Miracle Creek Christmas

by Krista Jensen

  Riley rolled a nearby stool to Carmen’s side. A timer beeped loudly at the next station, and Carmen opened her eyes.

  She smiled. “Oh, hello. I didn’t even see you come in. How are you?”

  Riley smiled back. “I’m pretty good, Carmen. How are you?”

  “Happy,” she said. Her blue eyes shone with such contentment that Riley almost believed her. “It’s so good to see you. Where’s Mark?”

  Carmen remembered their previous visit. That was a nice surprise. “I’m not sure. They couldn’t reach him, so they called me. I hope that’s all right.”

  “Of course. I hope nothing’s wrong. Mark’s never missed an appointment. I worry about him. He’s so lonely.” Her face brightened. “But he was so changed with you.”

  Riley swallowed, not answering.

  “Tell me your name.”

  Riley breathed out a small laugh. “I’m Riley Madigan.”

  “Yes. Riley Madigan. You’re an art teacher.”

  “I am. I brought you some of my paintings to look at.” She pulled out a few of the canvases from the tote, and Carmen gasped.

  “Oh, look at the robin. He’s beautiful. You’ve captured him perfectly. The males are given all the beautiful colors to attract the females, you know.”

  “Maybe that’s because they don’t have much else going for them.”

  Carmen laughed. “Oh, that’s terrible.” Her blue eyes focused on Riley. “But you’re able to see all that Mark has going for him. I could tell. And you—he eases your pain.”

  Carmen’s machine beeped loudly, and Riley backed away as a nurse hurried over and started working to get Carmen unhooked.

  All Riley could do was watch until it was her turn to press her hands over Carmen’s IV site. He eases your pain. She replayed their last visit. She’d only focused on Carmen’s incredible attitude and Mark’s care for her. What had the woman seen?

  The nurse signaled to Riley. “Have you done this before?”

  Riley shook her head.

  The nurse took in her size. “You might need to stand at first. Here.” Riley stood, and the nurse helped her position her hands over a gauze bandage, her stacked palms directly over the insertion site. Riley glimpsed deep bruising on Carmen’s arm. “Press very firmly here. You’ll feel her pulse.”

  Riley nodded. “Feeling the pulse” was an understatement. No one could say Carmen didn’t have a strong heart.

  “Keep the pressure steady. You’ll be able to ease up after about ten minutes, but just a little at a time. You’ll feel it. It takes about fifteen minutes for the veins to close. Got it?”

  Riley nodded. The nurse removed the tubes and the IV, working around the pressure site.

  Riley’s hands pulsed with the rhythmic flow of Carmen’s blood. Holy cow. This was important.

  “Thank you for doing this,” Carmen said.

  She pulled her gaze from her blue-gloved hands to Carmen. “You do this twice a week?” she said in wonder.

  Carmen nodded. “And the rest of the week I get to live.”

  “You’re set,” the nurse said. “If there’s a problem, push this button.” She pointed to a red “help” button on the machine.

  It didn’t make Riley any less overwhelmed.

  The nurse was about to go, when Carmen spoke up.

  “Oh, Janet, this is Riley. Riley, this is Nurse Janet. All the nurses here are so nice. Janet, Riley’s an art teacher. She brought me her paintings to look at. Aren’t they wonderful?”

  Janet looked at the painting Carmen held—a colorful street scene in downtown Denver. “It’s beautiful.”

  Carmen pulled out another painting.

  “Are these for sale?” Janet asked.

  Riley’s brow rose. “I hadn’t thought about it.”

  “Well,” Janet said, “let me know if you decide to sell. My sister would love that robin for Christmas.” She wrote her number on a pad of paper from her pocket, gave the note to Carmen, and left.

  Carmen sighed and settled back into her chair. “I should be your sales rep. I’d work on commission.”

  Riley laughed, then focused on her hands. “Is this okay?”

  Carmen nodded, looking up at her like she had just handed her a dish of ice cream. “That’s perfect. Thank you so much.”

  Riley studied her, noting the way the light from the window softened the lines around her eyes. There was something about her eyes. Like all the misery had burned away and let you see what was left. Carmen was fragile and pale, but she had that light in her eyes, a knowing of things.

  A certainty.

  Carmen shook her head. “I loved watching you with Mark. It’s still new, isn’t it?”

  Riley smiled, but it felt like a lie. “Oh, we’re not—” The smile faded, and she swallowed. “What did you mean, he eases my pain?”

  “We all carry pain. Those of us who’ve carried the most can recognize it in others. Maybe that’s why you see his. And perhaps because of his pain, he sees how to heal yours. You’re lucky to have found each other.”

  Riley felt a lump in her throat. “It’s not like that . . . it can’t be. I’m going to teach art in New Orleans. Mark and I . . .” She looked out the window, not wanting to watch the delighted expectation in Carmen’s eyes turn to confusion. “I don’t think it’s good for anybody to rely on someone else to make them whole. It’s not fair.”

  “Yes, I think that’s true.” Carmen said. “But are you talking about Mark? Or you?”

  Riley looked back at Carmen and felt heat fill her cheeks. “Does it matter?”

  Carmen smiled softly.

  Riley lowered her gaze. “Mark can handle himself.” She adjusted her hands, taking care to keep the pressure steady. Her muscles burned, and she realized why Mark’s hand shook after this. “He’s stronger than he knows.”

  She glanced up to find Carmen still watching her, the smile in her eyes dimmed.

  “We don’t always have to be strong. It’s exhausting, isn’t it?” She looked around the room, then out the window. “I think it’s okay to be tired. Or scared.” She turned to Riley. “But here’s a secret I discovered.” She leaned toward Riley. “Sometimes we think we want to run away. Disappear. When all we really want is to be found.”

  Riley stared, transfixed.

  Carmen cocked her head, studying her. “Have you been found?”

  Flashes of memory lifted before her like birds unsettled from their rest. Mark, swinging Ivy in his arms. Mark, grinning next to his truck when he didn’t know his hoodie had fallen back. Mark, kissing her quick when she said she’d help him. Mark, sitting with her in front of the fire. Mark, holding her where they’d fallen in the snow. Mark, kissing her like he never wanted to stop. Mark, holding her gaze like he would never let her go . . .

  Riley blinked away the sting behind her eyes and swallowed. “I was found. For a little while.”

  “What happened?”

  “I ran.” Worse. She’d thrown Mark out even though she’d known he was a Stickley.

  “You’re human, sweetie. But it’s never too late to try again.”

  Riley smiled, but it faded. “Sometimes it is.”

  Carmen leaned back. “Where would I be,” she said, her eyes glassy, “if I thought that way?”

  That night, Riley worked on the figure of baby Jesus. She sketched the paint lines on the black board with graphite and opened several of the sample-size jars of exterior house paint she’d been working with, giving them a stir. And still she hesitated.

  The other characters stood in a line against the closet doors, watching her.

  No pressure, guys.

  She dipped her brush in the paint and began, working lightly and building up layers. The quiet of the house blanketed her thoughts, with only the sound of a tap and swish as she cleaned her brush in a mason j
ar of water. She’d gone through a lot of paint fast with this project, and Mark had found her a large pane of safety glass to use for mixing colors. It covered a sheet of black poster board on the desk next to the easel. She could mix large puddles of paint to work from and clean up easily when she was done.

  He’d just showed up with it. Like when he and his dad had shoveled her driveway. Or when he’d given her the fire extinguisher. Like so many other things.

  The framework of the manger and the hay forming the bed took shape first, followed by the soft bundle of white cloth wrapping the bulk of the baby’s body, save for one chubby arm reaching up to his mother.

  She rinsed her brushes again and changed out the water. She mixed the baby’s skin colors and again built up layers against the black: the lifted arm and bare shoulder, the infant head and ears, adding dimension and the subtle glow this baby had. She found herself humming and paused. Not so much at the fact that she’d been humming, but more at what song had been rolling through her head.

  What Child Is This . . .

  She lifted her gaze to the figures against the closet and swallowed hard. She focused on Mary, who looked content. She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. Selecting a smaller brush, she mixed the darker colors she would use for the baby’s facial details. She glanced again at the sketch she’d studied a hundred times.

  Taking a deep breath and blowing it out, she touched brush to wood. Unbidden, the song came back to her as her brush followed the strokes she saw in her head, the idea once scratched on paper coming to life. She added more color to her brush, and her heart thumped a gentle tempo as she painted bowed lips, added depth to eyes and curls of hair, all the while that melody coursing through her senses.

  At last Riley sat back, taking in the work. Taking in the face that said, I just want to be loved. Like everyone else.

  To be loved. Even when she didn’t know whether to stay or go. Even when she was so afraid, she hid. Even when she was so sad and confused, she broke things, smashed things on the floor.

  Grandma?

  Grandma, what do I do?

  She wiped a tear, but more fell. She let them fall, unsure what to think but knowing what she felt.

  This is real. Dirty and imperfect and real.

  Real is what stays.

  She inhaled a slow, deep breath, and exhaled as the room stilled around her.

  “Real is what stays,” she whispered.

  Later, as she cleaned up, exhausted by the early morning hour and the emotional wringer she’d just been put through, she halted in front of the grouping against the closet.

  They watched her, waiting.

  “Don’t think I don’t know what you’ve been trying to do,” she mumbled, the smallest of smiles on her lips. She clicked off her lamp and walked away. “I hope you’re all proud of yourselves.”

  Mark opened the door to the bakery mid-Saturday morning, the familiar bell jingling above him. The room was packed with people picking up their orders for pies, rolls, and pastries for the firemen’s ball. His dad had sent him for two pies, but it felt like a bigger job than that.

  Mark had promised he would make a showing at the dance to support the fire department. He was a guest of honor. But he wouldn’t stay. And he wouldn’t dance. Surprisingly, his dad had agreed without argument.

  A few customers turned his way.

  And then they stared.

  He ducked his head and stepped inside. “Excuse me,” he said as he reached for a number. The closest woman nodded, looking uncomfortable.

  He hadn’t realized how much his self-consciousness had faded until that moment. When he lifted his head again, the entire bakery had stilled, all eyes on him.

  But not only him. The way parted to where Lette Mae stood behind the register, bag lifted, staring. He frowned, and she moved her eyes to the spot behind the paying customer.

  Riley Madigan stood there, glancing at him, fidgeting under the gaze of the customers, which oscillated like an electric fan between the two of them.

  Lette Mae got the paying customer’s attention. “Your change, Jeff. Tell the twins I said hi. Merry Christmas.”

  Jeff nodded. “Merry Christmas.” But instead of leaving, he moved to the back of the room, standing awkwardly behind a couple eating their breakfast at one of the small café tables, and turned back to watch whatever unfolded.

  Lette Mae sighed. “Number twenty-seven.”

  Mark watched Riley step up to the register. He hadn’t seen her since the day of the unveiling, and there had only been one text from her letting him know she’d nearly finished the nativity and would tell him when he could pick it up.

  After his trip to the bridge, he’d seen the messages from the dialysis center about Carmen. He called to check, and they’d said Riley had taken care of it. He hadn’t known what to think. It had been easy not to see her all this time. He’d just stayed up at the house and shoveled snow, chopped charred apple trees down to nothing, hauled loads of salvageable wood away to people who needed it. Anything. Everything.

  So maybe not so easy.

  Then his dad had made him come here to pick up pies.

  “Here are Yvette’s cookies, already paid for.” Lette Mae passed over a pastry box to Riley. “And two cream bollen for you. That’ll be $5.86, darlin’.” Lette Mae glanced in Mark’s direction.

  So did everyone else.

  He could leave. He could turn around and leave the bakery and nobody would think the worse of him. There would be plenty of pies at the dance. But then he remembered his wish. He sighed. “A person can get their pastries without being stared at, can’t they?” he said to the crowd.

  “Y’all can look at me,” said Freya Hines toward the front. “I just got my hair done for the firemen’s ball tonight.”

  “Save me a dance,” Bill Bushman called out from the back.

  “Oh, Bill,” Freya said. “You can’t be asking a girl to a dance from the back of a bakery.”

  “Can I ask her to the dance from the front of the bakery?”

  “You could try,” Freya answered.

  The room shook with laughter.

  Mark turned away, relieved to have the prying eyes elsewhere, just as Riley’s shoulder brushed against his arm as she attempted to exit the bakery. The simple touch sent shock waves through his body. He knew that coat, the give of it around her as he’d held her close. Her scent and the way her hair parted through his fingers. Her determined kiss on his mouth . . .

  His jaw clenched as Riley slipped out the door. He caught Lette Mae’s eye. She lifted her brow and motioned him to go.

  Everyone watched. Again.

  He rolled his eyes and pushed through the door; it closed on a loud cheer that went up as he left.

  He may or may not have growled.

  His feet were bricks as he followed Riley, who was already in her car by the time he spotted her.

  Why was he following her if she was in such a hurry to get away from him? Because a roomful of people buying sweets said he should?

  Riley was backing her car out of her parking space when he reached her spot.

  “Wait,” he called. “Just wait.”

  Whether she heard him or saw him he didn’t know. What he did know was that she was rolling down her window and he didn’t know what to say next.

  She spoke first. “I should have said hi to you in there. I didn’t know—I don’t know if you want me to—”

  “Can I see the nativity today sometime?”

  She looked up at him, squinting from the sun. “Oh. Yes. Of course. It’s yours, after all.” She paused as if waiting for him to say something more. When he didn’t, she nodded. “I’ll see you later, then.” She started rolling up the window.

  “Wait. Riley—” He took another step toward the car.

  She rolled down her window again, h
er expression pained. “If I give you a bollen will you let me go?”

  He paused, uncertain if she was serious or not.

  “I bought two because, honestly, buying one seemed pathetic, but now that I think about it, buying two was even more pathetic, especially since I only bought two because I wanted one so desperately and I didn’t want to look desperate.”

  He paused again, still uncertain. “Are you bribing me to go away,” he said carefully, “with bollen?”

  She grimaced. “That’s what it sounded like, didn’t it? I’m sorry.” She leaned forward and put her head on the steering wheel. “This is all my fault.”

  Mark took a few steps closer to her car. “If you want to throw blame around, throw it at Gainer. He’s a manipulator.” He shrugged. “We’ve all got voices talking at us. Sometimes it’s hard to hear who’s talking truth.”

  He glanced behind him. “On the other hand, I’ve got a whole bakery full of people watching out the windows, and I need to go back in because if I come home without Lette Mae’s pies, my dad’s going to know something’s up and I really need a few hours of peace and quiet. So who am I to talk about throwing off manipulation?”

  He didn’t really know what more to say. His toes started to freeze in the cold. “I understand if you want to roll that window up and get going, so I’ll just back off now.” He took a step back.

  “Wait,” she said, and he halted.

  That dimple had appeared next to her mouth. The one that meant he was making her head spin.

  “It would be good to just . . .” She bit her lip, as if searching for the right words.

  “Get past this?” he offered.

  She nodded.

  He shoved his hand forward. “Friends.”

  Slowly she took his hand, her gaze on his compression sleeve, her grip firm. She lifted her eyes. “Friends.”