On Christmas Eve

by Thomas Kinkade

  “No problem. I feel like I’m half-dead. I can hardly move.”

  Lucy believed her. The girl was weak. “Fine. Just so we understand each other.”

  Lucy left the room feeling they had made some progress. At least she got some answers to her questions. But now there were even more. Wasn’t that the way these things always seemed to go?

  CHARLIE CAME HOME IN THE LATE AFTERNOON, BETWEEN THE LUNCH rush and dinner hour. Lucy was in the kitchen, lining up Zoey’s pill bottles on the counter and double-checking the times and dosage. She noted them all on a list and made a schedule so Zoey wouldn’t miss any medication.

  “What’s going on here? Are you opening a pharmacy, Lucy?”

  “This is all Zoey’s medicine. We had a visit with Dr. Harding today. Just what I thought—she has an upper respiratory infection. It’s not pneumonia yet, but it could be if she’s not careful.”

  “That bad, huh? Sounds contagious . . . Is she still upstairs?”

  Trust Charlie to think first of his own skin, and then kin, in that order.

  “What the heck is she still doing here, Lucy? You promised me it was only for one night. One night. And then she’d go. Isn’t that what you promised me?”

  “I did,” Lucy agreed. No use denying it. “But I didn’t realize how sick she is, Charlie. We can’t just toss her out in the cold.”

  “No, of course not. But you can send her back to wherever she came from. Did you even ask her the real story?”

  “She told me she was in a foster home and she ran away. She said it was horrible, and she was never going back.”

  “Oh, all teenagers think their families are horrible.”

  “Well, maybe this one really is. Matt Harding gave me some phone numbers. I’ve been calling around all afternoon. I did catch up with a social worker who knows Zoey.”

  “And? What did she say? Doesn’t she want the kid back? Aren’t there some rules and regulations about this sort of thing?”

  “Of course there are rules.” Lucy finished her list and sat down at the table with her husband. “But it seems that Zoey’s foster family never even reported her missing. So they broke that rule and they’re in trouble now. They can’t have her back.”

  Charlie took a breath. She could see he was trying to control his temper. “Okay, I get it. But she’s got to go somewhere. Doesn’t the county have a place to keep these kids when they don’t have a family to live with?”

  “Yes, but since she’s so sick, that wouldn’t be the best solution either. The social worker said so herself,” Lucy hastened to add.

  “Right. Don’t tell me. You offered to keep her until she gets well?”

  “I didn’t see any other choice, Charlie. She can’t go anywhere. She’ll end up in the hospital.”

  “Great. Now we’ll all get sick and end up in the hospital. Ever think of that?”

  Lucy had thought of that. She was around sick people all day, and her immunity had built up. But she didn’t want the boys to get sick, miss school, and play havoc with her work schedule. There was a certain risk in keeping Zoey here when she was so ill. But before she could say anything more, Charlie continued to make his point.

  “I can’t afford to miss work, Lucy. Who’s going to run that diner? Can you fit it in between your real job and nursing perfect strangers?”

  “Calm down, Charlie.” She stood up and stepped over to the counter and handed him a bottle of vitamin C and another of hand sanitizer. “That should help. Besides, Zoey’s on antibiotics. She won’t be contagious after twenty-four hours.”

  “Great. What am I supposed to do, hold my breath until then?”

  “Well, that might help if you could manage it,” she joked. She gave him a quick smile, and when he refused to return it she went on, “A social worker is coming here tomorrow. She needs to do a home visit and ask us both a few questions. And talk to Zoey, of course. It’s pretty easy to be cleared as temporary guardians. Then Zoey can stay with us until—”

  “Absolutely not,” Charlie answered before Lucy had even finished talking. “She’s not a nice girl, Lucy. Just look at her. I’ll bet she’s been in plenty of trouble at school and maybe even with the law. Did the social worker tell you anything about that?”

  Actually, Lucy had been wondering about Zoey’s background and even the kind of trouble she might have gotten into. She would have admitted these concerns to Charlie if he wasn’t so . . . combative all the time. He put her on the defensive and made it so hard to talk things out.

  “We’ve worked too hard to keep our boys away from kids like that,” he went on. “Why invite trouble right into our house? Does that make any sense?”

  “Because she needs help, that’s why,” Lucy insisted. “And if you had just let me finish before, I would have told you that it’s only for a few days. I think our kids can survive her influence that long.”

  He didn’t answer, just looked at her with an angry expression.

  “I know she’s not a Girl Scout, or anything close,” Lucy continued. “But she’s had no guidance, no one looking out for her, for years. This last foster family didn’t even report her missing. It was probably an awful environment. She practically begged me not to send her back there. She’s sick and she has no place to go other than some sort of shelter or group house. . . .” Lucy heard her voice getting shaky and emotional. She took a deep breath and got to her feet. “I know you don’t like the idea, but I can’t see what else we can do. If you think about it and search your heart and conscience, you’ll realize that, Charlie. At least, I hope so,” she added quietly.

  Lucy meant it. Charlie’s hot temper could flare up in a second, like a match hitting kerosene. But deep inside he had a good heart, she thought. Or, at least, he used to when she married him. Had he changed so much over the years?

  Charlie let out a long, ragged breath and looked up at her. “All right, she can stay. You got around me. This time. Meanwhile, tell that social worker to get on the job and figure out where she’s going next. I’m not signing on to take care of a wild, runaway teenage girl. I’m telling you right now.”

  Lucy didn’t answer. She had won round two at least. But she wondered what Charlie would say in his interview tomorrow. He didn’t seem to realize Zoey couldn’t stay if they weren’t approved to be temporary guardians. Both of them.

  But before she could ask him about that sticky wicket, she heard the back door fly open and the sounds of C.J. coming in, dumping his basketball and book bag on the floor.

  “Hey, everybody, I’m home,” he announced. He strolled into the kitchen and patted Charlie on the head, like a pet dog. “Hey, Pop. What’s up?”

  Charlie gazed up at him without a word of objection. C.J. was the only one who could ever take such liberties with Charlie. Lucy didn’t know how he got away with it. Firstborn son and namesake. Charlie was so proud of him, especially now that C.J. was almost a man.

  “What’s up with you, buddy? How was the game? Score any points?” Charlie grilled him eagerly.

  “It was just a scrimmage. I sunk a few.”

  “Good boy. Make it more than a few next time,” Charlie advised.

  “Are you coming to my game on Wednesday? We’re home against Newburyport.”

  “Sure, I can make it,” Charlie promised. “Tell the coach to play you in the first half. I might have to leave early.”

  “Okay, Dad. I’ll tell him you said so.” C.J.’s tone was sarcastic, as usual. Typical for his age, Lucy knew. Still she knew how much C.J. appreciated Charlie’s interest. She had to give her husband some credit. Attending the boys’ school or sports events was important to him and practically the only time he allowed himself to leave the diner.

  “Guess what? Your mother opened up an infirmary in the guest room,” Charlie told C.J. as he gazed into the refrigerator. “Better drink some orange juice,” Charlie coaxed him in a serious tone. “Better drink that whole carton.”

  C.J. took the juice out and turned around to look at hi
m. “What are you talking about? That girl upstairs that Mom brought home?”

  “Yeah, that’s the one.” Charlie rose from his seat and cocked his head in Lucy’s direction. “Go ahead, ask your mother. I don’t know much about it. Even though I pay all the bills around here,” he added, directing the remark at Lucy.

  That wasn’t true. Lucy paid plenty of them now that she was earning a good salary. But she let him vent. He had a right, she reasoned, watching him stalk off to the family room to watch the news.

  It wasn’t that her husband’s objections were unfounded or even unreasonable. But there was more to figuring out life’s problems than just looking at the facts. Well, at least she had persuaded him to let Zoey stay a day or two more. The girl would get well quickly now that she was on antibiotics. In a day or so, she would be well enough to go.

  Good deed done. End of story, Lucy thought.

  C.J. pulled open the cupboards, looking for something to eat. “So what’s the story with this girl, Mom?”

  “She was in a foster home, but they weren’t treating her right. So she ran away. She has a bad upper respiratory infection, and she has to stay here awhile—until she feels better and until another home is found for her.”

  “Great. Can we catch it? I have a big game coming up. I don’t want to get sick.”

  “You won’t if you’re careful. Just keep washing your hands and put all the cups and glasses in the dishwasher. And take some extra vitamin C,” she added. “We all had our flu shots. I think we’ll be okay.”

  She sent up a little prayer just in case. All she needed was Charlie or one of the kids coming down with something. He’d never let her forget it.

  Lucy turned to C.J., who had the refrigerator open again and was staring into it like a hungry wolf. “Do you have any other questions you want to ask me about her?” Lucy knew it was important to be straightforward with the boys. She didn’t want them to think there was something mysterious or secret going on.

  “Yeah. When’s dinner and what are we having?”

  “Six o’clock. Roast chicken and potatoes,” she answered succinctly.

  “Great. I’m going up to do my homework,” he said.

  That went well, she thought. Now if only Charlie Senior were as easily satisfied with her answers.

  EVER SINCE SHE HAD GOTTEN INVOLVED IN THE CATERING BUSINESS, Tuesday had become Betty’s favorite day of the week. On Monday, she was usually pooped from supervising parties all weekend. And by Wednesday they were already gearing up for the next round. But on Tuesday, she and Molly had time to work at their own pace, experiment with recipes or table settings. Sometimes they would just talk and cook all day.

  It had turned out to be one of those days as they tried out a new hors d’oeuvre, a marinated goat cheese served in little pockets of radicchio. Molly was explaining how she had seen a celebrity cook fixing the dish on TV while she was walking on the treadmill at the gym.

  “I love to watch the cooking shows while I work out. Even though it makes me hungry,” she confessed with a sigh. “It’s the only way I can speed walk a few miles a week—with a chocolate cake or some barbequed ribs dangling in front of my face.”

  “Or some goat cheese,” Betty added. She taste-tested the cheese with a teaspoon. “Mmm . . . creamy. Where did you get it?”

  “At the Gilroy Goat Farm, on Angel Island. You’ll have to come with me the next time I go out there. They’ve done wonders with the place. It’s really lovely.”

  Angel Island was just across the harbor from the village, connected to the mainland by a land bridge. There wasn’t much out there except for a few cottages and an old inn that someone was trying to renovate. It was a beautiful and wild place.

  “I used to love driving to Angel Island whenever I had a house to show out there,” Betty said wistfully. “It’s such a romantic spot.”

  “Matt and I used to go there a lot before we were married. Perfect for a date,” Molly said knowingly. “Speaking of dates, has Alex called you yet?”

  “He did. Just last night. We’re going out on Friday. We’re going to play tennis at his health club, then go to dinner.”

  “That sounds like fun. I didn’t know you played tennis.” Molly had started the marinade and measured out a cup of olive oil.

  “Well, I don’t really. Not anymore. But I mentioned that I used to play a lot of tennis and golf with Ted,” she explained, mentioning her first husband. “I told Alex I wanted to get back to it again someday. I meant some far-off time, when I’m retired and have nothing to do. But he got all excited and wants to help me brush up. Apparently, he’s a big tennis player.”

  “I didn’t know that. Well, there’s something else you have in common,” Molly said happily. “Sounds like he’s looking for a new mixed-doubles partner.”

  Betty had the same feeling. “I hope this isn’t the tryout. I won’t make the cut.”

  Molly handed her a bunch of scallions, and Betty started dicing with a long, sharp knife. Cooking was so calming. She wasn’t a great cook but did enjoy the therapeutic benefits.

  “Don’t look at it like a contest,” Molly advised. “Men like to be helpful and feel they’re teaching you something. Especially a sport. He’ll probably have a much better time giving you a few pointers than if you trot out there and wipe the court with him, like Serena Williams.”

  “So I play the helpless damsel, who doesn’t know which way to point the racket? Is that it?” Betty’s tone was sarcastic but Molly didn’t even notice.

  “You’re catching on.” She winked and pulsed the food processor, now filled with a mixture of parsley, basil, scallions, and garlic.

  Betty sighed. “I know he just wanted to plan something fun for us to do together. But now I’ve got to dress up in a tennis outfit and swing a racket for at least an hour before I can eat.”

  “Now, now. Get a grip, Betty. You’re a good sport.”

  “I am. But the truth is, I would have rather seen a movie,” she confessed. “Come to think of it, I would have rather he asked me first before he reserved the court time and all that. Next time, I’ll suggest a movie. In fact, maybe I’ll plan the date and ask him out.”

  “That sounds like a good plan. In the meantime, suit up and try to have fun. You’ve been on worse dates, I’m sure.” Molly’s words were meant to be comforting, but they only reminded Betty of how many bad dates she had endured. Now it was hard to tell if she was actually having a good time on a date—or if it was just slightly better than complete boredom.

  Molly placed the chopped herbs into the olive mixture, and Betty turned everything with a long metal spoon. “Do you remember that guy at the Rotary Club party who helped me carry in the appetizers?”

  Molly’s brow crinkled. “Sort of. I didn’t really get a good look.”

  “Well, he was cute, take my word for it. He has these awesome blue eyes,” Betty recalled. “After you left, I had trouble with the van, remember? He was the guy who helped me and jumped the battery.”

  She had told Molly on Monday that the battery in the van had died and the vehicle needed to go into the shop. But she hadn’t gone into details about how Nathan had helped her.

  Molly put the goat cheese on a cutting board and cut thin, even slices. “Did he ask for your number?”

  Betty shook her head. “No, he didn’t. He was very sweet and followed me home, to make sure the van didn’t die again. The thing is, when he told me what he does for a living, I guess I reacted . . . badly.”

  “What does he do? Is he a garbageman? No, wait . . . Does he work in a funeral parlor?”

  “It’s not that bad.” Betty had to laugh. “Remember the party Santa? Well, that was him. I didn’t recognize him all the way across the room. He was disguised really well.”

  “The costume was great,” Molly agreed. “Was he a volunteer there, part of the Rotary?”

  “Nope. He does it for pay. Well, maybe not that party. He says he likes to do parties for good causes. But he is a profes
sional Santa. No way around it. He had another appearance right after, at the tree lighting in town.”

  “You’re kidding, right?” Molly laughed. Betty could see she found it all very amusing. “That was him?”

  Betty nodded, wishing she were kidding. “Yep. He’s obviously good at what he does and very much in demand.” Was she trying too hard to put a positive spin on this situation? Well, maybe a little.

  Betty had tried to put the attractive party Santa out of her mind, but over the last few days she realized how much she had liked him. She had enjoyed talking to him. There had just been something very easy about their rapport. And that was rare.

  “Too bad. He seemed like a nice guy.” Molly was sympathetic. She had also totally dismissed the idea of Betty getting to know Nathan better. The Santa thing definitely disqualified him from Molly’s list.

  “He is nice,” Betty assured her. “But I sort of blew it. I must have made a face or something when he told me,” she confessed. “But it does seem . . . odd. I wonder why anyone would be a professional Santa. I mean, what does he do the rest of the year?”

  “There are other holidays,” Molly said thoughtfully. “On Easter, he can dress up as the Easter Bunny, Uncle Sam for the Fourth of July, a patriot on Founders Day. Maybe a warlock or vampire on Halloween?”

  “Yes, very true.” Betty acted amused but secretly felt a bit embarrassed.

  And Molly wasn’t through. “—Then there’s probably a big demand for dancing cheesesteak sandwiches at the mall. . . . Or friendly baked potatoes?”

  “Okay, Molly. You made your point.” It was just what she expected. If she ever got involved with Nathan, this was what she would have to put up with. It was just as well he hadn’t asked for her number. But why did that thought make her feel a little sad?

  CHARLIE GLANCED AT HIS WATCH AND DECIDED TO IGNORE IT. THE watch was a cheap one and had never been accurate. If he really wanted to know the time, he had to check the clock in the kitchen, the official standard for employee time sheets.