“See you later,” Truman said.
Oh, yes.
“I like our new friends,” Brock said as they drove home.
“Me, too,” Lexie said. This was going to be such a good Christmas.
Back at the house, Brock dived into his book, reading aloud to Lexie as she put together the cupcakes. By the time they were out of the oven and cooled, he’d had enough of Splat and was ready to help frost and decorate. Of course, many sprinkles were needed on the top of each one.
“Can I take some to Grandpa Stanley?” Brock asked as they decorated.
“This time I’m going to make the delivery,” she told him. “I need to talk to him.”
* * *
Once on his front porch she found she wasn’t quite sure what to say. She thought back to that voice mail he’d left. He hadn’t known, either.
Maybe the best approach was to simply say Let’s start again. Why don’t you come over for dinner on Christmas Day?
She rang the doorbell. A moment later she could hear his dog barking on the other side of the door. Stanley was taking his time opening it. Maybe he was hiding in there.
Meanwhile, her phone was going off. It was Aunt Rose’s ringtone. Her aunt rarely called. Curious, Lexie pulled the phone out of her coat pocket and took the call. At the rate Stanley was going she’d have plenty of time to talk.
“Hello,” she said as she rang the doorbell again.
“Lexie, dear, I’m at the emergency room with your mother. You need to get down here right away.”
23
Stanley still remembered how it all happened.
As usual, he’d balked at the idea of having a party. This time Carol wanted to have one to celebrate Halloween. He especially hated Halloween parties. Dressing in silly costumes that made you look like a dork, playing those goofy games she and her sister always came up with.
“Why don’t we go out instead,” he’d suggested. “Have dinner, take in a scary movie.”
“We can do that anytime. Halloween only comes once a year.”
There was something to be grateful for.
“Come on, Stanley, don’t be a party pooper.”
“I’m not a party pooper,” he insisted. He hated it when she called him that. Just because he didn’t want to play stupid games with a houseful of people didn’t make him a party pooper.
“Yes, you are,” she insisted.
“Can’t we just have one couple over and watch movies?” he suggested.
“We did that last year. And the year before.”
“And it was fun, right?”
“It was. But I miss having a party. I want to play dark tag again.”
Oh, Lord, chasing each other around in a pitch-dark room. They’d played that game plenty when they were young, but they weren’t young anymore. People in their sixties should have a little more decorum, if you asked him. Not that Carol was asking.
“Somebody’s bound to run into something and get hurt or wreck the furniture. Remember the last time we played that? Jimmy ran into the curio cabinet and broke the glass. And it wasn’t cheap to repair.”
“We’ll move it.”
Yes, moving furniture around, that would be fun. “Don’t you think we’re a little too old for some of these games?”
She frowned at him. “Darn it, Stanley, we’re not that old yet.”
“I am,” he said.
“Is this the same man who once told me age is just a number?”
“The number’s gotten bigger since you turned fifty,” he argued.
“We’re not dead yet.”
He sighed. This was a losing battle. May as well give up and give in.
She smiled, knowing what that sigh signified. “It will be fun,” she promised.
“Fun,” he repeated, unconvinced.
Carol didn’t ask much of him, and she did everything he liked with him: fly-fishing, snowshoeing, bowling. (She hadn’t ever mastered the game and opted out of joining a league with him, but she’d still hit the alley once in a while on a Saturday night.) Car shows, of course. So if she wanted to have a party once in a while and play some crazy games, the least he could do was be a good sport and go along with it.
Anyway, she was right. He did always manage to have a good time once things got going. Especially if he and some of the guys could slip away for a game of Ping-Pong. You were never too old for that.
Carol loved decorating, and soon ceramic figures of ghosts and witches and pumpkins started appearing all over the house, and she set out a miniature patch of honeycomb pumpkins on the dining table as a centerpiece. She also drafted him to help her carve pumpkins for the front porch the week before the party.
That he could get into. He’d loved carving pumpkins as a kid, and he enjoyed creating a couple of downright creepy faces, one traditional with triangle eyes and nose and a crooked mouth; the other he made to look like the famous painting she’d showed him once called The Scream.
“That is truly terrifying,” she said, looking at it.
“Maybe it will scare everyone away,” he joked.
“Ha-ha,” she said, unamused.
They set their creations up that very night, lining the steps to the front porch, then lit the candles and stepped back to check out how they looked.
“They look great. I think we are now ready for Halloween,” she said, smiling.
“Yep,” he agreed and slipped an arm around her.
Christmas was her favorite holiday, but Halloween came in a strong second. Carol not only enjoyed finding an excuse to entertain a mob, she also loved handing out candy to the kids who came trick-or-treating.
“Don’t you look pretty!” she’d say to all the little princesses. To the Darth Vaders and ghosts and monsters she’d say, “You look so scary!” And she’d always beg the little witches not to turn her into a toad, which would make them giggle. “You won’t do that if I give you candy, will you?” she’d ask. Of course, they’d promise not to because Carol was always generous with the candy. And she guarded the candy bowl like a dragon, getting after Stanley every time he raided it.
At least he’d get plenty of treats at the party. It would be his reward for having to walk around dressed like a giant salami.
They’d finished dinner and were loading the dishwasher together the Friday night before the big bash when she said, “I think I’ll go pick up the last of the food I need for the party.”
“Just wait until tomorrow,” he advised. “You’ve got all day.”
“I want to bake some more cookies and make a pumpkin roll.”
“That doesn’t take all day to do,” he pointed out.
“But I don’t want to be pooped by the time everyone gets here.”
“You already look pooped. Stay home and relax. You can send me to get the stuff tomorrow.”
She refused to take him up on the offer. Even after all the years they’d been together he still managed to come home with a brand she didn’t like or the wrong size of something.
“Okay, then, I’ll go with you. I don’t like you driving at night.”
“I’m a better driver than you are,” she said.
Stanley’s night vision wasn’t as good as it once was, but he could handle driving to the grocery store.
“I won’t be that long,” she assured him. “And I’d rather do it by myself. You get antsy after a while.”
Only because it took her a million years to decide between ice cream flavors, and she had to inspect every apple in the produce section. They invariably ran into someone she knew, and that meant standing around talking, blocking the aisle. She’d take forever.
“Come on, babe, stay home. I found a movie for us to watch.”
“I’ll be back in plenty of time to watch a movie,” she assured him.
But she wasn’t. She did
n’t come back at all.
Instead two policemen showed up on his doorstep, looking for Carol’s next of kin, politely asking if they could come in.
No! Stanley already knew they were there with bad news. Don’t give it to the old guy on the doorstep.
His heart shut down; his brain shut down. He could hardly breathe. He stood back and let them in, managed to lead them into the living room.
“I’m afraid there’s been an accident,” said one of the cops.
“An accident,” he repeated. “Is she alive?”
“I’m sorry, sir. She died while paramedics were attempting to revive her.”
Stanley’s mind kept rejecting the image. Not Carol. She was too full of life. She couldn’t be dead. Not so suddenly, with no warning.
“What do I do now?” he asked.
Of course, they thought he was talking about procedure. He was talking about the rest of his life.
Amy was almost as much of a wreck as Stanley, so it fell to her husband, Jimmy, and Carol’s best friend, Lois, to make the calls canceling the party. Other family members stepped in and helped with funeral arrangements. Stanley filled out forms, barely seeing what he was writing. Her wrote her obituary for the paper. How did you sum up a person’s life in only one paragraph? Especially a person like Carol, who was so kind and thoughtful, who made life special for everyone who knew her?
Women started showing up with casseroles; cards flowed in. He couldn’t bring himself to read any of the cards, and the food got dumped in the garbage.
The church was packed for her memorial service. So many of her former students came to pay their respects and sing her praises. The woman who’d never had a child of her own had touched hundreds of lives.
Afterward family and close friends came to the house to help consume the latest offering of casseroles, along with cakes and pies, telling him how sorry they were, how great Carol was. They clustered in groups and chatted like they were at a cocktail party. Carol would have loved seeing the house full of people. But Carol wasn’t there, and Stanley just wanted them to all go away.
“Life goes on,” said one of the neighbors, and it was all Stanley could do not to punch him.
“You’ll see her again one day,” Georgia Wallis, one of the church ladies, assured him, giving him a hug.
Easy for Georgia to dish out the platitudes. Her husband was still hale and hearty. She had no idea how it felt to lose the love of your life. And he didn’t want to see Carol one day. He wanted to see her now.
But, like his insensitive neighbor had said, life did go on. Stanley just didn’t want to be a part of it. He sold the mangled Mustang for scrap, made her sister and mom take away her clothes and lotions, and he hid her jewelry box under the bed. Then he turned into a robot, going through the motions of everyday life.
He found it impossible to feel thankful on Thanksgiving, and he didn’t open a single Christmas card that came. He didn’t put up a tree, and he didn’t put up lights. Too many reminders of his life with Carol.
Memories flooded him, anyway: buying their first tree, Carol baking cookies, her delighted expression when he gave her the ornament he’d made for her, sitting next to her on the sofa watching Christmas movies.
Christmas morning he looked at the spot where they had always put the tree and cried.
* * *
He didn’t cry anymore, and he was seeing Carol again—a lot sooner than Georgia had predicted. Funny how, even as a ghost, she managed to bring out the best in him.
Or had been until he blew it with the Santa thing. Just when he was beginning to almost enjoy life. He just wasn’t equipped to live without Carol.
24
Stanley came to the door, leery of what he’d find. He looked out the side window and saw Lexie standing on the porch, yakking on her phone. Good grief, you couldn’t even go to somebody’s house without...
Never mind the device. She was here, and she had a paper plate with cupcakes on it. The block of cement that had been sitting in his chest since that ill-fated dinner crumbled. It looked like he was forgiven. He’d still say he was sorry, though.
He opened the door just as the plate fell from her hand, sending cupcakes tumbling in all directions.
She looked at him bleakly. “My mom,” she said. Then the poor kid broke into tears and hurled herself against him.
It had been a long time since Stanley had held a crying woman, but his arms remembered what to do, and they quickly responded to the need and wrapped around her.
“It’s okay,” he said, patting her back, even though it obviously wasn’t. “Tell me what’s going on.”
“She’s in the emergency room. She’s had a heart attack.” Lexie pulled away. “I have to get to her.” She turned and started back to her house at a run.
Stanley followed, not quite so fast. He was going to have a heart attack trying to catch up with Lexie. She wasn’t wearing that big, clunky boot anymore, just a brace. The girl could really move now.
She slowed when she got to her front porch, hesitated at the front door. Whirled around, panic on her face. “What am I going to tell Brock?”
“Tell him she’s sick.”
“What if she...”
Stanley had been down this road. He understood the shock and fear that rode on your shoulders with every step.
“You don’t know what if. Take this one minute at a time.”
Lexie nodded, bit her lip, opened the door.
Brock came bounding up. “Grandpa Stanley! Did you come to play with me?”
“No, I came to help you and your mom. You’re going to be taking a trip.” To Lexie he said, “Go pack what you need. I’ll see how soon I can get a flight out for you two.”
She looked at him gratefully. “Thank you. So much.”
“What are neighbors for?” he replied.
“Are we going someplace?” the boy asked.
“We have to go see Grandma,” Lexie said. Her lower lip trembled, but she managed to fake calm and added, “She’s not feeling well. Come on, let’s get some clothes packed.”
They went upstairs, and Stanley returned to his house and went to work on the phone. He was able to book a flight and pay for it in record time. He pulled on his coat, told Bonnie to behave while he was gone, then grabbed his car keys and backed his SUV out of the garage.
By the time he got to Lexie’s house she was packed and ready to go.
He handed over her flight information. “The car’s waiting. Come on.”
She bit her lip and nodded, hustled her son out the door.
As soon as she had Brock and herself buckled in, Stanley took off, resisting the urge to speed. The last thing they needed was to get stopped by a cop. Or, worse, get in an accident.
He hoped Lexie’s mom would be okay. Why did things like this always seem to happen during the holidays?
“I can’t thank you enough for this,” Lexie said, tears making her voice waver. “We’re always imposing on you.”
“It’s not imposing if I offer.”
“Especially after...”
He knew where she was going and cut her off. “I was wrong.”
“You’re a rock,” she said.
It was what Carol used to tell him. Steady Stanley, always there when you needed him. No one had needed him for a long time. Except now someone did, maybe would continue to need him for some time. He sure wasn’t going to let her down.
“Oh, God,” Lexie whimpered. “First my dad. Now... I don’t want her to—” She bit the words off, looked to the back seat where her son sat, hugging his little backpack.
“It’s gonna be okay,” Stanley assured her.
Yeah, as if he knew? But it was no use her spending the whole flight down in a panic.
“This is not how I pictured Christmas,” she said miserably.
He sighed. “Stuff happens.”
She bit her lip, nodded.
“Does Grandma have a cold?” Brock asked.
Tears were leaking out of the corner of Lexie’s eye. “No, honey, she’s sicker than that.”
“Are we going to make her chicken soup?” he asked.
“Maybe,” Lexie said and wiped her cheek.
Poor kids, Stanley thought.
At the airport he unloaded her carry-on for her, wishing he could do more. Of course, there wasn’t more you could do when somebody was going through something like this.
“I’ll keep an eye on the house,” he told her.
“Thanks,” she said. “I do have something coming.” She lowered her voice and leaned in. “It’s Brock’s present from Santa. Even though he knows the truth, he’s still looking forward to that extra gift under the tree. Could you keep an eye out for it?”
“Sure,” Stanley promised.
“Although we probably won’t get back in time,” she said, and her lower lip began to wobble.
“I’ll bring it in,” he promised. Then added, “You can do this.”
She dashed away the last of her tears, nodded. “Thank you for everything. I’ll pay you back for the tickets.”
“No need. Think of it as a Christmas present.”
She shook her head. “No, that’s too much.”
Considering the Santa mess it was a small-enough penance. “I don’t think so. I hope your mom does okay.”
“Me, too,” she said. Then she surprised him by leaning over and kissing him on the cheek. “Thank you again. For everything. Come on, Brockie, we have to hurry,” she said to her son and pulled him through the entrance.
“Bye, Grandpa,” the kid said as he followed her. “We have to go help Grandma get better.”
“You will,” Stanley said and hoped he was right.
And then they were gone. Stanley stood there a moment, trying to process everything that had just happened. He wasn’t sure he could.
He got back in his SUV and drove home. Bonnie was waiting to greet him, tail wagging.
A Little Christmas Spirit Page 24
