On Christmas Eve

by Thomas Kinkade

  “Hah! That’s a good one.” Charlie made a snorting sound.

  Lucy picked up the check from the table. “It’s seven dollars and fifteen cents.”

  She glanced at the girl and waited, wondering if the girl would finally take out her wallet and pay. Maybe she didn’t have the money, or had so little, she was trying to conserve her resources.

  “You heard the lady. We don’t have all night,” Charlie reminded the girl. “Seven dollars. You can skip the change.”

  He had hardly raised his voice but his tone was harsh. The girl looked scared. Her chin trembled. Then she looked up at him, her eyes hard. “I don’t have any money. Sorry.” She shrugged, not looking sorry in the least.

  “What do you mean you don’t have it?” Charlie’s temper was rising, Lucy could tell. “You don’t have it, or you don’t want to pay? That’s just plain dishonest. That’s stealing. You came in here, ate the food. Now you have to pay for it.”

  “I just told you, mister. I made a mistake. I thought I had more money in my wallet. But I don’t. What are you going to do? Lock me in here overnight and make me wash dishes?”

  Charlie’s mouth hung open for a moment, then snapped shut. This little girl had a smart mouth. Lucy and Charlie didn’t allow their kids to talk like that. Charlie hated to be disrespected. It got under his skin in the worst way.

  “Now you’re smart-mouthing me, on top of everything? I’ll tell you what I can do, Missy. I can call the police. They’ll take you back to the station and lock you up. You’ll be sitting there until your parents come to get you. Now what do you have to say?”

  The girl didn’t say anything. She stared at Charlie with an angry expression, her arms crossed over her chest. Her defiant look would have wilted most anyone, Lucy thought. Anyone but her husband, Charlie. It only made him madder.

  This was getting out of hand. The girl was brazen and rude. But she was just a kid, after all, and it was late, Lucy reasoned. Maybe a token amount would satisfy Charlie, and they could send the girl home. She didn’t look like she had much to spare. They didn’t have to browbeat her over seven dollars.

  “Slow down, Charlie. Let’s just talk a minute and try to figure this out.”

  Charlie met her glance. “I just did. Seven dollars—or I make a call to Tucker. That’s the choice, clear and simple.”

  It wasn’t so clear and simple to Lucy. Did this girl even have parents who would come running after that sort of phone call? Looking at her, Lucy had to wonder.

  The girl stood with her head bowed, chewing on her cuticle.

  “Look at her, Charlie,” Lucy implored in a hushed voice. “She’s a kid. She must be about sixteen, or even younger. I bet she’s telling the truth, and she has no money.”

  “It’s the principle of the thing, Lucy. This girl needs to be taught a lesson. Maybe she’ll think twice before trying to swindle someone else.”

  “I’d hardly call a check for a grilled-cheese grand larceny.”

  He glared at her. “Now you’re smart-mouthing me, too?”

  Lucy didn’t answer. She turned to the girl, who was coughing again and wiping her nose with a wad of tissues. While Lucy and Charlie had been arguing, the girl had sat down in a spare chair near the door. Her forehead and hairline looked damp with sweat. Either nerves or a fever, Lucy thought.

  “Where are you headed to tonight?” Lucy said kindly.

  The girl looked surprised by Lucy’s tone—surprised and suspicious.

  She shrugged. “I’m going to my aunt’s house. She lives around here.”

  “Really? Maybe I know her. What’s her name?”

  “I don’t think you know her. She just moved here,” the girl said quickly.

  “What street does she live on?” Lucy knew she was pressing now, but she could already guess the answer.

  “I’m not sure. . . . I have it written down somewhere,” the girl said vaguely.

  Lucy didn’t answer, just nodded.

  “So, can I go, or what? My aunt is waiting for me. She’ll be worried.”

  The girl rose and took a step toward the door, and Charlie took a step toward the girl. “Hey, not so fast. We still have some business to settle, miss.”

  “That’s right, we don’t want you to go yet. Just sit down over here for a minute, please.” Lucy led the girl away from the door and sat her at a nearby table. “My husband and I have to talk. You can leave soon, I promise.”

  The girl twisted her mouth with a frustrated look but did as she was told. Another coughing fit took hold, and Lucy thought it was a good thing the girl was seated. She looked so pale and weak, she might have fallen down.

  Charlie stared at the girl like a hound that had cornered its prey. Lucy had to pull him aside to talk privately. “Just leave her a minute. She’s not going anywhere.”

  “You’re so gullible, Lucy. That one will run as soon as we turn our backs.”

  “That’s just the problem, Charlie. I think she’s a runaway, out on the road. She’s got all the signs. No money and doesn’t seem to have a place to stay.” Lucy glanced back at the girl and sighed. “I know it’s a pain in the neck, but we can’t just let her go.”

  “Who said anything about letting her go? We’ll call Tucker. Let him handle it.” Tucker Tulley was Charlie’s closest friend. A sergeant with the Cape Light police department, Tucker was Charlie’s go-to guy for any legal questions. “She tried to walk out on a check. That’s grounds enough to lock her up for the night,” he insisted.

  “Lock her up? Are you crazy? Tucker will never arrest her over a seven-dollar check.” Lucy knew their softhearted police officer friend too well.

  “Okay, maybe he won’t charge her. But he’ll let her sleep in the station. They let vagrants sleep in the lockup if they have no place else to go.” When Lucy didn’t answer right away, he added, “Come on, Lucy. What else can we do? Let’s not stand around arguing about this kid all night. It’s snowing out there. I want to get home.”

  Lucy was tired, too. And frustrated and annoyed at having this problem dumped in her lap at this hour. She didn’t want to feel responsible for this teenage girl—a surly, rude, and not entirely truthful one at that. But she did feel responsible, and leaving the girl in the town lockup for the night was no solution. The sheer idea of it was outrageous.

  “She’s barely sixteen. She can’t sleep in any smelly old lockup. Look at her,” Lucy urged her husband. “She’s sick. She needs help.”

  Charlie practically gritted his teeth, but he did turn to look at the girl. Under the makeup, punked-out hair, and trashy clothes, Lucy saw a glimmer of vulnerability. Or maybe she just looked even sicker now. Still sitting in the chair, she shivered and pulled her jacket tighter around her slim body.

  “Don’t tell me you’re thinking of taking her to the hospital, Lucy. That drive is over an hour and will take two in the snow. And I know you don’t want to do that on your own at this hour.”

  Lucy knew very well how long it took to get to the Southport Hospital. She made the trip back and forth nearly every day. She had already considered that solution and rejected it. Charlie was right. It was too long, too late, and too cold outside.

  “No, not the hospital. You’re right. It’s too late to take her there.” She paused and met his glance but didn’t say anything more.

  “Give it to me straight, Lucy. But I hope you’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking,” he warned.

  Lucy knew she probably was. “Please, Charlie. We have to take her home with us.”

  There, she’d said it. It wasn’t the solution either of them wanted, but what else could be done?

  Charlie’s eyes rolled back in his head. “Are you out of your mind? Look at her, Lucy. Does that look like a ‘nice’ girl? She’ll rob us in our sleep. We’ll be out more than seven dollars and fifteen cents before she’s through—”

  He would have gone on longer, but Lucy quickly cut in. “Stop that. You’re just talking off the top of your head. You don’
t know anything about her.”

  “Neither do you,” he shot back. “That’s just my point. All we know is she skips out on checks. Great recommendation.”

  Lucy couldn’t deny what he said was true. Yet she felt it was just one part of the picture. The girl had no money, probably no place to go tonight, and she was sick. She was certainly no Girl Scout, and her fashion sense was horrific. But they couldn’t just send her back out on the street. Maybe taking her home wasn’t an ideal solution, but there didn’t seem to be a better one. They had to help her. It was the responsible thing to do—the right thing.

  Lucy knew that if she didn’t take charge of this kid tonight, she wouldn’t be able to sleep a wink, wondering what had happened to her. While Charlie was certainly not heartless, she knew that he would not lose much sleep over it. The girl was a stranger, not a friend or family, and she had tried to cheat him on top of it all. But Lucy saw it differently. As she often did. She knew it was no use trying to convince him.

  “Charlie, I’m too tired to argue with you. There’s no place else to bring her—unless you have a better idea?”

  “You’ve heard my idea,” he grumbled. “You can’t just bring strangers off the street home to our house, Lucy. It isn’t safe.”

  Under most circumstances, Lucy would be inclined to agree with him. But this girl . . . well, she obviously tried hard to look dangerous, but Lucy doubted there was any threat. Not tonight anyway.

  “She’s sick, Charlie. It’s just the decent thing to do. If you won’t let me bring her back to our house, I’ll bring her someplace else. I’ll call Vera Plante,” Lucy added, mentioning a woman who rented rooms in her big old house to boarders. “Maybe she has a room or two.”

  “Maybe she does,” Charlie shouted back at her. “Maybe you can find some other homeless bums around town and bring them all over there, Lucy.”

  Lucy didn’t say anything. She took a deep breath then checked her watch. “I’m going to call Vera. It’s not too late. She’s probably still up watching TV.”

  Charlie stared at her, as if he didn’t believe she would go through with her threat. She turned and headed toward the phone near the cash register. She picked it up and dialed information.

  When the operator came on, Lucy said, “It’s Plante. P-l-a-n-t-e. Initial V . . .”

  Charlie waved his hand at her. “Okay. You win. No need to call in Vera Plante. That old busybody will tell the whole town you’ve moved out on me.”

  Lucy wanted to grin but forced a serious expression as she hung up the phone. It was true. Vera was a nice woman but an incurable gossip. Vera would have broadcasted her own assumptions, no matter what reason Lucy gave for taking a room.

  He let out a long sigh and shook his head. “She’s all yours.” He glanced over at the girl, who now sat with her head resting on her folded arms. “It’s just for tonight. Understand?”

  “Of course it’s just for tonight,” Lucy assured him. She felt obliged to help the child at this late hour, but she wasn’t a social worker. Nor did she want to be. She would make some calls tomorrow and find someone who was.

  Charlie shook his head but didn’t answer. He swung around and grabbed the mop, which was propped up against the counter. “Guess I’m stuck finishing up here alone. See you later.”

  Lucy walked toward the girl and gently touched her shoulder. She had dozed off. She probably had a fever, Lucy thought. The girl lifted her head slowly and blinked, seeming disoriented.

  “How are you doing?” Lucy asked quietly. “Not feeling so good?”

  “I’m all right,” the girl insisted in a raspy voice. “So, what’s the verdict? Am I going to jail?” She sat up and yanked down her jacket, then wiped her nose with the back of her hand.

  “We’ve decided not to call the police. Even though you shouldn’t have tried to sneak out without paying,” Lucy added. “That wasn’t right.”

  The girl glanced away, but didn’t say anything. Then she looked back at Lucy, her gaze hard again. “So, what’s the story? You want me to write you an IOU or something?”

  Lucy nearly laughed out loud. “Let’s just skip it. I’m going to drive you to your aunt’s or someplace safe. Maybe to a friend’s, where there’s an adult at home? Or, if you want, you can come home with me and stay at our house.”

  Lucy had a feeling there was no aunt in town. No relation or friend of any kind. But she also had a sense that this child would react badly if confronted. The situation had to be handled carefully, Lucy decided, or the girl would just take off again.

  The girl stared at her a moment, then pulled out her scarf and wound it around her neck. A gauzy material, black with pink polka dots. Lots of fringe, little warmth, Lucy guessed.

  The girl seemed confused, biding time. Lucy could almost hear the wheels turning and knew she was weighing her choices.

  “I never told you my name,” Lucy said, sitting down next to her at the table. “It’s Lucy. Lucy Bates. What’s yours?”

  “Zoey . . . Zoey Jones.”

  Lucy doubted that. But she tried not to let on. “That’s a pretty name. Very unusual.”

  The girl looked up, about to reply, but was interrupted by a coughing fit. The worst so far. Lucy rested a hand on her shoulder. “You’re sick, honey. You need to get into a nice, warm bed and have some hot tea, with plenty of lemon and honey. I’ll drive you to your aunt’s house tomorrow,” she added, playing along with the story. “How does that sound?”

  The girl had gotten her breath again. “Okay. It is sort of late. My aunt might be sleeping by now. She isn’t really expecting me. I was going to surprise her.”

  Lucy nodded. “Better not wake her then. Let me grab my coat and we’ll go.”

  They settled into Lucy’s car, and she headed for her house on the other side of town. The girl sat in the passenger seat, staring out the passenger window. She occasionally coughed but otherwise didn’t say a word. Lucy knew how teenagers were. Her older son sat in the car like a stone lion. When he did communicate, it was a mixture of grunts and monosyllables.

  They rode along in silence for a while. When Lucy finally glanced over at Zoey, she found the girl fast asleep, her head settled back and her eyes closed.

  Ten minutes later, Lucy pulled into the driveway and turned off the engine. Then she softly roused the girl and led her inside. They stood in the foyer a moment while Lucy hung up her coat. “Can I take your jacket?”

  Zoey shook her head. “That’s okay. I’ll keep it with me.”

  Just in case you need to make a fast getaway, Lucy thought. But she guessed this whole situation was awkward for the girl. She didn’t want to make it any harder.

  She shut the closet door and turned back to Zoey, who was gazing around curiously. It was a comfortable house, Lucy knew, though by no means grand. But the way the girl was looking around, you would think she had stepped into the Ritz-Carlton.

  “Come on upstairs. You’ll be in the guest room on the third floor. Lots of privacy. We hardly ever have guests, but Charlie’s mother usually stays there when she comes up from Florida to visit.”

  When they reached the second-floor landing, Lucy noticed the door to her younger son Jamie’s room was closed. C.J.’s door was open a crack. He was still up but so engrossed in his computer that he didn’t even notice them pass by. Just as well, Lucy thought. She would explain the situation to her boys privately.

  “I have two sons. Jamie is eleven and C.J. is sixteen,” Lucy told her. “You’ll get to meet them tomorrow, I guess.”

  Zoey didn’t answer or show any response to her one-sided conversation. But she was sick, Lucy reminded herself. She had to get the girl in bed and take her temperature right away.

  When they reached the third floor, Lucy showed Zoey the room and the adjoining bathroom. She took out some towels and a new toothbrush from the linen closet. “Do you need to borrow a nightgown or anything?” she asked.

  Zoey sat on the edge of the bed and shook her head. “I have my own stuff.
”

  “Okay, then. You make yourself comfortable. I’m going to fix you that tea I promised. It will make your throat feel better.” Lucy reached out and pressed her palm to the girl’s forehead. Zoey shrank back a bit, barely enduring the touch. Like a stray cat that’s been treated badly and lost trust, Lucy thought.

  “You definitely have a fever,” Lucy told her. “Do you have a sore throat or a headache?”

  “Yeah . . . I guess. A little. I don’t feel that great,” Zoey finally admitted.

  Lucy’s heart went out to her. She’d lost her tough edge for a moment and looked so forlorn, lonely, and defenseless.

  “You get cleaned up and get in bed. I’ll be right back.” Then Lucy left the room, giving Zoey her privacy.

  When she returned a short time later, Lucy knocked on the door. She waited, but Zoey didn’t answer. Lucy peeked in and saw that the girl was in bed with the covers up to her chin. Her backpack sat right next to her on the quilt, as if it were a security blanket. Or as if Zoey was afraid someone might steal it during the night. The pack looked dirty and Lucy didn’t think it should be up on the bed, but she didn’t dare touch it.

  Zoey seemed to be wearing a black T-shirt for a nightgown. Lucy could only see the edge of the shirt but imagined the name of a rock band on the front. The girl’s thick, shaggy hair was in a ponytail that stood up on the top of her head. The black eye makeup—most of it—had been washed off her face and she looked much younger, Lucy thought. More like a little girl. Her eyes were closed but she was visibly shivering.

  “Do you have the chills? I’ll get you another blanket.” Lucy crossed the room and took another thick blanket from a quilt rack near the window. She spread it over Zoey and tucked it tight. “How’s that? Any better?” Zoey met her glance and nodded.

  “Okay, let’s see what’s going on with you.” Lucy set the button on the electronic thermometer. “Put this under your tongue and hold it there until it beeps.”

  Zoey took the thermometer and did as she was told. A few seconds later, the beep sounded. Lucy took it out and checked the reading. One hundred three . . . and a half?