A Wish for Christmas

by Thomas Kinkade

  “Maybe, but you hardly know everything,” she continued arguing, though she didn’t take her hand away.

  “That’s what keeps it interesting.” He sighed. “Let’s not be at odds, Lily. I’m glad you agreed to have someone in here. I worry about you now that Sara and Luke are gone. Anything can happen at our age.”

  “Oh, go on. You just like haggling with me. It helps your low blood pressure.”

  “That it does,” he admitted with a grin. “If anything happened to you, I’d miss having someone to argue with. We go back a long way, my dear.”

  Lillian didn’t know what to say. She looked into his faded blue eyes, twinkling at her from behind his spectacles, then quickly looked away.

  They did go back a long way, no debating that. She was still annoyed that he had sided against her, but he was her closest friend. Her only friend, when you came right down to it. She couldn’t stay angry with him for long.

  Ezra sat down next to her on the couch. “Do you remember when I took you to the opera on our first date?”

  “Our first and last,” she reminded him. “It was Turandot. Not a very distinguished production but the tenor was first rate.”

  “Yes, he was,” Ezra agreed. “You were first rate, too. Very fine indeed. I recall you had on a black dress and pearl earrings. I still remember the way you looked, walking down the stairs in your father’s house to greet me. So elegant. Like a queen.”

  She glanced at him, surprised and touched that he could recall the moment so clearly, after all this time.

  “You looked very handsome, too,” she replied graciously. “You brought me a wrist corsage, I think.”

  “A gardenia. I wanted to choose something unusual. Something that would make an impression on you.”

  “You’ve always made an impression on me, Ezra. That goes without saying.”

  It was true, too, though not the impression Ezra had once hoped to make.

  When Lillian was in her early twenties, she had come to stay with her cousin who lived in nearby Newburyport for a short vacation toward the end of the summer. She had met Ezra Elliot at the recently opened Clam Box diner, the Grand Opening sign still hung across the doorway. They were introduced by her future husband, Oliver Warwick, who had taken her out to lunch that day.

  Lillian had met Oliver at a country club dance the night before. She didn’t want to go out with him, but he had tracked her down at the beach and then insinuated himself into her party, a group of young women who fairly swooned over him.

  Oliver was the most sought after, and notorious, bachelor in town. Handsome, charming, smooth talking—the son of the richest man for miles around and sole heir to the family fortune. He had some scandals in his past, a divorce and some gossip about a young woman who had to leave town under mysterious circumstances. Which made him all the more interesting to some girls.

  At first, Lillian found him intolerable and didn’t want anything to do with him. Maybe that’s why he found her so intriguing and challenging.

  Ezra was one of Oliver’s large circle of friends. They grew up together. Both served in the military during World War II, and upon his return, Ezra finished medical school. When he met Lillian, he was working at Children’s Hospital in Boston. He had some advantage in the race to court her, as they both lived and worked in the city. She was an assistant curator at the Boston Museum at the time.

  But, despite the many interests she and Ezra shared—art, opera, literature—and despite the fact that Ezra was an acceptable choice to her family while Oliver was not, poor Ezra never had a chance. Oliver already owned her heart.

  From the first audacious hello, she realized later. In fact, her few dates with Ezra only served to clarify how much she felt for Oliver, the strong, passionate connection between them that simply defied logical analysis and explanation.

  Ezra was a fine man with a kind heart and a keen intellect. He was a gentleman, certainly her intellectual equal, which was rare. But at the time, she felt nothing for him but friendship. And she knew that would never be good enough, for either of them.

  Ezra may have enjoyed romances with other women throughout the years. If he had, Lillian had not been aware. He never married and she never asked him why, though from time to time she had been curious.

  “I thought about that date, Lily, for a long time after,” Ezra now told her. “I wondered if there was something I should have done differently, something to bowl you over. To shake you loose from Oliver.”

  Lillian wondered, too. Perhaps her life would have been much happier, ultimately, if Ezra had shaken her loose. Later in their marriage, Oliver inflicted great pain and disgrace on the entire family when he was caught stealing funds from the company retirement accounts to cover his gambling debts. The family lost nearly everything—their huge estate, Lilac Hall; the factory in town; and most of their investments and savings.

  Oliver was left a broken man, and Lillian had been hard-pressed to hold things together, to sort out their situation and keep her husband out of jail.

  At the time many in town seemed to secretly—and not so secretly—rejoice in the Warwicks’ misfortune, happy to see the proud family fall from power and grace. Ezra was among the few who had stuck by her and Oliver, helping her navigate the rocky course as best as he could.

  Everyone was gone now, like characters in a play who have left the stage. Everyone who had been so close to her, who had held such great roles in her life. Her husband, Oliver, a starring player, center stage. Her parents and siblings. Her relatives in Newburyport. So many who had lived in town, their peers and even their servants and employees at Oliver’s factory. All dead now. Dead and gone.

  Except for her daughters, of course.

  And Ezra. He was the only contemporary left now. The only one who knew what she had been through and could really understand her.

  But she didn’t like to think of the past, to dwell on those dark days. Best to not look back, she had learned the hard way, not at the bleak times, or even the happy ones.

  “Oh dear, let’s not get all sloppy and sentimental now. Please?” Lillian asked, withdrawing her hand from Ezra’s. “As they say in meditation class, be here now.”

  Ezra laughed. “When did you ever study meditation?”

  “I’ve seen it on TV. It looks very beneficial. Though I won’t be able to try anything like that now, with all these strangers underfoot, trampling on my solitude and privacy. With their endless false cheer and small talk—very small—and questions, questions, questions. I’m not sure I can do it, Ezra,” she said. “It might be the old-age home for me, after all.”

  “Nonsense. You’ll just have to get used to it. Change is healthy at our age, Lily. You don’t want to get stuck in a rut. Change is inevitable. You can’t fight it. You must have more patience, more tolerance. How else would we get by at our stage of life?”

  “I don’t know, obviously,” Lillian admitted. “Old age is no place for sissies, that’s for sure.”

  “Bette Davis,” he replied, identifying the quote.

  “Did she say that, too? She was right.” Lillian thought he might be correct, but the observation had been totally original on her part.

  Ezra did have a point. Change was inevitable, for better or worse, whether she liked it or not. She had already learned that hard lesson.

  She was in the midst of frightening, unwanted changes right now and would have to manage as best as she could. Her daughters just didn’t understand. But Lillian felt, even though he had taken sides against her in this argument, Ezra did. He would stick with her and tolerate her great wailing and gnashing of teeth . . . and everything that came after.

  That was a comfort, she reflected, gazing over at him. Some comfort, indeed.

  THE NEXT MORNING, WHEN THE DOOR CHIMES SOUNDED AT A QUARTER past nine, Lillian realized that her daughter Emily was on time for once in her life. Ahead of schedule, in fact. For this visit of all things. It figured.

  Lillian had showered and dresse
d and even made herself some tea, heating water in the microwave. But she hadn’t fixed her hair properly or applied her requisite swipe of lipstick. She positively felt faded without it and hated to meet the new home companion feeling less than her imposing, well-groomed best.

  But there they stood, her daughter and the stranger, side by side on the front porch. Lillian took a peek from the parlor window. The woman who stood beside Emily in a dark coat and muffler didn’t look so bad. A bit young, wasn’t she? So much the better. Easier to intimidate.

  The door chimes sounded again. Lillian sighed and made her way to the foyer. “Let the games begin,” she whispered under her breath.

  The helper’s name was Alyssa . . . or Alicia? Or maybe it was Melissa. Lillian hadn’t paid much attention to the introductions. She appeared to be in her late twenties. Something in her dress and manner suggested there would be requests for soap opera viewing. And secret calls on the cell phone, when she thought Lillian wasn’t aware. Lillian just got that feeling.

  Emily made the introductions, then showed the girl around the house, finally ending up in the kitchen. She briefly explained about the fire, without too many incriminating remarks, Lillian was relieved to hear.

  The girl was assigned the task of cleaning up the kitchen. An appliance man was coming tomorrow, to see if the stove could be repaired or needed to be replaced.

  Next, Emily showed the woman a list of household chores and another of important phone numbers. How organized she was. Lillian was impressed. Had her daughter just whipped out these lovely lists on her laptop this morning? Or had she been saving them for months, preparing for this big day? The thought was thoroughly depressing.

  “That’s it I guess,” Emily said to the helper. “If you have any questions, just call my office or the cell.” She turned to her mother. “I’ve got to run now, Mother. I’ll call you a little later to see how things are going.”

  Lillian was surprised. She had expected Emily to stay longer, long enough to see if it was even safe to be left alone with this . . . person.

  What did they know about this Alexis anyway? She looked harmless enough. But that didn’t mean anything.

  “Must you go so soon, Emily?” Lillian blurted out.

  The girl smiled. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Warwick. We’ll be just fine. Your daughter has to get back to work now. After all, she is the mayor.”

  Lillian tried not to snap at the girl, but she couldn’t help it. “Of course, I know she’s the mayor. You don’t need to speak to me as if I’m a child, being dropped off at preschool.”

  “Mother, please!”

  “Her tone was very condescending, very demeaning, Emily. I won’t stand for it. You know I won’t. If that’s how it’s going to be, she may as well leave right now with you.”

  The girl turned to Emily with a look of surprise.

  “Oh, heavens.” Emily was tugging on her coat and looking for something in her big bag. “Please, don’t pay any attention to her, Felicia. She didn’t mean that.”

  “I most certainly did,” Lillian insisted.

  To Lillian’s great disappointment and chagrin, the girl didn’t even glance at her but remained with her gaze fixed on Emily. “Don’t worry, Ms. Warwick. I understand.”

  Finally, Emily fished out a large set of keys and snapped the bag closed. She hugged her brown wool coat around her middle and tied the belt, then gently took hold of Lillian’s hand.

  “Why don’t you walk me to the door, Mother? So we can say good-bye.”

  Lillian allowed her daughter to lead her across the kitchen to the side door. “Good-bye, cruel world, is more like it,” she muttered under her breath. “This Patricia person will surely be the death of me.”

  “Come on now, you promised,” Emily reminded her.

  “I did nothing of the sort. I was blackmailed into this, pure and simple.”

  “Let’s not get into that again. She’s a sweet girl, and there’s no reason that you can’t get along. I want you to promise that you’ll at least try,” Emily said. “I’m sure you remember the alternatives?”

  “Indeed I do. The garage garret, with you and Dan. Or the witch cottage, with your sister and her handyman husband.”

  Emily sighed and pulled on a pair of leather gloves. “Correct. As long as we’re all on the same page.”

  Lillian made a snorting sound and lifted her chin. “Well, don’t let me keep you. I’m sure you have a full roster of browbeating ahead of you today.”

  Emily smiled and kissed her cheek. “As a matter of fact, I do. This was just a warm-up. I’ll see you soon.”

  Lillian closed the door. Emily thought she had things well under control now, didn’t she? She looked so smug, like the cat who swallowed the canary. Well, this game wasn’t over yet, Lillian decided.

  What did they say at the ballpark? “It isn’t over until the fat lady sings.”

  How true. With any luck, Lillian thought, the fat lady will choose a score by Bizet.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  DAVID KNEW THAT CHRISTINE WAS STARTING HER JOB AT THE tree farm on Friday, but he didn’t know what time she would come. He figured she would be there at night, when the place was the busiest. Especially with only this weekend and the next left before Christmas. He kept telling himself he would hardly see her, she’d be outside, and he would be inside most of the time she was working. But her presence still disturbed him, the mere sight of her, like salt rubbed in his wounded heart.

  David wanted to ask his father about her but decided the less said, the better.

  “How did your therapy go?” Jack asked as they left the hospital grounds. This was his father’s standard question as they started the ride home.

  “It was fine. Gena says I’m coming along,” he reported. “Coming from Gena, that crumb is like a triple gold star.”

  His father nodded. “Sounds like there’s some progress.”

  “Some,” David conceded. He still couldn’t do much without the walker, which was frustrating. But he was getting there, day by day. Today he was able to make it down the handrail lane pretty well, and he stood without the walker, totally balanced, for an entire minute.

  Part of him wanted to report these small successes, while another part insisted it would all sound pretty pathetic. Best to just keep a lid on it.

  “How was business today?” he asked, changing the subject. “You look a little tired, Dad. Customers got you hopping?”

  “I’ll say. Looks like we’ll be running all weekend,” Jack predicted. “I’ve got to get back and help Julie.”

  “Right.” David stared out his window. What about Christine? Wasn’t she there yet? He wanted to ask but didn’t.

  As if reading his thoughts, Jack said, “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about Christine. I wouldn’t have offered her a job, but Julie didn’t realize. I hope you aren’t mad at her.”

  “I’m not. I know she didn’t realize.”

  “If I’d been in the room at the time, I would have figured a way out of it. I still could, if you want.”

  David was surprised by his father’s offer. “What would you say to her? I thought it was all set.”

  Jack shrugged. He turned the truck off the highway and followed the county road toward the village. “Oh, I don’t know. I’d put it to her nicely. Something like we didn’t need as much help as we thought, or we really couldn’t afford it.”

  David didn’t know what to say. “Why did you wait until now to ask me, Dad? Isn’t today her first day?”

  “I don’t know why. I wanted to ask you. It never seemed the right time. Either you were worn out or in a foul mood . . . or I was worn out or in a foul mood,” he said honestly, making David smile. “I know you hate to hear it, buddy, but the pinecone doesn’t fall too far from the tree.”

  David stared out the window, the familiar landmarks coming into view. They were getting close to home. He had to decide.

  “I don’t know what to tell you,” David said finally. “I can’t say I
’m looking forward to having her around. But it doesn’t seem fair to just pull the plug for no real reason.”

  “No, it doesn’t. I was just thinking more about your feelings than hers, I guess. She’s a nice girl. She’ll get a holiday job somewhere in town.”

  “It’s a little late to look now, don’t you think?”

  Jack glanced at him. “Well, maybe.”

  David knew more about Christine’s family than his father did. He knew there were three other children in the Tate household, all younger. It had been a struggle for her parents to send her to college. Although she had been very offhand about her reasons for wanting a job, he guessed she really needed the money. It didn’t seem right to tell her it wasn’t going to work out after all.

  “It’s only a couple of weeks until Christmas,” David said. “I mean, it’s already the eleventh.”

  “One week and six days until Christmas Eve,” Jack corrected him. “That’s how I calculate. Christmas Eve, we close at five o’clock sharp. If you haven’t bought a tree by then, that’s not my problem.”

  “One week and six days isn’t long. I can stand it. She’ll be outside most of the time. I’ll hardly see her.”

  “You’ll hardly see her at all,” Jack agreed.

  “I don’t want you to take her job away for no reason, Dad. Not because of me,” David said quietly. “I can handle it. Don’t worry.”

  Jack glanced at him. “That’s what I was hoping you’d say.”

  His father’s words made David feel good, as if he had lived up to Jack’s expectations that he would make the right call here, one that favored fairness and a generous spirit.

  The sign for the tree farm came into view. Jack turned the truck onto the long drive that wound up to the house. Down below at the tree stand lot, David saw rows of cars already parked under the bright lights.

  Jack parked the truck and turned off the engine. “I’d better get out there. Need some help getting into the house?”

  David pushed open his door. “No, sir. I’m good.”

  He was tired and achy from the therapy session and probably could have used a little help, pulling his walker out from the half seat in the back of the cab and setting it up so he could balance once he got down. But tonight he felt better doing it himself.