The Perfect Christmas Gift

by Sarah Ettritch

  Casey waited until they’d left the retirement home and were out on the sidewalk before she spoke. “This could be as easy as posting something on Facebook. Are you sure you want to pay me five hundred dollars?”

  “Yes, no matter what,” Gran said. “It’ll be worth it to see Lily get past this. She’s seventy-six, for god’s sake. That’s too long to pine after a lost love.”

  Not if it was the only love she’d ever experienced. “She’s lucky to have you, and so am I.”

  Gran couldn’t hide a smile. “Remember that the next time I tell you to turn up the TV.”

  Casey grinned. “I’ll try.”

  *****

  Casey surveyed the jewelry on display in a posh jeweller’s window. Her eyes settled on a ring with a small diamond—not magnifying-glass small, but nobody would call it a rock. It would look nice on Emily’s finger, but she might mistake it for an engagement ring. They weren’t at that point yet. Maybe a necklace? No, Emily always wore the one her parents had given her for her sixteenth birthday. Casey wouldn’t make her choose. Earrings? Emily rarely wore them. A toe or belly-button ring? This wasn’t that type of store, Emily didn’t have any body piercings, and the words “I’d love a toe ring!” had never left her mouth in Casey’s presence.

  With a sigh, she turned away from the window. That morning, she’d searched online for Clara Hopkins but hadn’t found anything related to Lily’s Clara. She’d moved on to Plan B and posted about Clara on a local Facebook page for people hoping to connect with someone from their past. She’d also tweeted out an appeal, though she didn’t have many followers.

  She crossed her fingers and checked Facebook on her phone. Her heart leaped. Three comments! She tapped through to them. A woman had posted a link to where people could buy sunglasses, a guy claimed to have seen Clara on the same UFO he’d been on when he’d been abducted in 1972, and a third person had posted an eight-second clip of a dog playing a ukulele with its nose. It was a start.

  She’d fared no better on Twitter. A few people had retweeted her tweet or wished her luck, but nobody had provided information about where she could find Clara.

  Casey checked the time, then raced to the nearest bus stop. She couldn’t tell Emily that she was late for their dinner date because she was trying to find the perfect Christmas gift, and she hated lying to her.

  Fifteen minutes later, she burst into the greasy spoon where she and Emily had arranged to meet and slid into the booth, across from her.

  “You all right?” Emily asked. “You look like you’re about to collapse.”

  “I was running a bit behind.”

  Emily reached across the table and squeezed Casey’s fingers. “Were you working this new case you said you’d tell me about?”

  Casey nodded. She had checked Facebook and Twitter. “The first thing you should know is that Gran hired me. She’s the client.”

  “Really?” Emily said, her eyes bright. “What does she want you to do?”

  By the time Casey had told her about the visit with Lily, they’d ordered fish and chips and had steaming coffees in front of them. “I want to find her, but I’m worried about what I’ll find out. If the news isn’t good, telling Lily will be tough. Then again, after over fifty years of wondering, I think it’ll be good for her to finally move on.”

  “She might not. What if Clara’s dead? Unless she left behind a letter for her…”

  “If she did, someone would have given it to her. Lily’s easy to find. She never married.”

  Emily nodded. “So if Clara is dead, Lily still wouldn’t know if she didn’t want to be with her because she didn’t love her, or because of the time period.”

  “There were lesbian couples back then.”

  “Sure, but it was a lot tougher. We’re so lucky today.” Emily wagged her fingers between them. “Look at us now, sitting here in the open, not worrying about being overheard. We didn’t think twice about touching each other when you arrived. Back then, we wouldn’t have dared.”

  “I’m glad we’re not living back then.”

  “Me, too.”

  Their fish and chips arrived. Casey squirted ketchup on her fries and stuck one into her mouth.

  “So what’s the game plan?” Emily asked.

  “I searched for her online but didn’t find anything, so then I posted about her to Facebook and Twitter. Last time I checked, nobody had posted anything useful.” But that had been almost forty-five minutes ago, and time moved quickly on social media. Casey pulled out her phone and checked for responses again. Six comments now, and one of them was serious. “There’s a Facebook group for the high school they both went to,” Casey told Emily excitedly. “A guy’s asking permission to post the info there.”

  Emily’s head bobbed. “Which you’ll give him.”

  Casey tapped a reply. This could be it. “Gran seems to think Clara wanted to be with Lily but didn’t want to upset her family,” she said, putting her phone away.

  “Your gran knew them both back then?”

  “Uh, no, but this is Gran we’re talking about. She doesn’t need to know anything to have an opinion.”

  Emily chuckled. “So why does she think Clara put her family before Lily?”

  “She filled me in on a couple of things Lily didn’t tell me. Apparently Clara’s family was more traditional than Lily’s. Can you believe her parents didn’t want her to go to university?” Casey’s parents had been disappointed when she’d skipped that part of her education. They still were. “They wanted her to get married.”

  Emily swallowed her mouthful of food. “That wasn’t unusual back then.”

  “I know, but to get married when you’re gay. To a guy, I mean.” The only option for women until recently. “I can’t see myself doing that. It’s hard to believe a lesbian would do it.”

  “Can you be sure you wouldn’t have buckled under the pressure? It would have been pretty intense. Everything you’d hear about homosexuality would be negative, from everyone. Family, friends, church, science. Imagine no role models, and you don’t know anyone else who feels the same way you do, except maybe whoever you’re involved with, and she’s feeling the same pressure you are. You both think you’re abnormal and doing something wrong. Could you have stayed the course?”

  “I’d like to think I would have.” She couldn’t see herself walking down the aisle with a guy and having kids, but it was difficult to put herself into the situation Emily had described. “I probably would have become a nun.”

  Emily snorted. “You’re not Catholic.”

  “I would have converted.” They grinned at each other. “Seriously, though. I don’t know what I would have done. I’m glad I wasn’t alive back then. I know there’s still work to be done today, but it’s a heck of a lot better than it was fifty years ago.” She had a new appreciation for Lily, who’d remained true to herself. But Lily also held a torch for the woman who’d chosen society over her—maybe. Clara might have stood Lily up because she hadn’t loved her.

  “We have choices,” Emily said. “We don’t have to get married, but if we want to, we can marry whoever we want.”

  Casey wanted to ask Emily if she wanted to get married. They’d never discussed it. But she couldn’t get the question out, so maybe she would have buckled under the pressure back then. She didn’t even have the courage to ask her girlfriend if she saw marriage in her future. Was she afraid Emily would say no…or yes? Casey grabbed another fry and didn’t mind when Emily changed the subject.

  After dinner, they strolled outside, taking in the Christmas lights city workers had wound around lamp posts and strung across the road. Emily looped her arm through Casey’s and leaned into her, making Casey’s heart swell and hardening her determination to find Clara, or at least discover what had happened to her. She couldn’t imagine losing Emily and never hearing from her again.

  *****

  “I have her married name,” Casey said, raising her voice so Emily could hear her. Perched on the edge
of the bed, she absently stroked Tiggy, one of Emily’s cats.

  Emily emerged from the bathroom and said something that sounded like, “What house tie?”

  Casey looked up from her phone. “What?”

  Emily pulled her toothbrush from her mouth. “What is it?”

  “Oh. It’s Clara Richards. I got a private message from someone who went to school with her.” Casey dipped her head again. “She says Clara married Charlie Richards.” She read more. “He died ten years ago. Someone posted his obituary to the school’s group.”

  “The man Clara married went to the same school as her and Lily?”

  “Yeah. I wonder if Lily knows him.” Casey wouldn’t ask her unless she had to. Maybe Lily didn’t want to know.

  “They were still married when he died?”

  “Yeah.” For more than forty years. Had Charlie Richards been Clara’s true love, or had she settled? “According to the obituary, they were living in Colbridge when he died. Two children. Five grandchildren.” She searched Facebook for Clara Richards. Nobody of Clara’s age matched. Next, Google. Another dead end. But she had the children’s and grandchildren’s names now. If she couldn’t find one of them online, she didn’t deserve her PI licence.

  Emily went back into the bathroom. Casey went to the front door and got her jacket from the hallway’s small closet. Emily was supervising an exam in half an hour. Casey would go home, try to find one of Clara’s descendants, and then go shopping—again. Maybe she’d take Gran along. She needed help.

  “Text me if you crack the case or get a new lead,” Emily said, throwing on her own jacket. They left her apartment. Emily locked the door and gave Casey a quick smile. “Let’s go.”

  On the way to the elevator, Casey wondered if Emily would ever give her a key to her apartment. After all, they’d been together six months. Emily hadn’t offered, and Casey didn’t want to ask. Emily’s last relationship had hurt her badly, so she’d wanted to take things slow, and they had. No U-Haul for them on the second date. Casey understood and would never press, but every time she waited for Emily to lock the door behind them, it hurt, just a little.

  For now, she’d live with it. Maybe after Christmas, she’d broach the subject. Or maybe she’d let it ride for a bit, because she loved Emily, and she didn’t want to rock the boat over a key. It’s not the key, it’s what it represents. Trust. Togetherness. A future. One she didn’t want to scuttle by pushing Emily too soon.

  *****

  Casey put back the knick-knack she’d examined and let out an exasperated sigh.

  Next to her, Gran huffed. “Why are you so stressed about Emily’s gift?”

  “Because I want it to be special.”

  “We’ve been shopping for almost two hours. Normally I can’t keep you in a store for fifteen minutes.”

  “Yeah, well, what can I say? Nothing I pick up feels right.” It didn’t help that she’d fired off a bunch of Facebook messages to people in Colbridge who could be Clara’s children or grandchildren, and none of them had replied. She wouldn’t be surprised if the next time she checked Facebook, she’d discover that her account had been shut down for spamming. She was tempted to check now, but she didn’t want to throw her phone in the store.

  “What does she want?” Gran asked.

  “Who?”

  Gran groaned. “Emily.”

  That was just it. Emily had everything she needed. She’d lived in her own place for a while. She collected comics, but Casey didn’t know which issues she was missing, and Emily hadn’t mentioned that she was looking for any in particular. Casey had gotten her into cycling, but Emily had an almost-new bike, and it was winter now, anyway. She liked butterfly ornaments and knick-knacks, but had complained that since everyone knew that about her, she had more butterfly stuff than she knew what to do with.

  “Emily has everything. I have no idea what to get her, and I should. She’s my girlfriend. I love her.”

  “Aw.” Gran patted Casey’s arm. “She’ll like whatever you get her. She’ll be happy that she’s seeing you on Christmas.”

  “Only in the morning. We’re sticking to our usual plans for the rest of the day. Emily said we’ll change things next year.” Yeah, see? There would be a next year. The key didn’t matter. “Maybe we’ll end up alternating. One year I’ll go with her family to her grandparents, and the other year, she’ll go with us to Mom and Dad’s.”

  Gran poked her. “See if you can make it to your mom and dad’s every third year. Spare Emily the ordeal.”

  “Are you talking about the tough turkey Mom makes?”

  Gran pulled a face. “No, but that, too. But we’ll worry about that when the time comes. For now, choose something Emily will like. Don’t worry about whether she needs it. Nobody else worries about that when they buy gifts, or I would have received more interesting ones over the years.”

  “If I get her something she doesn’t need, it’ll just create clutter for her.” Casey slowly exhaled. “I don’t think I’ll find anything today. I’m too frustrated now. Do you want to go to the food court and get a dessert? I need to stuff my face with something chocolate.”

  Gran’s eyes lit up. “I won’t say no.”

  On their way, they came across four carollers in Victorian-era clothing, singing “Silent Night.” Casey slowed down, intending to join the small crowd that had gathered in front of the quartet, but Gran shook her head. “I can’t stand that carol,” she muttered.

  “What, ‘Silent Night’?”

  Gran nodded. “It’s too slow. I like upbeat carols that get your blood pumping. ‘Silent Night’ makes me want to have a nap. And what does ‘round yon virgin’ mean, anyway?”

  “Uh, I don’t know.” Casey dug out her phone. “I can look it up on the Internet.”

  “Don’t bother. It won’t make me like the carol any more. And do we really need to know that she was a virgin? What do you young people say? MTI?”

  “TMI. Too much information.” And no, Casey supposed they didn’t need to know. The virgin birth was just the miracle that had led to them celebrating Christmas. No biggie. She waved her phone at Gran. “Do you mind if I check for messages?”

  “No.”

  Casey brought up Facebook. No account cancellation or warnings, but no replies, either. She still didn’t have a gift for Emily, and at this rate, she’d never find Clara in time for Christmas. Ho, ho, ho. Bah, humbug.

  *****

  Casey examined the ceramic mug she’d worked on over the past several classes, pleased with the result. It wasn’t perfect, and maybe she should have scratched her and Emily’s initials and a small heart into the bottom of the mug, rather than the side, but other than that and a few tiny bumps, it looked good. The other students in the Saturday-morning ceramics class were also admiring their mugs.

  “Good job,” the instructor said. “No disasters, but I wouldn’t be giving them as Christmas presents.” Laughter filled the studio. “You’re all doing great, though. Today we’ll review what we did to create the masterpieces you’re holding, and now that you’ve done it once, I’ll give you some tips for taking your mugs to the next level. And that’ll be it for this session. If you want to join me again in January, there will be a sign-up sheet at the end of the class. I hope to see you all again.”

  After the class, Casey wrapped her mug in tissue paper and thought back to the instructor’s comments. Her mug was far from perfect, but she’d give it to Emily for Christmas, anyway. It wouldn’t be the Christmas present, but it would give Emily a laugh and make Casey smile every time Emily used it, assuming she didn’t hide it away somewhere. At least she couldn’t re-gift it, not unless she knew a couple with the initials C.C. and E.S.

  After adding her name to the sign-up sheet for the next session and wishing everyone a “Happy Holidays,” she left the community centre with the mug in the knapsack on her back. At the bus stop, she checked her phone. Megan Richards, one of the people she’d messaged about Clara, had replied. Hoping for
an address for Clara, Casey read the message.

  I don’t know who you are, but I know you contacted my brother, too. What do you want?

  Okay, Casey had mentioned that she was trying to find Clara Richards, formerly Hopkins, in her message. She checked Megan’s profile again. One of Clara’s grandchildren—maybe. She tapped a reply, explaining that someone from Clara’s past was looking for her, and Casey was helping the person out. She didn’t mention that she was a PI. Doing so sometimes resulted in the opposite of what she wanted.

  The bus was coming when Megan replied. Casey boarded it and found a seat, then read the message.

  Who’s looking for her?

  A woman of few words. Casey pondered how to answer the question. She didn’t want to divulge Lily’s name, or explain why Lily was keen to find Clara. Clara could be a straight woman who regretted her relationship with Lily, or had dismissed it long ago as a meaningless dalliance. She may not even remember it, though Casey doubted that. Regardless of how Clara saw it, she probably hadn’t told her family about Lily. Depending on Clara’s reaction to hearing Lily’s name, the entire family could stonewall Casey. She wanted to speak to Clara about Lily herself, to gauge Clara’s genuine reaction to the news that Lily was looking for her. After giving it more thought, she replied to the message, saying that an old friend was trying to find Clara.

  Megan’s reply was almost instant. Look, if you won’t tell me exactly why you want to contact my grandmother, I can’t help you. There are too many jerks preying on seniors these days. Who’s trying to find her?

  Ah, so she was communicating with Clara’s granddaughter, and it sounded like Clara was alive. Megan wouldn’t be worried about someone taking advantage of a dead person, right? She tapped back, “The friend wants to remain anonymous. But I am working on behalf of a former friend, I swear.”

  The reply was terse. Without a name, I can’t help you. Unless you’re going to give me one, don’t contact me again.