A Christmas Hope

by Joseph Pittman

“I guess that’s where A Doll’s House comes in.”

  “Almost like a portal to our dreams,” Thomas said. “Finding things we lost, even people.”

  Another enigmatic remark from him, one that left Nora feeling like she wasn’t getting the entire picture here. “Okay, Thomas, the past, I’m ready to go back if you are. Tell me about the book, what was so special about it?”

  “Well, for starters, Santa Claus . . . jolly old Saint Nicholas, he wore a green suit.”

  The first full day of her new life was under her belt. It was five o’clock and outside the sun had already gone down, night settling over the tiny burg of Linden Corners. Down the street the Five O’ Diner was doing a bustling business, hence its name; George’s Tavern had just turned on the outside lights and a few cars sat in its now illuminated parking lot. She considered dropping over for a glass of wine, then thought better of it. She wasn’t in the mood for conversation, not from Brian Duncan or any of his regular barflies. Like Thomas had said, the past was everywhere, especially inside the walls of the business her father had once owned, now run by a stranger her mother treated like a son.

  Nora flicked off the lights, and in the darkness of her store she let out a heavy sigh, alone now with just shadows for company. It felt like her first exhalation since her arrival just over twenty-four hours ago, and the release felt good. She took up a seat on the bench inside the bay window, her back against one wall, her feet stretching far to the other wall, allowing thoughts to come to her. How odd she felt, like she was living inside a dream and one not her own; perhaps it was one she’d imagined for her dolls from years ago. So innocent they were, tall, leggy, and blue-eyed, so beautiful, changing clothes based on the whims of their owner. Her older sisters were more the fashionistas, always asking for new dresses and outfits for their blond beauties, while Nora was content to ground her girls in a more practical approach to life. She never heard a complaint from the dolls, just her sisters.

  “Why am I thinking about those dolls all of a sudden?” she asked aloud.

  The overstuffed store, filled only with inanimate objects, remained silent save for her own echo. She had to be content with an answer only her mind could conjure: it was the old man’s fault. His presence had been unexpected, surprising, and intriguing, all of the things she had assumed this new job of hers would offer, sneak peeks into people and their lives, into what motivated them and kept their hearts beating. You get a sense of their hopes and dreams, of the things they have lost and want back. For Thomas Van Diver, it was a book, and not just any book but perhaps the most overpublished title in the Western hemisphere not counting the Bible. There was more to learn about this specific volume, just as there was more to discover about the enigmatic Thomas himself. Was he really fearing that his final days were upon him, or was this just a ploy of his to produce faster results on Nora’s part? She hardly thought a man of such refinement would play the death card with such callous disregard, which led her to believe that there was a nugget of truth in his words.

  She had to help him, that much she knew. Wasn’t this why she had made the big decision to move back home? To change lives, and maybe along the way help hers?

  She was born Nora Connors and for the first twenty-one years of her life she’d spent her days carefully planning every aspect about her world: school, major, lovers, marriage, children, all of them and in that order, almost like a checklist of life experiences, to be marked off first before pursing the next one. Each Christmas she looked forward to receiving a wall calendar as a gift, thinking about those coming days and all she could accomplish. Her sisters, who were not so tightly wound, had it easy, good marriages with responsible husbands, cute kids, jobs if they wanted, able to coast through the days with few cares other than who would pick up Sammy after soccer practice or Lucy after dance class. And that was fine for them, just not for Nora. How simpler things would have been if she’d gone that route. How miserable she would have been if she had. But wasn’t she miserable now?

  Sometimes she felt like two people.

  Nora Connors, high-powered defense attorney.

  Nora Rainer, wife and mother, ready to attend the PTA and cook dinner.

  Conflicted over being both, she’d buried herself in her work.

  She’d married at twenty-six, two years after graduating from law school, one year almost to the date that she met businessman Dave Rainer. Travis had come two years after that, and as much as she adored her son and would drop everything for him, the fact that she was a successful trial lawyer meant she didn’t have to. She could pay other people to drop everything for him. Isn’t that how it was done these days for the woman who had—or wanted—it all? Dave had come to resent her time at the office, even when she reminded him he had known who she was when they met, when he popped the question in between court appearances, and after Travis was born. The only one of them who seemed to adapt well to whatever was thrown their way was Travis himself, a good-natured kid she considered the luckiest thing to have ever happened to her.

  “And this is how I repay him, by moving him to Linden Corners.”

  Her voice echoed longer, as though winding its way up the staircase to the large upstairs, where Elsie Masters had lived most of her life. The elderly lady had offered the apartment to Nora and Travis, but she couldn’t commit. Not when she could live with her mother, not when she and Travis could be there to help her. Staring upward, imagining the spacious rooms inside this old Victorian, Nora wondered what it would be like to have her own place again, just she and Travis. They would not always be underfoot, interrupting Gerta’s routine, living close enough that they could check on her anytime, day or night. Only problem with that situation, Gerta would have none of it. To not live with her would be to insult her, and Nora had enough family issues to deal with without causing her mother any more pain.

  Pain, now that was definitely a four-letter word, sharp and biting. Nora knew that Gerta was upset about her daughter’s situation, even as she had refused to ask details over what had happened. Why move back after all these years, where was Dave, and just what was the status of their marriage? All questions she could answer if asked, none of which she had. Nora would have responded: good questions, all of them. She supposed you could call it taking a break, or maybe a trial separation, though the word trial made her laugh, because those she preferred to win and in this case, well, there were no winners. Just lots of legal fees and a lot of hurt.

  “Okay, kid, enough wallowing, bet Mom’s got dinner ready,” she said, lifting herself off the cushions, bringing down the curtains on the bay window until the morning sun would beckon them again to rise. It was good advice, she thought, turn in for the night, curl up in the darkness until the brightness of a new day called to you, issuing forth its daily change. Nora had never been one to shy away from life’s challenges, and she wasn’t prepared to start now.

  Gathering up her coat and keys, she made her way to the front door, opening it up.

  The jangle of bells above her brought Thomas Van Diver to mind.

  “I’ll have to replace those,” she said, knowing the last thing she needed was a reminder each time a customer stopped in of the challenge ahead of her. Because those jangling bells rang like the jolly sound of Christmas, Santa and his magic sleigh flying through the night, bestowing gifts upon deserving children the world over. With each ring of the bell, Christmas would feel ever closer and she still had one huge gift to secure for under the tree.

  Would Santa remember to come to Linden Corners?

  Would he remember the wide-eyed, impatient five-year-old boy from so many years ago, so besotted with family and with memories and with a certain edition of a book that somehow meant the world to him? She hadn’t asked for details, and Thomas hadn’t offered them. Not yet, they would meet again, more clues would be revealed that would help Nora on her search.

  Nora wondered if the book really did still exist, and if so, where in the world it was. Had it been a rare edition, or somethi
ng mass produced? It was a big world out there, the book just a thin slice of it, a story detailing one day of the year. She returned her thoughts to Linden Corners, imagining her world had just grown smaller, and instead, what she had found within the dreams of her new store, was a world of possibilities.

  November first and her thoughts were all about Christmas.

  She was reminded of her promise to Travis, that she wouldn’t screw up Christmas.

  Now that promise had been doubled, both youth and the aged were counting on her.

  CHAPTER 5

  BRIAN

  For reasons known only to the universe, the endless evolutions of the clock tended to move more quickly the last couple months of the year, as though time was eager for its big celebration before turning the page to a brand-new calendar. November would feed fast into December, and before you knew it the holidays would have come and gone in a blink of an eye, the sky over Times Square suddenly awash with bright streamers and confetti, ushering in for all that resolute sense of tomorrow, a fresh start. For Brian Duncan, one-time New Yorker and now permanent resident of laid-back Linden Corners, he remembered the strains of last Christmas—his and Janey’s first as a family, the struggles they endured over wishing to give the other the best possible holiday—and he was determined that this year was going to be free of drama. In fact, he was planning on perfection.

  Of course, the concept of perfection and the reality of a nine-year-old girl seldom went together. Square peg, round hole. You didn’t need the holiday season to tell you that.

  “Janey, come on, you’re going to be late.”

  “I know, I know, but I can’t find it.”

  “Can’t find what?”

  “If I knew, I’d know where it was,” she said with her famous exasperation.

  Brian Duncan was standing at the base of the stairs, the grandfather clock in the hall signaling the advancement of time, calling up to the second floor of the farmhouse; hearing her response, he felt his brain hurt, a nagging, pulsing headache. He shook it, afraid his brain would rattle inside his skull. Had she really just said what his ears heard?

  “Janey, I didn’t ask where you put it, I asked what you were looking for.”

  The tiny, determined force of nature appeared at the top of the stairs, hands on her hips in that special way patented by pre-teenagers, the child inside that body already outgrowing its youth. “Dad, I wanted to bring something to school, but I forgot what that something was. Once I remember, I’ll know where I put it and then I can go.”

  She made her roundabout way of thinking sound so methodical, it almost made sense. He looked at the big clock, then back upstairs. “You better remember in the next two minutes, the bus is probably already turning up the road, our driveway is the next stop. And I’m not driving you to school, I’ve got way too much to get done today.”

  “Well, you’ll have all afternoon to yourself, I’m going over to see baby Jake after school.”

  If that was news, it was old.

  Brian left Janey to her search-and-rescue exploration, returning to a messy kitchen to finish washing up the breakfast dishes. It was Monday morning, an early November day, and the sun was shining down on a mild day, with temperatures rising in the mid-forties. Some of the snow from last week had already melted, as though the taste of the holiday spirit was draining from the town, a mere appetizer to the larger meal of winter. Even though Christmas was still seven weeks away, Brian pondered the idea of the village not being covered in a white blanket of snow—unlike last year, when a powerful storm had left them nearly isolated from the world, and happily so. No snow on Christmas seemed as unlikely as Janey getting to school on time.

  “Janey!”

  “Yay! I found it, I remembered exactly where I put it,” she said, galloping down the stairs, her book bag bouncing against her back. “Bye, Dad, see you whenever.”

  “Whoa, whoa, hold up, young lady.”

  Janey stopped short at the front door, spinning on her heels, again with hands on her hips. If her stance didn’t say it all, the rolling of her eyes sealed the deal. “You said it, I’m gonna be late.”

  “What did you remember?”

  “Oh, the pictures from the Halloween Spooktacular that you helped me to download and print out,” she said. “I thought my friends might like to see them, even Travis might enjoy them, since he made a really good pirate.”

  “Oh, that’s nice,” Brian said. “Travis, huh?”

  Again, the eyes rolled. “Dad, he’s a boy.”

  That seemed to sum it all up, Janey Sullivan back to being the all-knowing nine-year-old.

  So he let her go, hearing the beep of the bus moments later. It was the bus driver’s signal that she had picked up Janey safely, they were school-bound.

  Alone in the quiet farmhouse, Brian put away the last of the dishes, turned to look at the time again. Seven forty-five, according to Annie’s windmill clock that hung on the wall, the two sails ticking and clicking away the seconds, as constant and reliable as the actual windmill outside. He gave the clock a quick touch, Annie’s presence surrounding him, enveloping this place she’d called home. He felt her not just here in the kitchen but everywhere, upstairs in their bedroom and near the fireplace where photographs of her and Janey adorned the mantel, outside by the ever-turning sails of the windmill, and of course, always in his heart.

  Annie had been gone for more than a year now, and as such, there were no more firsts to think about. No more first time they celebrated Janey’s birthday, no more first time he and Janey shared Thanksgiving, Christmas, all the special days of the calendar that marked the passage of time. Why he was suddenly drudging up all these memories, he wasn’t sure. Perhaps it was the memories of last Christmas sneaking up on him, when it had seemed that their fragile existence was threatening to break. A year later already and they were better, stronger, the loving duo he had always envisioned they could be. But if truths were told, and it was only something he could admit to himself when alone, he missed the time they used to spend together, just the two of them. Lately Janey was consumed with helping Cynthia take care of that cute tyke, Jake, leaving Brian more time down at the tavern, as well as more downtime. The last few months, he’d been feeling the job wasn’t enough for him, that he needed something more in his life. Since his arrival in Linden Corners he had been driven first to keep alive George Connors’s traditions down at the tavern, then Annie Sullivan’s, and he believed he had more than lived up to the high ideals set by those two amazing folks, both taken too early from the world.

  Not for the first time, did Brian Duncan wonder if there was more he could be doing.

  That brought his thoughts around to Nora Rainer.

  She was doing now exactly what he’d done two years ago, restarting her life. But whereas he had stumbled upon this town along his travels, she had deliberately returned to her childhood home, and the difference seemed to be that back then Brian had every choice in the world to make his stay in this village transitional, while Nora appeared trapped in some confluence of events that glued her here. So far she wasn’t talking about what those events were, another thing they had in common. Not that her affairs were any of his business, just because he and Gerta were as thick as thieves didn’t mean Nora was open to trusting him with her own secrets. Oddly, her being back in Linden Corners and making a go of a new business, maybe she could inspire him. Her new antique store—an oxymoron indeed—seemed to be an extension of her new self, and he wondered if she could help him figure out what the heck he was supposed to be doing with his life. Learn by example.

  Janey’s happiness was everything to him.

  But her happiness was directly tied to his, and at this moment in time he doubted happy was a word he could use to describe his life.

  The phone ringing broke him from his thoughts of self-doubt.

  “Hello?”

  “Brian, dear, it’s your mother.”

  “Hi, Mom,” he said.

  “You know wh
at time of year it is.”

  “Of course, Thanksgiving is coming up.”

  “Yes, about that . . .” she said, her voice trailing off momentarily.

  Like this phone call itself, Thanksgiving dinner was a Duncan family tradition, with all the disparate members of his family gathering at their parents’ house, a lovely town house in the Federal Hill district of Philadelphia that had been an upgrade over the house where Brian had grown up in the northern suburbs. Last year was the first Brian had brought Janey with him, an experience both heartfelt and nerve-racking, one destined for the books. Didi Duncan’s tone today indicated that tradition was about to be thrown to the wind.

  “We won’t be home this year,” she said.

  “Okay,” Brian said, tonelessly. Was he pleased, or not, or just indifferent?

  “I didn’t think you would mind, you’re so busy with Janey, maybe it’s not the right time to take a trip all the way here.”

  “Sure, Mom.”

  “Remember that cruise we took last Christmas with the Hendersons?”

  “Sure.”

  “We’re doing it again, except this time it’s a Mediterranean cruise, three weeks.”

  “Three weeks?”

  “And while we’re in Europe . . .”

  “Mom, the point?”

  “We’ll be away from Thanksgiving until the end of the year.”

  “So, what you’re saying is, no Thanksgiving at your house, no Christmas at mine.”

  “I’m sorry, dear, it’s just . . .”

  “Mom, it’s fine, you and Dad enjoy. Look, I gotta go get Janey ready for school, she’s running late.” A white lie, but it would spare both of them the need for explanations and excuses, hints of guilt, feelings of remorse. In other words, all the emotions of the holiday.

  “Certainly,” she said, “give her our love. And we’ll be sure to send a postcard or two.”

  “Bye, Mom, bon voyage.”

  Brian hung up the phone, not sure of his feelings. He tried not to think about it, not as he showered and dressed, not as he went into the barn out behind the farmhouse to gather what he needed for the day’s work, not as he hopped into the truck and drove down the driveway, and certainly not when he arrived in downtown Linden Corners, its familiar businesses and grassy parks lacking any hint of surprise, unlike the phone call. Was he jealous of his parents’ wanderlust? A case of same old, same old was plaguing him, in Linden Corners and beyond, to his erstwhile family. While the reserved, buttoned-up power couple of Kevin and Didi Duncan were spending the holidays traveling the globe, their son Brian’s level of glamour had to do with deciding between the tuna fish sandwich or BLT for lunch at the Five O’. Not that he wanted his parents’ materialistic life, but Brian Duncan realized just what was eating at his gut: he was in a rut, that electric spark of life that kept people going, almost on autopilot. His had been doused. Almost like the wind had quieted and the sails of the windmill had gone silent.