Christmas from the Heart

by Sheila Roberts

  This year, though, there were less than half as many turkeys in the freezer. Livi tried not to think about the ramifications of that.

  She had managed to save enough money from her salary to purchase a couple of extra birds, along with some hams to reserve for the community Christmas dinner, which would serve much of the senior population as well as anyone who was homeless or struggling financially. Everyone who could paid a dollar to get in and brought an item for the food bank, which was ironic in a way, since many of the diners shopped at the food bank for their groceries. Nonetheless, the donation had become a tradition, not because the organization wanted to bilk people in need but because, over the years, they’d discovered that people liked being able to contribute something, even if it was a small amount. It felt more like hands together than a handout. In addition to paying their dollar, some people would bring small plates of home-baked cookies as well, which helped with the party atmosphere.

  “I’ll pick you up at one,” he said.

  “Great.” She appreciated Morris’s time. She especially appreciated the use of Morris’s truck. “You want to stay for dinner after?” It was the least she could do considering he was giving up a Saturday to help her. Not that he considered it a sacrifice. He took advantage of any excuse she offered for them to hang out together.

  “Sure,” he said, sounding as if she’d just asked him if he’d like a chance to win free beer for life. As much as he did to help, he deserved free beer for life.

  The rest of Livi’s day went by in a holiday rush, and she went home tired but satisfied. She threw together a vegetable soup and warmed up some French bread for dinner and left it at that. Dad wouldn’t care. He was barely aware of what he ate anyway.

  “Smells good,” he said when he came into the kitchen that night.

  “It’s just soup and French bread,” she warned him.

  “That’ll be fine. I’m not that hungry.”

  He hadn’t been that hungry ever since Mom died, and his pants hung loosely on him. Livi suspected that if she wasn’t there cooking for him he wouldn’t eat at all. He’d simply fade away. He’d been trying to, but Livi refused to let him. He still had his kids; they were still a family. Yes, Mom was gone, which was horrible, but the rest of them were still here, and surely they were here for a reason. That meant no giving up on life. No fading allowed.

  “How was your day?” she asked.

  “All right,” he said. “How about you, Snowflake?”

  Snowflake, the nickname he’d given her when she was a child. She could still remember him carrying her outside one snowy night and them catching snowflakes on their tongues. “No two are alike,” he’d explained. “Each one is unique, special. Just like you, my little snowflake.”

  She loved that about her father. He had a gift for making people feel special. He hadn’t used it much lately, though. Hadn’t done much of anything in the last three years. Her father was on autopilot.

  “We had a busy day,” she told him.

  “Uh-huh,” he said absently. He picked up the junk mail from the kitchen table. “I’ll be in the other room if you need me.”

  She watched him go and was half tempted to say, “I need you right now. I need you to be here, really be here.” Instead, she got busy dishing up their meal.

  * * *

  Morris, unlike Livi’s father, was very present, and happy to put in hours driving her around in his truck to pick up various items from their donors. “I didn’t have anything else going,” he said with a shrug when she thanked him.

  True. Morris didn’t have much going on. He liked working as an auto technician at Bob’s Auto Repair, had always enjoyed messing around with cars. And he liked sports. In fact, he was fanatical about sports. His house was a regular Seahawks 12th Man shrine. But his interests stopped there. Morris wasn’t into movies unless something was blowing up. Unlike Livi, he wasn’t a big reader, and he had no desire to travel. “People are the same wherever you go,” he’d say when she’d try to encourage him to expand his horizons.

  “The same but different,” she’d argue. “People speak different languages, eat different food, have different histories, and build different houses and monuments. Don’t you ever want to see the Eiffel Tower?”

  “Saw it in Vegas when the baseball team went there for play-offs.”

  An imitation Eiffel Tower had been enough for Morris. It wasn’t enough for Livi, though. She enjoyed a good Super Bowl party—the people and the food, not the game—and she loved Pine River, but sometimes she wanted to talk about more than how the game should have been played differently or whose dog had gotten loose or what someone had paid for his car. Was she ever going to get to do that? Was she ever going to see the Eiffel Tower?

  “Where’d you go?”

  “What?”

  “You’re in the truck but you’re not here,” said Morris.

  “I was just thinking about all the things I’ve got to do,” she lied.

  “I can help you, you know.”

  Maybe there were men out there more fascinating than Morris, more cultured and suave and exciting, but there probably weren’t any out there more generous. She smiled at him. “You’re such a sweetie.”

  He frowned. “Yeah, that’s me, Mr. Sweetie. Maybe someday you won’t just say stuff like that.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He kept his gaze on the road. “I mean, maybe you’ll really give me a chance instead of empty compliments.”

  “That wasn’t empty,” she protested. “I meant it.”

  He heaved a sigh that signaled she wasn’t getting his point. “Yeah, I know.”

  Fortunately, they were pulling into their first store, so the conversation ended. Morris was smart enough not to pick it up again after they’d loaded the donation into the back of the truck. But their easy camaraderie didn’t feel quite so easy after that.

  Things got more awkward when they finally returned to the house. “Where’s the mistletoe?” he asked as they hung up their coats in the hall closet. “You always have it up by now.”

  Stuck in love limbo, she’d wound up taking it down. There was no one in Pine River she wanted to kiss, so what was the point?

  “I haven’t put it up yet,” she fibbed.

  Morris gave a grunt and followed her into the living room, where her father sat in his recliner, watching CNN. “Hi, Mr. B,” he said, and took his usual seat on the end of the couch.

  “Hi, Morris. How’s it going?” her father asked. Dad had always liked Morris, and in the past, when Dad was taking an active part in life, they’d enjoyed many Monday postgame armchair quarterbacking sessions, discussing whatever football game they’d watched on the weekend. Often, Morris had joined Dad and David to watch a Sunday afternoon game. He was practically family, and Livi suspected her father had been almost as disappointed as Morris when she’d finally broken up with him for good.

  There wasn’t much discussion today, but that didn’t bother Morris. He picked up the newspaper’s sports section and began to read.

  Livi left them to their comfortable silence and went into the kitchen to check the roast she had cooking in the Crock-Pot. Calm, harmonious, comfortable—that would be life with Morris if she changed her mind. It wouldn’t be such a bad life. And at least it would be a life.

  He stayed for dinner and would have been content to stay later and watch a movie, but Livi sent him on his way, claiming she had a ton of paperwork to do.

  “Are you sure?” he said. “We could all watch a movie.”

  “You kids go ahead,” said Dad. “I think I’ll go upstairs and read awhile.”

  That left Morris looking positively eager. “Come on, Liv,” he urged. “You worked all day.”

  “All right.” She gave up, “What do you want to watch?”

  “I found something really cool on Netflix.”

&
nbsp; “A Christmas movie?” Livi was always up for a Christmas movie.

  “Not exactly. But it’s supposed to be good. It’s about...”

  “Cars?” she guessed, hoping she was wrong.

  “Uh, maybe we better find something else.”

  “Good idea.” Then she felt guilty. “You don’t mind too much, do you?”

  “I guess not. Maybe I can find something that’s not too sappy,” he added, showing how enthused he was over the change in programming.

  “I’ll make popcorn.”

  And so they settled in with popcorn and hot chocolate, sitting side by side like the good friends they were.

  Until, halfway through the movie, Morris tried the time-honored tactic of stretching and then repositioning his arm over her shoulders. She gave him a stern look and he made a face and removed his arm. Then he pouted his way through the rest of the movie.

  “You take me for granted,” he informed her after it was over. “You know, I won’t wait forever, Liv.”

  That would be fine by her. Then she wouldn’t have to feel bad for not appreciating him as he deserved. “I’m not asking you to. You should see other people.”

  “Here?”

  “There are single women in this town, you know.”

  He shrugged.

  “Or go online or...something.”

  He frowned. “I’d never find anybody like you. We could have a good life, you know.”

  “I know,” she said softly. Honestly, what was wrong with her that she had this Belle complex? She was no Disney princess. Why did she think she was so special?

  Oh yeah. The snowflake thing. Thanks, Dad.

  “Well, then?” he prompted.

  “You know I care about you, but I just don’t think of you that way anymore.”

  He put an arm back around her. “I could change your mind. Go get that mistletoe. In fact, who needs it?”

  He was going for the lips, but she was too quick for him. She slipped out of his arms and stood up. “It’s getting late.”

  “You can say that again,” he grumped. “Maybe I will check out one of those online sites.”

  “A good idea,” she said agreeably, which didn’t make him smile. “Come on, now,” she coaxed. “Don’t be mad. We’ve got a good friendship. Why spoil it?”

  “Because it could be more.”

  If it was going to be more, surely it would have become more years ago, when she came home from college. “Let’s be happy with what we’ve got,” she said.

  Now, there was a concept. She should apply that to her own life. Maybe Morris was right. Maybe she should put that mistletoe back up and take whatever kisses she could get.

  He heaved a heavy sigh. “All right, fine. I give up. For tonight,” he added with a smile to say there were no hard feelings. And no giving up.

  She linked her arm through his and walked him to the door. “You’re a good man, Morris Bentley.”

  “And someday you’re gonna realize that,” he said.

  “I already do or I wouldn’t have said it,” she assured him.

  At the door, he kissed her on the cheek. It was sweet and it made her happy. But it didn’t set off any fireworks. “See you in church,” he said, and trotted off to his truck.

  Yes, she would. And whenever she needed a strong back to help with deliveries. In a way, she wished she could get back those old high school hormone-high fireworks she’d once felt with Morris. It would make life so much easier.

  Not that he was making life difficult. He was as friendly as ever when she saw him at church the next day, there with his mom, wearing his usual jeans and casual shirt. He was well muscled and had dimples when he smiled. He was certainly cute enough to easily find a replacement for Livi. If only he would.

  “I wish I could find someone for Morris,” she said to her crew of volunteers as they stood around her conference table, stuffing Christmas stockings full of goodies the next week.

  Bettina was present, happy to have time away from her fussy six-month-old, who was teething. Kate was also there, as well as Tillie’s daughters, Jean and Annette. Large cardboard cartons filled every bit of available space in the room. Some of them were stacked in corners, already packed with stockings to be delivered later in the month. Leftover pizza from Little Italy sat on a chair and the whole office smelled like an Italian restaurant.

  “Don’t look at me,” Kate said. “Been there, done that. I should never have let you set us up. It’s been over a year and the poor guy still blushes every time he sees me.”

  “It had to be a little embarrassing getting caught calling you Livi while you were going at it,” said Bettina.

  “Thank God nobody’d lost their clothes yet.” Kate shook her head. “There’s nothing worse than being a Livi stand-in.”

  “Sorry,” Livi muttered. “I thought you two would be a match.”

  “There’s more to a relationship than liking football,” Kate informed her. “Although, I must say my new 12th man is awesome. And the sex...touchdown!”

  “TMI,” Jean said, making a face. At sixty, she was the oldest one present, but with her energy and sense of humor, the younger women tended to forget the age difference.

  “Hey, just because you haven’t had sex since dirt was brown,” teased Annette, who was four years younger and on her third husband.

  “Sex? What’s that?” Jean cracked. Jean had been widowed at fifty. Her husband had been the love of her life and she had no desire to try to replace what she’d had with him, no matter how much she joked about her non-love life.

  “Maybe we should match you up with Morris, Jean,” Kate teased. “You’ve always wanted a boy toy—admit it.”

  “May as well, since it’s plain Kate’s not going to share her new man,” Annette said with a wink. “Seriously, I’m happy for you, kiddo,” she said to Kate. “Every woman deserves to find her someone special. Sometimes it takes a while,” she added, “but it’s worth the wait.”

  “Tom sure was,” Kate said. “Who knew I’d meet the man of my dreams at the grocery store? Let me tell you, I never felt so hot in the frozen foods aisle.”

  “Tom is a great guy,” Bettina said. “Danny says he’s a wonderful principal. Everyone loves him.”

  Kate’s expression turned dreamy. “I sure do. He’s the best, and I will forever be grateful to Pine River Middle School for needing a new principal.”

  “You never know when or where that certain someone will show up,” said Annette. “I met Joe when I was looking for a contractor to enclose my back porch.”

  “And I met my Hank at my cousin’s wedding,” said Tillie. “He was one of the groomsmen. Not the most handsome man in the room, but there was something about his smile. I knew from the moment I saw him that he was the one. And that’s how it happens,” she said to Livi. “When you least expect it, the right person comes into your life. It will happen for Morris. And for you.”

  Livi had her doubts about that. If her Prince Charming was going to come riding into Pine River he’d have done so by then.

  “You don’t need to worry about me,” she said. “I’m fine.”

  “You don’t want to go through life alone,” Jean told her.

  No, she didn’t. The thought was rather depressing.

  “But she doesn’t want to settle, either,” Kate argued. “Don’t settle,” she said sternly.

  “There’s not a lot to pick from here in Pine River,” pointed out Bettina.

  “Well, we’ll just have to ask Santa to bring someone to town,” Annette said with a smile. “Are you listening, Santa? Bring our girl someone handsome and brilliant and...”

  “Rich,” added Kate. “She needs someone rich who can donate a big chunk of change to Christmas from the Heart.”

  “There’s more to life than money,” said Bettina, whose husband, Dann
y, was barely beginning his teaching career. They weren’t exactly swimming in money but they were crazy in love.

  Crazy in love, that was what Livi wanted.

  “Yeah, but it’s just as easy to love a rich man as it is a poor man,” Kate argued.

  “Okay, rich,” said Annette. “Let’s add that to the list. Anything else, Livi?”

  “Kind and generous,” Livi said firmly. Scrooges need not apply.

  “Okay, there you have it, Santa,” Annette said, her eyes raised to the ceiling. “That’s what Livi wants. Get those elves busy.”

  Ah, if only.

  Santa Claus Is Coming to Town

  5

  December 25 already? How had that happened? When Livi had gone to bed it had only been December 8. Now here she was at the teller window in Pine River First National, wearing red footie pajamas with panty hose pulled over her head and a Santa hat, pointing a squirt gun at Mrs. Whittier, the teller.

  “Give me everything you’ve got,” she snarled.

  But instead of giving her money, Mrs. Whittier leaned over and bopped her on the head with a giant candy cane. “I certainly will not,” Mrs. Whittier snapped. “Shame on you, Olivia.”

  “I need money,” Livi wailed, rubbing her head.

  “You have no one to blame but yourself. You haven’t managed well and now you’re paying the price. And I’m calling the police!”

  Livi sped from the bank, losing her Santa hat in the process. Out she ran, slipping and sliding in the snow, to her getaway car, a vintage Mustang painted chartreuse. There stood her driver, the Grinch, leaning against the passenger side.

  “Did you get the money?” he asked.

  “No,” she said, and began to cry.

  “I knew you wouldn’t. You’re such a loser,” he said, and marched around to the driver’s side.