Angels at Christmas

by Debbie Macomber

  Shirley’s shoulders sagged with defeat. “I’ll make sure the dog’s nowhere to be seen when he arrives for school tomorrow.”

  “You’re sure that’s the right thing for Carter?” Mercy asked, her own heart aching for the little boy.

  Reluctantly Shirley nodded. “His father said he couldn’t have a dog, no matter what. I don’t have any choice.”

  All three considered this unfortunate set of circumstances.

  “Maybe I could steer Carter’s father toward a better-paying job,” Shirley suggested.

  “That’s an idea.”

  Goodness turned to her. “What’s happening with Harry?” she asked.

  Ah, yes, Harry and Rosalie. “They visited Lucy Menard earlier this afternoon and got a tour of the assisted-living complex.”

  “And what happened?” Shirley asked.

  “Come with me and let’s find out,” Mercy invited. Together with her two friends, she descended on the house at 23 Walnut Avenue, where Rosalie and Harry sat across from each other at the dinner table.

  “I was surprised at how many of our friends have moved to Liberty Orchard,” Rosalie murmured, gazing down at her bowl of canned chicken stew.

  She seemed deep in thought, and that encouraged Harry. The visit had gone even better than he could’ve expected. Rosalie had met three good friends she’d lost contact with in the last few years. Each one had urged them to make the change and become part of the community at Liberty Orchard.

  “Did you notice how most people said they were sorry they hadn’t moved into assisted living sooner?” Harry waited for his wife to protest. She hadn’t wanted him to know, but he could see that she’d been impressed with the facility.

  “What I liked was all the social activities,” Rosalie murmured.

  Harry agreed. He’d been impressed himself, glad, too, because he felt that after he died Rosalie would have the social contact she needed. A wave of sadness washed over him at the thought of leaving his wife behind. He tried not to dwell on the subject of death, but knowing it was imminent, he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

  Trying not to appear too enthusiastic about the assisted-living complex, Harry nodded.

  “My goodness,” Rosalie said happily, “those folks have something going on every day of the week.”

  Harry nodded again, taking a bite of his stew.

  “Did you read the dinner menu?” Rosalie asked him. She’d found it posted outside the dining room and gone over it three or four times. She’d had all kinds of questions for Lucy, too. The midday meal was the main one of the day, with a lighter one served at about five. “Why, they had a choice of two soups and a salad, plus fish, chicken or meat loaf. And Lucy said it’s different every day!”

  “I took a look at it myself,” Harry said gently. One thing was certain; the residents at Liberty Orchard weren’t eating any of their meals out of a can—unless they chose to. He didn’t need to point out the obvious, however.

  His wife set down her spoon. “Harry,” she began shyly, “I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but I’m starting to forget things now and then.” The admission came with some hesitation. “I’ve begun to wonder if one of the reasons is that my mind isn’t as active as it used to be.”

  “Lucy said the same thing happened to her,” Harry pointed out, reminding his wife of the conversation earlier in the day. “Do you recall how she said that as soon as she spent time with other people again, she wasn’t nearly as forgetful?”

  Rosalie thought about this for a moment. “She did, didn’t she?”

  Harry was cautious about saying too much too soon. Rosalie’s eyes had been opened when she’d seen the facility, and it didn’t hurt that a number of their friends had already made the move.

  “Lucy also said the unit closest to hers is available.” He said this casually and waited for a response. While his wife had been chatting with her friends, Harry had met with the administrator to see if they could secure that particular unit. Naturally, he wouldn’t make a decision like this without discussing it with Rosalie first, but he was beginning to feel confident that she saw the wisdom of such a move.

  Rosalie looked at him the same way she had all those years ago, when they’d considered purchasing this very house. She loved this place and Harry loved her. He would’ve moved heaven and earth to buy the house she wanted.

  “Do you honestly think we should give up our home, Harry?”

  He hated that it had come to this. “Like I said, this old place is getting to be too much for me.”

  Slowly Rosalie lowered her gaze and conceded. “And me.”

  This was the first time she’d been willing to admit that age had taken a toll on her, too. As far as Harry was concerned, it was a giant leap forward.

  “We should ask the girls,” she said tentatively.

  “Good idea.” Their youngest daughter was coming to spend Christmas with them, and Lorraine and family would arrive the day after. Both his daughters agreed with Harry. Like him, they recognized the necessity of this change, even if they hadn’t quite grasped its urgency.

  Harry knew that if Rosalie discussed the situation with either Lorraine or Donna, their daughters would reassure her in ways he couldn’t. He felt it was only a matter of time. God willing, everything would fall into place….

  “I don’t want to discuss it again until after Christmas, though,” Rosalie insisted. “I won’t even talk about moving until the holidays are over.”

  “But, Rosalie, there’s only the one unit,” he blurted out. “Unless we give the administrator a security check, someone else might take it.”

  “Then so be it,” she said, missing the point that he’d talked to the administrator without her knowledge.

  “Mrs. Goldsmith told me there’s another party interested.” A sense of dread almost overwhelmed him. If they didn’t act quickly, the unit would go to some other couple.

  “Of course she told you that,” Rosalie said with unshakable confidence. “That’s what she’s supposed to say. It’s a tactic, Harry. You, of all people, should know the things people will say when they’re after a sale.”

  Frustration beat hard against his chest. “But, Rosalie….”

  “Harry, sweetheart, don’t be so concerned. If we lose this unit, another will come up later.”

  Without telling her what Dr. Snellgrove had said, Harry had no choice but to agree. “Personally, I’d like this all settled before the holidays.”

  “Do you mind if we wait?” Rosalie asked. “It won’t make any difference, will it?”

  “I suppose you’re right,” he said reluctantly. “It doesn’t really matter.” Only it did, but Harry couldn’t find it in his heart to tell her why.

  Harry left the table and as much as he hated his walker, he reached for it. The damn thing was a nuisance, but at this stage it was a necessary one.

  “The girls could help us move while they’re here.” He made the suggestion as he settled back into his recliner.

  “Not over Christmas, Harry. Please, sweetheart, I don’t want to ask that of them.”

  He nodded. He wouldn’t mention it again. Not tonight.

  “It doesn’t look good,” Shirley had the audacity to say.

  “Rosalie wants to wait until after Christmas.”

  Mercy didn’t know what to do. “That won’t work.”

  “Why not?” Both her friends turned to face her.

  Mercy sighed, more burdened now than ever. “Because Harry will be in Heaven by then.”

  Ten

  Joyce Fischer had found a table at the ultra-busy Nordstrom Café by the time Beth got to the store. As soon as she appeared, her mother waved to catch her attention.

  Beth felt wonderful and couldn’t have disguised her mood had she tried.

  “Hello, Mom,” she said, giving her mother a quick hug.

  “I took the liberty of ordering for you, dear. I just got two of what we usually order.”

  “That’s fine.” Beth only had an ho
ur for lunch and although she would’ve liked to try something new rather than her standard soup du jour and turkey sandwich, she didn’t object.

  Taking off her coat, Beth draped it over her chair.

  “You’re positively glowing. What’s going on?” Her mother looked like she was about to rub her hands together in glee. “Is it that young man from the computer game?”

  “We’re going to meet.” Beth wasn’t sure how and why the situation had changed. Just as she was losing hope that they’d ever take a chance, Peter had stepped forward. Without understanding why it had happened, she realized that a transformation had taken place.

  They’d logged on to play World of Warcraft last night and after a while had started exchanging messages again. In the beginning it wasn’t anything special, just their normal chitchat. Then out of the blue Peter had made a startling admission.

  “He’s divorced,” Beth informed her mother.

  “Well, dear, so are you.”

  “I know…That’s not the point. Peter and I were talking.”

  “On the phone?”

  “No, no, online. That’s the only way we’ve communicated so far.”

  Her mother frowned, then decided not to make whatever comment hovered on the tip of her tongue. “Go on,” she urged instead. “I want to hear everything.”

  “Well,” Beth said, eager now. “He told me that it’s taken him some time to get over the divorce, but he thinks he’s ready to move on.”

  “How long has it been?” her mother asked. “I mean, since his divorce was final.”

  Beth frowned. Her mother was right; that was an important question. “I didn’t ask him.”

  “You should, dear. If it’s been less than a year, it might be best to move slowly and carefully in this relationship.” Then, as if she regretted having given advice, she shook her head. “Follow your heart. Don’t listen to a thing I say.”

  Beth thought cynically that this was all part of the wager her parents had. Her mother didn’t care if Peter was the brother of Frankenstein’s monster as long as he showed up. “You really want him there for Christmas, don’t you?”

  Her mother’s eyes brightened. “Is there any possibility that might happen?”

  Beth shrugged. Despite her mother’s bet—and personally she felt Joyce deserved to lose—she’d like it if Peter could spend Christmas with her. She wanted to invite him, but it was a lot to ask of someone she hadn’t even met. Everything depended on this weekend.

  Her mother waved one hand impatiently. “So you told him you’re divorced, too?”

  “Yes, of course, and then we both started talking so fast it was hard for my fingers to keep up with my thoughts.” Peter had been deeply hurt by his wife, who’d more or less kicked him out of the house and excluded him from her life. It’d been painful and harsh, and he’d taken the breakup of his marriage hard.

  Beth understood. She’d experienced the same grief over the death of her own marriage. In the course of their conversation, they’d talked about regrets and all the things they might’ve done to save their marriages. Based on the few details Peter had divulged, Beth regarded his ex-wife as cold and calculating.

  She talked about John in ways she never had with anyone else, including her parents. It was as though a festering blister had burst inside her and she spewed out the devastating pain of her own divorce.

  The game was forgotten as they continued talking. It was after midnight when Peter reminded her that they both needed to be at work in the morning. Reluctantly Beth had signed off.

  “What else did he say?” her mother asked. “Did you tell him your real name is Marybeth?”

  “Hardly,” she cried, annoyed that her mother would ask such an inane question. “And don’t you tell him, either.”

  “So you did invite him for Christmas?” Her mother looked pleased beyond measure.

  “No…not yet.” The optimism Beth felt was a sign of her excitement about the way their relationship was developing. No man had interested her this much since college, when she’d first met John. Peter gave her hope. Maybe this wouldn’t go anywhere, but at least she was finally taking a risk. Finally willing to try again.

  The server brought their lunches, giving Beth a respite from her mother’s relentless questioning. She tasted her cream of broccoli soup, and it took a few minutes for the conversation to return to Peter.

  “You do expect to introduce him to your family, don’t you?” Her mother smiled expectantly at Beth, the turkey sandwich poised in front of her mouth.

  “If things go well.” She nodded. “We have a lot in common, Peter and me.”

  “That’s wonderful, dear.”

  Beth felt the giddy sensation of everything coming together at last. “I never dreamed that after all these months we’d connect the way we have.”

  “Well?” Her mother paused. “When are you going to meet?” Before Beth could answer, she added, “Soon, I hope.”

  “Is tomorrow soon enough for you?”

  “Saturday? But I thought you were going to Leavenworth with Heidi.”

  “I am.”

  “You’re meeting Peter there?”

  Beth nodded. Peter seemed to be a closet romantic, although she suspected he’d never admit it. He was the one who’d wanted to have this initial meeting right away. He’d mentioned getting together on Saturday for lunch, and Beth had said she’d be in Leavenworth. Undeterred, Peter had suggested meeting there.

  “But how will that work when you don’t know what he looks like? Good grief, Beth, do you have any idea how crowded that town can get, especially this time of year?”

  “We’ve got it all figured out. Heidi and Sam and I are taking the train with the kids and—”

  “Peter will meet you on the train?” her mother broke in.

  “Not exactly. The train sold out weeks ago, so Peter’s taking the bus. We arrive at eleven and, depending on the weather, he should get in around noon.”

  “The train’s always late.”

  “Oh, ye of little faith.”

  “I have a lot of faith,” her mother said. “But I happen to be practical, too.”

  “We took that into consideration, Mother. The bus could be late, too, you know.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “We’re meeting by the gazebo in the center of town at four o’clock.”

  “Why not earlier?” her mother demanded.

  Beth sighed. “I’m there to spend the day with Heidi, remember? Besides, if this doesn’t work out…”

  “Fine,” Joyce said dismissively. “But how will you recognize each other?”

  Beth described their plan. Peter would be carrying a single long-stemmed red rose and wearing a baseball cap with a Seahawks emblem. She, meanwhile, would be wearing a full-length navy wool coat and a red knit hat and muffler.

  They should be able to find each other without difficulty. Then they’d watch the tree-lighting ceremony together. The train was scheduled to depart at six-thirty; his bus would leave shortly after that. They’d spend just a couple of hours in each other’s company—a safe length of time whether the meeting went well or not. He hadn’t said so, but Beth had the distinct feeling that if this meeting did go well, Peter would ask to see her again on Sunday.

  “You sound so hopeful,” her mother said.

  “I am.” Beth had a positive feeling about this.

  “What if…what if Peter isn’t as good-looking as you expect?” She seemed genuinely concerned that this might be a possibility.

  “It doesn’t matter.” John had been drop-dead gorgeous. She’d been the envy of all her friends, and what she’d discovered was that good looks made very little difference. Most important was character. Moral fiber, sense of honor and kindness were far more compelling qualities in Beth’s eyes.

  “You say that now,” her mother warned, “but you might change your mind once you meet him.”

  “Perhaps.” But even as she said it, Beth was convinced that her feelings woul
dn’t change. If there was anything she’d learned from her divorce, it was that looks could be deceiving. John had been completely self-absorbed, selfish, irresponsible…. It was pointless to rehash his shortcomings, of which there’d been plenty.

  They finished their lunch and because she had a few minutes to spare, Beth and her mother did some window-shopping. Seattle was a magical city at Christmastime. Beth loved the festive air—the decorations everywhere, the cheerful crowds, the music. Entertainers sang and played instruments. She and Joyce stopped to listen to a violinist whose rendition of “Silent Night” was exquisite as people bustled to and from stores with their bags and packages. The cold wind stung her face and she glanced up at the sky for any sign of snow. Her step was lighter and for the first time in years she felt a rush of joyful anticipation about Christmas.

  Her mother wasn’t the only one to notice her improved mood. Lloyd, the attorney who’d introduced her to the World of Warcraft, commented on it when she returned from lunch.

  “You seem to be mighty happy about something,” he said, smiling at her.

  “I am,” she responded cryptically.

  At closing time, she hurried home. As soon as she was back in her condo, Beth logged online, hoping Peter would be there.

  He was.

  Did you have a good day? he typed.

  Great. What about you?

  He didn’t reply immediately. It couldn’t have been better, he eventually wrote. Thank you for listening while I poured out my woes about my marriage last night. I don’t often talk about it. I wouldn’t have with you, but in all fairness I felt you needed to know.

  Peter, thank you, she hurriedly typed back. I can’t tell you how freeing it was for me to tell you about my divorce. It’s not a subject I bring up lightly. I felt like such a failure when we split up and that feeling never went away.

  I know. That’s how I felt when my marriage ended, too.

  It seems we have even more in common than we realized, she told him.

  I was thinking the same thing.

  They chatted for most of an hour until Beth’s stomach growled, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten dinner. Peter couldn’t stay online long because he was seeing a friend, so they ended their conversation.