The Christmas Town

by Donna VanLiere

  Sometimes family is disguised as the neighbor down the street, the waitress at Betty’s Bakery, or the bag boy at Clauson’s.

  Have a great day!

  Ben

  Her heart pounds in her ears as she stares at the note.

  FOUR

  The gazebo and three large pine trees in the Grandon town square are heavy with decorations and simply beautiful. Lauren imagines they must be stunning at night. The storefronts, restaurants, and offices on the square are fully dressed for Christmas as people come and go from Wilson’s Department Store, Betty’s Bakery, and Maggie’s Flowers. The police station sits three blocks off the square and Lauren hopes this won’t take long.

  A male and female officer are working behind the counter as she approaches. “You’re Lauren, right?” Lauren turns and sees a petite woman in her forties getting up from her seat in the waiting room.

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m Stacy Engler. I was the one hit a couple of days ago.”

  Lauren nods. “Yeah, right. You’re okay?”

  “Yes, but I don’t think I stopped shaking that night.” Stacy notices there isn’t much to read in Lauren’s face: no hint of joy, not really a smirk of displeasure or sense of sadness. “Do you live around here? I’ve never seen you.”

  “Miss Gabriel?” A man in his fifties with short, cropped brown hair enters through a door and sticks out his hand, saying, “Darrell Jamison, DA’s office. Thank you so much for coming.” He pats Stacy on the shoulder. “Mrs. Engler, why don’t you and Miss Gabriel step back here?” He ushers them through a door leading into the heart of the station. Opening another door he says, “This is Officer Lutrell.” A uniformed police officer shakes their hands. “He was the arresting officer that brought the suspect in. The police department has put together a lineup and in a moment we’ll bring them into that room right through there,” he says, pointing to a window. “They are unable to see into this room. We need both of you ladies to look at the men and let us know if you see the man who struck Mrs. Engler’s car on Baxter Street.”

  “Bring them in,” Officer Luttrell says.

  Seven men roughly the same age and stature enter the room next door and line up, facing the window. Lauren scans their faces and sees the man responsible for the hit-and-run. It looks like he has tried to comb back his untamed hair but the face is the same. “That’s him,” she says. “The third one from the left in the black T-shirt.”

  “You’re sure?” the DA says. She nods. “Mrs. Engler?”

  “I’m sorry. Like I said on the phone, I never got a look at his face.”

  He holds out his hand for a final shake and opens the door. “Thank you both for coming in. I’ll be in touch.”

  Stacy and Lauren step into the hall and Officer Lutrell walks them toward the front of the station. “That was fast,” Stacy says. “You knew he was the guy?”

  “Yep. He tried to do something with his hair but couldn’t do anything to improve his face.” The officer pushes open the door and both women walk past the clerks again and through the front door.

  Stacy wants to get in her car but there is that unnamed sadness on Lauren’s face again. “You didn’t get to tell me where you live.”

  “In Whitall.”

  “Are you headed back right away? I’d love to buy you a coffee or late breakfast at Betty’s. She makes amazing pastries.”

  Lauren jangles the keys in her hand. She doesn’t want to sit around and talk to a woman she doesn’t know, but there is something kind about Stacy and she is hungry. “Sure. I don’t have to be at work until this afternoon.”

  “Great! Follow me. It’s just up on the square.”

  The aroma of Betty’s Bakery is unlike anything Lauren has ever smelled. The glass display cases in front of her are filled with muffins, pastries, cookies, pies, and cakes of all colors and sizes. “Wow! How do people work here without gaining weight?”

  Stacy leads her to a table by the window. “Who says they don’t gain weight? Betty herself has gained and lost so much weight over the years that she could star in her own reality show.” She leans in to whisper, “You didn’t hear that from me.” She picks up a menu that is propped up on the table and hands it to Lauren, sitting down. “Everything is great here.” Stacy snaps her menu closed and Lauren looks over the menu at her. “I always get the same thing: eggs Benedict.”

  “What’s eggs Benedict?”

  “It’s a poached egg on an English muffin with hollandaise sauce over it.” Lauren shrugs. “Hollandaise sauce is made out of egg yolks, butter, and lemon juice.”

  “No, thanks,” Lauren says.

  A waitress comes and asks if they’d like coffee. “It’s the best if you’re a coffee drinker,” Stacy says. The waitress fills both cups and takes their orders: eggs Benedict for Stacy and pancakes with bacon for Lauren. “My kids would eat pancakes every day if I made them.”

  “I never eat them.” Lauren feels awkward and reaches for her phone in her bag. “I’ve probably eaten them four or five times.”

  Stacy pours cream into her coffee and stirs it. “Four or five times this year or in your life?”

  Lauren rips open three sugar packets. “My life. My mom never cooked. She never did much of anything, really.” She sips the coffee and grips her phone with the other hand.

  Stacy wonders if Lauren is hoping that her phone will ring or a text will come through. “Do you still live with your mom?” Lauren shakes her head. It’s all she wants her to know, so Stacy changes the subject. “Are you a student?” Lauren looks at her phone and Stacy realizes this girl isn’t much into conversation.

  “I’m not really college material.”

  Stacy nods. “Not everybody is. There are blue-collar people and white-collar people and the world needs both. My father has worked as an upholsterer for forty-five years. He started in a little shop his senior year of high school and by the time he was twenty he was running his own business in his parents’ garage. I remember watching him many years ago in his shop and he was covering a chair with this beautiful, silky-looking fabric and my dad has big, rough hands. That beautiful fabric didn’t even look like it belonged in those hands, but I noticed the care he took when he touched it. I thought that in other hands the fabric would be destroyed but in my dad’s hands he knew just how much pressure it could take and just what he needed to do to get it on that chair so the final product would be beautiful. And I started to cry watching him. It could have something to do with the fact that I was pregnant at the time,” she says, laughing. “But more than that it was because my father was so good at what he did and he never went to college. He raised four kids reupholstering furniture all over this town. So all that to say that it’s okay that not everybody is meant for college because somebody has to do the upholstery work and the maintenance work and the roadwork and the grocery store work.”

  Lauren’s eyes widen. “I’m a cashier at Gordon’s Grocery in Whitall.”

  “No kidding? My son works at a grocery store, too. He won’t be going to college either but he’ll be happy working with the public for the rest of his life.”

  Before Lauren can respond two older women step to their table and one of them wraps her arms around Stacy’s neck. “How are you, sugar pop?” The woman looks at Lauren and smiles. “Hi, sweetie. I’m Gloria.” Her accent is from the South and she has a warm, open face and short rings of salt-and-pepper hair.

  “My apologies for a complete stranger calling you ‘sweetie,’” the other woman says. She is in a long black coat, which looks striking against her blondish bobbed hair and is a complete contrast to the red Christmas sweater with candy canes, bells, and miniature wreaths that Gloria is wearing. “Unfortunately, ‘sweetie’ and ‘sugar pop’ and my personal favorite, ‘honey babe’, is what she calls most everyone except me. I’m Miriam.”

  Lauren smiles and looks at Stacy, wondering what to do with these two. “This is Lauren,” Stacy says. “She saw that guy crash into me the other day. These
are two of my friends, Gloria Wilson … most everybody calls her Miss Glory.”

  “Not me!” Miriam says.

  “And this is Miriam Davies.”

  “Well, I’ll make this quick because we don’t want to stand around here and ruin your breakfast,” Gloria says.

  “Too late for that,” Miriam says.

  Gloria sighs and looks at Stacy. “The annual fund-raiser for Glory’s Place is fast approaching. It’s only three weeks away and we normally have Glory’s Place decorated by now and all the items in for the auction. I had hoped to come up with another idea to raise money but I’ve been down with the misery in my back—”

  “She threw her back out,” Miriam says.

  Gloria turns to Miriam and scrunches up her face. “That’s what I said.”

  “No one except for a handful of people in Georgia refers to throwing her back out as having ‘the misery in my back.’”

  “Well, nobody can ever figure out your British jargon. ‘Bob’s your uncle?’ All of Grandon is still trying to figure that one out!” She rolls her eyes and turns back to Stacy. “Anyway, I’m way behind. I have people all across town helping us find auction items but I need help decorating Glory’s Place.”

  “What’s Glory’s Place?” Lauren says between bites.

  “It’s a center that Miss Glory runs for single moms and families who are down on their luck. She has a food pantry there and does after-school tutoring for children,” Stacy says.

  “It’s probably way too late to come up with another idea to raise money. ‘A day late and a dollar short.’ That’s me! We’re just always so busy throughout the year that I can never think of fund-raising until it’s almost too late.”

  “How many kids come to Glory’s Place?” Lauren asks.

  Gloria and Miriam look at each other. “Heddy would know the exact number,” Gloria says. “But I know that throughout the week we see at least fifty different kids.”

  “Why don’t you do a sing-a-thon in the gazebo?” Lauren looks at their faces and wonders whether she has overstepped her bounds.

  Gloria grabs Miriam’s arm. “A sing-a-thon!” She begins to yank on Miriam’s arm and Miriam tries to shake her off. “The kids could come in shifts throughout the day!” She tugs and shakes Miriam’s arm again and says, “Can you see it, Miriam? Can you see a day where the kids are singing in that beautiful gazebo?”

  Miriam pushes Gloria’s hand away. “Yes, I can see it, Gloria, but I won’t be able to work that day with only one good arm!”

  Gloria folds her hands and puts them under her chin, smiling at Lauren. “Where have you been all these years? I have been hoping and praying for someone like you but have only been given Miriam.”

  “God gave you what you needed. It takes a person of strong constitution to work beside you,” Miriam says, winking at Lauren.

  Gloria sits down in the booth next to Lauren and pats her hand. “Could you lead the sing-a-thon for me?”

  Stacy holds up her hand. “She doesn’t live—”

  Gloria doesn’t let her finish. “The children would respond so well to someone your age. They would really look up to you. Every day they see me and Dalton and Heddy…”

  “And me!” Miriam says, sighing, sitting next to Stacy.

  “And we have wonderful volunteers to help but we don’t have a lot of young people your age.” Gloria is smiling and Lauren looks to Stacy for help. “Don’t worry. Stacy could help.” She reaches across the table and squeezes Stacy’s hand. “Is that okay, babe? Would you be able to help Lauren with the sing-a-thon?”

  Stacy laughs and waves her white napkin in the air. “I surrender. I may as well not put up a fight because in the end I know I’ll be helping anyway.”

  “Annoying, isn’t it?” Miriam says.

  They look at Lauren and she feels something trembling beneath her skin. “I’ll help.” That rolled off her tongue quicker than she anticipated and she wonders if she can take it back.

  “You are a doll!” Gloria says, squeezing Lauren to her. Nope. It’s too late to take anything back now. “We are on our way to a fabulous Christmas!”

  Lauren smiles, wondering if it’s true. Hoping that it’s true.

  FIVE

  Maria Delgado has worked for the chamber of commerce for five years but this is the first year she has been in charge of the annual Christmas parade. She wants everything from the floats to the food trucks to the games and booths to be exceptional. Normally, a man or woman is chosen by chamber members to sit atop the lead carriage in the processional and to host the day’s festivities as the grand marshal, but it was her idea to have the residents of Grandon vote for the GM this year. As she gathers her purse and coat, Maria sticks her head into the office of Jessie Klein, the chamber president. “Just wanted to remind you that I’m taking Cassondra to the doctor.”

  Jessie looks up from her computer. “Is this just a follow-up or is there more going on that I don’t know about?”

  Maria smiles. “Just a follow-up. Dr. Andrews assured us that her heart is ticking right along like it’s supposed to.”

  A year earlier, Maria and her husband, Craig, were at home with Cassondra and her older brother, Aidan, who were running and chasing each other in the back yard, when Cassondra collapsed, her body seizing. Aidan screamed for his parents, and as they ran across the deck and down the stairs they could see her crumpled in the grass. When Craig scooped her into his arms, her eyes fluttered open.

  They raced her to the emergency room where a doctor assumed it was something neurological but could not say that with certainty, and issued a transfer to the nearby Children’s Hospital. One test after another was performed with nothing definitive revealed. A seizure two weeks later led them to a neurologist named Dr. Leonard Craig. Antiseizure medication was prescribed and months went by without another episode, until six months ago when Cassondra seized again.

  Dr. Craig recommended that Cassondra see Dr. Nathan Andrews, a pediatric cardiologist. “Sometimes,” Dr. Craig said, “seizures aren’t related to the brain after all but to the heart. I’d like to send you to Dr. Andrews for further tests.”

  Dr. Andrews looked to be in his thirties with short, sandy-brown hair and blue eyes when he entered the hospital room where Cassondra and Maria and Craig waited. They were anxious as he stuck out his hand. “I’m Dr. Andrews,” he said, shaking each of their hands. When he got to Cassondra he stood by the hospital bed and said, “Well! You are just the prettiest thing I’ve seen all day!” She grinned and folded her hands in her lap. “Don’t tell my wife I said that. She can be insanely jealous.”

  Maria and Craig never sensed that he was in a hurry to get to another patient. He had a file with him but it was closed. “Are you in school yet?” Cassondra nodded. “Let me guess. You are in seventh grade.” She shook her head. “Twelfth grade!” She laughed and shook her head again. “Don’t tell me you’re already in college.”

  “Kindergarten!” she said, laughing.

  “Kindergarten! You mean with ABCs and 1,2,3, and crisscross applesauce?” She nodded, smiling. “What is your favorite part about kindergarten?”

  She thought, resting her chin on her index finger. “I like math tubs.”

  He crossed his arms, looking impressed. “Math tubs? Is that like a bathtub but instead of water it’s filled with numbers?”

  “They’re filled with math games!”

  He nodded. “And you get this love of math from which parent?”

  “Neither,” Maria said, smiling.

  “They don’t like math,” Cassondra said.

  “So you are going to have to be the one at the grocery store figuring out the best price for the macaroni and cheese when your mom buys it or at the dealership when your dad goes to buy a new car, right?” She nodded and Maria and Craig relaxed. Dr. Andrews was not in a hurry. He was going to take the time that he needed to get to know his newest patient. “From what I understand, you have a big brother. What’s he like?”

&nb
sp; “He’s good,” Cassondra said.

  “He’s good? When I was a kid I don’t think I would’ve described my sister as being good.” He leaned in, whispering to her. “Did he tell you to say that in front of your parents? Is he holding something over your head?”

  She laughed, opening her hands on her lap. “No! I’m serious. He’s good. He’s okay. He can be mean sometimes but not all the time.”

  Dr. Andrews nodded. “Ah! That sounds more like it. I could be mean sometimes, too. What’s your brother’s name?”

  “Aidan.”

  “You were playing with Aidan outside one day when you fell in the yard. Is that right?” She nodded. “What were you and Aidan doing?”

  “We were playing Star Wars with our dog.”

  He looked captivated. “And who were you and Aidan?”

  She shrugged. “He was a storm trooper and I was a Jedi.”

  “Just as I assumed! And who was the dog?” Maria and Craig smiled, listening to them.

  “He didn’t have a name. Just a bad guy with the dark force that I was fighting.”

  “So you were running around the yard, chasing each other?” She nodded. “And two weeks later when you had another seizure, what were you doing?”

  Cassondra looked at her parents. “She was at a birthday party,” Maria said.

  “What was she doing at that time? Eating cake? Playing a game?”

  “It was at a place where there are trampolines and big pits filled with foam balls. Things like that. She had just gotten off a trampoline with a friend.”

  Dr. Andrews was still not referring to the folder in his hand, but it was obvious he had already read through it. “And when she got off was that the moment she began to seize?” Maria nodded. “The next few months brought no other seizures but then what happened late yesterday?” He looked at Cassondra, wanting to hear it from her.

  “I was swimming at our community pool and a bunch of us were playing mermaids and we were swimming to get away from the sea witch.”

  “And who was the sea witch? The dog again?”

  “No! Dogs aren’t allowed in the pool! Katrina was the sea witch because she can swim fast.”