12 Daves of Christmas

by Juliet Madison

  ‘Grandma, your parents never mentioned Dave calling?’ I asked, and noticed out of the corner of my eyes Young Dave shifting his position. Me talking to someone invisible obviously made him uncomfortable.

  ‘No. And they’d never met him. Mostly Dave and I met up with each other after my waitressing shifts at the diner, and I’d tell them I had to work late so they wouldn’t get worried or forbid me to see him.’

  ‘Didn’t give … my … name,’ Dave added. Ah, so he’d called to ask for her, but on being told she wasn’t living there anymore and now lived with her husband, he hadn’t wanted her to know of his call. He probably thought she’d come to terms with his probable death and didn’t want to disrupt the peace.

  ‘Oh, Abby. Ask him if he has any more scars to outdo the one on the back of his neck. I used to tell him it added to his masculine appeal.’ Grandma grinned and blushed.

  I asked him, and before he could answer, Young Dave placed his fingers inside Dave’s collar to check the back of his neck. ‘Huh,’ he said, and I stood to peer behind his neck at the long, wrinkly scar that was apparently from an injury during his difficult birth. Young Dave shook his head as though amazed that this was all happening, that it could really be possible for me to be communicating with a ghost and mentioning things I would otherwise not know.

  Dave lifted his shirt to reveal another couple of scars, which I assumed to be war-related. And I bet the emotional scars were larger and deeper and would definitely outdo the physical ones. I couldn’t bear to think what he, and others like him, must have gone through. They were the real heroes, not the ones in my books. The bar was now raised. From now on my fictional men would have a lot more to live up to.

  Dave kept trying to speak, but having to take deep breaths and cough every now and again, he was clearly getting frustrated, wanting to tell me things, to catch up on decades of experiences and memories. ‘Don’t rush,’ I said. ‘I’ll leave my number here so you can pass on any bits of information you want in your own time.’ I eyed McHotty and he nodded. I would really have to stop thinking of him as McHotty. But with two Daves in the room it was getting confusing.

  I told him some more about Grandma Charlotte’s life, and he made occasional comments about his, and gestured for his grandson to show us some photos. I saw one of him as a young man and I could see why Grandma had been attracted to him. He was cute. And had wide, strong shoulders that gave off an air of strength and resilience. And his cheek dimple and eyes … in fact, he looked a little like Young Dave, though while Old Dave’s hair had been cut short in the soldier way, Young Dave’s was slightly longer, ruffled in that messy-on-purpose way.

  Dave coughed again and an alarm buzzer went off on the nurse’s watch. ‘I need to give Mr Smith some medicine now, if you don’t mind.’ She wiped again at her eyes. ‘But feel free to stay a bit longer, he just needs to rest completely every now and again.’

  ‘It’s okay, I understand, I don’t want to put him under any unnecessary strain.’ I stood and moved to the side to give them some privacy, while Grandma stayed by her true love’s side. ‘Thank you for letting me talk to him,’ I said to Dr McHotty as we stood by the front door.

  He ran his hand through his sandy hair and again shook his head. ‘I just can’t … wow. I, um, don’t know how to believe in all of this, but …’ He glanced upwards. ‘I haven’t seen him smile like that in such a long time. So thank you for that.’

  I fiddled with my beaded necklace and smiled. ‘I don’t know how to believe it either. But I’ve had a couple of weeks to get used to it, I guess.’

  ‘She just … appeared to you, somehow?’ He tried to get his hands to talk, to question me in a way that words seemed unable to.

  ‘Yes. I almost had a heart attack.’ I laughed.

  ‘And she’s sitting over there now, with him?’

  ‘Uh-huh.’ I nodded.

  Dave alternated his gaze from the living room to me and back again, his head continuing its shake of disbelief. ‘What a story. I had no idea he’d had someone else that meant so much to him before my grandmother. They married so young back in those days.’

  ‘Tell me about it. I’d be considered an old spinster by now if I were back in the 40s!’

  ‘And what would that make me? A male spinster? A minster?’ he mused, then scratched his chin and glanced away as though he was embarrassed by his attempt at humour.

  So cute. And aha! He was single. Abby! Why am I thinking about such things at a time like this?

  ‘A bachelor, I guess. But that doesn’t seem fair. A bachelor sounds alluring, but a spinster? Not so much.’

  He smiled, and I noticed he had a tiny dimple in his left cheek too. I asked more about Dave’s life and he told me what he knew, how he’d married and had three children who’d then had ten children between them all, and how he’d become a carpenter and builder and had made the very house we stood in right now, passing it on to his grandson a few years ago.

  ‘So this is your house, technically, not his?’

  ‘Yes. He moved into a nursing home. Last weekend he was in hospital for a couple of days because of the lung cancer, but he insisted he didn’t want to die in there. He wanted to be back here, back home.’

  So that was why he’d been absent when we’d first tried to visit. ‘So um, how um …’

  ‘How long does he have?’

  I nodded, and hoped I wasn’t being rude.

  He glanced towards his grandfather then back again. ‘Any day now. We’re doing what we can for him here, keeping him comfortable. I’m a doctor, actually.’ I didn’t tell him I already knew that because I’d seen him when I injured my butt. ‘Soon he’ll have to remain in bed and will probably sleep a lot. I’m officially on leave from work as of now until the new year, so I’ll be able to keep a closer eye on him and help the nurses that come in every day and night. Some family members are coming to stay next week too, to help out and be with him in his final days.’

  I closed my eyes for a moment. ‘Dave, I’m so sorry. This must be so difficult for you right now.’

  He clamped his lips together and shrugged. ‘Part of the cycle of life, I guess. Though now, after today, I’m not so sure the cycle ends where it is supposed to.’

  ‘That’s why it’s a cycle. It never ends.’

  He thought for a moment. ‘You could be right.’

  I glanced at Dave on the couch, where his nurse had reclined the backrest and raised his legs onto a footstool, and where Grandma sat caressing his sparse hair. ‘Here,’ I said, reaching in my bag for a business card, then scribbling my mobile number on the back as it only had my website and email address. ‘If he wants to tell Grandma anything at any time, don’t hesitate to call.’

  He took the card. ‘Thanks, I will. And I’ll let you know, ah, when …’ he trailed off. When he passes.

  Dr Dave studied my card. ‘You’re a romance author huh?’ A crooked smile dimpled his cheek. ‘I didn’t know nuns were allowed to write about romance.’

  I laughed. And blushed. Then for some weird reason I clasped my hands together in prayer and bowed my head. ‘They do things differently nowadays, remember?’

  ‘Oh yes. Nuns-in-training, on the job experience, new uniforms with skull-print belts,’ he said as he looked me up and down, not in a creepy way, but in a subtle way that made me tingle all over. ‘Well, Abby Solomon,’ he said while looking at my card, ‘I’m going to have to check out your books.’

  ‘Oh.’ I flicked my hand. ‘You don’t have to. Might not be your thing.’

  ‘How do you know what is my thing and what isn’t?’

  ‘Um, I don’t.’

  ‘Exactly. And if I say I’m going to do something, I do it. Now, is there a particular book I should read first?’

  Please don’t read Under the Covers, I thought. It was my first, and although it got published, it wasn’t my best, and when I realised I wasn’t the best at writing sex scenes I switched to writing books that were a little tamer. Stil
l sensual, but sweet. ‘I’ll let you decide, but perhaps my latest release, Back to Business?’

  ‘Deal.’

  ‘Ha!’ I laughed. ‘You’ll know why that’s funny when you read the book.’

  ‘Ah, inside joke huh? Now I really want to read it.’ He grinned, and his white teeth shone. ‘Anyway, now that I’m off work for a while, I’ll be needing something to stop me worrying about Grandpa and take some time out in between caring for him.’

  ‘You need to look after yourself to look after someone else. Books are good like that, they give people escapism, an excuse to relax, and to feel more positive about life.’

  ‘I take it I’m in for a happy ending?’

  ‘Guaranteed.’

  We locked eyes and smiled for a moment, and I almost forgot where I was, until Dave coughed again, then leaned his head back and appeared to fall into a sleep. The nurse smiled at me so I knew he was alright, simply resting. Grandma stood and stepped back a little as though to give him space. It was time to go.

  ‘Well, we’d better go,’ I said.

  ‘You and God?’ Dave said, still smiling.

  ‘Sorry, it was the first thing that came to mind when I arrived, when I accidentally said we’re.’

  ‘It wasn’t the answer I’d expected, so you’ve given me quite a bit of entertainment for the day.’

  ‘Glad to be of service.’ I hitched my bag strap on my shoulder. ‘Thanks again. I better get back to writing my book. It’s due in two days.’

  Dave’s eyebrows rose. ‘Will you get it done in time?’

  ‘I have to. Somehow. I’ve had a few distractions of late, but now that we’ve found Dave, well, it’s a relief. Hopefully I can concentrate and get the job done.’

  ‘I’m good at keeping people in line, you know. I could call you every hour to make sure you’re performing at peak capacity.’

  ‘That could make it more difficult, with all that pressure!’ I placed my hands on my hips.

  ‘In that case, perhaps I could send you motivational text messages every hour. Go for the softer, more encouraging approach.’

  ‘Now that sounds much better.’ I held back a chuckle as Grandma stood behind Young Dave and gave her nod of approval, pointing to him and mouthing ‘good catch!’

  Hmm. He certainly seemed to be. But I’d need time to dig beneath the surface to know for sure. If anything, creating fictional people had taught me a lot about human behaviour, and how someone’s history transformed them into the person they were today.

  Grandma looked back at the sleeping Dave and blew him a kiss. It was strange seeing her so affectionate towards someone other than Grandpa Harry, but after hearing their story I understood. Time may heal and blur the lines around memories, but they never completely disappeared; they’re always there, floating beneath our consciousness ready to come up for air like lungs seeking oxygen. The heart never forgets.

  ‘Oh!’ I gasped, then fumbled for the zip on my bag.

  ‘What is it?’ asked Dr Dave and Grandma at the same time.

  ‘I’ve come up with the title for my next book!’ I scrawled it on the tiny notepad that I always carried around with me.

  The Heart Never Forgets.

  Grandma smiled, and Dave said, ‘Nice. What will it be about?’

  ‘I’ll tell you when I figure it out, LOL!’ Oops. Tell me I didn’t just say LOL out loud? Backspace, backspace! That was something I’d do in a Facebook update, not in speech. Sometimes I could get confused between writing and speaking. Next I’d be acting out emoticons.

  ‘What’s LOL?’ asked Grandma, and I wished at that moment Dave could hear her, but his wide grin told me he was amused anyway.

  ‘It means laugh out loud, Grandma.’

  Dave shook his head in amazement again at my conversing with spirits.

  ‘Then why not just laugh out loud instead of saying it?’ she asked.

  Exactly.

  I turned back to Dave. ‘Anyway, I think I know where I’m going to draw inspiration from for my new story.’

  This stopped Grandma asking me silly questions about modern abbreviations. ‘You’re going to put Dave and me in a book?’ Her hand flew to her chest.

  ‘I’ll see what I can do.’ I winked.

  Dave stayed at the front door until I’d returned to my car, then waved and closed the door. ‘So, do you think that Dave had a positive trait?’ I asked playfully.

  ‘He’s scrumptious. And smart. And caring. And has a nice tush.’

  Considering the fact that old Dave had been seated the whole time I assumed she was talking about his grandson. ‘I mean your Dave, Grandma!’

  ‘Oh! Well.’ She settled herself on the seat and fiddled with her hem, her voice becoming softer. ‘Show me that list.’ When I showed her the Dave Itinerary a soft smile beautified her face. ‘He’s all of those positive traits rolled into one.’ Her eyes became glossy.

  I picked up a pen and put it to the paper, and next to Dave Smith from Crest Street, Berrinda, I simply wrote: ‘The One’.

  Chapter 14

  Dave (McHotty) called me later that night after he’d had a chance to process what had happened. He kept saying ‘I can’t believe it’ and ‘Did that really happen?’ and ‘I’ve never experienced anything like that before’. He relayed some more details that his grandfather had mentioned after his sleep, and I passed them on to Grandma. He also asked me more about my own life, and I asked him about his. We talked for over an hour, until he said he better leave me to it so I could get my book finished, even though in reality I was gearing up to watch some Sunday night TV in the motel I’d managed to secure a room in. The book could wait till tomorrow. I could do it. I needed time to process what had happened that day too. The room was decent, and it even had a slight water view. But only if you stood on tiptoes on the bed and jumped a little.

  The next morning, Monday, I was suitably caffeinated (mocha latte) and fed (mushroom and tomato omelette with hash browns) and ready for a full day of writing (and stressing). I needed to crack the four thousand word mark, preferably five thousand, with another two to three k’s tomorrow to allow some time for a quick edit of the final chapters in the afternoon. I’d taken to editing as I went along, to avoid having to make time for a long edit when I’d finished. Thankfully, my editor only needed to approve the story and would then rip it to shreds with her keen eye during the official editing process, so she didn’t need it to be spot-on perfect when I sent it to her. Though every writer aspires it to be, but time often didn’t allow for that.

  Grandma left me to my own devices by relaxing on the bed with my Kindle eReader. As soon as she discovered she could turn the digital pages with her mind (after a bit of practise), she was in heaven, so to speak. Hundreds of e-books at her disposal with the ability to enlarge the font, and I gave her free rein to choose anything she desired. She read while I wrote. She laughed and gasped and cried at the stories while I laughed and gasped and cried at my own (mostly at the stress of having to write so much in a short time, rather than at the actual story).

  Dave had sent me a text message in the morning saying his grandpa was especially chirpy this morning, considering his prognosis, and he’d also said he bought one of my books off the internet after our chat the night before. He wouldn’t tell me which one. ‘You can wait till I’ve read it,’ he’d said. As I started writing Chapter Twenty-Four at around midday, my phone jingled with a Christmassy-sounding ringtone that Grandma made me put on it. Another text from Dr Dave:

  Time to start your series of motivational text messages. Here’s the first:

  ‘Don’t watch the clock; do what it does. Keep going.’ ~ Sam Levenson.

  I smiled and pondered the message. So true. Time would not go any slower (or faster) if I kept checking the time. I just had to write as well as I could as fast as I could, and stay focused. I typed a quick thanks, then got back to work. Would he really keep sending me motivational quotes?

  Yes, he would. He did. Every hour. On t
he dot. As each came in, I read them to Grandma and she’d start waffling on about how the quote related to something in her life until I reminded her that although I’d love to hear more of her stories, this book would not finish itself. We’d have time to talk more after the fourteenth. I hoped, anyway.

  Late in the afternoon, Dave said he would not send another motivational quote until I’d reached my word count for the day. I worked non-stop and texted him when I’d achieved it. He made me cross my heart and hope to die (or at least be seriously injured) that I was telling the truth. Then he sent me another message, which Grandma and I discussed this time, on account of the fact that I’d reached my daily goal.

  I got up bright and early on Tuesday—the deadline date—and did my morning bed bounce to catch a glimpse of ocean, then walked to a local café to grab breakfast and coffee before returning to my room. On opening my laptop I was greeted with a jingle on my phone, a text from Dave:

  I read your book. I give it 1 star for being complete, 1 star for being well-written, 1 star for having authentic characters, 1 star for being entertaining, and 1 star for the satisfying and happy ending. Making a total of 5 stars. Nuns sure know how to write a page-turner.

  I laughed, then typed back:

  Glad it met with your approval. Which book did you read?

  His response:

  Back to Business, as you suggested, remember? Speaking of which, you better get back to yours. Stand by for motivational quote on the hour.

  I re-read the text a few times, and Grandma sidled up next to me. ‘If I didn’t know better, I’d say someone is a tiny bit smitten.’

  ‘I am not!’ I put my phone down. ‘Now if you don’t mind, I have to get back to work.’ She raised her hands in acceptance and returned to the bed with the Kindle.