The Christmas Town

by Donna VanLiere

  “So the faster Katrina swam the faster you swam?” She nodded.

  It was here that Dr. Andrews finally opened the folder and looked at Maria and Craig. “Were you with her?”

  “I was,” Maria said. “Craig was at a job interview. His company downsized and he’s been…” Dr. Andrews can see on their faces that the last few months have been stressful and nods for her to continue. “One of the kids saw her immediately and started screaming. I jumped in along with some other adults and the lifeguard and we got her out.” Maria wiped her face and cleared her throat, reminding herself not to get too emotional in front of Cassondra. She didn’t want her to be afraid.

  “And there has been no major illness or heart surgery prior to this?” Maria and Craig both shook their heads. Dr. Andrews looked at Cassondra and asked, “How do you feel right now?”

  “Good.”

  He smiled, placing his hand on her head. “Well, let’s make sure that you stay feeling good, okay?” She nodded and he closed the file. “I’m going to take a listen to your heart, all right?” She leaned forward and he put his stethoscope first on her chest and then her back. “You know you have a heart that sits right about here,” he said, touching her chest. “And it is an amazing organ! When it works right it’s wonderful but when there’s a glitch in it things aren’t so wonderful and somebody might not feel so good.” He crossed his arms and looked directly into Cassondra’s eyes. “Now, I want to try to explain this to you in a way that you can understand. So if you don’t understand I want you to tell me, okay?” She nodded. He pulled a cartoon picture of a heart out of the folder, pointing to it as he spoke. “Everybody is born with their own natural pacemaker inside their heart. The upper chamber sends out a signal and that moves to the lower chamber and the ventricles squeeze and blood gets pumped all through your body. All the way down to your toes and back. Isn’t that awesome?”

  She nodded and he continued. “The cells inside your heart are called pacemakers because if you’re exercising they need to work faster, and if you’re sitting around and watching TV with your dog, then they work slower. Those cells send out little electrical pulses and regulate the pace of your heart. Make sense?”

  She shrugged. “Sometimes, babies are born with a glitch somewhere in that system. A glitch means that there is some sort of little issue that might be causing a roadblock, which means that the little electrical impulse isn’t working right and blood can’t get all the way to your toes after all and that’s called an arrhythmia, a doctor’s word for a heartbeat that’s too fast or too slow or irregular. So!” He patted her on the leg. “When I listened to your heart with this,” he said, indicating his stethoscope, “I didn’t hear anything unusual, but your history clearly tells me that we need to test your heart so we can get to the bottom of all this seizure stuff. Does that sound all right?”

  “Do the tests hurt?”

  He opened his arms wide. “Do I look like the kind of guy who would put my patients through tests that hurt? I’ll tell you who that hurts … It hurts me that you would even think that!”

  “So they don’t hurt?”

  Dr. Andrews laughed. “No, they don’t, but you can pretend that they do so that the nurses feel sorry for you and give you a handful of candy. How does that sound?”

  It sounded just fine to Cassondra, and after she’d had the tests she was happy to relay back to him that they indeed did not hurt!

  Two days later Dr. Andrews implanted a pacemaker inside Cassondra’s chest. If the length of time stretched too long between heartbeats, the pacemaker would send out an electrical impulse to make her heart contract and beat. “When can it come out?” Cassondra asked prior to the surgery.

  “More than likely it will be there for the rest of your life,” Dr. Andrews said. “The battery can last for years and you’ll just get that changed out when needed, and as you grow and get bigger we’ll need to change out the wires to longer ones.”

  “Can I still play Star Wars and mermaid?”

  “Absolutely! But I would advise against boxing or football.”

  When Cassondra and Maria followed up with Dr. Andrews two weeks later it was inside his medical office. A nurse led them to the office and they looked at pictures on his wall and his desk of his wife and two children as they waited. Cassondra noticed a wooden box on the bookshelves behind Dr. Andrew’s desk and walked to it, opening the lid, noticing an L scratched into the underside. “Cassondra,” Maria said. “Don’t touch his things. Come back on this side of the desk.”

  “It’s so beautiful,” Cassondra said. “I could pretend it held dreams and when I opened it I could be right in the middle of them!” She traced her fingers over words engraved on the top. “What does this say?”

  “It says,” Dr. Andrews said, entering the room, walking behind the desk and reading the words, “‘The Lord says, “I will guide you along the best pathway for your life. I will advise you and watch over you.” Psalm 32:8.’”

  “We’re so sorry, Dr. Andrews,” Maria said. “Cassondra, come over here please.”

  “Don’t be,” Dr. Andrews said. “She wasn’t hurting anything. I think it’s beautiful, too.” He picked up the box and held it in front of him. “My wife found this at a garage sale a year or so ago and thought it’d look good sitting in my office. She loved what it said because it’s kind of like both of our lives: how I became a doctor and how she survived a heart defect of her own and a liver transplant when she was a young woman.” Cassondra’s eyes widened as she listened. “But you know what? I never knew what to put inside of it. That’s why it’s still empty. You, however, saw it and immediately knew that it could hold dreams, so why don’t you have it?” He held it out and Maria leaned forward in her chair.

  “Oh, no, Dr. Andrews! She couldn’t take that.”

  “Why not? I completely missed its purpose and Cassondra took one look at it and knew what it was for. I’d like her to have it. Would you like it?” Cassondra smiled and he put the box in her hands. “There you go, pretty lady! I hope all your dreams come true!”

  SIX

  Gloria sits at her kitchen table with Miriam and Dalton and Heddy Gregory, longtime friends who have helped her with Glory’s Place. Dalton was the first black school superintendent for Grandon. He taught in the classroom for many years before working on the school board and then as superintendent. In their retirement, he and Heddy have been the hands and feet of Glory’s Place.

  “New this week … JoAnn and Marty have donated one week’s use of their condo in Florida to the auction,” Heddy says. “And Gerri at Spark’s Travel has donated a four-day cruise to the Caribbean.”

  Gloria slaps the table. “Amazing!”

  Dalton shuffles papers around in front of him and moves his reading glasses farther down on his nose. “Sarah’s Glassworks has donated a two-day glassworks class and a handblown vase. The value of the vase alone is a hundred and fifty dollars but we all know what Sarah’s work looks like and it is worth far more than that.”

  “Monet wishes that he could’ve created art like Sarah’s,” Gloria says.

  “Monet wasn’t a glassblower,” Miriam says.

  “I know that, Miriam. I’m merely suggesting that Sarah is an incredible artist.” She looks at Dalton and Heddy and rolls her eyes.

  “And I’m merely suggesting that you not compare her to Monet in front of her. He was not a famous glassblower.” Miriam looks at Dalton and Heddy and rolls her eyes.

  “Who is a famous glassblower? Can you name one?” Gloria snaps.

  “Girls! Girls!” Dalton says. “You’re both pretty. Calm down and carry on.” Heddy puts her hand on her forehead, laughing. “Serendipity Cakes has donated a special-occasion cake.”

  “Does that include a wedding cake?” Gloria asks. Dalton looks at her over his glasses and smiles. She pumps her fist into the air. “Yes!” She uses the napkin in front of her to fan herself. “Combined with the auction items we already have we must be nearly double the items we
had last year, right?”

  Heddy smiles. “It’s looking good. With the sing-a-thon maybe we’ll raise more money than ever before. Someone does need to call the parks department to make sure the gazebo is free on that day and to allow us to set up tables for the auction items and chairs for anyone who wants to listen to the kids.”

  “Who do we even need to talk to at the parks department?” Miriam says.

  Dalton picks up his coffee cup and talks over it. “Travis Mabrey.”

  “Ugh!” Miriam says. “Is he still there? Forget it! He won’t be any help at all! We may as well come up with another idea.”

  “Would you get over it!” Gloria says. Dalton and Heddy look confused. “Madame Grumpy Puss here parked in a spot one day marked for parks and rec vehicles only and got a ticket. She appealed her case first to the officer who issued the ticket and then made a call to parks and rec, asking them for help. Travis had the unfortunate task of speaking with Miriam that day.” Miriam crosses her arms in silence. “Note to committee,” Gloria says, writing something on the legal pad in front of her. “Do not have Miriam contact parks and rec!”

  Dalton laughs and stands to leave and Heddy drinks the last of her hot tea before taking her cup and Dalton’s to the dishwasher. “We have several stores to visit this morning so we will keep you posted,” she says. She grabs her coat from the back of her chair and looks at Gloria and Miriam. “So Stacy and her friend are running with the sing-a-thon?”

  “On board as of yesterday and Lauren will be working with the kids starting today! Stacy did ask if we could help find some risers for the gazebo but they’ll do everything else.”

  “Just call one of the schools,” Miriam says.

  “They’re all too big for the space in the gazebo,” Dalton says. “We just need a riser with two levels and it can’t be too long.”

  Gloria raises her finger in the air. “Don’t worry! We’re on it!”

  Miriam looks at her. “What do you mean ‘we’re on it’? Why is Madame Grumpy Puss on it with you?”

  Dalton and Heddy head for the door as Dalton says, “Remember, girls, keep calm and carry on!” Heddy waves and they close the door behind them.

  Gloria pulls her laptop across the table in front of her. “I bet I can find risers in no time.” She looks at Miriam. “Where should I look?”

  Miriam stands up for more coffee, hissing at Gloria. “Why do you even own a computer? No one knows less about a computer than you do!” Gloria types something and makes a thinking sound in her throat. “What are you typing over there?” Miriam grabs another pumpkin muffin from the tray and takes a bite.

  “I’m typing ‘garage sales’ for Grandon!” Gloria says, as if that is the most obvious thing she’d be typing.

  “In December?” Miriam says, setting her coffee and muffin down with a thud. “You think you’re going to find a riser … at a garage sale … in December … in Grandon?” She sighs, reaching for the computer. “Give me that before you accidentally land on porn.” She types something and makes a couple of clicks with the mouse before sliding the computer back in front of Gloria. “There. Craigslist. That’s one huge garage sale online. You can type in risers and see what comes up.”

  Gloria does and frowns. “It says there are zero matches.”

  Miriam bites into the muffin and shrugs. “Huge surprise! Shocking!” Gloria types in something else and makes a few more clicks with the mouse. “You’re typing and clicking again and that makes me very nervous.”

  Gloria scowls at her and says, “I typed in ‘Christmas.’ You know, thinking I could find some extra Christmas decorations for Glory’s Place and this popped up: I am a 20-year-old woman looking for a family this Christmas. I’ve been in many foster homes and some of them have been very good homes, but I’ve never felt as if I have a family to call my own. A family would be the best Christmas present because a family isn’t there for just a day but for life.” She looks at Miriam. “What do you make of that?”

  Miriam crosses her arms on the table, leaning on them. “I think the better question is, what do you make of that?”

  Gloria reads the listing again. “I think I’m going to contact her.”

  Miriam closes the computer. “I knew it! This is why you are not allowed on the computer!”

  “Why can’t I respond to her?”

  Miriam grabs her head. “Who puts an ad like that on Craigslist? Only a murderer!”

  Gloria gets up for more coffee. “You watch way too many of those crime-scene TV shows.”

  Miriam turns to look over her shoulder. “All right, let’s say she’s not a murderer, but you give her the address of your home and she comes in here and robs you blind. Of course you’ll be able to simply explain it to Marshall by saying, ‘At least she wasn’t a murderer!’”

  The pumpkin muffins are too hard to resist and Gloria picks one up, bites into it and then sets it back down onto the pan. “Look at this,” Gloria says, lifting the computer lid. “She’s lived in several foster homes and is looking for a family this Christmas.”

  Miriam shakes her head. “She’s looking for a family to strip bare! Not everyone is honest and good, Gloria.”

  “Not everyone is rotten either, Miriam.” She picks up her coffee cup and looks into it, whispering, “Just you.”

  Miriam stands, pulling her coat from the back of her chair, and walks to the front door. “I heard that, Gloria! And one day when you’re not murdered or robbed you’ll thank me.”

  Gloria watches as Miriam walks across the yard to her home next door. She glances at the computer screen again and reads the words. She clicks reply to send an e-mail and types. I saw your ad and must ask the obvious question … Are you a murderer? She wonders if there’s anything else she must ask at this point and decides there isn’t, but wonders if she should sign her real name just in case the girl really is a murderer. She thinks for a moment and types “Lana Turner.” She looks down at her sweatshirt with Snoopy wearing a Santa hat and says, “No, I’m definitely not a ‘Lana.’” She types “Ethel Mertz” and stares at the name. “That makes me sound old and frumpy.” She deletes the name and stares at the screen. “How in the world do criminals come up with so many aliases?” A grin spreads across her face and she types “Mary Richards.” A twenty-year-old would not know who Mary Richards was. She looks at the name and nods, content with herself and clicks send. This would be her secret.

  Three years earlier, Gloria’s prayers after seven long Christmases had been answered. Her son Zach had returned home. He had run away at seventeen, and day after day she wondered where he was, if he was alive and if anyone was being kind to him at Christmas. Did he even remember what Christmas had been like in their home or even believe in the power and hope of Christmas anymore? She lost Zach to the streets, and then lost her husband after a short illness and felt her own faith in Christmas slipping away. She couldn’t imagine a twenty-year-old facing that same loss of Christmas. She started Glory’s Place because there were people right there in Grandon who didn’t have socks or the money to pay the electric bill or a bed to sleep on or shampoo to wash their hair. Through the years, Glory’s Place morphed into a center for single moms and families who needed extra help, because she knew that Christmas wasn’t for the people who had their lives in order. Christmas wasn’t for the ones who had no need for anything. It was for the ones who are messy and hopeless and feeling alone. It was for the ones who keep making the same mistake over and over and for the ones whose relationships are wrecked before they’ve even begun. Christmas was for all of the Zachs out on the street and for the twenty-year-old young woman looking for a family on Craigslist.

  She would wait to hear from this young woman and figure out what to do next. One thing was certain … since she and Marshall had space at their kitchen table she wasn’t about to deny that spot to someone who was desperate for a family at Christmas.

  SEVEN

  Lauren’s phone alarm wakes her and she reaches for it, turning it
off. She sits up in bed and opens her e-mail. Her heart quickens when she sees two from Craigslist. She reads the first and laughs, replying, I am wondering the same thing about you, Mary Richards! No, I’m not a murderer. Just looking for someone to be my family. My dad left when I was a kid and my mom has been in and out of my life, but mostly out. Christmas is supposed to be about love and miracles and I guess that’s what I’m looking for. She thinks for a moment and types, Don’t worry if being part of a stranger’s family isn’t for you. I hope you have a great Christmas. She wonders if she should sign her real name but types “Kelly” before clicking send.

  The other e-mail reads, Losers show up everywhere. Even on Craigslist. Get a life! She considers deleting the ad again but Mary Richards has given her enough hope to keep it on Craigslist at least for a few more days.

  She has arranged to switch her schedule from the afternoon to the morning shift for two days in a row, clocking out at three o’clock and running to her car. In some unexplained way she is looking forward to working with the kids in Grandon. Stacy said that most parents pick their kids up between five and seventy-thirty at Glory’s Place so if they got an hour’s worth of work with the kids between four and five that would be a good start.

  On the drive there she goes over Christmas carols and songs in her head and feels something like a jolt of electricity pulsing inside of her. For the first time in her life she feels as if she’s part of something and hopes she doesn’t blow it. Lauren approaches Clauson’s and decides to stop for no other reason than to stand in Ben’s line and read the message he has for her today. Stevie Wonder’s “What Christmas Means to Me” is playing throughout the store and the baggers are all wearing Santa hats, Ben included. She stands just inside the door and watches as customers take their place in his line.

  “Line two is open,” the manager says. Lauren smiles. No one is moving. “Ben! Why don’t you come over here and bag for Mattie on line two?”