The 13th Day of Christmas

by Jason F. Wright

  “You know, Mom,” Zach said, scratching his chin, “I’ve been pretty tired lately, too.”

  The laughter filled the hallway and made Zach stand taller than usual.

  “Also, be sure Charlee gets plenty of sleep. She’ll wear down very easily. She should head to bed before she says she’s tired. If she’s complaining about being tired or having a headache, you waited too long to shut her down for the day.”

  Emily started to ask another question but Nurse Becky cut her off with a raised index finger. “She’ll be excited to be home. Now, multiply that by the fact that it’s Christmas Eve, and the fact that she’s a child. She’s going to need to be reeled in.”

  Emily tried again and the finger went back up.

  Zach stifled a snicker.

  “If her fever hits 100 flat, you’re back here. Don’t call and ask, all right? Bundle her up and get here.” She looked at Emily and let the tension go from her face. “Okay, now you’re up.”

  “Sorry about that. I’m just anxious.”

  “We’re all anxious,” Thomas said, and Zach nodded thoughtfully the way he thought any adult would in that situation.

  “When do we come back?” Emily finally asked.

  “Hopefully we don’t see you again until the 27th. Tuesday. Sound good to everyone? If she’s still improving, she’ll go right back home with you and we’ll get the treatments restarted. But again, the doctor wants her back before then if the fever runs high, or if you see any other warning signs. You can’t be too careful.”

  Emily said thank you and gave Nurse Becky a hug. Then she said thank you again before letting go.

  Thomas also thanked Nurse Becky and gave her a two-handed handshake.

  Zach did the same, even though he thought she deserved a million hugs for helping Charlee get home for Christmas.

  Zach and his parents shared the good news with Charlee, and by the time they’d finished, she was already gathering up her eleven kazoos into the gift bag. Zach’s mother laid out the conditions of her return home for the holiday and Charlee agreed before hearing them all.

  “Wait,” Charlee said, interrupting her mother’s lecture. “What about Miss Marva? Is she going home, too?”

  Thomas and Emily did the look thing again, and this time Zach looked away because he already knew the sad answer.

  “I don’t think so,” Emily said. “She’s just not up for it.”

  “No, not yet, Charlee Chew,” Thomas added, “but she will be. She just needs more strength.”

  Charlee looked at Zach and, in her tears, he was sure he saw the enthusiasm flow past him and right under the door like spilled water.

  “That’s not fair,” Charlee said. “That’s all I wanted for Christmas. For both of us to be home. It’s. Not. Fair.”

  “I know it’s not,” Emily said, sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling her daughter into a side-hug. “But you can say good-bye on your way out, how about that? And you can call her tomorrow.”

  “Or even tonight before bed,” Thomas added. “If you’d like to.”

  Charlee sniffled, and her mother turned to Zach. “Son, would you step across the hall and see if Marva is awake? Tell her she has a special visitor.”

  “Yep,” he said, and he spun on a heel to leave the room. He took three big steps and pushed Marva’s door open. “Miss Marva? Are you up?”

  “Come in,” she said softly. “You’re just the man I was looking for.”

  27

  Home

  For the first time in weeks, Marva’s insomnia wasn’t caused by pain, discomfort, or loneliness. It was the unmistakable feeling of hope that kept her up all night long. She had hope for the morning, she had hope for Christmas Day and all it meant to her, and, like every other year, she hoped to wake up on December 26 a better person.

  She looked at the clock on the wall: 4:45 a.m. She checked the time on the cheap digital watch she’d worn all night: 4:45 a.m. It’s time, she thought. Given how slowly she was moving these days, and how her dull, constant back pain had been replaced by fire, she calculated that the extra time was a must.

  Marva slid her legs around and off the bed like two heavy pieces of furniture. She left the IV in her wrist but removed the oxygen tubes from her nose so she’d have less to pull down the hallway. She pulled on a pair of thick flannel pajama bottoms, slid her feet into fur-lined moccasins, and pushed open the door to peek out. Two nurses gabbed inside the glass-enclosed nurses’ station, which was adorned with tinsel and twinkling lights.

  Marva shuffled down the hallway a foot at a time, appearing to admire the decorations and children’s holiday drawings that lined her path like wallpaper. She stopped at one with Charlee’s name scrawled across the top. It was, quite clearly, a view of 27 Homes from above. Charlee had drawn the fishhook shape and small boxes to represent every trailer, each one connected to the crayon roads by a black dash.

  Charlee’s trailer had four stick figures inside. A green field ran behind it to a much larger home with a clothesline to its left. An oversized stick figure in a striped dress stood next to the house, standing as tall as the roofline. But Marva looked closer and realized the dress wasn’t a dress at all; it was an apron. She stepped even closer and saw that it read Dorothy was right. There’s no place like home.

  Marva would have laughed if her sides hadn’t ached, so instead she smiled and pulled the drawing from the wall, leaving four loops of tape stuck awkwardly to the shiny paint. She folded the construction paper and stuck it in the pocket of her hospital gown.

  Marva moved on, willing the squeaky wheels of her IV cart to remain quiet as she snuck down the hallway. She approached the nurses’ station and took a long breath as the two chatty women passed in her peripheral vision. The elevator was around the corner, just past a display of glossy framed headshots of Woodbrook Mercy Hospital’s many distinguished administrators. Marva judged that only fifteen steps separated her from the down button.

  “Ms. Ferguson?”

  Marva might have cursed if she had the energy.

  “Are you all right? What are you doing out of bed?” One of the nurses approached with her hands on her hips.

  “My. I’m just fine. I needed to stretch my legs, that’s all.”

  “Ms. Ferguson, it’s the middle of the night.”

  “Precisely,” Marva said. “Just when they need some stretching. I couldn’t lie down anymore, I’m sorry. I hadn’t been up, not even for a moment, all day yesterday. I really needed to be up a bit. Just for a bit. The doctor said if I could, I should.”

  The nurse examined Marva’s IV bag, flicked the tube, and put her hands back on her hips. When she started to speak again, Marva cut her off by tapping one of the photos on the wall with her index finger. “This one’s cute.”

  The nurse chuckled. “He might be too young for both of us, I’m afraid.”

  “Nonsense. I might look old and all used up, but I’m young at heart.”

  “Well, that’s certainly true.”

  “My. I suspect that gentleman couldn’t keep up with me on the dance floor. I had some moves in my day—bet I still do.” Marva tried to shake her hips side to side, and a shot of pain ran like a hot bullet up her spine.

  The nurse laughed again and relaxed her hands from her hips, dropping them into the pockets of her blue scrubs. Marva quickly found another talking point. “Look at these two side-by-side. Austin Westover and Mitra Westover. Related?”

  “Married,” the nurse said. “Met in college, I hear, and inseparable. He married way outside of his league, if you ask me. She’s beautiful, and he’s just so, so, goofy-looking.” The nurse stepped closer to the wall as if to confirm her opinion and examine the photos more closely. “Want to know a secret?”

  “Do clothes dry on a line?”

  “That one there”—the nurse pointed to a different doctor—“I w
ent to high school with him.”

  Marva leaned in close to read the name. “Dr. Michael Mandel?”

  “He was so cute back then. Even went on a date with him once. But look at him now. I can’t tell which chin came first.”

  Marva couldn’t contain the laughter, and though it took nearly everything she had in the tank, she howled as best she could for an eighty-one-year-old woman riddled with cancer. “You’re just awful,” Marva said, when she finally caught her breath.

  They admired a few other photos together until the nurse was called to assist in another patient’s room. “I’ll be right back, then it’s off to bed for you, all right? Just one minute.”

  The nurse scampered off, and Marva waited until she’d disappeared into a room. Then she pressed forward, rounded the corner, and hit the elevator’s down button. Less than ten seconds later, she was smiling as the doors closed.

  The doors reopened on the main level, and a janitor passed by, sloshing a mop bucket. “Merry Christmas,” he said, and Marva returned the greeting with another smile and a nod.

  She deliberately walked away from the bay of four elevators and into the atrium near the lobby. Bing Crosby played lightly through the overhead speakers, and the biggest Christmas tree she’d ever seen stood proudly in the middle of the room, surrounded by a velvet rope and a circle of wooden benches.

  Marva smiled at an elderly woman at the front desk whom she recognized from her own volunteer trips to the hospital. She had to be ten years older than Marva and appeared to be drifting in and out of sleep. Marva gave her a half-wave, but the woman didn’t respond.

  Marva pivoted to the right and down the hallway toward the gift shop and the north side entrance. The bright red exit sign became bigger and bigger as she approached; she refused to look in any other direction. When she reached the door she saw something else, something she hadn’t seen in Woodbrook in years: snowflakes.

  She let go of the IV stand and used both hands to push open the cool, thick glass doors. Then she used her foot to hold it open while she pulled the IV stand outside and then rolled it up against the building. When the door closed behind her, she shut her eyes and slid the IV from her arm. She wanted to wrap the dangling tube around the stand, to make it easier for someone to take care of it later when they found it, but the trip downstairs had used almost every last drop of energy. So she let it hang and float in the air like a drying apron string.

  Marva looked at her watch: 5:02. Only then did she realize how cold it was, and she began to shiver. She looked left and then right and was relieved to be alone.

  At 5:03 a car squealed around the side of the hospital. It lunged and stopped, then lunged forward again. The engine popped and swore and grunted and the pile of rolling noise came to a final stop in front of a sign marked No Parking.

  Marva leaned down and looked in the window of the rusty Volkswagen Beetle. “Hi, Zach.”

  Zach struggled to get the car back in gear while Marva put on the plush cotton robe he’d brought from her home. The car hiccupped and burped its way back through town. Marva prayed aloud when they passed a police cruiser on Main Street and again when Zach stalled the car at the last light before 27 Homes and couldn’t get it started again for several minutes.

  Finally, with the neighborhood still dark, Zach pulled into the trailer park and down the main road. When they passed his family’s trailer, he turned off the engine and coasted the Beetle the rest of the way to Marva’s.

  He helped Marva up her porch stairs and into her home before giving her a hug and dashing back outside to return the Beetle before anyone woke for Christmas morning. When the car started again on the first crank, he pumped his fist and caught a proud glimpse of himself in the rearview mirror. He turned around in Marva’s wide driveway and drove back toward his trailer on the shank. He killed the engine again when he got close, and rolled into the yard. He hopped out with the car still moving and tried to push it back to its exact original position.

  He noticed that the snow had picked up slightly, and though it still wasn’t sticking, the yard was mushy. He said his own prayer that the snow would eventually cover all of his tracks.

  Zach moved carefully through the yard, sidestepping his skateboard and his mother’s plastic deck chairs. He took his time opening the back door, pulling it an inch at a time and holding his breath as he stepped inside. He took even more time closing it, careful to hide each unoiled squeak in the otherwise innocent night sounds.

  He kicked off his shoes inside the door and tiptoed down the hallway to his room. The door was open a crack, and he nudged it further, finding Charlee asleep on her side and Melvin the monkey watching Zach’s every move.

  He climbed the ladder to his bunk, crawled under his blanket, and looked up at the ceiling. “Merry Christmas, Charlee,” he whispered. “Merry Christmas.”

  December 25

  On the 12th Day of Christmas

  my true love sent to me:

  Twelve Drummers Drumming

  Dear Charlee:

  At last . . . it’s Day 12! Christmas! Did you get something special this year?

  We are so excited to share the story behind the Twelve Drummers Drumming. We hope you’re hungry!

  We should admit that when we first wrote this verse, we truly meant for singers to think of the finest twelve drummers in the land. But then a funny thing happened on the way to 27 Homes . . .

  It was just last night, and we were still on a frantic last-minute search. We were so afraid that we wouldn’t have any drummers to present to you tonight to represent verse 12.

  We were feeling really discouraged when we remembered that nothing fixes the blues like ice cream, right? We drove by Stetter’s Ice Cream Parlor. Closed! We swung by Chrissy’s Custard. Dark! How about Sandra’s Shake Shack? Out of business? Boo!

  That left only the frozen food aisle at the grocery store. Not our first choice, but at least there’s lots of variety, right?

  We wandered the ice cream coolers, but no one in the family could agree. One wanted plain vanilla, one wanted plain chocolate, one wanted caramel on top, and yet another begged for sprinkles. Soon we were arguing with one another and chasing away the spirit of the holidays.

  But then a miracle happened—I stumbled across something I’d never seen before: a box of ice cream treats that had something for everyone. While the rest of the family continued to squabble about what flavor to buy and how many gallons we’d need to please everyone, I snuck up to the register and bought the most glorious assortment of treats I’d ever seen. Something told me this was exactly what we needed to cheer us up and get us ready for tomorrow’s final delivery.

  I stood in the parking lot with my delicious discovery. One by one my family members found me waiting in the parking lot by the sleigh and apologized for being grouchy. It was clear the search for your twelve drummers drumming had taken quite a toll.

  I opened the box of cool confections and handed each of my hungry songwriters the flavor of their choice.

  Smiles! Laughter! Dancing taste buds!

  After all those years of hunting, after all the rock concerts, marching band competitions, and middle school orchestras, the answer to the Twelve Drummers

  Drumming was found in the grocery store right here in Woodbrook!

  Sure, these might not be drummers, but wouldn’t you rather have the Drumsticks?

  Enjoy and share these twelve, tasty frozen treats.

  Happy 12th Day of Christmas!

  The Traveling Elves

  28

  Christmas

  Charlee wasn’t yet awake when the 12th Day delivery landed on the doorstep of their trailer. But by 7:00 a.m., she was up and asking questions.

  “Did you see anyone? Did they knock? Can I have one for breakfast?”

  She was thrilled when her tired-eyed mother answered the last question with a happy “
Absolutely.”

  Wrapped in a blanket and wearing her favorite knit cap to cover her bald head, she sat on the floor near the tree and ate ice cream while Zach crawled under the tree and distributed the lonely few presents. Both Zach and Charlee got candy-stuffed stockings. Zach’s favorite was a bag of old-fashioned creme drops from a company called Zachary Confections. Charlee loved her king-sized Charleston Chew, and she began nibbling on it immediately.

  Charlee thought she heard Zach snicker when he opened his first gift, a keychain from their father shaped like Herbie, the Love Bug. Later, Zach opened a gift from Miss Marva: an expensive new video game that Charlee had never heard of, but that would make Zach grin all day long.

  Charlee got a gift from Miss Marva, too. It was a beautifully framed photo of the two of them standing in Miss Marva’s living room in front of the mantel on Thanksgiving Day. Her Advent calendar peeked at the camera over their shoulders. Charlee was surprised to find a second gift, a bright green apron with two words on the front in white cursive handwriting: I Believe.

  She put the apron on and Charlee’s mother took a photo. “I’ll make sure Marva sees this,” she said, and her voice snagged on her emotion.

  Charlee also opened a gift from Zach, a gold charm bracelet that surprised his parents, too.

  “Where did you get that?” Charlee’s mother asked.

  “I bought it.”

  “Where?”

  “Downtown. After school.”

  “How?”

  “I did some jobs for Miss Marva. She said I’m a really good worker.”

  “Oh,” Emily said, and even to Charlee it seemed her mother felt embarrassed for asking.

  Later, her parents insisted everyone eat a real breakfast of pancakes, muffins, eggs, and orange juice. Charlee couldn’t remember the last time they’d had such a nice breakfast. “It’s like a real buffet!” she said, and no one complained when Charlee drowned her pancakes in so much maple syrup that it dripped off the plate and onto the table.