Remembering Christmas

by Dan Walsh

  “You’re not being nosy. There’s really not a whole lot more to say. The whole thing is like some sad cliché, the same story that’s happened to a thousand high school girls.”

  “Not ever being a high school girl,” Rick said, “afraid I don’t know any of the sad clichés.”

  “You know, shy girl falls in love with the popular guy, doesn’t get that he’s popular for all the wrong reasons. She gets talked into doing way more than she feels comfortable doing. All kinds of promises exchanged about how much they love each other, will always be together. She gets pregnant. He’s not ready to be a parent. Then she finds out what a loser he really is. All he offered was to pay for the abortion. We broke up. I left town and came down here to start over. End of story.”

  “So he’s never helped you out?”

  “Not a dime, and I don’t want it. I turned to God through the crisis and my whole life got turned around. It’s been real hard on us financially. Real hard. But I wouldn’t want him involved in Amy’s life. He’s never tried to contact us, and that’s just fine with me.”

  Rick tried not to show any reaction on his face, but he was aware of how happy he was to hear all this. And also aware of how foolish it was to think it mattered.

  35

  Over the next few days, Art’s condition at Shands continued to stabilize.

  At just before 3:00 p.m. on Tuesday, Rick was hanging up the phone after talking a few minutes with his mom. She’d said they were pulling Art out of the induced coma. He was supposed to wake up soon. She’d asked Rick if he wouldn’t mind asking folks who came into the store to pray that he would. And that, when he did, he would still be Art.

  At the moment, Rick’s attention was on a newspaper headline. He couldn’t believe what it said.

  JOHN LENNON SHOT DEAD

  Someone had brought the paper in to show him. Everyone who came in the store was talking about it. It had happened last night in New York City, right outside the entrance to the Dakota, an upscale apartment building where Lennon lived. Some crazy guy named Chapman had been waiting there and, according to witnesses, just stepped out and shot him four or five times in the back. Then he sat down on the sidewalk, waiting for the police to show up and arrest him.

  It was hard to fathom. John Lennon dead. One customer said the story had spread like wildfire all over the world. Since arriving in Florida, Rick had completely lost touch with the news, but he didn’t mind. It had been nice not to hear the constant drumbeat about hostages and the election.

  But now Rick wished he had a television or a radio to hear the latest on the story. The brass bell rang. He looked up. It was Andrea. There was a chill in the air. She took off her coat and hung it on the rack.

  “You hear about John Lennon?” she asked.

  “I was just reading about it. It’s crazy. Why would someone shoot John Lennon?”

  “They’re saying the guy might be insane.” She put her purse under the counter. “They’ve got the television on at the diner, been covering it all morning. You should see the people, huge crowds gathering in New York and other cities. People are crying, bringing flowers.”

  “Lennon’s huge,” Rick said. “I mean . . . we’re talking the Beatles.”

  “I can’t believe he’s dead. I’ve been hoping someday they might get back together.”

  “You like the Beatles?”

  “Of course I like the Beatles. Well, some of their stuff, anyway.”

  “Let me guess, the early years? ‘I Want to Hold Your Hand.’ ‘She Loves You’ . . .”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” she said, half-singing. “All the early sixties stuff. I wasn’t that into them when all the drug and Eastern religion stuff started coming out.”

  “We got into all that too,” said Rick. “My friends and I used to sit around and read the lyrics on the cover, trying to figure out the secret meanings.”

  “Here’s the secret,” she said. “They were stoned out of their minds. C’mon, joo-joo eyeballs? Toe-jam football? Not exactly their best work.”

  Rick laughed.

  The Christmas cassette ended. She got up to change it. “I think they got a kick out of all the morons who hung on every word they said. They probably just tossed things in there to play with their heads.”

  “So I’m a moron?”

  “Not you, Rick. I’m talking about the other morons.”

  Rick smiled. He was enjoying this. “So what other songs were your favorites?”

  “I don’t know. ‘Yesterday’ is incredible. I think people will be singing that fifty years from now. Oh, ‘And I Love Her.’ I love that song. I like ‘Blackbird’ . . . ‘The Long and Winding Road.’ And I love ‘The Fool on the Hill.’”

  “You don’t love the Beatles, you love Paul McCartney,” Rick said.

  “Maybe I do then. You don’t think someone’s going to try to kill him next, do you?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t think so.” Rick shook his head. The shooting made no sense. But he was surprised and happy to learn Andrea liked the Beatles. The little bell rang. It was the surfer, Mack, and two of his friends.

  “Dude,” he said. “You hear they shot Lennon?”

  Leanne couldn’t help it; she was nervous. Art had been off heavy sedation for almost two hours now. Over the last few days, the nurses had helped her understand the different monitors. His numbers all seemed to be okay. His blood pressure had remained steady ever since Charlie had prayed.

  She got out of her chair and walked to his bed, took his hand. All she’d had since the day after Thanksgiving was that one glorious conversation before his surgery.

  She wanted more, years more. Lord, please let him wake up.

  One of the machines beeped loudly, startling her. She didn’t know which one it was, but it did that every so often. She was told it was nothing to worry about.

  “Leanne?”

  Her eyes darted from the machine to Art’s face. “I’m here, Art.” He knows my name. She squeezed his hand. “You feel that?”

  “Yes.” He squeezed back. “Is it over?”

  “Is what over?”

  “The surgery.”

  “Goodness, yes. Five days ago.” He’s remembering things.

  “Five days. What day is it?”

  “Tuesday. They had to keep you under till the swelling from the surgery went down. I’m so glad you’re awake. I’ve missed you so much.” She laid her head gently on his chest and cried. She felt his hand patting her head.

  “Have I missed Christmas?” he asked.

  She lifted her head. “No, darlin’. Still got two more weeks.”

  “Where are we?”

  “Still at Shands in Gainesville. But the doctors said if you woke up today and things looked good, they might drive you back to Seabreeze tomorrow.”

  “Home?”

  “Not yet. Just back to our hospital. They’ve got to keep a close eye on you for at least another week or so. Run a bunch more tests to see if the surgery affected anything they weren’t planning on.”

  “Like what?”

  “The doctor said whenever they fiddle with the brain, there’s no telling what might happen. They were preparing me for the possibility that you wouldn’t even know who I was.”

  Art smiled. “Leanne, do you remember when we ate eggs Benedict made with crabmeat in that outdoor courtyard in Charleston?”

  “That little café off Meeting Street,” she said.

  “The coffee was almost as good as yours,” he said. “Almost.”

  “Our fifth wedding anniversary trip.”

  “The azaleas blooming all around us, remember? The dogwoods?”

  “And that jasmine.”

  “Especially at night, the smell. Remember that smell?”

  She remembered it all. And so did he. Thank you, Lord. So did he.

  “Leanne,” he said. “I would never forget you. I’d forget who I am before I’d forget you.”

  36

  Rick locked the front door to the st
ore. Andrea waited for him on the sidewalk. It had been a good day. Best sales day so far. Best conversations with Andrea so far.

  It was time to try again.

  He walked up the steps. “Going to pick up Amy?”

  She nodded. “I can’t believe I’ve got to go home and fix dinner. I’m so tired.”

  Perfect. Like she was lobbing a softball right to him. “I am too. Tell you what, why don’t you let me help? They’ve got these places, just like the diner, except these places fix dinners. We don’t have to do a thing, just show up.”

  “I don’t think so, Rick. I’ve got to get Amy.”

  “What, you thought I meant we’d leave her out? These places feed kids too.” Rick could see it in her eyes. She wasn’t buying it.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “You sure? You said you were tired.”

  “I am.” She was backing up.

  “Don’t have to go anywhere fancy. We could go to HoJo’s, where I’m staying. They serve these terrible clam dinners, but the ice cream is delicious.”

  “I’m not looking for, I mean . . . I don’t want Amy to get the wrong impression.”

  You mean, you don’t want me to get the wrong impression. “We could get her a sitter.” Now, he was begging.

  “Thanks, Rick. Maybe another time.”

  “All right. See you tomorrow.”

  She smiled, waved, turned and headed for her car.

  What was he thinking? Maybe another time. She wasn’t interested. Not now. Not that way. And he wasn’t interested in being humiliated again.

  She didn’t have to worry. There wouldn’t be another time.

  Andrea sighed heavily. She put on her seat belt, turned on the car, and looked in the rearview mirror. Rick was getting into his car. She waited a moment as he turned it on, pulled out onto the road, and passed her by.

  She waved. He just looked straight ahead.

  She had hurt him this time, she could feel it, see it in his eyes. But what else could she do? They still seemed worlds apart, on everything that mattered most to her. She couldn’t think of a way to talk about it that wouldn’t come off sounding like she thought she was better than he was; “holier than thou,” as they say.

  But she couldn’t afford to feel what she was starting to feel for him. She couldn’t allow herself to become just the latest in his long line of conquests. She pulled out onto the road and drove a few blocks before she realized she was heading in the wrong direction. That’s right, she had to pick up Amy.

  Amy . . . she was more than half the reason Andrea knew she had to keep putting Rick off. She had resolved some time ago that she wouldn’t put Amy through a long line of boyfriends and fake daddies just to satisfy her craving for love and a little romance. She’d tried that the first two years after Amy had been born.

  She was so glad Amy was too young to remember.

  But Andrea would never let herself forget.

  37

  It was Wednesday afternoon, a little after 3:00 p.m. Rick’s mom had called at noon, the happiest he’d heard her since this whole thing with Art had begun. The doctors had given the green light to transfer him back to the smaller ICU in Seabreeze. She said they’d be on the road around 1:00 p.m. Rick looked at his watch. That meant they’d be arriving in an hour or two.

  She was even more excited that Art was awake and talking again. As far as she could tell, there had been no permanent brain damage. At least in terms of his speech, memory, and personality. She said all kinds of other things could pop up down the road.

  The telephone rang. He walked toward the front counter and picked it up. “The Book Nook, Rick speaking.”

  “Hi, Rick, it’s Andrea.”

  “Hey, Andrea.”

  “Guess you heard about your mom and Art coming into town.”

  “Should be here in an hour or two would be my guess.”

  “That’s why I’m calling. Your mom asked if I could stop by the house and get a short list of things for her and bring them out to the hospital after the store closes. But I thought I’d skip coming in today, unless you’re real busy, and go by the house now. Maybe I could spruce things up a little, see if she needs any laundry done.”

  “That’s very kind of you, Andrea. I’m sure she’ll appreciate it. Things are fine here. Had a big rush during lunch, but it’s been one or two at a time since then.”

  “Okay, good.” She hesitated a few moments.

  “Anything else?” he asked.

  “No, guess I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

  “All right, see you then.” He hung up.

  No sense pretending, trying to keep the conversation alive. He decided to busy himself with a little project he’d started over the last few days. He’d remembered how to set up the books for a very small company from a school project he’d done years ago. He’d been keeping Art’s whacked-out system running but started a whole new setup for him to try once he felt up to it. It was so simple, a monkey could maintain it.

  He was less certain you could teach an old monkey new tricks.

  Art was sound asleep. But that was okay. He was just asleep. The doctor had given him a mild sedative for the ride home. He assured Leanne that Art should wake right up when it wore off. He was back in the same ICU room in Seabreeze he’d been in before they’d left for Shands. Holly had gotten him all squared away. Dr. Halper had already been in to make sure all his numbers were good and everything was working as it should.

  He still suggested that after Art woke up to keep him calm, keep the noise to a minimum. But he felt they could let in some light from the window. Just the sliver coming in now seemed as bright as the sunrise compared to what it had been.

  Holly poked her head in the doorway. “Got a visitor. A friend named Andrea. She’s in the waiting room.”

  “Thanks, dear. I’ll be right there.” Leanne had been expecting this. Andrea had called from the house about a half hour ago, asking if she could have a private chat with her after she dropped off the things she brought from the house. Leanne wondered what to expect, hoped nothing sour had happened between Andrea and Rick down at the store.

  “Hello?” Leanne said, peeking her head in the waiting room door. She was glad to find it empty except for Andrea.

  “Leanne?” Andrea rushed toward her and gave her a big hug. When she pulled back, her eyes were full of tears. “I’ve missed you so much, and I’ve been so worried about Art, about the both of you.”

  “I’ve missed you too, Andrea. But we’re doing okay, really.” Leanne pulled a tissue from a Kleenex box on the corner table and gave it to her. “Looks like God’s going to let me keep Art a while longer.”

  “I’m so glad. Is he awake yet?”

  “No, but he should be soon.”

  “Okay, then I won’t keep you.” She backed up and sat in a chair. “Oh, here are the things you asked for.”

  Leanne took the bag and sat beside her. She didn’t want to hurry her, but she really wanted to be there when Art woke up. “Thanks so much for doing that . . . so what’s up?”

  “This is going to be a strange conversation for me. I’ve been trying to think about the best way to say it.”

  “Andrea, don’t be nervous. You can talk to me. I may be much older, but we’re also friends.”

  “Leanne, you’ve been the best friend to me. Better than anyone.” She inhaled deeply. “It’s about Rick. I’m so confused.” She dabbed her eyes.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “He’s asked me out to dinner twice since we’ve been working together.”

  “Oh.” Leanne wasn’t really surprised to hear this. “What did you say?”

  “No . . . both times. As gently as I could.”

  Leanne expected this too. “Did Rick respond badly?”

  “No, but I could see he was hurt, and I don’t want to hurt him.”

  “I can’t see him staying hurt for too long. He’s planning on heading back to Charlotte soon, right?”

  “T
hat’s one thing on my list of reasons for saying no. I can’t go out with someone casually. I won’t do that to Amy, even if I wanted to.”

  Leanne asked, “Do you want to? Is that why you’re confused?”

  “See? You always know what I’m thinking.” The tears came again. She pushed some back, wiped away others. “The first time I said no, it was easy. Last night . . . I really wanted to say yes. But it’s so wrong. He is so wrong for me in so many ways.” She looked up into Leanne’s eyes. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. He’s your son.”

  “Don’t apologize, Andrea. I agree with you.”

  “You do?”

  “I love Rick, but . . . so far I haven’t seen any signs that he’s ready to settle down. And you need that.”

  “I do. I need a guy who doesn’t want to just date me. Unless he’s serious about wanting to get to know me, and because he . . .”

  “Wants to marry you?”

  “Yes.”

  “You don’t need to apologize for that. I think that’s God’s will for you at this point in your life. You don’t want to do that to Amy, parading this guy and that guy in front of her, just so you can have fun.”

  “I don’t. I really don’t.”

  “Of course, you don’t. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

  “And I’m also concerned about . . . his lack of faith. I want a man who is serious about the Lord. Do you know where he’s at with God?”

  Leanne knew this was coming. “I wish I did, Andrea. I’ve been praying for him for years. So has Art. He seemed to have an experience with God, shortly after I did. But he was much younger then, his first year of junior high, I think. But he started pulling away from me after Art and I got together. About the same time, he started pulling away from God too. To be honest, that’s been my biggest concern for him working down at the store. How he’d react being totally surrounded by Christians every day. I just decided God must know what he’s doing, because I had no one else to call who could also handle the money side of things.”