Love Finds You in the City at Christmas

by Anna Schmidt

  Before too long, Mike’s hands couldn’t hold the wad of bills and coin. Ignoring the cold, he took off his patrolman’s hat and put the money in there.

  The crowd cheered.

  Karen smiled, a look of gratitude and wonder so dear that a tiny latch on his somewhat rusty heart opened, seeing it. For that moment, with people gathering around them, replenishing the stolen funds, he felt like a hero.

  “Here you go.”

  “Take this!”

  “Here’s a fiver. Merry Christmas.”

  Dialects from every borough resounded, and Mike got a solid glimpse of something understated and wonderful: When New Yorkers rose to an occasion, lines of division didn’t stand in their way. Except for the possibility of Major League Baseball, in which case he was Brooklyn born and raised in the shadow of Ebbets Field, a Dodger fan from birth, even though the Yankees had just taken another World Series title.

  The bums.

  “Nice assignment, Mike.”

  Al Bucci approached from the right-hand side. He nodded to Karen and bent lower, solicitous. “Are you all right, miss?”

  “She’s fine.” Mike could have snapped the words with more professionalism, but while Al was a great cop, he was a guy who played the field romantically, and Mike wasn’t about to stand by and watch Al sweep the bell ringer off her feet with his usual charm.

  “Ah.” Al lifted his eyes to Mike’s, and Mike was pretty sure the other guy was laughing at him quietly. “We had the kid picked up.”

  “Good.”

  “And I think he was part of the group that caused this ruckus here.” Al indicated Karen with a thrust of his chin. “He created a diversion a block away, we chase him down, these kids take out the bell ringer and get the money pot. Notice they waited until she’d been here a while.”

  “They planned it?”

  Al hiked a shoulder. “It appears so. The kid ratted his buddies out because his mother’s threatening to let him stay in lockup indefinitely. Says he’s incorrigible and needs to have new friends.”

  “I can’t argue with that.” Karen scowled but then faced the crowd, brighter. “I hope you all know just how thankful I am. How grateful the army will be.” She moved into the crowd, shaking hands, giving thanks to all she could. “This money, your donations, they will bring a better tomorrow to the least of us.”

  “Glad to help, ma’am.”

  “Merry Christmas, miss.”

  “Nice copper you’ve got there, young lady!”

  The last comment brought a blush to her cheeks. She glanced around, her face wondering if Mike heard.

  Oh, he’d heard all right. He smiled. Winked.

  Her color pitched higher, and Mike was pretty sure the chill temperatures had little to do with it.

  Gradually the crowd dispersed, but not before a shopper combined her purchases into a large corded-handle bag and gave them a smaller variety to hold the cash.

  “There’s nearly two hundred dollars here,” Mike estimated as he put the bills in the bottom and topped them with coin. “Karen, that’s amazing.”

  “That’s the Holy Spirit, touching hearts. Saving lives. It is amazing, isn’t it?”

  “It is, but we’ve got a problem.” He faced Al and frowned. “We can’t leave her alone with this money. And we’re not off duty for nearly four hours.”

  “I can have dispatch call the army. They can send someone to collect this,” Al proposed.

  “Can they tell them we need a new kettle, too?”

  Mike aimed what he hoped was a stern gaze down. “You are not staying another hour to finish your shift. You’ve had enough trauma for one day. Can the army give you a ride home again, or will you use the subway?”

  * * * * *

  Karen squared her shoulders and drew herself up to her full height, because no matter how handsome and strong the policeman was, no one charted her destiny but her. And the Good Lord. “I will stay. And you want to talk about trauma?” She raised a hand and ticked off her fingers. “Soldiers with limbs amputated from fighting a war. Widows, scraping a living, barely getting by, trying to make ends meet. Children with no food, no warm shoes or socks with winter coming. Old folks unable to get out and get food, no one to care for them. Young women with child, on their own, fearing to give birth much like Mary in Bethlehem. When I was hungry . . .” She let the quote trail off as she sent a smile over his shoulder. “Arnie!”

  “I brought a treat for you to eat as you work, miss.” He held out a waxed-paper-wrapped bagel, fresh and good. Heat from the bagel steamed the inside of the paper, the curved bread was that fresh. In his other hand he toted a mug of coffee, a replica of the day before. “I did put a little of my favorite cream cheese on the bagel,” he added, almost apologetic again, as if he didn’t want her to feel guilty over his gesture. He spoke in run-on sentences, his quick, patchwork speech underscoring his immigrant status. “This cheese, they make it in a little town up north, now it’s here”—he waved his hand, showing he meant in New York City—“so delicious, I think. I hope”—he put his hands out in an inviting gesture of kindness—“you like.”

  “Of course I will.” She beamed at him, but then Arnie turned his attention to the two policemen.

  “There is much to watch on this corner, gentlemen?”

  Mike read the older man’s meaning and laughed, then shrugged, admitting, “You’re a quick study, Arnie. Unfortunately today there is a reason for us to be here besides the pretty girl.”

  His look made heat rise to her cheeks a few minutes ago. His words, now? They warmed her from within, but she did her best to ignore them, even if there was no way she could ignore the speaker. Not with his broad shoulders, square chin, and big blue eyes.

  Mike angled his gaze her way. “Karen got mugged a little while ago.”

  Arnie said something in another language, something short and curt and probably not meant for a lady’s ears, but Karen was deeply touched by his quick, protective emotion.

  “And then all these people started pushing money on us,” Karen added.

  “Money?” Arnie raised a brow in disbelief.

  Mike held the bag open. Arnie whistled. Al nodded.

  “But I don’t know when the army officer will get here with another kettle,” Karen fussed, “or to pick up this money. It isn’t safe out here on the street. Arnie?” She waited until the older man turned her way. “Could we keep the money at your shop? Just until the officers come by to do a pickup?”

  Arnie clapped a hand to his heart. “It is my pleasure to help.”

  “That’s a great idea.” Mike’s look of approval made her feel good, and if she wasn’t careful, she’d be seeking his approval in other things. Would that be bad? Wrong? One look at the kind but firm set of his chin said it was neither.

  Mike clapped the older man on the shoulder. “Thank you, Arnie.”

  “I’ll walk back to the shop with him,” Al decided. “Just in case these little thugs have friends hanging around, waiting for the uniforms to take a hike.”

  “Thanks, Al.”

  “Yes.” Karen reached out and touched Al’s sleeve. When he turned, she shook his hand. “Thank you for coming over here. For helping to keep us safe.”

  “You’re welcome, miss . . . ?”

  “Karen.” She stuck out her hand. “Karen O’Leary. I’m—”

  “And that’s all he needs to know right now, isn’t it, Al?” Mike sent a pointed look toward the baker as he edged closer to Karen’s side. “Because Arnie needs to get back to his shop. I’ll watch out for Karen.”

  Al’s grin said he understood the unspoken message while Arnie moved toward the road’s edge, waiting for the light to turn green. “You are right, Michael. This is a busy day.”

  “Let’s go.” Al fell into step next to Arnie, the bag tucked beneath Arnie’s arm.

  “Well then.” Mike moved a step closer to Karen, not touching her but not all that far from touching her, either. And it felt nice to have him there, to stand
in the shadow of his warmth and strength. As long as she realized that was all she could do.

  He switched his attention to her as the men crossed the busy street. Careful, he laid his hands on her shoulders. “Are you sure you’re all right? Really?”

  All right? With his blue eyes boring into hers? With the pressure of his big, rugged hands on her shoulders making her feel like the safest woman in the world? The scents surrounding them, fresh bread, car exhaust, roasted nuts, and him.

  A scent that was uniquely Mike, clean, fresh, but manly.

  “I’m fine.” She shrugged away from his grip, refusing to let herself go there. She’d learned a tough lesson as a teenage girl. But faith, hard work, and determination had moved her to a more stable point in life, at long last. She would do nothing to risk that, now or ever.

  Chapter Four

  • • • • • • • • • • • •

  Would Mary Lynn be home? Or would she be out someplace, leaving him no word? And had he given his mother this much trouble as a teen?

  He knew he hadn’t. But then he’d had a solid, stable family life from day one. For over five years, all Mary Lynn had known was war and want, a time of sacrifice, then loss. He couldn’t equate his behavior with hers. And while she wasn’t a young seventeen by any means, she was a gentle-hearted girl, seeking love.

  Intellectually, he understood her actions. Emotionally, he felt like the biggest loser in the world. One job, one not-so-big job, to look out for his almost grown sister, and he’d blown it.

  The brownstone’s stairs gave a familiar squeak. His mother said she could always tell when Dad was coming home by the way the staircase creaked, just so. The melancholy memory pinched. Only two sets of footsteps would echo on these stairs now. That seemed plain wrong.

  The scent of warm turkey greeted him as he opened the door. He breathed deep and bypassed the living room to step up, into the kitchen. “You cooked?”

  Mary Lynn made a wry face. “Aunt Frannie dropped it off. Said all I had to do was heat it up, and I figured that couldn’t be too hard.” Her expression didn’t seem to agree with Aunt Frannie’s assessment, though. Tear streaks ran down her face, and she stared at the stove as if traumatized.

  “Did you burn yourself?”

  She shook her head, then drew a breath.

  The breath did her in. Her face paled to some shade of gray green Mike had no name for, and she raced for the bathroom.

  Mike stood frozen in place, wondering what to do. He wanted to call Maggie, ask her how he could help, but Mary Lynn begged him to keep things quiet, at least for now. But how could he when she was so clearly sick and he had no means of help available?

  “Mare? Can I help?”

  “No.” She sounded tired. Maybe disgusted. With herself? With him? With her condition? He didn’t know.

  “Why don’t you rest? Take a nap? Are naps good for you?”

  A half laugh, half cry came from beyond the golden oak door. “I don’t know. I have no idea. But if I sleep now, I’ll never sleep tonight. And tomorrow I’m supposed to go to a baby shower for Cousin Tess.”

  A baby shower? Sympathy welled within Mike. “Can you handle that okay? Emotionally? Physically? Won’t the smells bother you?” A Polish party was a celebration of foods, including cooked cabbage rolls. Spiced sausage. Chewy bread. And amazing pastries to round out the day, but the combination of odors couldn’t be easy for Mary Lynn if the simple, single aroma of heated turkey and gravy sent her scrambling to the bathroom.

  She opened the door and faced him, looking pinched and miserable. Without a word he extended his arms. She fell into them, crying like she had years ago, when someone broke her favorite toy. Or when their little dog went missing, never to be seen again.

  Mom had fixed her toy almost good as new.

  Dad had gone to the country and found a likely batch of pups and let her pick one out. Bogey had been their dog for nine years now, a sweet, shaggy thing with not a bit of guile. Just a good old dog.

  But Mom and Dad were gone, and Mike had no clue how to fix the current predicament, so he just held her close, letting her cry, offering the only thing he had: love.

  “I don’t know what to do, Mike, what to say. I know that pretty soon people will realize I’m pregnant and they’ll be staring at me, shocked. Surprised. Disgusted. And I don’t know how to handle any of it. And then today, Danny called.”

  “I don’t want him anywhere near you.” Mike didn’t release her, but he loosened his hold enough to look down, into her eyes. “He’s no good, Mare. No matter how cool he seems or seemed, he’s the kind of guy who puts himself first, always. You don’t believe he was thinking of your welfare when he—” Mike arched an eyebrow.

  Mary Lynn huffed a breath, understanding him without words. “No. He wasn’t. Not then and not now. He thinks I should get rid of the baby, Mike.”

  “You mean have someone adopt it? When it’s born?”

  The answering look on her face said that wasn’t the kid’s intent, which meant . . .

  “An abortion?” That the kid had the audacity to suggest an illegal and immoral act heightened Mike’s anger.

  “He said there was a doctor he heard about in Queens, but . . . I can’t do that, Mike.” She teared up again and Mike pulled her close, hugging her. “It’s not the baby’s fault that I’m stupid.”

  “You’re not stupid.” He toughened his voice, ready to do battle. It was all right if he thought her actions were dumb. It wasn’t all right for her to think so. “We all make mistakes, Mare. We’re all young at one time or another.”

  “Not you, Mike.” She pulled back, grabbed a hanky, and blew her nose. “You’re always doing the right thing. Working. Protecting. Fighting wars. I’m the one who messes up. I couldn’t even fold the stupid bandages right when Mom took me to Ladies’ Day to help get things done.”

  “You were twelve.”

  “Old enough to help.” Mary Lynn heaved a sigh, then worried the cotton hanky in her hand. “I’m not smart enough to be a mom. Not yet. But I would never do what Danny said.”

  “What’d you tell him?”

  “I told him to never call me again. And to stay away from me and my kid.”

  Mike liked that scenario. And because he did approve it, he figured it might not be the best one, but for now he’d let it ride. Because keeping Mary Lynn healthy and calm was taking top priority on his list.

  He nodded toward the kitchen. “You hungry or no?”

  Her skin washed out again. She shook her head.

  “Then why don’t you go rest. If you don’t feel like going with Aunt Fran tomorrow, stay home. I’m working tomorrow, but I’m off on Monday.”

  “I have school Monday.”

  He nodded. “But we need to find you a doctor, a woman’s doctor. We need to make sure you’re okay, Mare.” He turned to go back to the kitchen.

  Mary Lynn’s voice stopped him. “Do you hate me, Mike?”

  He shook his head. Turned. “Never.”

  “But you’re disappointed in me.”

  Mike eyed the wall, the ceiling, the floor. He sighed, then brought his gaze back to hers, reached out an arm, and tugged her down to sit beside him on the step. “I’m ten years older than you are.”

  She nodded.

  “Until that war came along, I had everything going for me. Family. Home. School. Baseball.”

  She smiled at that, because they’d been brought up to love baseball. The ball park was their home-away-from-home. The game was second nature. They’d played ball in the park from the time they were small children. Neighbors joined in, parents. Friends. Playing ball was woven into the fabric of their lives.

  “I went to war knowing who I was, what I was doing, what I was fighting for. And being a soldier grows you up, hard and fast.” He reached his arm around her and gave her a gentle squeeze. “But being home alone is hard on women. The extra work, the worry, the waiting so long between letters. When you’re in the trenches, time ju
st passes. You lose track, you just go from one battle to the next, praying.

  “Back here?” He raised his right shoulder and sighed. “I guess I didn’t know how hard it was to be left behind, waiting for that telegram. I can’t even think of how difficult that was for you and Mom, with Dad and me gone. Mom going out to work. You coming home to an empty house, day after day. And then Dad died, and you guys bore that alone too. You handled Mom’s illness on your own until I got back. Mare, it’s not that you’re a mess-up. It’s that you had too much on your plate, and I didn’t realize that until you told me about the baby.”

  “Too late,” she whispered.

  The drama in her voice challenged him.

  It wasn’t too late. He’d tackled his share of hard work in the army. And it wasn’t going to be easy to deal with this new circumstance. Was she going to be sick every day? Emotional? On the verge of tears constantly? Was this normal?

  He hoped not, but he had no idea, which meant they needed to seek professional help. That meant owning up to a doctor—a stranger—about his sister’s condition. He wasn’t about to consult his two buddies who’d recently become new fathers. Keeping Mary Lynn’s condition quiet for the time being was important.

  To whom? You or her?

  Both, Mike decided. His parents hadn’t aired dirty linen in public. Neither would he. And if he needed a little time to figure out the best course of action, he’d take it.

  “I’m going to lie down for a little bit.” She raised her gaze to his, and he knew what she longed for. He read the petition in her tear-filled eyes. She wanted forgiveness and absolution, but Mike had been a black-and-white, right-and-wrong kind of guy for as long as he could remember. Those qualities made him a good soldier and a great cop. Right now, Mary was looking for a shade of gray he couldn’t offer her, and frankly? He wasn’t sure he ever could.

  * * * * *

  Quieter streets greeted Mike on Sunday morning. He strode up one side of Macy’s, then down another, reality sinking in.

  No Karen.

  He moved across the street, walking the beat he’d been assigned, watching for a glimpse of her shiny, red kettle.