On Christmas Eve

by Thomas Kinkade

  Charlie knew that he should probably check the clock back there right now. Instead, he decided to clean off the grill. The breakfast rush was over, and his watch read half past ten, give or take ten minutes either way. Charlie knew he was due home soon. Lucy had some social worker coming to the house to fill out papers about the girl. But he was in no hurry for that appointment.

  As he mulled over his wife’s possible reactions, Charlie saw his friend Tucker Tulley come through the door. Tucker usually came in earlier and Charlie had been wondering if he would drop by today at all. Here was the perfect excuse to linger behind the counter.

  “Hey, Tucker. Where you been? Taking your business across the street?” They both knew what Charlie meant. The Beanery had opened up on Main Street about seven years ago, becoming the only real competition to the venerable Clam Box. Charlie still considered the place a passing fancy, predicting people would soon get bored with the bohemian atmosphere and strange menu. And what the heck was a “Curry Hummus Vegetable Wrap” anyway?

  “I’ve got a real thing for those caramel cappuccinos,” Tucker answered. “It’s hard to go back to your muddy old coffee, Charlie.”

  “Real men don’t drink foamed-up coffee, pal. Haven’t you heard?” Charlie poured Tucker a mug of coffee and pushed it toward him. “Here you go. The real thing. This will get you straightened out again.”

  Tucker sipped the coffee and grinned. “So what’s happening on the home front? Still have that girl at your house?”

  Charlie had told Tucker all about Zoey, how she tried to skip out on her check Sunday night and how Lucy had insisted on taking her home.

  “Lucy took her over to Dr. Harding yesterday. The kid has a chest cold or something. Lucy called social services. Seems the kid didn’t even give us her real name. She ran away from a foster family, so the social services won’t send her back there, and she’s too sick to go into a shelter. Or so they tell Lucy.”

  “So you and Lucy are taking her in for a while,” Tucker surmised.

  Charlie didn’t like the sound of that. “Just for a day or so. Until the medicine kicks in.”

  “I see. Temporary guardianship,” Tucker clarified. He’d seen a number of homeless kids and runaways. He knew how the system worked.

  “Well . . . it will be. If I go home in time for the appointment,” Charlie admitted. He checked his watch again, not sure if the minute hand was working today. “What time do you have, Tucker?”

  Tucker checked his watch, a big silver Timex. “Quarter to eleven. What time is your meeting?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I think Lucy said to get home by half past ten, but she knows that I’m stuck in here, working.”

  Tucker glanced around. He was just about the only customer in the place, and the very capable Trudy was on today, covering the tables. “Did you say working hard—or hardly working?”

  Charlie glared at him. They had been friends since grade school, and it had always been the same between them: Tucker was Charlie’s own Jiminy Cricket, always reminding him of what was right and what was wrong, just like Pinocchio’s friendly little conscience in a top hat.

  “Come on, Tucker. Give me a break. You know how I feel about this. Let Lucy deal with the woman. She’s the one who really wants the girl there. If that social worker needs to talk to me so badly, let her come down here and ask me questions.”

  Tucker frowned as he stirred his coffee. “This stuff really is bad. I don’t know how you stay in business.”

  “That girl has tattoos, Tucker,” Charlie went on. “And streaks in her hair—and about a thousand holes in her ears and her nose.”

  “Yeah. You told me about that,” Tucker replied evenly.

  “It would be different if she was a nice girl. A lot different,” Charlie insisted. “But she’s got a smart mouth and she always looks like she might be up to something. Anyone can see she’s not a nice kid.”

  “It would be different. But nice girls usually don’t run away. They have nice families to help them figure things out when they get in a jam,” Tucker pointed out.

  Charlie stared at him a moment, then gave him a mock-thoughtful expression. “Really? Well, thank you, Oprah. I didn’t know that.”

  Tucker just shook his head. He had an easygoing nature, but Charlie knew his friend didn’t back down easily when he thought he was right. Charlie looked at his watch again. It seemed like the hands had hardly moved, and he knew that couldn’t be right.

  “You want to know what time it is, Charlie? It’s time to go home,” Tucker told him. “If you promised Lucy, then you ought to just do it. Tell her face-to-face what you’re trying to tell me. But don’t hide behind that lunch counter.”

  Tucker’s blunt reply made Charlie’s blood rise. Tucker always had to be the know-it-all. But he wasn’t the one with some punked-out, tattooed teen camped out in his guest room, was he?

  Before Charlie could come up with a good retort, the diner’s phone rang. Charlie quickly checked the number. Lucy, at home. Calling to see why he was late, he guessed. He didn’t pick it up. He gave his friend one last, dark look and yanked off his apron.

  “Was that Lucy?” Tucker asked.

  “You know it was,” Charlie said. He reached under the counter and grabbed his baseball cap and down vest. “Guess I’ll go home and do the right thing. Are you proud of me?”

  “Always, my friend.” Tucker laughed and shook his head. “Let me know how it turns out.”

  “Thanks, Jiminy. I will.” Charlie slipped out from behind the counter and caught Trudy’s eye, giving her the signal that he was going out for a while.

  “What did you just call me?” Tucker asked, swinging around on his counter stool.

  “Jiminy Cricket. That’s my new name for you. I’ll explain it to you sometime,” Charlie promised. Then he headed out the door.

  LUCY WASN’T WORRIED ABOUT THE SOCIAL WORKER’S HOME VISIT. THE woman handling Zoey’s case, Mrs. Schuman, had been very easy to deal with over the phone. Lucy was curious about Zoey’s story and hoped to get answers to some of her questions. The social worker would be asking questions, too, of course. But she had assured Lucy that the screening for temporary guardians was a simple process, and Lucy thought it would be.

  Except for Charlie. He had been dragged, kicking and screaming, into this situation. He said that he would be home for the meeting. Now Lucy wondered if he would keep his promise. She hoped he didn’t just hide out at the diner and pretend he had forgotten.

  She could understand Charlie’s reservations about taking even this small step. It did seem so . . . official. But these were the rules of the system, even if Zoey was only staying one more night. Lucy understood that. Meanwhile, Charlie acted as if Lucy wanted to take the girl in permanently. And that was not the case at all. Lucy felt sorry for her, but she had enough on her plate right now, with the boys and her job. And Charlie. Zoey wasn’t a bad kid. Not the way Charlie made her out to be, Lucy thought. But there were families out there ready, willing, and able to take in troubled kids like Zoey. Lucy had her own children to take care of and worry about. This situation was just for a few days, a good deed sort of thing.

  Lucy looked out at the street through the living room window but she didn’t see any cars approaching the house, not Charlie’s or the social worker’s. The boys were at school and Zoey was in bed, resting comfortably. Lucy had told her what was happening and though Zoey never showed much reaction either way about things, Lucy sensed the girl liked the idea of staying longer.

  Just as she considered calling Charlie again, she spotted a small black sedan pull up and park in front of the house. A woman got out, a leather briefcase and purse slung over her shoulder, and headed up the walk. Lucy knew it had to be Mrs. Schuman. Lucy fixed a friendly smile on her face, then pulled open the door.

  “Sorry I’m late,” Mrs. Schuman said as the two women shook hands.

  “I’m just glad you’re here,” Lucy said, leading her into the living room.

 
; Mrs. Schuman gazed around. “You have a lovely home, Mrs. Bates.”

  “Thanks. I’d love to keep the place neater, but with two boys and my job, all I can really shoot for is comfortable.”

  “Believe me, I know what you mean.” The social worker smiled, then slipped a binder from her briefcase and opened it on her lap. She looked to be in her midforties, Lucy guessed, maybe a little younger. She was just as Lucy had pictured her, with curly brown hair and warm, dark eyes.

  “I just need to ask a few questions, Mrs. Bates. You may have already told me some of this information over the phone. I’m sorry to make you repeat yourself.”

  “That’s all right. Ask away—and please, call me Lucy.”

  “Great, I will. Please call me Rita.”

  The questionnaire went quickly. It was all fairly basic information. Then Rita Schuman asked Lucy about her family. “How do your boys feel about having Elizabeth here?”

  “We call her Zoey. I guess she likes that name. Anyway, my boys don’t seem to mind her. She’s been so sick, the kids really haven’t had too much to do with her yet. C.J. is very busy with school and sports. We hardly speak to him. Jamie offered to let her use his video games. That was a good sign, I thought,” Lucy said.

  Rita smiled. “Yes, I think it is. And how about your husband? Wasn’t he going to be here this morning?”

  Lucy felt her cheeks color. She hated when that happened. Still blushing at her age. It was embarrassing.

  “He did plan on coming home to meet you. But something must have come up at the diner,” Lucy began. Rita already knew that they owned the Clam Box. “Charlie’s the type who’s afraid the place will fall down without him. It’s hard for him to get away, even for a few minutes.”

  Lucy couldn’t tell how the social worker was interpreting Charlie’s “no show.” She made a note on the application and glanced at her watch. “Maybe he’s just running late,” she said. “Let’s continue.”

  Lucy showed her the rest of the house. “Would you like to see Zoey now?” she asked, after showing Rita the second floor. “She’s upstairs, in the guest room, but she’s probably sleeping. The medication really knocks her out.”

  Rita considered for a moment. “Why don’t I visit with Zoey later? You and I can talk some more.”

  “That would be good,” Lucy agreed. “I have a few questions for you. I’d like to know more about Zoey.”

  “I’m happy to fill you in,” Rita said when they were back in the living room. “I know that you have great sympathy for her and wonderful intentions. But with children like Zoey, that’s not always enough.”

  Lucy nodded but didn’t really understand what the woman was trying to tell her.

  “Zoey has some heavy issues. Her parents split up when she was about seven. Her mother was an alcoholic, and Zoey and her brother moved around between their relatives.”

  “Zoey has a brother?” Lucy was surprised. The girl had not mentioned any family. “Is he in the same foster home she ran away from?”

  “No, he was placed with another family,” Rita said. “I’m checking with them now to see if they want to take Zoey.”

  “That would make sense.” Lucy nodded. “At least she would be with her brother.”

  “It would make sense, but things don’t always work out sensibly,” Rita said with a sigh. “I told you Zoey’s mother was an alcoholic. She wasn’t capable of caring for her children, so they went to live with her mother. Unfortunately, the grandmother wasn’t in good health. She passed a while ago. So their aunt took them. But Zoey wasn’t happy at her aunt’s house. She didn’t feel welcome, and her aunt couldn’t control her. Zoey did poorly in school and kept running away. When her aunt told us she felt overwhelmed, the two kids were put into the foster care system, in the hope that their mother might eventually resume custody. But she died in a car accident, about three years ago.”

  “Oh, how awful.” Lucy shook her head. “Zoey’s really had a tough life, hasn’t she?”

  “She’s had a lot to cope with. I had hoped her last placement would help stabilize her and build her sense of trust and security. But that was unfortunately not the case.”

  “Sounds like it was just the opposite,” Lucy said.

  “The thing is, Lucy, while we may understand and sympathize with Zoey’s problems, we still have to face the fact that she can be a difficult and very challenging kid. She was in a lot of trouble at school and cut out more than she came to class. She seems to like art the best of all her school subjects, but we couldn’t even get her interested in a vocational program. She dropped out this year and doesn’t seem to have any intention of going back. And she was picked up for shoplifting twice.”

  Lucy was suddenly glad that Charlie was not around to hear this part. She could practically hear him saying, “I told you so. I could have told you that the second I saw her.”

  “All right. She has problems. She acts out and behaves badly. That’s no great surprise,” Lucy said honestly. “Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”

  “Partly. She can also be very manipulative and take advantage of your sympathy for her.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning, she lies. She can’t be trusted. When things get tough for her, she runs away—and might steal your wallet as she’s heading out the door.” Rita looked at her gravely. “We all want to help Zoey. But we need to be realistic and not approach her with some rescue fantasy.”

  Rescue fantasy? The words hit a nerve. Is that what I’m doing? Lucy wondered. I was just trying to do a good deed here, to reach out to a stranger.

  “It’s important,” Rita went on, “that when we look at Zoey, we don’t just see what we want to see.”

  “I understand that,” Lucy said. “I’ll tell you what I told Zoey the other day—when she tried to sneak out of the house and fainted in the foyer. I told her that we had to be straight with each other. I might look like a pushover, I might even act like one, but I’m not. I have a pretty clear eye about people. I see Zoey, and I can handle her,” she promised. “And I’ve already hidden my good jewelry, credit cards, and any cash.”

  Rita laughed out loud at the last line of Lucy’s little speech. “Okay, Lucy. It sounds as if you do understand what I’m trying to say. But what about your husband? Does he share your commitment to Zoey?”

  Lucy knew that the answer she gave to this question would make all the difference. It was her nature to be honest. Charlie called her an open book. She also knew that in this situation total honesty might disqualify them. But she couldn’t paint too rosy a picture of Charlie’s attitude. Sooner or later, Rita was bound to speak to him face-to-face.

  “Well . . . I have to say that it was my idea to let Zoey stay with us,” Lucy began slowly.

  Rita nodded. “Yes, I think you mentioned that.”

  “My husband has been . . . accommodating,” she added, trying not to stretch the truth too far.

  “By that you mean, in favor of the idea?”

  “Um, yes. We talked about Zoey staying and he agreed to it,” Lucy said, purposely misinterpreting the question.

  “All right.” Rita looked puzzled and made a quick note. Lucy hoped she was done. Since Zoey would only be staying for a day or two, maybe they could squeak by without Rita ever talking to Charlie in person?

  But just as Lucy thought the interview might be wrapping up, Charlie walked in. He was wearing a down vest over his cooking whites and his worn-out Red Sox baseball cap, which he didn’t bother to remove.

  “Well . . . well, here he is now,” Lucy said with false cheer. She jumped up from her seat to greet her husband. “Hi, honey. This is Mrs. Schuman, the social worker handling Zoey’s case. She’s here to interview us today. Didn’t you remember?”

  “I’m here, Lucy, aren’t I?” Charlie said in a testy tone.

  He shook Rita’s outstretched hand. “Nice to meet you,” he said curtly. He sat on the couch next to Lucy. “So, what do you want to know? I haven’t got much time.
I’ve got to get right back to work.”

  Rita gave Charlie a tight smile. “Well, your wife has already answered the basic questions. What I’m interested in now are your feelings about the situation—taking Zoey into your home and acting as her guardian.”

  Charlie shrugged and threw his hands in the air. “I think it’s fine. The kid is sick. She has no place to go. You’ve got to find a new family to take her in, so I guess we’re sort of stuck with her for now, right? What can you do?”

  Lucy winced. “I think my husband is trying to say that circumstances have led Zoey to our door, and we both feel very strongly obliged to help her, ethically and morally. ...” Her voice trailed off. She wasn’t sure Rita was buying it.

  “Mr. Bates, is that how you feel? Is that what you think, too?”

  Charlie laughed nervously. He looked at Lucy, who focused her entire body on giving him a look that said, Blow this, buddy, and you’ll regret it forever.

  “Hey, I’m just the dad around here. Lucy says the girl is sick, we have to help her. So that’s what we’re trying to do. I guess it’s the right thing. What they teach you in church.” Lucy let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. That answer wasn’t so bad, she thought.

  “I know the kid’s sick,” Charlie went on. “She can’t go anywhere right now. So she can stay a few days until the medicine kicks in. Meanwhile, you work on finding her a new place with folks who take in kids like this on purpose. Not by accident, the way it happened here.”

  Lucy glanced at him then at the social worker, wondering how this was all going over. Charlie did not exactly sound positive, concerned, and committed. More like cynical, confused, and conflicted.

  “All right, Mr. Bates. I think I understand your position.” Rita made a few more notes and closed her binder.

  “Great. Are we done here? Because I have to get back to the diner.”

  “Yes, that’s all. Thank you for meeting with me,” Rita said politely.

  “That’s okay. Nice to meet you, too.” Charlie stood up and took his car keys out of his pocket. “See you tonight, Lucy. I’ll be home late. I have to stay and close up. Jimmy isn’t coming in.” Jimmy was the cook who mainly worked the dinner shift. When he was out, Charlie had to man the grill, then clean and close the place.