Candy Cane Calaboose

by Spaeth, Janet

  Hastily, she tried to cover the glimpse of her inner self that had escaped. She changed the subject to something she was more comfortable with: “I’ve got to get back to work,” she announced. “It’s late.”

  Mike glanced at his watch and nodded. “You’re right. I’m supposed to meet a friend at Tuck’s Toys in fifteen minutes, so I’d better hustle.”

  She couldn’t resist it. “A friend?”

  “Yes, Miss Snooper,” he answered. “A friend.”

  “Big friend? Little friend?”

  He laughed. “Are you trying to find out if I’m seeing someone? Well, not in that sense, no.”

  She stood up and busied herself with clearing away her coffee cup. “It’s just that you work almost as many hours as I do. I don’t even see my mailman, let alone get out to meet people. What do you do? Do you go to the bars after work?”

  His expression was half shocked, half amused. “The bars? No, I don’t go to the bars. They’re not my scene at all. No, my dear, I find my friends at the best place in the world. I find them at church.”

  “Oh, that,” she said dismissively. “They don’t count.”

  He stopped midaction. “Why not?”

  “Well, for one thing, they’ve got to love you. Kind of like parents.”

  He chuckled. “Not exactly. But in a way you’re right. They do have to love you, because Christ told them to.”

  Abbey responded with a very unladylike snort.

  “It’s true. Oh, admittedly there are moments when we disagree, but that’s just part of it all. That’s how we grow.”

  He was so serious. Mike must take this religion stuff pretty seriously. Of course, his grandmother did too, judging from her room dОcor.

  He took her by the hand. “Abbey, want to come with me to church on Sunday, give it a try?”

  “Nah. I need to be at the store early. We’re starting our big Christmas promotion that day.” For once, she was grateful for the signs and displays that had arrived earlier in the day. She had a ready-made excuse for not going with him.

  “There’s an early service. You could be out by ten o’clock.”

  She shook her head. “No, Mike. Thanks for inviting me, but I just don’t go for this organized religion stuff.”

  He grinned. “Well, sometimes we’re not so organized at the early service.”

  “You know what I mean. I believe in God and all that, but this church business is, well, not for me. If I want to say hello to God, I can go to the lake and do it.”

  “And do you?” His question was quiet and unnerving.

  “I’ve got to get going, Mike.” Abbey turned on her heel and left the room before he could say another word.

  She fumed all the way back to the mall. Religion was one of those things that people were supposed to keep to themselves.

  It was true that Mike had never proselytized. As a matter of fact, this was the first time he’d even mentioned anything having to do with church. But his invitation made her uneasy. And she had to admit that part of the feeling was born of the fact that this opened up another area of Mike that she didn’t know existed.

  For some reason, she wanted to know more about Mike.

  A lot more.

  ❧

  The evening mall traffic had picked up, and Abbey grimaced at the new booths that had gone up since she’d left. The latest one was a peppermint-striped building. Instead of a wall facing the mall corridors, the space was lined with black metal bars.

  She edged closer. A large heart-shaped black lock hung on the door.

  Abbey couldn’t believe her eyes. It looked almost like a jail, but what on earth did a jail have to do with Christmas?

  As if in answer to her unspoken question, a workman wearing a Cedar Mall uniform hauled a ladder up to the front of the building. Curiously, she watched as he set up the ladder and climbed it, balancing a large wooden sign. After a few quick taps of his hammer, she had her answer. The sign was lettered in Old West style: “The Candy Cane Calaboose.”

  “Well,” Abbey said to no one in particular, “that explains it.” She shook her head. “Or not.”

  As she started to walk toward Trends, another worker joined the first. The second man carried a sign that was also immediately nailed to the building. She retraced her footsteps and read the new sign: “The mall merchants invite you to watch this spot for holiday fun!”

  “Oh, right,” she muttered to herself. “Well, not this mall merchant. I wonder what on earth they’ve decided we’re going to have to do now.”

  She walked back to Trends, mumbling and grumbling about past mall endeavors, such as the potluck when everybody brought desserts and potato salad, and nobody brought a main dish. The mall office had been forced to buy meat and cheese trays from a neighboring grocery store. Then there was the picnic, scheduled for mid-July, prime mosquito season. Even the toughest repellent hadn’t been able to repel the hordes of hungry buzzing insects. Next time, Abbey thought, they probably wouldn’t have the picnic next to the river. Another one of their grand plans had been a talent show to raise money for a local charity. It soon became apparent that few, if any, of the mall merchants had any talent at all. The talent show had never been repeated, and she thought it was possibly at the charity’s request.

  No, whatever this Candy Cane Calaboose was, it was going to prove to be an awful idea.

  But Abbey hadn’t gone to the potluck or the picnic or the talent show anyway. And she had no intention of having anything to do with this latest brainstorm of the mall’s management.

  She shrugged. This Candy Cane Calaboose nonsense wouldn’t bother her one way or the other.

  four

  The alarm went off, and Abbey realized it was aptly named. The little torture device was truly alarming. Every morning its persistent buzz startled her into wakefulness.

  She slammed her hand on the snooze button, hoping for a few more precious moments of sleep, but that was a luxury she’d never been able to manage. Once she woke up, she was awake, and there was no going back to sleep for her. Her parents had teased her about her hidden “on” switch.

  She missed her parents, especially during the holiday season. But she was a realist. Connecticut might as well be on the other side of the moon this time of year. And they had their own lives, their own friends, and although she knew they’d have been delighted to see her, she also accepted that they were comfortable with their annual summer visits.

  It was one of the sacrifices she made for her career, and they understood. The other sacrifice she made for her career was never having a leisurely morning. . .at least not at Christmas.

  As she hurried through her morning routine at a pace that surprised her, she tried not to think about families, the night before, or her visit with Claire. But her thoughts kept returning to Mike and his grandmother.

  Somehow it all fit together perfectly, with Aunt Luellen at the center. When things got crazy, her aunt was often the precipitator, with her well-meant actions and her impulsive engineering of situations. She was a kook, that one. Abbey smiled as she thought of what her aunt must be like as a missionary. What on earth did the people of Brazil—or wherever she was—think of her version of the gospel? She could only imagine how it would come out through the filter of Aunt Luellen’s nutty brain.

  Abbey gasped with surprise as her feet touched the linoleum of her kitchen. It was icy cold. Slippers. She needed to get some slippers. She was on the verge of making a mental note to buy some at the mall when the irony of it all struck her.

  She could have had slippers—goofy frog slippers. At least Claire’s toes should be toasty warm after Christmas.

  That reminded her. She had to get out to see Claire and retrieve the package that Aunt Luellen had sent. That is, she corrected herself, if it were for her. Knowing Aunt Luellen, she might have her entire Christmas gift list scrambled beyond repair. The gift that Claire had could easily be a fishing rod meant for Uncle Kirby in Oregon.

  But the sooner she
got out there and straightened this whole mishmash out, the sooner she could get back to her own life again and shrug off this crazy business. Her conversation with Mike was still making her uncomfortable, and she didn’t like to be uncomfortable.

  She snatched her purse from the hook by the door and headed out into the cold. Yes, if she was ever going to have peace of mind, she was going to have to get this thing taken care of once and for all.

  Her car groaned into life, and Abbey shivered as she sat in her driveway, waiting for the engine to warm up. There wasn’t any new snow, and the sky was a bright, clear blue, but that didn’t mean anything when it came to the temperature. It had to be below zero.

  She glanced at the spot where an indoor/outdoor thermometer had been attached to her house, but it had fallen off during a late autumn windstorm, and she just hadn’t had the chance to put it back up. Then she remembered: The thermometer had fallen off during the autumn of last year. She was really letting things slide.

  Well, she countered as she continued her discussion with herself, it wasn’t as if she had time. She was busy at the store. . .and looking into maybe going back to school. . .and life was just generally hectic. It was something she’d come to live with.

  She rubbed her hands together. Even through her thick mittens—on sale at Trends, two pairs for eight dollars—the icy air pierced right to her bones. The defroster had cleared only a small section of her frosty windshield, and she impatiently turned on the wipers, hoping to hurry the process along. She did not want to get out and scrape the window off. It was just too cold.

  But the windshield began to film up on the inside from the warmth of her body, so she knew she was in for a wait, and she was too edgy to sit in her car and wait patiently. She fidgeted with the wipers, monkeyed with the defroster, and tried to rub the frost off with her mittened hand, succeeding only in smearing the fog. At last the windshield was clear enough, and she headed off.

  This was going to be quick, she promised herself. She’d run in, pick up the present from Claire, say a few bland and polite words, and be on her way. Five minutes, tops. And she’d be through with this whole bizarre slippers thing and able to get on with her life.

  Whatever that might be, a nagging little voice whispered in her heart.

  Mike? Surely, Mike didn’t have anything to do with her life. He was just a friend—or not a friend, she thought as she remembered their conversation. It made her stomach hurt.

  She pulled into a spot near the door of Golden Meadows. The tall windows sparkled in the morning light. From the parking lot, she could see the mammoth Christmas tree through the largest windows in the entryway. The lights were on, catching the sunlit crystals of ice on the edges of the windows. With the early morning frost lit by the tree lights’ multicolored array, the building looked incredibly picturesque.

  She briefly considered leaving the car running but decided against it. She was already low on fuel and about the last thing she needed now was to run out of gas in the parking lot of a retirement community. So she switched off the ignition, telling herself she’d be inside such a short time that the car would still be warm—or warmish—when she came out again.

  Resolutely, she marched into the high arched lobby of Golden Meadows and approached the desk. Just her luck. The same woman who’d been there earlier was there again. Nadine, that was her name.

  “Yes?” It was remarkable, truly remarkable, how much iciness the woman could pack into the single word.

  “I’d like to see Claire. Claire Thorson.”

  “Is she expecting you?”

  “Yes. No. She is, but probably not right this minute. I mean, she knows I’m coming, but not necessarily today. Well, really, she’s not expecting me at all right now, since it’s opening time at the mall and it’s Christmas.”

  The woman behind the desk stared at her, her expression never wavering. What was it about her that made Abbey splutter and blither like this?

  “You’re the lady with the package,” Nadine said at last.

  Abbey nodded, unsure of what the woman was going to do.

  She certainly didn’t expect this: Nadine burst into a huge smile and leaned across the desk to capture Abbey’s hands. “Thank you so much for bringing the gift to her. You know, Mike’s pretty much the only family she’s got here anymore, and while he is here daily, bless his heart, having a new young face in her life has meant so much. She’s really perked up.”

  Abbey could feel the smile freezing on her face as the woman continued to gush. “I hope you’ll be back more often. This is just doing her a world of good.” Then the woman delivered the coup de grace. “Plus you’re almost family.”

  “Almost family?” Abbey gulped.

  “You and her grandson, Mike. You’re, well, you know.” Nadine stopped just short of a conspiratorial wink.

  “We’re what?” Abbey asked through nearly numb lips. “No, never mind. I have the feeling this is something I don’t want to hear.” She shot a wild smile at the receptionist. “So, is Claire in her room?”

  “No, Honey. She’s with the others, down in the Fireside Lounge. You can go ahead. It’s just down this hall, take a left, then a quick right. You can’t miss it. There’s a fireplace the size of a Buick in there. And they’re all in there singing their dear hearts out, so follow the music.”

  Abbey felt her face relax. Maybe she could make it through this after all. She started down the hall, and she could just make out the sound of voices raised in song. They finished the last triumphant notes of a hymn Abbey somewhat recognized and, after some murmured discussion, a series of chords led them into another song.

  What the group lacked in talent, they made up for in enthusiasm. Some voices were quavering with age; others were strong and true, undiminished by the years. One clear tenor led them all. She knew even before she peeked around the corner who the voice belonged to. He motioned her in as he kept on leading the group in singing.

  If only the song hadn’t been a rather rousing rendition of “When the Saints Come Marchin’ In.” Abbey’s face flooded with red when the audience’s singing lagged as they turned around to stare at her with open curiosity. The voices faded out as the residents studied the newcomer.

  She tried to cover her embarrassment by whispering loudly to an elderly gentleman in the back row: “I’m not a saint, and I’m not marching.”

  To her chagrin, he leaned back and said, just as loudly, “Could have been worse. The song before last was ‘How Great Thou Art.’ ”

  She knew she shouldn’t, that she would be doomed if she did. But she couldn’t help it. She looked at Mike.

  His face was as red as hers but with suppressed amusement. As their eyes met, Abbey and Mike dissolved into laughter. It wasn’t the genteel, tee-hee, hymn-sing kind of laughter either. Oh, no. It was the can’t-catch-your-breath, clutch-your-sides, gulp-and-snort brand of laughter that takes over and won’t let go.

  Tears ran down her face, and she collapsed onto the nearest folding chair and wiped her eyes as she tried to control herself. The harder she tried, the worse she laughed.

  Just when she thought she had mastered her laugh attack, she looked at Mike. His attempt to look as sober failed as their glances locked again, and once more they both gave way to the laughter.

  “Hmmph!” A man in a plaid shirt settled himself into a posture of righteous indignation. “Such behavior! Have you ever witnessed such a scene in your life? This is a hymn sing, not a vaudeville show. They ought to—”

  “Get married,” a tiny lady with a lace scarf finished for him. She sighed happily. “Get married and have lots of little Sweets.”

  Abbey stopped midgulp. The woman’s voice carried clearly through the room, and from the way that Mike froze in place, bent at a nearly impossible angle, she knew he had heard her. His hand was motionless on the strings of his guitar, and if she didn’t know better, she’d think he was a wax figure from Madame Tussaud’s.

  Lots of little Sweets?

 
Mike was staring at her, looking at her with a strangled pain she knew mirrored her own shock. She knew she should get up and leave, but her muscles were apparently cemented into place. Dimly she heard sounds behind her, and a familiar tinkling giggle broke the silence. “Speaking of Sweet, how about ‘Sweet Hour of Prayer’? Come on, everybody! I love that hymn. I’ll start.” Claire’s wavering but true soprano started the hymn, and the others soon joined in.

  Abbey could have kissed her as the crowd faced forward again. Mike, after a split-second pause to collect himself, joined in with his guitar.

  As soon as the attention had turned from her, Abbey decided, she’d leave. She’d creep out, hoping no one would notice. She’d deal with the wayward Christmas gift later. She had to get back to the mall. Her fingers pushed back her sleeve, and she grimaced. She’d forgotten to put on her watch.

  Surreptitiously she glanced around the room, trying to find a clock. Surely there’d be one on the fireplace. But nothing. There were no clocks in the room at all. Maybe, she thought, when you got to this point in life, time didn’t matter. You just moved from Activity A to Activity B to lunch, then rested, then Activity C, Activity D, dinner, television, and to bed. She resisted the urge to shudder. This was definitely not the life for her.

  The woman with the lace collar leaned over to her. “Need the time?” she asked as she held her thin wrist over toward Abbey.

  Abbey realized she was the only person in the room without a watch on. That might explain the dearth of clocks. Golden Meadows supplied the activities, but each resident was responsible for his or her own time.

  Maybe that was what Aunt Luellen was talking about. Maybe this was what rejoicing in the day meant.

  She smiled at the woman with the watch. The group had begun another song, a Christmas carol. She should leave, but this was “Joy to the World.” It had been her favorite when she was a child, and she couldn’t resist joining in as the words came back easily to her mind.