A Wish for Christmas

by Thomas Kinkade

  Jessica saw her mother’s face go pale as paper. She half rose in her chair then dropped down again. “Sell this house? Not while I have breath in my body!” She clutched her chest, gasping for air.

  “Oh, dear . . . get her pills, Emily. The case should be in her purse.” Jessica jumped up and put her arm around her mother’s thin shoulders. “Calm down, Mother. Just try to calm down and take deep, slow breaths.”

  “I’m going to die in this house, I’ve always told you that,” her mother railed. “I’m going out feet first. Maybe today if I’m lucky . . .”

  Emily ran back with the pill case. Jessica could see her sister’s hands shaking as she fumbled to open the zipper. “Which one do you need, Mother? Should I call the doctor?”

  Lillian just moaned and closed her eyes. “I’m not at all well. . . .”

  The phone rang, and Lillian’s eyes peeked open. “Should I get it?” Jessica asked her.

  “Wait, see who it is. I don’t want to speak with anyone. I can’t talk . . . I can hardly breathe,” Lillian insisted, though Jessica noticed she seemed to be breathing—and talking—quite easily. Except for her very pale complexion, she didn’t seem nearly as bad as she had a few moments ago.

  The women waited for the outgoing message and then heard the sound of a familiar voice. “Lily, are you there? Pick up the phone, for Pete’s sake.” A long, noisy sigh followed. “All right, take your time. Don’t break a hip. It’s only me.”

  “Ezra. Give me the phone, please!” Her mother stretched out her arm, as if grasping for a lifeline. Jessica leaned over, picked up the receiver, and handed it to her.

  “Ezra? I’m here,” Lillian greeted him. “Emily and Jessica are visiting. They’re plotting against me now. They’ve come to torment me. . . . Yes, that’s exactly what I said. . . .”

  Lillian waited, listening.

  Jessica tiptoed over to the sink carrying her coffee cup and waved for her sister to join her.

  “She’s fine, thank heavens,” Emily whispered.

  “What an actress,” Jessica whispered back. “She had me going for a minute there.”

  “A miraculous recovery,” Emily quipped.

  Lillian turned her head, her hand covering the phone. “You two, what are you whispering about back there? Giggling like schoolgirls. It’s very rude.”

  “We were just wondering what we should fix you for dinner. It’s getting late,” Jessica replied. It was getting late. Time to give up and fight another day.

  Lillian ended the call and placed the receiver on the table. “That was Ezra,” she announced. “His housekeeper, Mrs. Fallon, is making a roast chicken and if I can provide a few side dishes, he’ll bring it over tonight to share. So neither of you need to make me dinner. I’m sure that is some relief of your great burden.”

  Plain old unseasoned roast chicken, her mother’s favorite. How did Ezra know? The question made Jessica smile.

  “That’s very nice of him,” Emily said.

  “We planned to watch a show on the History Channel tonight,” Lillian informed them. “Ezra prefers my television set, so he’s getting something out of the bargain.”

  She stood up, adjusted her sweater around her shoulders, then took hold of her cane, which was propped against the back of the chair.

  “I can make a vegetable and some potatoes for you,” Emily offered. She pulled open the refrigerator door, but Jessica saw her mother walk over and push Emily aside.

  “I’m perfectly capable of boiling a few potatoes and a pot of string beans.”

  That was her mother’s favorite cooking method. Boiling everything. Jessica was sure that if Emily made the food it would taste a whole lot better—and Emily was no cook, not by anybody’s definition.

  But it was good for her mother to take an active role. They could trust her alone until Ezra arrived, Jessica thought. Though she would call later, to make sure her mother remembered to turn off the stove.

  They both kissed their mother good-bye, a gesture she barely acknowledged.

  “Good-bye, Mother. Have a good time,” Jessica said. “I’m glad you have some company tonight.”

  “Oh, Ezra isn’t company,” she scoffed.

  “He isn’t?” Emily challenged her. “What is he then?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. He’s . . . Ezra,” she replied, sounding annoyed by the question.

  Outside at their cars they consoled each other.

  “I nearly thought we had a nine-one-one call on our hands there for a minute,” Emily confided.

  “Thank goodness for Dr. Elliot. Mother was instantly revived by the mere mention of roast chicken.”

  Emily laughed. “Yes, she was, wasn’t she? We’ll have to remember that next time she fakes a collapse.”

  “At least we got her to talk about the problem,” Jessica pointed out. “She did say she would consider the idea.”

  “Oh, Jess, those were the words of a desperate woman. She would have said anything at that point. I don’t believe her for a minute.” Emily fished through her big purse and pulled out her car keys. “But I meant what I said,” she added. “If she won’t accept live-in help, then we’ll have to move her out of the house. Which won’t be any picnic either.”

  Jessica could only picture her mother being carried out, kicking and screaming. “I hope she’ll see reason. I hope it won’t come to that.”

  “I hope so, too,” Emily said.

  DAVID SAT IN THE WAITING ROOM, HIS GAZE FIXED ON THE CLOSED door. Any moment now either George Henson or Gena Reyes would open that door and call him in. For the past few days, he had thought about asking for a new therapist.

  When his father had dropped him off today at the front of the building, he still wasn’t sure what he would do. By the time he reached the check-in desk, he knew. He would stick with Gena, see how it went. She was tough, no question; a hard nosed bully when you got right down to it. But maybe he needed someone like her to get him moving again. The door to the treatment room opened, and George appeared. “Hey, David. Back for more fun and games?”

  “That’s right. I can hardly wait,” David grunted as he lifted himself on the walker and made his way to the door.

  George led him to a curtained cubicle where Gena was waiting, clipboard in hand. It was hard to tell if she was pleased to see him or surprised that he had not asked for a new assignment. He did want to show her something by coming back, he realized, maybe that he was tougher than she thought.

  “Morning, David. Ready to dig in?” she asked evenly.

  “Yes, ma’am, I am,” he answered, sounding all army. “I know you’re a slave driver, but maybe that’s a good thing. In my situation, I mean.”

  She glanced at him, then set the clipboard on a side table. “Maybe. I guess we both have to wait and see.”

  “Right,” he said, wondering if the word optimistic was even in her vocabulary.

  “Okay, let’s start with some stretches. Lie back on the table, please.”

  David did as he was told, suddenly remembering Reverend Ben’s story about his wife’s recovery. What was it he said? The first visit is hard. The second not much easier. And the third, even worse than the first?

  It was better not to keep track, David decided, not to keep watching the mileage on the meter. All he knew for sure was that a long road stretched out ahead of him.

  Gena and George worked him hard. They started off with stretches, then the weight machines for both his upper and lower body. Gena told him he needed to build strength—not necessarily bulk—for better balance and muscle control. With injuries to both legs, he would have to work doubly hard to get back in condition. Then they went to the exercise bike, where his bum foot had to be strapped in. It was a struggle just to pedal. David was ready to quit after the first three minutes, but Gena pushed him until he pedaled out of sheer anger.

  He thought the workout was over at that point, but after a short rest, she had him back on the floor again for more stretches, then up on a treadmill. That w
as even harder than the bike. David slipped off twice, and George had to catch him and stick him back on. When it was finally over, George gave him a massage.

  David hardly spoke two words to his father during the ride home. Every muscle still ached. He went straight to his room for a rest before dinner.

  David tossed around for a while on his bed, trying to get comfortable. No use. Though he was exhausted, he couldn’t sleep. The pain was too much.

  He leaned over and shook a capsule from a bottle then drank some water from the glass on his nightstand. He closed his eyes again and let his head sink into the pillow. The pills weren’t that strong, and even though the doctor would have given him something stronger, he didn’t want to get dependent on medication.

  But it wasn’t just the pain that chased sleep away. David didn’t want to watch the images that floated into his head whenever he closed his eyes. Images of combat, the sound of gunfire, the flare of rockets and fiery explosions as they struck in all directions. The way the landscape looked afterward, torn and smoldering, the buildings knocked to pieces, as if they were built of toy blocks and kicked down by an angry child. And all through the rubble, the bodies scattered like broken dolls, torn and bleeding, carelessly tossed aside.

  If only the doctor had a pill that could erase the tapes in his brain, he would ask for that one. David turned his head to the side and finally fell asleep.

  KATE CAME TO WAKE HIM, GENTLY TAPPING HIS HEAD WITH HER favorite stuffed toy. It was a funny sensation and David swatted the air, feeling caught in a swarm of insects.

  Kate’s small whispering voice finally roused him. “David, wake up now.”

  “Oh, hello, Lester.” David took the stuffed rabbit and sat him up on his chest. “Were those your ears tickling my nose? Or . . .” He turned the rabbit around, and made the animal do a little dance. “. . . that big old tail?”

  Kate giggled. “It was his ears, silly. I wouldn’t stick his tail in your face.”

  “Well, thanks.” David smiled, handed the rabbit back to her, and sat up.

  “Your hair is sticking up all crazy, David. You need a haircut,” Kate told him.

  He glanced in the mirror. “Yeah, I do.”

  “I can do it,” she offered. “I cut my doll’s hair all the time.”

  He laughed. “Nice. What does your mom say about that?”

  “She says not to do it, because it won’t grow back,” Kate answered, looking very serious.

  “I bet you give great haircuts. But I need to see a barber. You know, just for guys.”

  “Oh . . . okay.” She tucked Lester under her arm and headed for the door. “Mommy said the food is on the table.”

  David’s nose confirmed that message. Dinner smelled good, and he had worked up a real appetite today.

  Kate disappeared, and he went into the bathroom, splashed his face with cold water, and combed his hair. The pain in his leg was building, probably from the extra activity. He took two ibuprofen pills, not wanting to take anything stronger. He was trying to get away from the meds. They helped in one way, putting the pain at a distance, muffling it in cottony wads, but the rest of the world went with it and that wasn’t helping him any, he decided.

  When he got out to the kitchen, his father and Kate were at the table, and Julie was ladling out dishes of beef stew. He set the walker aside and practically dropped in his seat, accidentally rocking the table. Jack reached out and grabbed Kate’s glass of milk before it tipped over.

  “Whoa there,” Jack said, making Katie laugh.

  David felt embarrassed. “Sorry.”

  “You must be tired from the therapy session. You were there a long time.” Julie set a dish of stew in front of him. It looked really good, but he suddenly didn’t feel that hungry. The ache in his hip was stealing his appetite.

  “Yeah, how did the therapy go today?” Jack asked. “You didn’t say.”

  “Oh, you know. You warm up for a while and then she makes you do exercises—for core strength and others to build the leg muscles.”

  Julie leaned over to help Kate cut her food. “Is it hard, getting started again?”

  “Yeah, it’s hard. It’s very hard.” David didn’t mean to snap at her, but it was sort of a dumb question, wasn’t it?

  “Of course it is,” she said quickly. “What a question. . . . Do you like the new therapist?”

  David didn’t answer right away. He pushed at a bite of food with his fork. “She has her pluses and minuses. I’ll have to see how it works out.”

  Julie seemed concerned by his reply. “Can you change therapists if you don’t like her?”

  Before David could answer, his father jumped into the conversation. “It’s important that you like the person, don’t you think?”

  David stared down at his food and let out a frustrated sigh. He didn’t need all these questions right now. He was tired and in pain, and he had been thinking about little else but this issue for days.

  He didn’t know why, but they both just got under his skin.

  “Actually,” he said, “I don’t think it matters squat if I like the person or don’t like them. I’m not looking for a best friend, you know? Just somebody who’s good at what they do and can get me out of this walker.”

  He could see both his father and Julie shrink back, their expressions growing tense. Jack picked up a forkful of noodles and continued eating. Julie looked grim, and even Kate looked confused, staring around at the adults as if she was wondering why everyone was so quiet.

  Jack took a sip of water and cleared his throat. “Good point,” he said finally. “As long as you see improvement, that’s all that counts.”

  “Mommy, I’m done. Can I watch TV?” Kate asked.

  Julie leaned over and looked at Kate’s plate. “You didn’t eat your vegetables. There, hidden under the noodles.”

  David saw them, too, carrots and peas, cleverly tucked under the leftover noodles.

  “Hey, pal. You need to eat those,” David encouraged her. “Lester likes carrots. He eats them for dessert instead of cookies.”

  “He can have mine,” Kate offered.

  This generous impulse made the adults laugh. “I’ll tell you what—if you finish everything on your plate, I’ll play a game with you,” David said.

  The deal definitely caught Kate’s interest. Julie smiled a silent thank-you at him.

  “Candy Land?” Kate asked eagerly.

  David sighed. He hated Candy Land. He always pulled a card that got him stuck on Gum Drop Mountain. But he was too tired tonight for hide-and-seek, Kate’s other favorite.

  “No problem. Whatever you like.”

  “But you have to eat a few more carrots,” Jack reminded her.

  “And drink your milk,” Julie chimed in. Then she glanced at David’s plate. “You hardly touched your food. Would you like me to fix you something else?”

  David shook his head. Julie had enough work around here without fixing him special orders, as if it were a restaurant.

  “No thanks. The stew is great,” he replied quickly. He turned his attention back to his plate, then caught Kate’s eye and winked.

  He knew his foul moods upset the household at times, a household that before his return had been a picture of harmony. But when a dark wave hit, he couldn’t see it coming and he couldn’t control it.

  Though Julie treated him with unfaltering kindness and sympathy, he could tell that his presence here was causing tension between her and Jack. The last thing he wanted to do was create problems in his father’s new marriage.

  David glanced over at his dad. It was bad enough his own life was messed up. He didn’t have to spread his unhappiness around, like some contagious disease.

  The sooner he recovered and got out on his own the better.

  Better for everyone.

  WHEN THE SHOW ON THE HISTORY CHANNEL ENDED AND THE CREDITS appeared on the screen, Lillian shut off the TV. She didn’t believe in random viewing. She chose her shows carefully from the wee
kly guide, then turned off the television.

  “Well, that was very interesting. I’d love to go back to Egypt someday,” Ezra said. “It’s one of the most exciting places in the world to visit.”

  Ezra was an amateur Egyptologist. He knew more about the subject than anyone Lillian had ever met, and in the days before her marriage, she had been an assistant curator of the Egyptian department in the Boston Museum of Fine Arts.

  Ezra had been to Egypt twice and knew every treasure in the collections of the Metropolitan Museum in New York and the British Museum in London. There were probably more ancient artifacts in those two institutions than remained in the entire Mediterranean. Still, to actually walk in the footsteps of the ancient kings would be exciting, Lillian had to agree.

  She set down her teacup on the end table. “I wouldn’t wait much longer to make your travel plans. Not at our age.”

  Ezra laughed. “Good point. You can’t put these things off. Why don’t you come with me, Lily? Can’t you see yourself floating down the Nile on a barge? Just like Cleopatra,” he teased.

  “What a picture.” She let out a long breath and shook her head. “Maybe I will visit the Sahara. And stay there,” she added curtly. “My daughters would be pleased to learn I’d settled in some cozy tomb or pyramid.”

  “Your daughters? What do they have to do with it?”

  Lillian briefly related the debate she’d had with Jessica and Emily that morning. “They had it all planned out. They cornered me,” she complained. “When I wouldn’t give in, Emily threatened me. She said they would sell the house right out from under me, and I would have to go live with one of them.”

  “My, my . . . the vipers. What horrid children, Lillian.” Ezra’s tone was laced with sarcastic sympathy. “They want to take care of you? They want you to live with them? What an outrageous threat. It’s blackmail. It’s . . . parental abuse. Maybe there’s some hotline you can call.”

  Lillian glared at him. “Easy for you to say. No one is handing you ultimatums. Do this, do that, or we’ll take your house away.”

  Ezra leaned toward Lillian’s chair. “I agree their tactics are extreme. But perhaps these threats are necessary to get your attention?” When she didn’t answer, he continued. “I think your daughters are rightfully concerned about you. Would it be the end of the world to hire someone to help with the housework and watch over your well-being? It’s not just a good idea, Lily, but a necessary one if you plan to stay here.”