Dr. Noah and the Sugar Plum Fairy

by Carla Rossi

  “Sure, but water goblets for lunch on a weekday? Pretty fancy for us, even at Christmas. And there’s one too many. Mel can’t come down.”

  “Don’t put that away. We need that. We have a guest.”

  “Today? With all we have going on and Melody being sick? Not to mention Grandpa’s in his Zombie Apocalypse Christmas boxers. Is it one of your gossipy friends from Zumba? ’Cause dad will love that on his Christmas vacation.”

  “Will you stop? This is no big deal. I’ve been spraying disinfectant everywhere. That pair of boxers actually looks like shorts, and your dad will be fine with him.”

  “Him? Did you at least warn this guy about the boxers?”

  “Water glasses, please. And you need to relax. I’m the mama, and I will take care of everything. I always do.”

  The doorbell rang.

  As was customary in the Trumbull household at Christmastime, everyone ran for the door. It was a peculiar little habit they’d developed through the years. Mostly because it was Christmas and a ringing doorbell could mean carolers or treats from the neighbors or gifts in the mail—and everyone wanted to be the first to see. Not to mention it often caught whoever it was off guard, and they were either tickled or alarmed by the crowd at the door. Either way it was funny.

  Jane flew from the kitchen and hopped over the back of the easy chair to beat everyone to the handle. Her mother, dad, grandpa, and Major slid to a stop behind her. Poor Melody would have been on her heels had she been able to crawl out of bed.

  Jane flung open the door.

  And gasped in astonishment.

  Not to mention embarrassment.

  “Dr. Noah? Bridget?”

  “Hi, Jane.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Jane!” Her mother pushed her aside. “Don’t be rude. C’mon in, Noah.”

  “Thanks, Mrs. Trumbull,” he said as if from a black-and-white fifties sitcom.

  “Call me Sunny. Everyone does. This is my husband, Richard. Everyone calls him Rich, and you know Grandpa Stone and Major. You’ve met Jane. Our daughter Melody won’t be joining us because she’s sick.”

  The men were shaking hands and exchanging ‘nice to meet yous’ and ‘nice to see yous’ while the dogs sniffed each other and Jane suffered a considerable internal meltdown.

  “Hang on a minute,” she said, flailing her arms in front of her until they formed a definite ‘stop’ signal. “What is happening here?”

  Her mother nudged Noah toward the dining room. “Don’t be so dramatic, Jane.”

  “Yeah, Jane,” he said over his shoulder. “Don’t be so dramatic.”

  She glared at him. “I didn’t realize you all knew each other. Dr. Noah didn’t say a word.”

  “He didn’t know. We just connected the dots when we passed each other at the grocery store the other day.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yes. Me and Grandpa had to take Major to see Dr. Salmons a couple weeks ago. It was that day he ate a little plastic UT football. We thought he swallowed it whole. Turns out, he’d chewed it up enough to not be of any harm. We just had to be patient and let nature take its course.”

  “Really, Mom? At lunch? In front of a guest?”

  “Oh, hush. Anyway, Noah was there. That’s how we met. He told us about the clinic. So, when I saw him at the grocery store, we got to talking and it hit me that he may have been on duty when Snowball was sick. I mentioned you and here we are.”

  “Here we are,” he mimicked as he sat down at the table. “Your mom was kind enough to invite me for lunch, but really I’m here for the cookies.”

  Grandpa looked as if he was going to bang his spoon on the table. “Can I have my chili?”

  “Sure, Grandpa,” Jane answered. “Do you want iced tea?”

  “Yup.”

  “How about you, Dr. Noah? Iced tea?”

  “Yes, please.”

  Jane followed her mother to the kitchen. “You couldn’t have told me this was happening today?” She was trying so hard to keep her voice down it came out as a squeak.

  “Hand me that fresh rosemary. I want to sprinkle a little on this bread and give it a quick broil to melt the butter. Yum.”

  “Hel-looo... Cute veterinarian in the dining room, and I am in my sweatpants.”

  Her mother made a quick trip with the tea and came right back. “It just happened, Jane. He’s a sweet guy, and he’s new in town. He has to work all through the holiday or I would’ve had him here for Christmas dinner.”

  Jane waved the ladle around. “Sweat. Pants. And grandpa? No. Pants.”

  Her mother ignored her and tossed hot bread into a silver basket.

  There was muted conversation and occasional laughter from the other room.

  Jane slung chili into bowls. “Do you hear that? They’re getting along and talking about work and Christmas and who knows what.”

  “Jane. You’re too young to be working yourself into a panic attack about this. Bring those bowls and let’s have lunch.”

  Jane dutifully placed a bowl of chili in front of her grandpa and took her seat—the one beside the one reserved for guests. Which meant when her father took that familiar breath that signaled it was time to start the blessing, it was Dr. Noah’s hand she got to hold. He must have been thrilled considering how clammy and chili-scented hers was. Still, he held on for that extra second to give it a squeeze. She wanted to look at him, but then everyone would know she was glad to see him and glad he squeezed her hand and glad he wore that striped button-down shirt that made his eyes pop and glad he brought Bridget because petting her just made Jane feel better about everything.

  She grabbed the basket of bread instead. “Here ya go, Grandpa.”

  “Thanks, darlin’. As I was saying, Noah, there’s a direct correlation between the appearance of fruits and vegetables and what they are good for in our body.”

  Jane’s mouth went dry. She glanced at her mother, stunned. “What is he talking about?”

  “A sliced carrot looks like the human eye,” he continued. “And we all know carrots are good for eyes.”

  “We gave him an iPad for his birthday,” her mother said. “He surfs the web when he’s not playing Spider Solitaire.”

  Her father reached for the Mr. and Mrs. Claus salt and pepper shakers. “Tell them about the tomato.”

  “The tomato, like the human heart, has chambers and is red. Tomatoes are good for the heart and blood supply.”

  “Grandpa, you can’t believe everything you read online.”

  “There’s some evidence to support it,” her father said. “We’ve been reading. I think there’s a name for it.”

  “Yup. It’s logical. Celery looks like bones, onions resemble the cells in our body. It makes no difference at my age to believe that sweet potatoes look like a pancreas and possibly help balance my glucose.”

  She prayed he would stop. She meant no disrespect to her grandfather, but it would be easier to take him seriously if he was wearing pants.

  “Not to change the subject,” her father started.

  “Oh, please change the subject...”

  “But Noah was telling us how he came to have Bridget. She was hit by a car and dropped at the clinic. No one’s come forward for her yet.”

  She looked straight at him, more alarmed than she intended. “She seems so at home there and so well trained. I thought she was yours.”

  “No. I’ve put out notices and pictures online and contacted the shelter in case someone comes looking for her. I’m shocked she’s still here, but sometimes people who are travelling during the holidays unknowingly leave their pets with someone who, they find out later, didn’t take very good care of them. It’s possible she got away from a pet sitter and they either haven’t looked hard enough or they haven’t notified the owners.”

  “There was no collar and no chip?”

  “No.”

  Jane glanced at the dog where she waited patiently at the edge of the dining room. It was a
sharp contrast to ill-mannered Major who was looking for ways to sneak to Grandpa’s side for a treat—something her parents had forbidden.

  “I wish I could take her,” Jane said. “But I go back to a tiny apartment in January and—”

  “Jane,” her father said with a laugh. “You don’t have to rescue every stray.” He took a gulp of water and reached for his napkin. “Jane’s our very own neighborhood animal rescue league. She’s brought home everything from abandoned baby birds to feral kittens. One time she tried to reunite a mother duck at the pond with an egg she left behind.”

  “Daddy, stop. I was nine.”

  Even her mother knew this was going too far and gave her dad one of their secret signals to knock it off.

  Jane put down her spoon. “Can we not talk about pets anymore? I’m just now getting used to the fact that Snowball’s tormenting dogs in Heaven this year and not here with me.”

  She caught Dr. Noah’s crooked smile from the corner of her eye. He was laughing at her.

  She no longer cared about her sweatpants or her clammy hands.

  She did care about telling him what she thought.

  “I know it sounds juvenile and you can laugh all you want, but I happen to believe there are animals in Heaven. So have your big laugh and get it all out of your system.”

  “I’m not laughing at you. I’m only wondering what you base your information on.”

  “Have you ever read your Bible?”

  “I may have been through that piece of Divine literature a time or two.”

  “Then you remember Revelation chapter nineteen. There’s a whole passage about the Heavens opening and the One called Faithful and True riding the white horse. In fact there’s a whole army of white horses. And I figure if there’s a whole army of white horses in the Heavens, there must be one big ol’ holy corral up there somewhere.”

  He seemed to be mulling it over.

  She turned slightly in her chair. “What are you thinking?”

  “I understand your reasoning, but I was thinking also of Revelation chapter six.”

  “And?”

  “You know, the white horse, the red horse, the black horse, the pale horse. I always thought those were more figurative. Given that the book of Revelation could be called one big symbolic puzzle, I thought those horses represented something else. At least in chapter six.”

  “True. But you know, Dr. Noah, sometimes a horse is just a horse.”

  “Can I have more chili?”

  She pushed away from the table. “Sure, Grandpa. Anyone else need anything?”

  “Don’t get up, Jane,” her father instructed. “I’ll get it. I need some myself. Anybody else? Noah?”

  “Sure,” he said. “I don’t cook much so you don’t have to ask me twice.”

  “Bring the whole pot, Rich.” Her mother moved the pine-scented centerpiece to make room.

  “Bring the cookies, too, Dad. That’s what he really wants.”

  “I won’t deny it. Jane said they were the best ever and she was right.”

  “I’ll make a copy of the recipe for you,” her mother offered. “If you ever start baking you’ll be ready.”

  “Yeah, I don’t think that’s gonna happen. But thanks.”

  “Jane’s going to make the dog cookies,” Grandpa said as her father refilled his chili bowl.

  “Soon, Grandpa. I have to figure out how.”

  “Ask Noah. He should know what goes in them.”

  “I don’t think so. He just admitted he doesn’t go near his stove.”

  Dr. Noah swiped his napkin across his mouth. “What are you trying to do?”

  “I was helping my mom bake gingerbread the other day. Major was hanging out by the kitchen, and I swear his mouth watered every time I opened the oven door.”

  “Dogs are all about the food. They smell stuff cooking and anticipate it like we do.”

  “I got to thinking about making homemade dog biscuits, but we’ve been so busy I haven’t had much time to try it. I looked online and I think the main thing is to use as many natural ingredients as possible and cut out the sugar. I need to find a recipe.”

  “You’re on the right track. I’m not an expert, but I think those gourmet dog bakeries use whole wheat flour and ingredients with no sugar added. I’ll be happy to come by and collaborate.”

  “You did hear me say these are dog biscuits, right?”

  “I can bring Bridget. Besides, there shouldn’t be anything in there a human can’t eat.”

  She pushed the cookie platter his way. “Here. Stick with these. I’m going to clear the table.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” her father said. “Me and Grandpa are going to clean up. I think your mom’s going to check on Melody. Why don’t you and Noah take the dogs out?”

  Jane stood and put her bowl down. “Sure. Why not?”

  At the door, she slipped on a light jacket and whipped her red Christmas scarf around her neck. “Sit, Major,” she commanded, but the dog pranced and whined with excitement until she had to tackle him to snap on his leash. “He’s a work in progress.”

  They headed down the driveway and onto the sidewalk. Major stopped at his favorite tree. She turned to Dr. Noah and let out a heavy sigh as the dog wound himself around her legs.

  “I’m sorry about my family. We’re just a bunch of oddballs.”

  “Don’t apologize for your family, Jane. They’re the most genuine people I’ve ever met.”

  She unwrapped the leash from her legs and nudged the dog forward. “Don’t get me wrong, I love my family, but they’ll say and do anything. My mother picked you up in a grocery store.”

  He laughed. “Because she’s a nice, friendly woman. Not because she’s weird.”

  “My grandpa. He wasn’t wearing pants. And he talked to you about body parts and vegetables.”

  “So? He’s old. Let him do what he wants. Who cares?”

  “You know my dad makes remote controlled fighting robots. Did he tell you?”

  “Didn’t mention it.”

  “The man is a banking and finance genius, but on weekends it’s Nerd Central in that garage. He’s even competed.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with your family. They’re great.”

  “All right, then. As long as you were comfortable.”

  “I was.”

  She shoved her hand in her pocket. “Good. You surprised me.”

  “In what way?”

  “At the clinic you seem so guarded and intense. Today you were a little, I don’t know, loose.”

  “Work is work and lunch is lunch. There’s a different vibe at the clinic.”

  A cold breeze gusted around them. Wooden Christmas figures in decorated yards wobbled in the wind. Scents of the season blew through the air as neighbors baked, and cars whizzed by, most often with a happy wave.

  At the end of the street, Bridget stopped and sat as if she could read the stop sign. Major, however, nearly yanked Jane into oncoming traffic. It was nice of Dr. Noah not to say anything.

  “Do you have time to circle the block?”

  “Sure,” he said and gave Bridget permission to move. “By the way, is your sister OK? I meant to ask sooner.”

  “She’s miserable, but she’ll be fine. It’s probably the flu. I don’t think she’s ever been this sick.”

  “That’s too bad. Aren’t you all doing the ballet thing this whole week?”

  “Yes, but she may be too ill to dance tonight. She thinks she can do it no matter what, but my parents will decide.”

  “And you’re not dancing?”

  “No, why?”

  “Strange.” He motioned back toward the house. “There’s a whole wall in there devoted to you and your sister’s dancing. A hundred pictures of you and her. There are trophies, dangling shoes, and a giant wooden Nutcracker in the corner—which I’m thinking stays out year ’round. This is a big deal at your house. It’s come up in every conversation we’ve had, and it’s clear this is your fav
orite time of year.”

  “So?”

  “So why aren’t you dancing too? It’s obvious you’re good at it.”

  “Well... You know... I...”

  “I can’t believe you’re speechless.”

  “I stopped dancing to support my sister. She’s way better at it than I am.”

  “So what? You can’t both dance?”

  “Dance is expensive. My parents only need to worry about one ballerina in the family. There are several lessons a week, costumes, pictures, recital and program fees, master classes, private coaches, and choreographers... Pointe shoes alone are outrageous and last only a short time. It goes on and on and I’m rambling again, but the bottom line here is, my sister can really go somewhere with this. I, on the other hand, maxed out at the local ballet studio. So I stepped aside. Her star has far eclipsed mine.”

  “Where did you get the idea you can’t both be a star in this vast universe? Or that your star has to go out to make hers brighter?”

  “Why, Dr. Noah, you are a poet.”

  “No deflecting.”

  “Look, this is Melody’s time. I had my years as the Sugar Plum Fairy, now it’s her turn.”

  “What was she doing when you had the big parts?”

  “She was either a snowflake, a flower, or a mouse. When you’ve done this as long as we have, you tend to get around to all the parts as you mature.”

  “Whatever. That still doesn’t answer my question.”

  She came to an abrupt stop and tugged Major to her side. “The truth is I do dance. I take classes at college and pay for them myself. I do it to stay in shape and keep my skills up. I also teach three-to-five-year-old beginners once in a while.”

  “And you enjoy that?”

  “I love it. It feels great.”

  He shrugged and kept walking. “I knew it.”

  “Congratulations,” she said and caught up with him. “You coaxed something out of me. Something my family doesn’t even know.”

  “I coaxed the truth out of you. And it was my turn. You’ve been coaxing things out of me and messing with my mind since the night we met.”