wasn’t something that happened very often around our home.
Suddenly, our daily routine was disrupted. My kids didn’t get up early and go off to someplace called ‘skool,’ as they did every morning. I have no idea what they did there every day, but they always left the house before the sun came up, usually carrying bags that looked to be too heavy for their small frames. They would return in the afternoon, grab themselves a snack, often offering me a bit of cookie or snack cake, and then they would take me and the other dogs outside to play. But they didn’t go to ‘skool’ for several days, and I wondered about this.
Then came a day I’ll never forget! The children were both up early, full of bliss and excitement, running from their room into mom and dad’s, and out to the living room. I followed them out and was amazed. It was full of stuff! There was a pair of two-wheeled car-like contraptions, though there were no doors like what was on the car, just two huge tires and a strange steering wheel. There were dolls and piles of clothes and stuffed animals and many other toys.
My kids were so happy, and their excitement was infectious. I bounced up and down, too, and tried to jump up on the couch even though I knew I was still too small to make it. Mom laughed and helped me up.
Before I knew it, all the wrapped boxes from under the not-tree had been passed around, and the whole family had a pile of boxes surrounding them. The sound of wrapping paper tearing was like a roar in my ears, and the shreds were being gleefully tossed all over the
room. Shouts and giggles filled the room. Once the kids had opened some of their gifts, I saw that they had movies, video games, and all sorts of new stuff. Their cries of happiness delighted me. Mom and dad had presents, too, and they hugged each other and the kids as well. Then, mom cuddled me close.
There were still three small wrapped things under the not-tree, and I wondered why they were there. Dad picked them up and brought them to the couch, sitting down next to me and mom. These packages, which had obviously been well-hidden underneath all the other ones, had a smell that was vaguely familiar. Curious, I reached my head as close as I could, my nose working furiously to bring more of the odor toward my snout. I couldn’t quite remember what that scent was.
Mom called the other two dogs, and she and dad unwrapped the small packages. Inside were three pale-colored rawhide bones, one for each of us! Dad handed one to Rocky, the blind black lab, and he took it to his usual place in mom and dad’s bedroom to enjoy. Mom gave one to Rain, the yellow lab, who was the Alpha of our small pack. Rain watched carefully until mom gave the last bone to me, then she settled in on the floor to eat her treat. As for me, I think I spent the next several hours in contented bliss. It was the best Christmas any dog could imagine.
A Test of Faith
Neil Newton
You don’t expect things to change after fourteen years on the job. A nerdy accountant with a hardware giant in in the garment district in Manhattan doesn’t expect change.
I was letting my spreadsheet recalculate when I heard some raised voices. I ambled over toward the source of the noise and found Karen in a heated argument with our head of HR, Beth Dahlberg.
“I’ve been putting this crèche on my desk every Christmas for the last twelve years. What is the problem?” I heard Karen say.
