Remembering Christmas

by Dan Walsh

  “You’re welcome,” Art said. “Aren’t you going to finish opening it?”

  Amy ran back and pulled it free from the paper.

  Leanne went into the kitchen to wash her hands and get her own cup of coffee. “Want me to fix yours, Art?”

  “No . . . still working on my eggnog. So glad I can taste it. Thank you, Lord.”

  Amy rolled her little Barbie Corvette across the throw rug toward her other presents. “Mom, look how many presents I got this year. I think it’s the most I ever got.”

  “Are you happy?” Andrea asked.

  “Uh-huh. Wish I knew I was getting this,” she said, rolling the car back and forth. “Would have brought my Barbie and Ken over.”

  As Leanne stepped back into the living room, she thought she heard a car pull up in front of the house.

  “You hear that?” Art said.

  Leanne walked past him to one of the front windows and pulled the sheers back. “Rick!” she shouted. “It’s Rick.”

  “Well, I’ll be,” Art said, slowly getting out of his chair. “He must have driven through the night.”

  Andrea rushed to the window on the other side of the door. “Is that a . . . he’s got a U-Haul trailer hooked up to his car.”

  “Wonder what he’s got inside,” Art said.

  “Guess that’s the surprise,” said Amy as she came up beside her mom and peered out the window.

  50

  Rick got out of the car and was met on the front porch by big hugs all around, except for Andrea, who offered a side hug. Rick felt like there was some affection in it. There was certainly something different in her eyes from when he’d seen her last.

  “So what’s all this?” Art said, pointing at the trailer.

  “It’s my surprise, but first . . . did I miss you guys exchanging gifts?”

  “Just Amy,” Andrea said.

  “Perfect,” Rick said. “Drove all night trying to get here in time.”

  “You must be exhausted,” his mom said. “Want some coffee? Something to eat?”

  “In a little bit.” He walked over to Amy and bent down. “I need you to do something for me, young lady.”

  “Can we do it in the house?” his mom said. “Little chilly to be talking out here on the porch.”

  “Sure,” Rick said. “But when we go in, Amy, I need you to hide your eyes.” He stood up. “How about you go in my old room for a few minutes.”

  “That’s where we slept last night,” she said.

  “Really? Well, can you go back in there a few more minutes?”

  “What for?”

  “You’ll see.”

  “Is this part of your surprise?” Mom asked.

  “It’s Amy’s part.”

  They walked inside; Amy ran into Rick’s room and closed the door. “Mom, I’ve got some things to bring in from outside, some presents for Amy. When you hear me kick the door gently, can you open it? I’m going to have my hands full.” He closed the door and ran back to the car. He was loving this. He opened the back door, carefully pulled out Barbie’s Dream House, and walked it slowly back to the porch. It wasn’t that heavy, but it was big and bulky. He almost lost his footing on the porch steps. He gently kicked the bottom of the front door.

  “Rick, what is it?” his mother asked when she opened the door.

  “I know what it is,” Andrea said. “I can’t believe . . . I can’t believe you did this.”

  Rick couldn’t see her face; it was blocked by the dollhouse. He couldn’t tell if she was happy or upset. “Where’s a good place to set it down?”

  “Over here,” said Art. He led Rick to the far side of the Christmas tree.

  He stood up and looked at Andrea. She was crying. Okay . . . what kind of tears are—

  She ran across the rug and wrapped her arms around him and cried some more. “I can’t believe you did this. She’s going to be so happy.”

  He was really loving this now.

  “It’s beautiful, Rick,” his mom said.

  “Can I come out now?”

  “Not yet,” Rick said.

  Andrea pulled back. Mom handed her a tissue.

  “There’s more,” Rick said and ran out the front door. He brought back two large JCPenney bags and a big box. “I didn’t have time to wrap any of this.”

  “What is it?” Andrea asked as he carried them through the door.

  Rick started pulling the rest of the toys out of the bags. “Can you set these up around the tree, make it look nice?” he asked Andrea. “They’re things from Amy’s handmade catalog . . . for Annabelle. She showed it to me that last day in the store. I asked her to put stars by all the things Annabelle wanted the most.”

  “Oh, Rick,” his mom said. She was tearing up.

  Andrea started crying again as she bent down and started arranging the three dolls. Baby Softina, Holly Hobbie, and Miss Piggy. “I can’t even believe this,” she said. “She’s going to be . . .” She couldn’t finish the sentence.

  Rick hurried out to the kitchen and grabbed a knife. He cut open the box and pulled out an Easy-Bake Oven.

  “Can I come out now?” Amy yelled.

  “Okay if I get her?” Rick asked.

  Andrea nodded, wiping her eyes with tissues.

  Rick opened his old bedroom door. Amy started to run out, but he stopped her. “Have to close your eyes first.”

  She obeyed.

  “Are they closed?”

  “Yes.”

  “No peeking.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Okay then.” He stood behind her and walked her to the perfect place to catch the scene.

  “Can I open them now?”

  “Yes you can,” he said.

  “Oh my goodness, oh my goodness!” She ran to the dollhouse first. Then bent down and picked up each doll and gave them a hug. “Are these for me? All these for me?”

  “Merry Christmas, Amy,” Rick said.

  “They’re all for you, Amy,” Andrea said. “Mr. Rick got them, just for you.”

  Amy turned around and looked at Rick. She ran and squeezed him as tightly as she could. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she said. “I’ve never, ever, ever had a Christmas like this. Not ever.”

  About ten minutes later, after everyone had regained their composure, Rick asked the three adults to please take a seat. He had a few more presents to pass out. Art sat in his chair, his mom and Andrea on either side of the couch. Amy went over and began to explore the Easy-Bake Oven.

  “I’ll be right back.” He went out to the front seat of the car, grabbed a small bag, and hurried back inside. He pulled out a small wrapped box and handed it to Andrea. Then gave Art a card. “Your present is outside, in the trailer,” he said to his mom.

  “Who should go first?” Art said.

  “Andrea, open yours,” Rick said.

  She quickly got it open; inside was a card. “Just wanted to fool you a little,” he said. “Open it.”

  She did. Her eyes opened big and wide. “Rick . . . what are these? Disney World? Tickets to Disney World?” She pulled them out of the card.

  “What?” Amy yelled and ran over.

  “Two sets of tickets,” Rick said. Then quickly added, before she might think he was moving too fast, “One for you and one for Amy. She said that’s what you’d want, if you could have whatever you wished for.”

  Amy pulled them out and started flipping through them. “Mom, they’re all E-Tickets, every one of them.”

  Andrea started crying again. She shot up out of her seat and gave Rick another hug. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “You don’t have to say anything. Art, now your turn.”

  Art ripped open his card. His eyes watered right up as he read.

  “What is it, Art?” Mom asked.

  “Here,” was all he could say and handed her the card.

  She read it out loud. “Merry Christmas, Art. So glad God spared your life. For Mom’s sake and mine. Consider this card a vouc
her. It’s my pledge to go out with you and Father Charlie every Saturday you guys go fishing . . . for the rest of your life.” His mom looked up at Rick. “But how can you do this, Rick?”

  “It’s time for your present,” he said. He reached for her hand and helped her off the sofa. “Outside.” He led her off the porch, down the sidewalk, and around to the back of the U-Haul trailer.

  Everyone followed.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  Rick took out his keys and unlocked the padlock, then swung the doors open. The trailer was filled with boxes and furniture, crammed to the ceiling. “It’s all my stuff. I quit my job in Charlotte. Put my condo up for sale. I’m moving back home for good.”

  His mom couldn’t even speak. She just put her arms around him and squeezed and cried. She stayed there for what felt like five minutes. When she finally got hold of herself, they began walking back toward the house.

  “Of course, I’m going to need my old room back, at least for a while,” he said. “After New Year’s, I’m going to start up my own CPA practice here in Seabreeze. I figure all those rich folks who live along the river and the ocean need somebody they can trust to look after all that money.”

  “You can stay as long as you want,” Art said. “Just as long as you want.”

  Rick held the door open to let Art, his mom, and Amy walk through. Andrea held back a few steps and stood on the porch. When he looked into her eyes, he hoped that his mom’s present was something she’d like too.

  “Rick,” she said, holding up her Disney World tickets. “You only bought two sets of these. Amy and I would be willing to wait, if you think you could get hold of a third.”

  “Oh, believe me,” Rick said, “that will not be a problem.”

  51

  The Present

  Rick sat on the bench across the street from the empty lot where the Book Nook once stood. Today, he decided, would be his last day coming down here. He’d talked with three men in suits yesterday as they walked the property. They said bulldozers would be here tomorrow. Rick didn’t think he could bear to see that. Big, noisy machines tearing up this hallowed ground and so many fond memories.

  Rick’s life had improved dramatically after that Christmas in 1980. Despite the sagging economy, he’d sold his condo in Charlotte within two weeks to the same guy from the firm who’d stolen most of his clients. He got the call confirming the sale the day after he, Andrea, and Amy got back from Disney World in Orlando. It was the best time he’d ever had. Besides the simple escapist pleasures that abound at every turn in the Magic Kingdom, it was also the day Rick knew for certain that Andrea cared for him . . . that way.

  She didn’t hold his hand or say “I love you.” They didn’t kiss at day’s end. But she kept looking at him, and every time he’d notice, she’d smile the sweetest smile. Several times she touched his arm or his shoulder as they turned a corner in line or walked through a doorway. Each time, it was just for a moment. But she’d leave her hand there a moment or two longer than normal. He could still remember the feeling thirty years later. A surge of intense heat. A warmth that lingered. A sensation of joy that remained and increased as the day unfolded.

  Andrea had played it safe after that. Got some advice from her pastor that it might be wise not to date Rick for six months, to allow enough time to pass so she could be sure the changes in him were real and for all the right reasons.

  Rick didn’t mind. She was so worth the wait.

  Besides, he got to see her and Amy at the house. They came by often. When the six months were up, Rick picked up a diamond ring and proposed to Andrea on their first date. After a nice dinner and a long walk on the beach.

  She said yes . . . without hesitation.

  They were married six months later by Father Charlie and after that started attending his church. By then, Rick’s CPA practice was doing well enough to support them. During Reagan’s second term, the interest rates started falling, and they were able to buy a nice bungalow two streets over from his mom and Art’s place.

  In the years since, his accounting firm had done extremely well. They bought one of those big fancy houses on the river and kept the bungalow as a rental property. Rick fought off the temptation to buy a big sailboat just so he could cruise up and down the river in the morning, slowly, forcing that old drawbridge to go up and block traffic. The temptation ended five years after he’d bought the riverfront home, when they replaced the bridge with one tall enough for boats to sail right under.

  Instead, Rick bought a nice fishing boat. And he’d kept his promise to Art. They went fishing with Father Charlie one or two Saturdays a month for almost twenty years, right up until 1998, when Art passed away. His mom stayed in their little bungalow on Waverly Road. And now they visited her every Saturday evening, brought her dinner and watched a DVD. She moved a little slower, but she was still sharp as a tack.

  “Hey, Dad.”

  Rick looked up. It was Amy, with his two grandkids, Ashley and Charlie, in the backseat. He hadn’t even seen her car pull into the parallel parking spot just left of the bench. She yelled through the open car window. “Mom said you’d be down here. I tried calling your cell phone.”

  “Had it turned off,” he said as he stood up and walked over. “Just wanted some time to think.”

  “Well, I’ll leave you alone, just call me when you’re done.”

  “Hey, you guys, how ya doing?” he said, bending down.

  “Hi, Poppy!” they yelled back.

  “Sorry for interrupting you,” Amy said.

  “That’s all right. I’ve gotta get back to the office,” Rick said.

  “Heard about what they’re doing across the street. Building a Walgreens or something.”

  “A CVS.”

  “That’s kind of sad.”

  “Yeah, it is. So, why were you trying to reach me?”

  “Jim and I wanted to know what you thought about having Christmas dinner at our place this year. It’s not as big as yours, but it would save Mom a lot of work.”

  Rick thought about Andrea, how much she loved the holidays. “If she’s okay with it.”

  “I already asked her. She said she’d be fine but that I better ask you.”

  “Well . . . then let’s do it.”

  “Great. I’ll start getting things together and call her later. I’m taking the kids out now for some Christmas shopping around the corner. Did you hear they reopened the Davis Brothers Toy Store?”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “You gotta see it. Brought back all the window displays and everything.”

  “Really?” Rick wondered if they’d gotten the Lionel trains running up around the ceiling again. “I’ll go by there after work.”

  “I better get going,” she said. “Love you.”

  “Love you too. See ya, kids.”

  “Bye, Poppy.”

  Rick had adopted Amy the year after he and Andrea were married. They had joined Art’s efforts to reach out to JD. It took almost a year, but they finally coaxed him out of his cardboard box and into a halfway house. They had to promise him that Taylor could live there too. It was nice. Clean, good food. Even had chapel services every Sunday night. Rick would go to his church Sunday mornings and then with his father Sunday nights. Eventually they were able to get JD on the right medication. He seemed to come out of his imaginary world to a degree. Taylor, though, stayed with him till the end. JD died of cirrhosis of the liver in 1994, with Rick and Art by his side.

  Rick remembered that he needed to call his son, Jay, born two years after they had gotten married. They were supposed to head out fishing on Saturday. This time with an honored guest. Father Charlie had called, saying he’d be in town for a week. Rick wondered if Charlie would be up for it—he must be about eighty years old now. He gently tried to give Charlie a way out, but Charlie said, “I might be old, Rick, but I’m not dead.”

  Rick got into his car. A white pickup truck pulled into the lot across the street. Two guys ho
pped out and pulled a big wooden sign out of the bed. He watched them a few minutes. One dug holes with a posthole digger. The other stood the sign up and balanced it against the slight wind.

  The sign said in big red letters: Coming Soon, CVS!

  Life goes on.

  In a few months, there’d be a nice building sitting right there and a parking lot full of cars. None of the people going in and out of the new store would have any idea of the miracles and wonders that had taken place on that hallowed ground so many years ago. What had that newspaper article said about it? Rick had kept it in its black frame all these years, mounted on his dresser. He’d read it so many times:

  The Book Nook seems more like an enchanted cottage than a bookstore. A harbor from the cares of life. Some call it a little slice of heaven . . .

  And then his favorite part:

  Most, if asked, could not tell you exactly why this is so. But if pressed, they will say it has everything to do with the owners, Art and Leanne Bell. This sweet couple, in equal parts and in their own way, seem to radiate the love of God.

  They certainly did, Rick thought.

  And because they did, his life had been changed forever.

  Author’s Note

  Remembering Christmas is entirely a work of fiction. Well, sort of.

  The little bookstore so central to the story was inspired by an actual Christian bookstore named the Book Nook. The town of Seabreeze is fictitious, but the idea for it came from what I imagined the Daytona Beach area might have looked like had it stayed small; if it had never become “The World’s Most Famous Beach” and the birthplace of NASCAR.

  Actually, Seabreeze did exist as a little beachside town from 1901 to 1926, when it merged with Daytona Beach to become one city. Seabreeze Boulevard is still one of the main streets in the beachside area, and I graduated from Seabreeze Senior High School, still one of the main public high schools in the Daytona Beach area.