A Wish for Christmas

by Thomas Kinkade

  She walked out, turned up the music, and sat in her favorite armchair. A copy of the Boston Globe lay on the end table, and she picked it up, scanning the pages for her granddaughter’s byline.

  Nothing yet, she noticed. Was that a bad sign? Weren’t Sara’s new editors letting her write news stories? She hoped Sara had not taken a job as some coffee-fetching lackey, just so she could say she was working at the Boston Globe. She was a sharp, talented girl, and Lillian didn’t want to see her demeaned.

  An article on global warming caught her eyes. Lillian began to read it. The music was very soothing. She loved the flute, such an elegant instrument. She leaned her head back and listened to the notes with her eyes closed. Music was such a great pleasure, one of the few pleasures she could still enjoy.

  When Lillian woke, the beloved arias of Carmen had faded, replaced by the blaring shriek of the smoke alarm.

  She sat up sharply and coughed. The room was full of acrid smoke, and her eardrums were nearly bursting from the screaming alarm.

  She covered her mouth with one hand and fumbled for her cane, so excited that she nearly fell over. She caught herself just in time on the back of the chair.

  “Merciful heavens. . . . What in the world . . . ?”

  Lillian stumbled through the foyer and hobbled out of the house, silently coaching herself to go slowly on the wooden steps that led down from her front porch.

  She walked out onto her lawn just as two fire engines and an ambulance came screaming up Providence Street. Her smoke alarm was wired to the fire department. Emily’s idea, of course. Well, perhaps that was a good thing, Lillian conceded.

  As if the thought of her daughter had the power to conjure her, Lillian spotted Emily’s Jeep coming down the road as well. The Jeep pulled into a space across the street, and Emily jumped out and ran toward the house.

  At the same time, a firefighter stepped up beside her. “Are you okay, ma’am?”

  He was a big, burly fellow. Like a cartoon of a fireman from a children’s TV show, Lillian thought, decked out in full gear, a black rubber slicker and big brimmed hat.

  “Ma’am?” he said again. “Can you hear me?”

  She blinked up at him, her eyes tearing from the smoke. “Certainly, young man. I hear you loud and clear. I’m not deaf, though all this noise is likely to cause some damage.”

  “Are you all right?” he repeated again.

  “I’m perfectly fine,” she insisted, pulling away from his hold on her arm. “I’m the mayor’s mother, did you know that?”

  Before the man could answer, the mayor herself appeared. “Thank you, I’ll take care of her now,” Emily said.

  “Of course, Mayor Warwick. If you need anything, let us know.”

  Lillian turned to her daughter. “Emily, what in the world is going on here?”

  Emily reacted with a look of astonishment. “Good question, Mother. You tell me. Looks like there’s a fire in your house—probably the kitchen, judging from that plume of smoke out back.”

  Lillian saw several firemen run past with a large fire extinguisher. “Oh, dear. Where are they going with those things? Will they spray chemicals all over my house? Not on the Oriental carpets, I pray . . .”

  “They’ll spray it on the fire.” Emily was tugging on her arm, trying to lead her across the lawn.

  Lillian resisted. “What happened to water? Chemicals will damage everything. Can’t you speak to them about it?”

  “Just come with me, Mother. We need to get out of the way, so the firefighters can do their job.”

  “No need to speak to me like a child. I haven’t gone all addlepated yet.”

  The next thing Lillian knew, she was sitting in Emily’s car, with Emily’s coat wrapped around her shoulders. Two paramedics from the ambulance questioned her but soon determined her fit and unharmed.

  Lillian watched as they jumped in the ambulance again and drove away. So, she was not very much of an emergency, was she? Lillian felt somehow slighted.

  One of the firemen had come out in the meantime and reported that it was just a kitchen fire and would soon be extinguished.

  “A kitchen fire. I see. Thank you,” Emily said, turning to look at her mother.

  Lillian lifted her chin and stared straight ahead, pretending not to notice. If only the TV had gone up in a state of spontaneous combustion, Lillian thought bitterly. That pitiful sandwich has given Emily plenty of ammunition.

  But before Emily could start in on her, Jessica came running up to them. “Oh my God. Is the house on fire?”

  Jessica and her family had survived a house fire just last winter. Their beautiful turn-of-the-century house had burned to the ground and everything they owned, in it. It was hardly surprising that Jessica seemed more upset right now than anyone.

  Emily touched her sister’s arm to calm her. “Just a kitchen fire, Jess. They say it’s already out.”

  “Oh my goodness . . .” Jessica let out a long sigh. “That’s a blessing. Are you all right, Mother? You didn’t breathe in too much smoke, did you?”

  “I’m fit as a fiddle,” Lillian replied tartly. “I’ve just been examined by the ambulance crew. They gave me a clean bill of health and drove off, on to the next emergency.”

  “She’s fine. Thankfully, she got out quickly and didn’t have any mishaps leaving the house.”

  Any mishaps. Emily’s polite way of saying, “She didn’t fall and fracture any bones. Or give herself a heart attack.”

  Oh, this was not a good day. Not at all.

  A short time later, the fire trucks drove off, and Lillian and her daughters were allowed to go back in the house. Emily and Jessica ran around, opening all the windows and doors. Lillian sat down on the sofa with a heavy sigh.

  “We need to let the smoke out. Maybe you shouldn’t come back in here today at all, Mother,” Jessica said.

  “So it smells a little smoky. No worse than the chimney backing up or sitting around a campfire.”

  Emily glanced at her. “When did you ever sit around a campfire, Mother?”

  Lillian shrugged. “I’m sure I did. At one time or another.”

  She edged into the corner of the sofa and tugged an afghan around her shoulders. It was getting cold in the house with all the windows open. But, for once, she decided not to complain and draw more attention to her . . . mishap.

  She sat quietly while her daughters surveyed the damage, feeling like a schoolchild who’s been sent to the principal’s office and is awaiting her interview. She had made an egregious error today, it was true. Her daughters were bound to make the most of it. Especially Emily.

  “The firemen didn’t get spray on the carpeting, I see,” Lillian had noted as they walked back into the parlor. “That was fortunate.”

  “The kitchen isn’t too bad,” Jessica reported. “But you need someone to come in and clean before you can use the stove again.”

  “Use the stove? I don’t think so.” Emily stood in the middle of the parlor, arms crossed over her chest.

  “Really? What am I to do, go on a cold-food regimen? Is that some new weight-loss theory? I hardly think it’s wise to try fad diets at my age,” Lillian grumbled.

  “Mother . . . just stop.” Emily held up her hands like a traffic cop. “Not another word. This event just proves what Jessica and I have been trying to tell you since Sara left. You can’t live alone here anymore. Not another day. It’s simply too dangerous.”

  Jessica looked at her with a sympathetic but serious expression. “We know it’s hard to face it, Mother. But honestly, didn’t the fire frighten you? Doesn’t it say something to you?”

  Lillian shook her head stubbornly. “It proves nothing except that I much prefer Bizet to cooking. Always have and always will.”

  “Bizet? What does he have to do with it?” Emily and Jessica exchanged puzzled stares.

  “Oh, you two prosaic souls would not understand, not in a million years. The cheese wouldn’t melt, and I came in to hear some music. On
the radio. Selections from Carmen. I must have dozed off for a few minutes. . . . It could have happened to anyone.”

  Emily walked over to an armchair and sat down. Lillian watched her cross her long legs. One of her better physical attributes, Lillian noted, for which she has only her mother to thank. But has she ever thanked me? Of course not.

  “Yes, Mother, it could have happened to anyone.” Emily’s mild agreement took Lillian off guard. “But since you were alone here, with no one else to smell the smoke, a minor situation nearly turned into a full-blown disaster. Therefore, we must make a change immediately. No more debates. No more delays.”

  “My, my. That directive has the ring of a political slogan if ever I heard one. No more debates. No more delays. That’s a phrase you could run on, my dear. Though you won’t get my vote.”

  “Mother, it could have been a real catastrophe here today,” Jessica implored her. “Emily’s right, we can’t sit by and wait any longer to . . . to help you.”

  “To force me into some arrangement I’d detest, you mean?”

  “Why don’t you come live with one of us?” Emily suggested. “My house is small, but Dan and I have been talking about moving for a while. We would buy something larger, with a comfortable space for you.”

  “Comfortable space?” Lillian snapped. “Do you honestly think I want to spend the rest of my life in some ‘mother-in-law’ quarters, built over a garage? Really, Emily. Don’t make me laugh.”

  Or cry, which is exactly what Lillian felt like doing. Oh, she could just picture it. Some cramped, patched-together space in a makeshift extension. She would be permitted to take her bed, of course, and maybe an armchair and a single rug. They would allow her a painting or two and a little cabinet for a few collectibles. The rest would be taken away, scattered to the four winds. They might as well put her in a jail cell—or put a pillow over her face and be done with it.

  “You can come live with us, Mother,” Jessica said quickly. “You practically paid for building the new house. It’s only fair. And there’s plenty of room.”

  “Once that baby comes, it won’t feel that roomy to me,” Lillian said. “What about your husband? I’m sure he isn’t all that eager to take me in.”

  Lillian knew that Sam tried hard for Jessica’s sake, but she and her son-in-law did not get along well. The man had no polish, no conversation skills, Lillian felt, at least not the kind she valued. Lillian had opposed Jessica’s marriage to him, and the bitter words and arguments had never been entirely forgotten, she was sure.

  Jessica shook her head, her long curly hair bouncing on either side of her face. “Sam’s already told me he would love to have you come live with us.”

  “Ha! I doubt that’s a direct quote, dear. But I can’t fault you for trying.”

  “Honestly, Mother. He said if you don’t want to live in the house, he would build you a cottage on the property, so you can have your own space.”

  “And he can have his,” Lillian said. “A little cottage, how sweet. I’ll be just like a witch in a fairy tale, pulling children into my lair to fatten them up—”

  “Mother, be serious, will you? If you won’t come live with one of us, we’ll try the home companion route. Again,” Emily said grimly.

  Lillian met her gaze a moment and quickly looked away. She’d had her share of home companions over the years and had yet to find one that could last a week. Her record was eight minutes flat. It appeared she would soon have an opportunity to break it.

  But before she could formulate a proper salvo, Ezra walked in. He fanned the air, doubtless reacting to the smoky smell.

  “Good grief, what’s been going on here?”

  “Ezra, I realize our relationship stretches back decades, but don’t you think a proper knock on the door is still appropriate?”

  “The door was wide open, Lily, so I dispensed with the formalities. This is, after all, an emergency. Fire engines flying down Main Street, headed for your house. And I still smell smoke in the air. Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine,” Lillian said dismissively. “It’s been a big misunderstanding. High drama over a mere grilled cheese sandwich, for heaven’s sake. Both of my daughters could have had brilliant careers in the theater.”

  “There was a kitchen fire, Ezra,” Jessica explained. “Mother was cooking and left the room for a while—”

  “And fell asleep out here,” Emily clarified. “Listening to Bizet, selections from Carmen. Luckily, the smoke alarm sounded and she got outside safely.”

  Ezra turned to Lillian, looking shocked. “You fell asleep listening to Carmen? Who was the soprano?”

  “Callas,” she answered guiltily.

  “Why, Lily . . . Maria Callas singing Carmen? That’s one of your favorites.”

  Lillian shrugged. “I can’t understand it myself. Perhaps I need my medication adjusted. No harm done, I suppose, though my daughters would have been delighted to see this place burn to the ground. Then I’d really have to live with one of them—or end up in some drafty old-age home.”

  “No one in this room ever said the words old-age home,” Emily insisted. “Who even uses that term anymore?”

  “It’s called assisted living now, Mother,” Jessica said.

  “Pish-posh.” Lillian waved her hand. “The euphemisms improve, the reality remains the same. How’s that for a slogan, Emily?”

  “Old-age home? Assisted living? What is going on here?” Ezra wanted to know. “Have you finally agreed to sell this place?”

  “Ask them.” Lillian pointed at her daughters. “They seem to think they’re calling the shots now.”

  “We are not calling the shots, Mother,” Emily argued. “But after this latest near miss, we think the situation here must change. The choices are very clear. You can either live with one of us or have some help in here. This kitchen fire could have been a serious matter.”

  “Your daughter is right,” Ezra said. “This was a very close call. Stop being so stubborn and let someone in here to help you. It’s not the end of the world. Your position in this matter is positively irrational.”

  “Traitor! Why, I ought to call you Benedict Arnold from now on. Are you ganging up on me, too?” Lillian demanded. “Of all things, Ezra. I expected you to be an ally, not help them herd me through the fence to be sent out to pasture.”

  Ezra sighed. “If your daughters are dramatic, I can see where they get it from, Lily. But if we can all put the theatrics aside for a moment, you’ll see that they have a good point and only the best intentions for your welfare.”

  “So you say. I hardly see it that way at all . . . Benny.”

  “What are your alternatives?” Ezra asked. “You will either risk losing your house and the autonomy you have now. Or, the next time you fall asleep with something on the stove, you’ll harm yourself for sure. Take your pick, Lillian, though neither choice seems worth maintaining this pose of utter obstinacy.”

  Lillian huddled in her afghan. She felt cornered, like a wild animal caught in a trap. Emily and Jessica were easy to spar with, to keep off balance. She knew how to elude their grasp.

  But three to one? That match was weighted too unevenly, even for her.

  “I choose . . . door number three. If I must choose something.”

  Emily leaned forward. “Meaning exactly what, Mother?”

  “Home companion. The mysterious ‘somebodies’ from the very reputable agency you were rhapsodizing about just yesterday. Bring it on,” she added, “as they say on TV.”

  “Well, that wasn’t too tough.” Jessica’s tone was uncharacteristically sardonic.

  “I suppose you have this helper all lined up, ready to roll out like a bowling ball?” Lillian inquired.

  “Since you asked, I do, Mother. I can have her here tomorrow at nine thirty. I’ll come over to meet her with you and get you settled. How does that sound?”

  “Simply dreadful,” Lillian said, her face taut with a false smile. “But what choice do I have? My fa
te is sealed.”

  “Exactly,” Emily agreed. She glanced at her watch. “Sorry but I have to run. I have to pick up Janie at preschool today.”

  “I can stay, Mother,” Jessica said. “I’ll clean up the kitchen and leave you some dinner. The microwave should be working.”

  “No, no . . . leave that work for the home helper. What else will she have to do? I might as well get my money’s worth,” Lillian noted. “I’ll just have a cold supper, some cereal or something. You run along now. I’d like to enjoy my last few hours of freedom.”

  “Yes, enjoy, Mother. I’ll see you tomorrow, bright and early.” Emily leaned over and kissed her mother good-bye. Jessica did the same.

  Once her daughters were gone, Lillian turned to Ezra.

  “What do you have to say for yourself, Ezra Elliot? I’m not sure if I can ever forgive you for turning against me like that. I’m surprised I’m even speaking to you.”

  “If that’s the price I have to pay, so be it. I did it for your own good,” Ezra told her plainly. “I saw those trucks flying down Main Street, and Tucker Tulley told me they were headed for your house. Everyone in town was convinced that this place had burned to the ground and you in it.”

  “Officer Tulley.” Lillian scoffed at the name of the town’s most popular policeman. “You were sitting at the lunch counter in the Clam Box, I assume. That stretch of Formica is his beat.”

  “Yes, I was, as a matter of fact,” Ezra replied with a laugh. “Tucker was sitting right next to me.”

  “Well, reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated,” Lillian said crisply. “But I’ll bet the news brought Charlie Bates a smile,” she added, naming the owner of the diner and a lifelong foe. “Along with a few others. I’m surprised they didn’t come running down here with a bag of marshmallows.”

  “Lillian, be serious.”

  “I’m perfectly serious. I’ve never won any popularity contests in this town, Ezra, and I never will. You should know that by now.”

  “I know all about you. I’ve been studying you now for years.” Ezra reached down and took her hand.