Songs of Christmas

by Thomas Kinkade

  “That’s too bad about your father. Did he pass away recently?” she asked.

  “It’s been about two years now. Sometimes, it still feels like yesterday,” he admitted. “My mom’s had a rough time. He was pretty young and it was very sudden. He left for work one day and didn’t come back.”

  “Oh, how awful,” Amanda said sincerely.

  “It was a heart attack. He worked too hard and never took care of himself.”

  “What did he do for a living?”

  “Stained-glass artist.” He glanced at her and smiled. “I was at RISD,” he added, referring to the Rhode Island School of Design. “But I came home and decided to stay, take over the business. My mother works, but she doesn’t make enough to take care of herself and my brother—he’s a junior in high school now, but he was only thirteen then. So I took over the shop. I used to work with my dad when I was in high school, so I already knew the business. It won’t be forever. I mean, if I don’t want it to be. My mom went back to school last year, part-time. She’s studying to be a teacher. She’ll be certified soon.”

  “Oh, that’s great,” Amanda said.

  It was noble of him to have put aside his own plans to help his family, she thought. Not too many guys her age—well, he was a few years older, but still—would have made that sacrifice and sounded so comfortable with it. The admission made her see him in a different light.

  The Clam Box wasn’t too crowded, considering it was a Sunday at noon. A waitress with dark red hair seated them at a table near the window and handed them two menus. “The specials are on the board,” she said as she filled their water glasses.

  Gabriel folded his menu and put it aside. “I already know what I want. But you take a minute,” he said to Amanda.

  “I know, too,” she said, closing her menu.

  The waitress pulled out her pad. “Shoot,” she said, looking at Amanda.

  “I’ll have the three-stack hot cakes, with a fruit cup, and hot chocolate, please.”

  “I’ll have the same,” Gabriel said.

  “You got it. Be right back with the hot chocolate.”

  “I was going to order a side of bacon, but the fruit cup is much healthier,” he said as their waitress hurried off. “See, you’re a good influence on me.”

  Amanda laughed. “Don’t worry, I won’t hold it against you if you want to have some totally unhealthy breakfast meat.”

  “That’s okay.” He shook his head, looking fine with his decision. Then his hand suddenly popped up. “Waitress?” he called, making Amanda laugh.

  Their waitress didn’t hear him; she was nowhere to be seen.

  “I was only kidding. I fooled you, right?”

  Amanda nodded. “Yes, you did. What did you study at RISD, stand-up comedy?”

  “Exactly. A double major in stand-up comedy and fine art. I was planning to be a post-Impressionist comedian. I still might try for it,” he added.

  “That act would be original.” Amanda guessed he was only half-joking now. “Do you still paint?” she asked, eager to know more about him.

  “It’s funny—not so much anymore. Now that I’m working with glass all the time, I find that my ideas for my own artwork come to mind in that medium. A lot of the work I do nine-to-five is repair and renovation, like at the church. Interesting but not that creative. That’s why I enjoy making my own pieces, which are more original.”

  She knew that there were great works of art in stained glass—the windows in many of the medieval and Renaissance churches, or those of the artists Louis Tiffany and Marc Chagall. But she understood what Gabriel was trying to say. It was the difference between practicing your craft and being truly creative.

  “I feel that way about some jobs I’ve had playing the piano or cello. They’re sort of routine, not too much creativity involved. But when I have the time to play music I really love, it’s much more satisfying . . . and it makes up for the rest.”

  “You play the cello, too? What are you, a one-woman orchestra?”

  “Hardly,” she said, feeling her cheeks get warm again under his admiring gaze. “Most professional musicians have some knowledge of keyboards. But the cello is my main instrument. I’m hoping to play professionally in an orchestra somewhere.”

  Their waitress returned with their orders, setting down the food and adding a pitcher of syrup and a bowl of butter pats. “Anything else?” she asked.

  Amanda liked cinnamon on her pancakes and French toast . . . on a lot of things, actually, but before she had the chance to ask, Gabriel said, “Could you please bring some cinnamon when you have a chance?”

  She disappeared again and he sat back, looking at his pancakes. “You go ahead. I can’t eat them without cinnamon.”

  She leaned back, too, placing her fork on the side of her dish. “I can wait . . . I like cinnamon, too,” she admitted, feeling a strange, secret bond with him.

  This was so silly, she almost wanted to laugh. She would have to call Lauren later. She had already told Lauren about the super cute guy who got the free pumpkin pie on Thanksgiving.

  “He sounds like a total hottie. I think you ought to follow a trail of pie crumbs or something and find out where he lives,” her sister had advised. Amanda hadn’t spoken to Lauren all week; she was going to love hearing there was more to the Pie Guy story.

  “You have a funny smile on your face, Amanda. Is it the cinnamon pancakes?” Gabriel’s question broke into her rambling thoughts.

  She shook her head. “I was thinking about my sister, Lauren. My stepsister, actually. But we’re super close. We were best friends in middle school when our parents got married,” she explained.

  “Really? That must have been fun.” Their waitress had returned with the cinnamon, and he politely offered it to Amanda first.

  “It was like having a sleepover with your best pal every night. It still is,” she admitted, thinking about their all-night gabfests. “I was just thinking of something funny,” she explained. About you, she secretly added as she handed him the spice.

  “Sounds like you miss her.” He shook some cinnamon onto his pancakes and took a bite.

  “I do,” she replied. “I have two other sisters, Jillian and Betty,” she added. “Jill is away, too. She’s still in college. Betty is six. She’s growing up like an only child, since the rest of us are living away.”

  “Yeah, that can happen. But . . . you still live here, don’t you?” He looked puzzled, as if wondering if he had missed something.

  “Good point. I was just trying to make sure you were paying attention,” she joked.

  “Oh, I haven’t missed a word, Amanda. Don’t worry.” He looked up and caught her gaze for a moment. His blue eyes were pretty amazing, like diving into the deep end of a swimming pool on a very hot day.

  She almost forgot what she was about to say.

  “I was living in New York City,” she explained. “I moved there after grad school and had an apartment with a few friends. But it didn’t work out, and I moved back to Cape Light a few weeks ago.”

  She practically swallowed the last few sentences. It was hard to admit. She knew it wasn’t really a failure—just a temporary setback—but it still stung. It still felt hard to say the words out loud, especially when Gabriel Bailey seemed so . . . so impressed with her or something.

  He didn’t say anything at first, and she wondered if he thought less of her now. “New York’s loss, Cape Light’s gain, I’d say. So, what were you doing in New York? You weren’t a church music director down there, were you?”

  Amanda laughed. “Everything but. I took a lot of different jobs, some musical and some not. I worked as an accompanist at a dance studio, played evenings in a restaurant, and waited tables at the same restaurant other nights, too,” she admitted. “I was really trying to find a place in an orchestra with my cello and was auditioning a lot.”

  “I see. So you’re a serious musician. You want to play at Carnegie Hall, or Lincoln Center, something like that?”
>
  “Something like that.” Right now she would settle for the most unknown orchestra in the most obscure city in the country. But she didn’t tell him that.

  “I took the job at church because it’s better than working in my mom’s shop, but I’m still sending out my tapes and waiting to hear about auditions.” She wondered if this would dampen his interest in her. She suddenly hoped not.

  Gabriel nodded. “That’s good,” he said. “It’s important to set your sights high. Anyone can see that you’re very talented.”

  “Thanks . . . We’ll see.” She rarely talked about herself this much, and she was curious about him. “So what are your stained-glass works like? Are they in any special style?”

  He looked pleased at her interest, but there was a teasing light in his eyes, too. “Let’s see . . . how can I describe them? They’re sort of . . . flat and square . . . though some are curved around the edges,” he added in a perfectly serious tone. “And colorful,” he added thoughtfully.

  She played along. “And made out of glass?”

  He looked pleased by that response. “Yes, exactly.”

  She couldn’t keep a straight face any longer and started laughing. “Seriously, is your work abstract? Realistic? Somewhere in between? . . . Or maybe you don’t want to tell me? That’s all right, I understand. Sometimes it’s hard to describe an artistic style. I was just wondering.”

  Gabriel shook his head. “I didn’t mean to be facetious. It’s nice of you to ask. I guess you could say the style is sort of abstract, but not just mosaic designs. You can tell what you’re looking at, most of the time . . . Does that help?”

  She nodded. “It helps a lot. Do you enter any exhibits or show your work in any galleries?”

  She wondered then if she was asking too many questions. He looked a little put off by that line of inquiry.

  “I sell a few pieces in my shop. But mainly, I just enjoy making it,” he explained.

  Amanda decided not to press him. “Maybe I could see your work sometime,” she said finally.

  He smiled again. “Yes, I hope you can . . . Hey, I almost forgot, you did a great job today at the service. Were you nervous?”

  “A little,” she admitted. “Did it show? I know I hit a few bad notes.”

  “No one noticed,” he assured her. “It’s a lot to coordinate. I’m not even sure when I should stand up with the hymnal or sit down,” he added, making her laugh.

  Amanda knew that accepting compliments was not easy for her, but his words made her feel good. “Thanks. I’ll be better next week.”

  “More hot chocolate over here? More pancakes? Some coffee, maybe? It’s all you can eat.” Their waitress appeared, slinging two glass coffee canisters like a cowboy with six guns.

  “I’m fine, thank you,” Amanda replied. “This hit the spot.”

  “No more for me, thanks.” Gabriel’s phone buzzed, and he picked it up off the table. “Sorry, I have to check this.”

  Amanda nodded. It usually didn’t bother her if someone she was with checked their phone. As long they weren’t staring at it all through the meal. And Gabriel had certainly given her plenty of attention—more than she was used to.

  She wondered if a girlfriend was getting in touch with him. He was probably involved with someone. He had to have girls falling all over him.

  “My brother, Taylor.” He slipped the phone in his jacket pocket. “He is actually getting in touch on time. Feeling a little guilty about nearly killing us with those snowballs, I guess.”

  So it wasn’t a girlfriend, she thought, feeling relieved and a little silly. Well, that didn’t mean there wasn’t a girl someplace.

  “He went over to a sports store and is coming back to town. I guess I’d better get going so he can pick me up.”

  “That’s all right. I have to go, too.” Amanda was surprised to see the time. They’d been sitting there talking for over an hour.

  The waitress had left the check and Gabe picked it up. “Why don’t we split it?” Amanda offered, reaching for her wallet. “We both ate the same thing.”

  Gabe shook his head. “I invited you to lunch. It’s my treat . . . even though it was only pancakes.”

  His tone implied the meal should have been much grander . . . or would be the next time. Would there be a next time? She hoped so. He was so attractive and so easy to talk to. Maybe she wouldn’t be in town that long, but it would be fun to hang out with him while she was. She hoped that confiding her plans hadn’t made him think twice about getting to know her better. Still, she didn’t regret being honest. She didn’t really know how to be anything else. Only time would tell if the admission had put him off.

  They left the diner and stood on the sidewalk a moment. Gabriel spotted his truck a little farther down Main Street and waved to his brother.

  “Well, it’s coming back in one piece, so I guess I should be thankful.” He turned to Amanda. “This was fun. I hope you’ll get caught in the cross fire of one of our snowball fights again sometime.”

  “Well, I’m going to practice my aim, just in case.”

  “As long as you’re on my team, that’s fine with me.” He laughed at her, then leaned over and quickly kissed her cheek. “See you,” he said as the truck pulled up.

  She felt surprised by his quick, casual kiss, and practically light-headed. “Good-bye, Gabriel,” she said finally.

  He was already climbing into the truck, making his brother move over so he could drive. He turned and waved to her, then pulled away.

  Amanda stood in front of the diner a moment, getting her bearings. Of all the things she had anticipated happening today, this impromptu date was not one of them. Her mother sometimes said the surprises in life usually turn out better than anything you plan. That was certainly true this morning.

  Amanda wondered when she would see Gabriel again. He might not be back in church on Monday. But she knew she would see him soon, and that thought made her smile as she walked back toward the harbor. Everything looked so fresh and new today, covered with the glistening snow. This had turned out to be a good day, that was for sure. Better than she’d ever expected.

  * * *

  “ARE YOU PURPOSELY TRYING TO DRIVE ME CRAZY?” LILLIAN SWEPT into Ezra’s room just as Estrella was leaving. She practically knocked the nurse down, but didn’t bother to apologize. Or even make eye contact. Ezra wasn’t surprised. She had barely said a civil word to the poor woman since Estrella had arrived. It had been four days now.

  Ezra was waiting for Lillian to get tired of this battle and gracefully retreat. But she showed no signs of backing down.

  “Drive you crazy? What did I do now?” he asked innocently, though he knew he was not the target of her ire—not really. “It’s amazing how much trouble a man can get into, lying sick in bed all day. I positively amaze myself.”

  Her eyes narrowed as she stood at the end of his bed. “Don’t be cute, Ezra. It doesn’t suit you.”

  “Point taken. But I still don’t understand the problem.”

  “You know very well what I mean,” she insisted. She walked across the room and sat down heavily in the armchair. “I heard the both of you in here, chattering away. Couldn’t understand a word of it. Probably complaining about me, right?” She didn’t bother to wait for his answer. “You might as well have been planning a bank robbery for all I know. I’ve told you before, it’s very rude. And how am I supposed to oversee your care if I can’t understand what she’s doing to you? Can you answer me that? Why, these helpers could kill you, give you the wrong dose of medication or something. The buck stops here, Ezra,” she insisted, tapping her chest. “I can’t make sure she’s doing her job correctly if I need an interpreter.”

  Ezra tilted his head back. He had been talking with Estrella in Spanish. That was it. Lillian didn’t like it. She felt left out. He understood that and had taken care not to do it when she was in the room. That was not polite, as she pointed out.

  “I understand, dear . . . but when w
as this exactly? I didn’t see you in the room a few minutes ago. Are my eyes going on me, too?” he asked innocently. “Or were you standing by the doorway . . . eavesdropping?”

  The color rose in her cheeks, and she sat up straight, looking quite offended.

  “If you had made yourself known, we would have stopped speaking Spanish at once,” Ezra went on in a reasonable tone. “Estrella has offered to help me brush up on my Spanish, and I’ve offered to help her improve her English,” he explained.

  “Really? Well, so far, it looks as if you’re getting the better end of that bargain. And I was not eavesdropping. How dare you accuse me of such a thing? I was about to come in and check on you when I heard you both in here, yammering away. I wanted to watch her, candidly. She’s still on probation, you know.”

  So she was spying on Estrella, trying to gather some evidence to make a case against the young woman. That made sense. But he didn’t want to accuse Lillian of that. Not quite yet.

  “Yes, I know. She’s been here almost a week. I have absolutely no complaints.”

  “It’s hardly a week. She started Friday and it’s only Tuesday . . . that’s not even five full days. I’m not sure this is working out, Ezra. I’m not sure at all.”

  Ezra sighed. They had agreed Estrella would work for a week before they decided if she would stay on. Ezra thought Lillian would have come around by now. The clock was ticking down.

  There was just something she didn’t like about Estrella. Maybe because she couldn’t find anything precisely not to like about her, and couldn’t catch her doing anything wrong? That’s what was driving his wife crazy, he thought.

  “Look, Lily,” he said, “I understand that all of this is terrible for you. I am so sorry to have gotten sick and put you in this position where you have to take care of me, where we need additional help in the house. I’m just glad we have someone here who can help, who has the medical training that I’m afraid I need right now.”