Silhouette Christmas Stories

by Ann Major

"There," she said, plunking down a bottle of ketchup like an exclamation point. She had her lashes lowered, trying to shield the laughter in her eyes from him, but parted lips and a rosy blush betrayed her. "Now, is there anything else I can get for you?"

  Though he was shaking inside with his own laughter, Tony managed to keep his face and voice absolutely deadpan. "No thanks, this is great." Karen's eyes flew open, then widened at the unmistakable challenge in his when he added softly, "If I think of anything, I'll let you know."

  Oblivious to any adult undercurrents, Andrew was already tucking into his sandwich, taking bites out of the middle, the way Tony himself had done when he was a kid. The boy did stop chewing, though, to watch Tony pour ketchup on his plate, dip a corner of his sandwich into it and take a bite.

  "Is that good?" he inquired, looking skeptical.

  Tony offered the ketchup bottle. "Why don't you try it?"

  Andrew shrugged. Tony poured him a small dollop. Andrew dipped, took a wary and tentative bite, chewed judiciously and finally conceded, "Not bad." Tony just grinned.

  Karen had moved away from them, following the train track. Though he wasn't looking at her, Tony could tell she was nervous again. It had seemed as if she'd gotten over it while she was in the kitchen, but it was back now, once more confirming his suspicions that he was the cause of it. He decided he liked the fact that he made her nervous. Eventually, of course, he'd want her to feel comfortable with him, but right now that fidgety self-consciousness was telling him what he wanted to know, which was that she was aware of him in all the right ways.

  "Does it work?" she asked, bending down to give the locomotive an experimental push, rolling it a little way along the track.

  She caught Tony with his mouth full, so all he could do was shrug. Andrew, whose mouth was also full, said, "It's going to. Tony says he can fix it-right, Tony?"

  For some reason, instead of answering with the confidence he felt, Tony glanced over at Karen. He found her studying him in a way that made him feel uncomfortable; all the nervousness was gone now, her eyes quiet and watchful, full of appeal and an unspoken warning. So he found himself hedging his bet. "Well, I don't know, kid. I said I'd try."

  There was a little silence, and then Karen said meaningfully, "Andrew, do you have homework this evening?" It was a tone even Tony recognized.

  Andrew groaned. "Spelling. Mom-"

  "Better finish eating and get started on it," his mother gently but firmly interrupted. "The train will still be here tomorrow."

  Tony, who knew a hint when he heard one, polished off the last of his applesauce and stood up, taking his plate with him. "I gotta go anyway, kid. We'll work oh this some other time."

  "Tomorrow? Can you come over tomorrow night? Please? Mom, can he?"

  They both looked at Tony. He shrugged in what he hoped was an offhand way and muttered, "It's all right with me."

  "Mom? If I promise to do my homework first?"

  "Well… " Tony could see the ominous "We'll see" hovering on the tip of her tongue, but when she opened her mouth, the words that came out instead were, "All right. If you do your homework first. Now, scoot-and take your dishes to the kitchen!"

  Obviously satisfied with the terms, Andrew "scooted."

  As soon as her son was out of earshot, Karen lifted her head and drilled Tony with a look that reminded him of the one she'd given him that morning when she'd finally accepted the loan of his car.

  "Is it true?" she demanded without beating around the bush. "Can you fix that train?"

  Tony shrugged. "I think so, yeah."

  Her eyes clung to his, searching, searching- It gave him a strange feeling, as if he needed to take a deep breath but couldn't.

  Finally, in a voice tight with controlled emotion, she said, "Please, don't tell him that unless you're sure. Don't promise something you can't deliver. I don't want him-"

  "Lady," Tony said softly, "I don't make promises I don't mean to keep."

  He saw a flicker of something in those transparent eyes of hers, something he couldn't quite name. And once again, although he wasn't touching her this time, he felt the struggle as she fought him and the easing when she let go.

  "So," he said, "do you want me to give it a shot or not? It's your call."

  She closed her eyes, let out a breath and nodded. "Yes… thank you. It's very nice of you. Andrew will be so-"

  Nice. That damn gratitude again. Impatiently shaking it off, Tony said, "Tomorrow, then? About the same time?"

  "Yes. Yes, that will be fine."

  "Fine, I'll see you then." He was so distracted that he was out the door before he remembered he still had her car keys. And vice versa. He turned back with a smile that felt trampled. "Oops," he muttered as he handed them to her, "almost forgot."

  "Oh-wait a minute, I have your keys right here…" Just like that, she was nervous again, like a bird in the presence of a cat. She flitted away for a minute, came back with her purse, fumbled in it for the keys and gave them to him. "Thank you so much-it was really nice of you to do that. And, uh… " She took a deep breath. "Do you have my bill?"

  Tony took it out of his back pocket and handed it over. He watched her unfold it, holding his own emotions carefully in check while he watched hers play like shadow pictures across her face. He thought he recognized dread, all mixed up with pride… blank, uncomprehending shock… and finally, confusion.

  "I don't understand," she said, throwing him that fierce blue glare that demanded nothing less than truth. "This is so much lower than the estimate. What about the battery and… all those other things you told me I needed? This is only-" she gave the paper in her hands another glance "-a routine service!"

  "Plus wiper blades and antifreeze," Tony pointed out. Then he shrugged and tried to wave the subject off, wanting to get away before she nailed him to the wall; outright lying didn't sit well with his Italian-Catholic upbringing. "Listen, I'd rather tell you the worst up front and have the surprise be pleasant, that's all. Turned out you were in better shape than I thought. It happens. Hey, I'll see you tomorrow night. You can pay me then, okay?"

  She hesitated while suspicion struggled with relief, then finally nodded and whispered, "Okay."

  Relieved himself, Tony fled. He was two steps down the stairs when he heard her call his name. Feeling as guilty as only an honest man can, he paused and looked back.

  She was still standing in the doorway, holding the bill in her hands, and for a moment Tony's heart stopped beating. Then he realized that she looked different somehow. More relaxed, as if a load had been lifted off her shoulders. And he realized then that she had called him by his first name. Tony…

  "How's your hand?" she asked softly, a smile in her voice and eyes. Even from where he stood, Tony felt the gentle warmth of it, like candle flames.

  He glanced down at his bandaged hand, then looked up at her, slowly flexing it, remembering her touch. "Oh, it's okay," he said gruffly. "You did a good job." Karen…

  "Good… I'm glad. Well- I'll see you tomorrow, then."

  "Yeah, tomorrow. I'll be here."

  "Bye."

  "Bye… "

  Their voices were low and husky, the words uttered absentmindedly, as if, Tony thought, they both knew that what was being said was far less important than things that weren't spoken of at all.

  About midway through the next day, it occurred to Karen that she was looking at the people around her in a new light. Which one? Which of these people- friends, acquaintances and co-workers-could have sent Andrew that train? Even relative strangers were suspects. Maybe she had a secret benefactor-a fairy godmother, a guardian angel, someone who admired her from afar. Ridiculous as that seemed, it almost made more sense than the alternative, which was that one of the people she knew had sent that box. She'd been over the list in her mind a dozen times. They all seemed unlikely, if not impossible.

  Her first thought, before the box was opened, had been of her boss, Mr. James. As unpleasant as that suspicion was, it woul
dn't have been the first time the lecherous old so-and-so had tried to get to Karen through her child. But she'd crossed Frank James off the list the minute she saw that broken-down old engine. It just wasn't his style. In the first place, he would never give Andrew something secondhand and in need of repair; he would buy the newest and most expensive thing available-and probably leave the price tag on it "by accident." And, of course, he wouldn't do it anonymously; he would want to be sure he got full credit for his generosity.

  Then there was Louise, the other girl in the office with whom Karen sometimes shared lunch and minor confidences, and the closest thing she had to a friend in this town. But she had a husband who worked in the fruit-packing houses, when he could get work at all, and four school-age kids of her own. Why would she spend money and effort on Andrew?

  After that, the list got very short indeed. Mrs Goldrich, the landlady? Ridiculous. She tolerated Andrew, but had never given any indication of possessing a warm or generous bone in her entire body. Mr. Clausen? Well… as a matter of fact, the old gentleman who lived in the attic apartment above Karen did seem a less unlikely candidate than some of the others. Andrew was certainly convinced he was the culprit, anyway. That morning, when they'd met on the front walk as usual, Andrew had told the old man all about his mysterious gift. Mr. Clausen had laughed, clapped him on the shoulder and said, "So, young Andrew, Santa's come early this year, has he?" Afterward, Andrew had given his mother a superior look, one that clearly said, "See? I know I'm right."

  Andrew's fantasies aside, the old man did seem jovial and kind, and he appeared to have a genuine fondness for the little boy. But how would an elderly and overweight gentleman who walked with a cane get such a large, cumbersome box up those stairs? And there was the question of expense. Mr. Clausen didn't appear to have much money; he lived in a tiny, one-room apartment, didn't own a car, and always wore the same suit, a vaguely dated three-piece pinstripe with an old-fashioned watch fob looped across the front of his vest. Karen had an idea that electric trains might be expensive. Even old ones in need of repair.

  And that, of course, was the biggest question of all: why would anyone, friend or stranger, give a child an old, worn-out, broken-down toy? It didn't make sense.

  She was still stewing about it, and having a hard time concentrating on work as a result, when Andrew arrived from school. Fortunately, while he was shrugging out of his backpack, she remembered the small package she'd purchased at the hardware store on her lunch break, scooped it up from her desktop and, in the nick of time, dropped it into her purse. Thanks to the train, Andrew seemed to have forgotten all about the mouse; with any luck, the problem would be resolved by the time he thought about it again.

  "Hello, sweetheart," she said, remembering just in time that he considered himself too grown up to need help with his jacket. "How was your day?"

  "Fine." He held out the construction paper object he'd been carefully juggling. "Here- I made it," he said in the offhand way he always adopted when he was feeling especially proud of himself. "It's a… a polyhedron. It's a Christmas ornament. You can hang it on the tree, if you want to."

  "It's beautiful," Karen said, giving it a place of honor on her desk. "Of course we'll hang it on our tree. Now, do you have any homework?"

  "Nah, it's the Friday before vacation. No more homework 'til next year. Can we get our tree tonight? After you get off work?"

  "Have you forgotten?" Karen reminded him. "Tony's coming over to work on the train."

  "Well, he could come with us."

  For a moment she couldn't answer him. She sat there looking at her son's face, at the hopeful light that lurked behind the caution in his eyes, and felt an odd little knot form somewhere in the middle of her chest. Tony? She laughed softly and shook her head. "Sweetheart, I think you'd have to ask him first. And by the time he gets here-"

  "I could ask him now. I could go over there-"

  "Not today," Karen said firmly. "You were over there all afternoon yesterday. I won't have you getting in Tony's way."

  "But I'm not. He lets me help him. He said-"

  "Andrew, I said no. Not today."

  Andrew retired momentarily to think over his options. "Can we go tomorrow, then? I could ask Tony tonight when he comes over."

  "Well… " She took a deep breath and murmured, "We'll see."

  "If we get a great big tree we're gonna need help, Mom," Andrew pointed out, trying to give an impression of innocence by widening his eyes and looking solemn. "Tony could help carry it."

  "Andrew, about the tree… " Karen closed her eyes for a moment, then rested her forehead on her hand and looked down at the scratch pad on her desk so she wouldn't have to see the disappointment on her son's face when she told him the bad news. The numbers on the pad were bad enough. Even with yesterday's good news about the car repairs, money was still going to be tight this month. The heating bill, which was not included in her rent, was bound to be higher, and she and Andrew were both going to need some warmer clothes. Even if she could manage the cost of the tree, there was still the matter of decorations.

  "I'll make decorations," Andrew said when she'd explained it to him. His voice was tight, his face set and stubborn. Karen's heart sank; she knew that look. "I can make some more poly… polyhedrons. And- and those paper chains, like I made in kindergarten."

  She drew another deep breath, this one to ease the ache in her chest. "All right," she whispered, caving in. "If you really want to, sweetheart, we'll get a big one. We'll make do, somehow. Now, scoot-go on and let me get some work done!"

  Andrew's small hand patted her shoulder. "It'll be all right, Mom, you'll see," he said with a knowing smile, and went off to make some more polyhedrons.

  Karen sat with her head in her hands, rubbing at the tightness in her temples. Though it made her feel guilty to admit it, the burden of single-parenthood seemed very heavy sometimes. There was never any respite from it; that was the trouble, no chance ever to lay it down, even for a moment…

  Tony could help carry it.

  Andrew's innocent words popped into her head from out of nowhere, sharp and clear and as impossible to ignore as a silver bell on a holiday street corner. The thought shocked her so much that she sat bolt upright, headache forgotten, heart racing. Tony?

  It was like opening the door to an overful closet; thoughts and revelations tumbled into her consciousness like an avalanche. Tony! Could Tony have sent the train? Yes! Yes, he could have. He seemed genuinely fond of Andrew; he knew where they lived; he was certainly strong enough to have carried that box up the stairs. It made sense-except for one thing. Why would he do such a thing? Why?

  Andrew answered the door that evening with a breathless and eager, "Hi." Then, instantly curious, he blurted, "What's that?"

  Tony growled, "It's pizza, what's it look like?"

  "I didn't mean that one," Andrew persisted unperturbed, evading the large flat box Tony had thrust at him. "I meant that one-the bag. Is it stuff for the train?"

  "You didn't have to do this," Karen murmured, coming up behind her son.

  There was something different about her tonight, Tony thought. He couldn't put his finger on anything specific, but she had a kind of radiance, an aura of suppressed excitement, as if she knew a wonderful secret and was dying to share it. Whatever it was, the excitement was contagious; he could feel his own heartbeat quicken as he handed over the pizza box.

  "Here, kid, see for yourself," he muttered, relinquishing the brown paper bag from Hoolighan's Hardware and Paint to Andrew, who promptly dropped to his knees on the floor with it in that boneless way kids have. Tony stepped over him and went after Karen, who was heading for the kitchen with the pizza. "Look," he said as he held the kitchen door open for her, "I came over here to fix a train, not invite myself to dinner."

  She turned to smile at him over her shoulder. "Are you sure it isn't that you just don't like my cooking?"

  "Hey-" Tony held up his hands "-grilled cheese and ketchup happens to b
e a personal favorite of mine. Last night you fed me, tonight it's my turn. Fair's fair."

  Something in his tone warned her. She got a wary look in her eyes and said, "Uh-oh-what kind of pizza is this, anyway?"

  "The works," Tony confirmed with wicked relish. "Including olives, onions and anchovies. Hey, I'm Italian. What do you expect?"

  She groaned, but mixed it with laughter. Oh yeah, he thought, there was definitely something different about her tonight; if it had been anybody but her, he would have been pretty sure she was flirting with him. Whatever the difference was, the effect it had on his vital signs was both predictable and devastating.

  A second or two later, though, she got that closed, careful look on her face again and, like a little girl remembering her manners, said, "Well, thank you anyway. You really didn't have to do this. It's awfully nice of you."

  Tony snorted. "I wish you'd quit saying that." When Karen cast him a questioning glance he shifted his shoulders and growled, "Look, let's get something straight. I don't do anything just to be 'nice.' I only do things because I want to, you understand? That makes me selfish, not 'nice.'"

  "Bah, humbug," said Karen, as a smile flickered at the corners of her mouth.

  "What?"

  "Nothing. So-you brought pizza because… "

  "Because that's the only way I can be sure I get what I want on it." That smile of hers was so bright and contagious, it was all he could do to repress the urge to smile back.

  "And," she persisted, stifling laughter, "you're helping Andrew because you just happen to like playing with trains?"

  "Right!" Tony shot back, still scowling gamely. "All men are kids when it comes to trains-don't you know that?"

  "Really?" She said it on a quick, indrawn breath, her eyes shining with that strange excitement. While Tony's pulse surged in automatic response, she seemed to teeter for a moment on the brink of saying something else, something of profound importance. Then she turned abruptly and opened a cupboard, and he heard the sigh of her exhalation.

  I can't do it, Karen thought, as she reached for the plates. I can't ask him. He would only deny it, and she would feel foolish. She'd probably embarrass him, and he'd wish he'd never done it. Maybe, she thought, it was better not to know.