by Dan Walsh
“I don’t know. I figured I’d start with fifty, then see if I need more later. While I’m in the aisles helping customers, can you make sure everyone who comes to the register gets one?”
“Sure.” He watched her a moment then looked up, did a slow pan of the store. What a dump. The paint was peeling on three walls. The back wall was covered with cheap beige paneling. Bright green Astroturf brought some color into the room. In the main aisle, two seams were joined by duct tape. None of the bookshelves matched. The store was empty.
“Does it ever get any busier than this?” he asked.
Andrea looked up. “It will. About a half hour from now, it’ll probably be nonstop until we close. That’s why I’m doing this now. Saturdays get pretty busy, usually just before lunch. But today we’ll probably be swamped because of the Thanksgiving sales. You think you can handle the cash register now?”
“I think so.” Rick looked down at the keys, tried to mentally repeat the steps she’d shown him. He’d been a little distracted with her standing right next to him. It was more than her looks or even her light perfume. She gave off something he used to call “good vibes.”
“With the next few customers I’ll stand beside you but let you ring them up.”
“I’d like that.” Not what he meant to say. “That’ll work,” he said. She didn’t seem to notice his slip about liking to stand beside her.
“Oh my gosh!” Andrea stood straight up. “Your mom would shoot me.”
“What’s the matter?”
“I forgot the music.” She hurried toward the back of the store.
“The music?”
“Your folks always have music playing through the store,” she yelled out. “One of them puts it on, usually your mom.”
Your folks. He looked at the front door. Still no customers. He heard a scratching sound above and behind him. He turned and saw a little white speaker on a wooden shelf in the corner. A few moments later, music began to play. A group of male singers he didn’t recognize began to sing “O Little Town of Bethlehem.” Not his cup of tea, but the harmonies weren’t half bad.
“That too loud?” Andrea asked. “It’s the new Christmas album by the Imperials.”
“Maybe a little.”
“How’s that?”
“Maybe you better come back. I don’t know what you’re used to.”
“Be right there.”
She came out of the little corner office and walked down the center aisle. She really was an attractive woman, and he loved the brightness in her eyes. When she reached the counter, her expression changed.
“What’s wrong?”
She came behind the counter and reached for a tissue. “They should be here now . . . your parents. I’m so worried about Art. And your mom must be so scared, poor thing. Never met anyone who trusts God more than her, but—” She wiped tears from her eyes.
He wanted to comfort her somehow but felt a tad hypocritical. He hadn’t thought of either one of them since he’d come into the store. Except to get annoyed every time she talked as if Art was his father. “Have they told you much about me?”
“What?”
“My mom and Art, they ever talk about me?”
“Sometimes. I know they’re very proud of you.”
“How do you know that?”
“When they talk about you, about your job there in . . . where is it?”
“Charlotte.”
“Right, at that big CPA firm.”
He found this hard to believe. “You said they. Art too?”
She nodded. “I think he’s your biggest fan.”
“You’re kidding.” Clearly, she wasn’t.
“That surprises you?”
“I guess it does. We’ve never really been that close, Art and me.”
“You call your father Art?”
“He’s not my father.” He tried to say it politely, restraining his annoyance.
“He’s not? I had no idea.”
“My mom and real dad split up when I was ten. She married Art a few years later.”
She paused, seemed puzzled. “Did you go live with your dad?”
“No.”
“It’s none of my business, I’m just wondering why you and Art aren’t close. I mean, if you didn’t live with your dad, you must have lived with your mom and Art quite a while.”
“I did, up through high school.” Now he wanted this conversation to end.
“It’s just, Art is such a wonderful man. But I guess it must have been hard to get close to him with your real dad around. I can see how that would be difficult for a little boy to sort out. Art has helped me so much. I kinda treat him like a father figure. Hope you don’t mind me saying it.”
“I don’t mind. Actually, my real dad wasn’t around. I haven’t seen him since . . . well, since he and my mom split up.”
“I’m sorry.” Now she seemed totally confused.
“It’s a long story,” Rick said, hoping she’d get the hint.
“Well, one thing you said makes perfect sense now. I understand why your mom gets me so well. I’ve never met anyone like her. When I talk, it’s like she knows exactly what I’m thinking. Even if I get tripped up trying to explain myself. She’ll say, ‘You mean this?’ and it will be exactly what I was trying to say. I never knew she’d been a single mom before.”
Rick didn’t get how this connected. His confusion must have shown.
“I’m a single mom too,” Andrea said. “I have a six-year-old daughter named Amy.”
“Oh,” he said.
“I love her to bits, but sometimes it gets really hard raising her on my own. Half the time I feel like I’m doing it wrong. I’ll make some decision, try to be firm, then Amy will get so upset, like I’ve broken her heart. I try to hold the line, but inside I’m thinking: Just let her do it. Last week I was talking to your mom about an argument I had with Amy on the way to school, where once again she’s asking me to let her do something, and I had to say no. Amy left the car and gave me this look, like she hated me. You know what your mom said?”
Rick shook his head no, feeling quite sure it was the right answer. He was mainly stuck on the part about her having a kid.
“She looked at me with those sweet eyes, patted my hand, and said, ‘You’re going to be fine, Andrea. God put you in charge of her on purpose. Just remember when you talk to her, authority doesn’t have to be loud, just firm.’ I don’t know how, but whenever she talks, she instantly calms me down. She always knows just the right thing to say. Well, I don’t have to tell you that. You know what she’s like.”
Andrea continued talking for several minutes, Rick half listening, nodding, smiling at various points.
“Is something wrong, Rick?” she finally asked.
“What?”
“Your face, it just got an expression that didn’t match anything I was saying. I know that look . . . you stopped listening, didn’t you?”
“No, I was . . . okay, you got me. But I just drifted a second.”
“Are you going to at least tell me what pulled you away from this fascinating conversation?”
Rick smiled. But he couldn’t tell her, at least not here, not now. He was struggling as he mulled over his mother’s so-called wonderful advice. What was it again? Authority doesn’t have to be loud, just firm. What a hypocrite she was. Andrea should have been there during his teen years. He couldn’t think of any at the moment, but he knew there must be dozens, if not hundreds, of examples of loud, angry conversations between them.
What a hypocrite.
9
Leanne looked up from her book. She did something that had become a new habit, ever since they’d wheeled Art into intensive care. Every few seconds she’d look at his face, hoping for a flicker of motion: a fluttering eyelash, a change in his brow, even a slight movement in his lips. Then she’d move to the machines surrounding his bed like sentries; her eyes would rotate past each one, checking the numbers for any fluctuations.
But there was no change.
She noticed a slight movement against the wall, a shifting shadow. She turned and looked up.
“Leanne? I’m sorry to disturb you.” It was Holly, one of Art’s nurses, standing in the doorway. “There’s a call for you in the waiting room, a woman named Andrea. You want to take it?”
Leanne stood and looked at Art. “I’ll be right there.” She set her book down, leaned over, and kissed him on the forehead. “You will come get me if he stirs?”
“I certainly will,” Holly said.
“Thanks again for that little book light. I was going bananas sitting there in the dark all day.”
“You are most welcome.”
“The doctor said he’d stop in around 6:00,” Leanne said.
“I’ll get you if he comes. I left the receiver next to the phone on the table. You have the place all to yourself.”
“You’re such a dear, Holly.” Leanne hurried down the hall and waited till the glass doors opened. Then hurried in and picked up the receiver. “Andrea?”
“It’s me, Leanne. How are you?”
“I’m okay. Art’s vital signs are still strong, but he hasn’t regained consciousness. It’s the hardest thing not being able to talk with him.”
“Must be awful. You two are like best friends. Any news at all?”
“They ran some tests a little while ago. Haven’t heard the results. The doctor is supposed to be here any minute.”
“Then I better be quick,” Andrea said.
“How’d it go today?”
“That’s why I’m calling. We sold over twelve hundred dollars!”
“You did? That’s wonderful. At least, it sounds wonderful. Art always did the bookkeeping.” She meant does the bookkeeping. That was a big reason why she was so desperate to have Rick come down. She had plenty of friends from church who would volunteer at the store. But she needed someone who could take care of the books. Just in case Art didn’t . . . No . . . She wouldn’t finish that thought.
“All I know,” said Andrea, “is it’s four hundred dollars more than any other day since I’ve worked here. We sold all three of those new nativity sets.”
“Really? I told Art people would love those things. But they’re so expensive. He didn’t want to keep too many on hand. We’ll have to order more, it’s so early in the season. Did he ever show you how to do that?”
“Well, no.”
“I’ll bet Rick could figure it out. How’d things go with him, by the way?” Leanne found herself tensing up as she awaited the answer.
“Fine . . . for me anyway. He’s easy to be with and, thankfully, a good talker—I don’t mean he talks too much.”
“Rick was never shy. How was he with the customers?”
“He looked a bit overwhelmed. Stayed on the register most of the time.”
“Were there any . . . incidents?”
Andrea laughed. “Nothing serious. The morning went pretty slow, but after that it was one customer after another. I think Rick liked it when it got busy. He seemed to get pretty uncomfortable when it slowed down, especially when some of the regulars came up to pay.”
Leanne gasped. She didn’t mean to, but knowing Rick, she could just imagine the scene.
“Molly and Fran stopped in, you should have seen him. Especially when they found out he was your son.”
“Oh no.” Molly and Fran were two elderly sisters from upstate New York. Molly was a widow; Fran had never married. They’d retired years ago and now lived together in a double-wide mobile home. Leanne often thought they should have their own sitcom.
“Molly shouted, ‘You look just like your mother.’ She marched around the counter, gave him a big hug.”
“What did Rick do?”
“That’s not the end of it. She reached up and squeezed both his cheeks, like he was a little boy. ‘You’re adorable,’ she said.”
“Oh my,” Leanne said, laughing.
“His face got so red. Then Fran scolded her. ‘Leave him be, Molly. Look, you’re making him nervous.’”
“My goodness. How did he handle it?”
“I could tell he hated it. He looked at me like I was supposed to rescue him, but what could I do?”
“Absolutely nothing,” said Leanne. There were so many colorful characters who came into the store. People she and Art had grown to love dearly, but there was no way to prepare Rick for this. She hoped it didn’t bother him too much. She had no idea how to keep the store open if he backed out. “Did JD show up for his Egg McMuffin this morning?”
“He did. Rick chased him off.”
Leanne wasn’t surprised.
“I went after him, wanted to explain the situation. JD did come back for his coffee. Not sure what you want to do with this. Can’t see asking Rick to keep the Egg McMuffin thing going.”
“No. That won’t work. I feel bad saying this, but I can’t worry about JD right now. You and Rick talk about what to do tomorrow?”
“Didn’t Art say something about opening the store up a few hours after church?” Andrea said.
“He did. He was telling people that all week. They all know we aren’t open on Sundays, but he thought we could make an exception for the holiday weekend.”
“You still want us to do it?”
“What do you think?” Leanne said.
“Rick said he’d come in if I would. He doesn’t feel ready to deal with anything except the cash register. I don’t have anyone to watch Amy tomorrow, so I’d have to bring her with me.”
“That’s fine. I know Art would appreciate it.” She was happy to hear that Rick was willing to come in.
“You don’t mind about Amy?”
“Not at all.”
“Leanne?” A voice behind her. Leanne turned toward the doorway. It was Holly. “Dr. Halper is here. He’s in Art’s room.”
“Okay, I’ll be right there,” she said. “Andrea, have to go. The doctor’s here.”
“I’ll be praying for you. Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”
“I will.”
“And Leanne . . . sometime in the next day or so, maybe I could ask you a few questions about Rick?”
“Sure,” Leanne said. “Anything wrong?”
“No, it’s just if I’m going to be working with him a while, it might help if I knew a little more about him. He’s very different than I imagined, from the few conversations we’ve had.”
“I’d be happy to talk more about it with you.” They said their good-byes, and Leanne walked quickly back to Art’s room, trying not to think too deeply about what Andrea had said at the end. As she walked in the room, Dr. Halper was standing at the foot of Art’s bed, holding his chart up to the light that shone in from the doorway. He flipped a page and wrote something down.
His face looked serious, in a way that made her instantly uneasy.
10
What a nightmare.
Rick had felt out of his element all day. It was exhausting just matching smiles with these people. Really, who smiles that much? Some of them didn’t look like they had a thought in their heads. Just constant smiles served up with the occasional “Praise the Lord” and “Thank you, Jesus.”
Rick wanted to say just once: “Don’t you know—53 Americans have been held hostage in Iran for the last 390 days!” But they’d just say, “Praise the Lord anyway.” Or maybe he’d say: “Our economy is in a shambles! Don’t you get it? We got double-digit inflation!” But they’d just smile and say, “God will provide.”
They couldn’t actually be that happy. He was certain of it.
It was just after 6:00 p.m., already dark. He was sitting in his car at the traffic light on Beach Street. He’d never understood why the town fathers called it Beach Street. It was the main road running through downtown, but it was set back from the ocean by at least half a mile. It actually ran right next to the river, which didn’t have a beach and wasn’t exactly a river, either. Just part of the intercoastal waterway, which ran up and down
the East Coast, around Florida into the Gulf of Mexico. Different towns claimed sections of the waterway that ran nearby, calling it this river or that. As it ran by Seabreeze, they called their section the Seabreeze River.
Well, why not?
Rick was planning to turn right at the light, head back across the Seabreeze River to the real beachside area, when a brightly lit building one block down the road caught his eye. It instantly made him smile. The Davis Brothers Toy Store. Half the storefronts between here and there were dark, either closed for the day or out of business. He couldn’t tell which. The only people on the sidewalks appeared to be homeless or doing a passable imitation.
When the light turned, he waved the car behind him to pass. What would it hurt to stop in the toy store a few minutes? He didn’t have any place to go.
In all the darkness, the Davis Brothers store really stood out. He remembered that it always did at night, but what they did at Christmastime could almost be called a show. The bronze double doors were set kitty-corner at the intersection. Four big windows ran down either side, each bearing lavish displays of Santa’s workshop. As Rick stopped at the intersection, he was happy to see nothing had changed.
He got out of the car, stepped past the curb, noticed all the rust on the parking meter. A brass plate covered up the coin slots. It instantly took him back.
Dad, let me do it!
For a moment, he was eight years old, standing in front of the same toy store, just about this time of year. One of the two years all three of them had lived in Seabreeze together, before his dad had taken off.
Might have been this very meter.
He was a little boy again, holding out his hand. “Dad, have any quarters?”
“Give me a sec to get out of the car.”
Rick remembered the car, a white Chevy Impala, but he couldn’t quite remember his dad’s face. Not exactly, and that really bothered him. His mom hadn’t kept any pictures of him around the house when Rick was growing up.
“You’re gonna love this store, Rick. It’s like toy stores should be, like the one I used to go to as a kid back in Ohio.”
Rick ran up to the first window on the right side; all of them were framed in brightly colored lights. “Look, Dad. Santa’s elves. They’re really moving.”
