Ms. Scrooge

by Annabelle Costa

  Chocolate chip cookies.

  These must be the chocolate chip cookies Roberta made yesterday. She made them specifically for the presentation, using Danvier chocolate. As if that would impress them.

  I peel back a corner of the plastic wrap, and the smell of chocolate and brown sugar immediately hits me, even though the cookies have been sitting in the fridge. They look moist and delicious. My stomach growls. I’ve been having too many salads lately and it’s slowly killing me.

  I reach for one of the cookies. Despite being in the refrigerator, it feels soft and gooey. I break off a little piece in my right hand, and shove it into my mouth. And…

  Oh my God.

  This could be the best cookie I’ve ever had in my life. How does Tim not weigh two-thousand pounds if his mother makes cookies like this? Before I can stop myself, I’ve shoved the rest of the cookie into my mouth. Maybe it’s all the salads talking, but this is incredible. The only thing rivaling how good this cookie is might be what Tim did to me last night.

  I pick up the plate of cookies. I’ll bring it to the meeting. Who knows—it could help. At the very least, it will put them in a good mood.

  Chapter 16

  By the time of my presentation, I’ve drunk six cups of coffee. I’m practically levitating. My heart is definitely in danger of going into a fatal arrhythmia. But I needed all that caffeine today. After all, I’ve only had about two hours of sleep.

  Nick and Charles Danvier show up a few minutes before three o’clock. I’ve got the conference room cleaned, and Ryan has set up the presentation on the laptop, which will project to a screen at the front of the room. And the cookies are prominently displayed in the middle of the table.

  Now it’s show time.

  As always, Nick holds onto my hand several beats too long when he greets me hello. He’s in his forties with a full head of dark blonde hair and a cleft chin. He’s handsome, but not nearly as handsome as he thinks he is. Of course, with the sort of money his family has, he doesn’t have to be. He flashes his full mouth of startlingly white teeth at me. “Elizabeth. It’s great to see you.”

  “Great to see you too,” I say, trying to disentangle my hand from his without it seeming rude.

  Charles Danvier is wearing a tweed suit that looks like it was most fashionable in a decade long ago. Much like his son, he has a full head of hair, but his is all white and no attempt has been made to comb it out. When I hold out my hand to him, instead of shaking it, he pulls it to his lips and kisses it. Nick rolls his eyes and laughs.

  “You must be the Elizabeth I’ve heard so much about,” Charles Danvier says with a toothy grin. “We’re expecting good things here today!”

  “Yes…” I try to push away the uneasy feeling in my stomach. “Mr. Danvier, I think you’ll be very happy with—”

  “Cookies!” Charles cries out before I can finish my sentence.

  Charles makes his way over to the plate of cookies Roberta baked. I fix a smile on my face. “Yes, that’s a batch of fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies using the chocolate samples you sent to us.”

  “Very good,” Nick says without enthusiasm, although Charles reaches for a cookie immediately. Bless his heart.

  Nick glances at Michelle, who has arisen from her feet at the conference table to greet him. His face falls. “Where is the blonde who was here last time—Courtney, was it?”

  My heart skips in my chest. Stupid coffee. I shouldn’t be surprised by Nick’s reaction. Michelle is attractive, but not as pretty as Courtney. Courtney has the shorter skirts and bigger boobs. But we can get this account without short skirts or big boobs.

  “She might be joining us later,” I say vaguely. Over my dead body. “In the meantime, Michelle will be here.”

  “Well, okay.”

  Great. We haven’t even started yet, and Nick is already disappointed. But on the plus side, Charles is eating his second cookie.

  The first time I ever did one of these presentations, I was so nervous, I couldn’t stop shaking. Marley was in the room with me then, smiling and nodding, which is the only thing that got me through it. Now it’s almost like second nature. I flip through my carefully prepared slides, outlining the crux of our campaign. I watch Nick’s face, gauging his reaction. He’s nodding, although it’s hard to tell if he’s just being polite. The old man eats about four cookies during this time.

  While I’m speaking, I imagine Marley is in the room with me. Smiling and nodding.

  “Now I’d like to show you the ad we made for you.” I pause on the slide with the video we prepared about the land of chocolate. “I think you’re going to love it. Obviously, it’s very rough, so we would love to hear your ideas about what you’d like to change.”

  I click on the video, expecting the screen to disappear into the land of chocolate. But instead, I see something completely different.

  It’s a shot of two little girls playing in the snow. They look like they’re in their backyard. One is rolling a huge ball of snow, and the other is rolling a smaller ball. We watch as one of the girls picks up the smaller ball and places it on the larger ball. They’re making a snowman.

  What the hell is this?

  The camera zooms in closer. A little girl with a red hat that has a little white puff at the end is looking for rocks on the ground. When she finds a few of them, she puts them on the snowman’s face to form his eyes. The other, smaller girl pulls the pink hat off her own head and places it on top of the snowman.

  “What are you doing?” the older girl cries.

  “I’m making him come to life!”

  “No! You’re going to give yourself a cold!”

  The older girl rips the hat off the snowman and places it back securely on the other girl’s head. The younger girl giggles. “My hat is all covered with snow now!”

  And I mouth the words along with her. Because, of course, I knew exactly what she was going to say. Because I know who these two little girls are.

  The younger girl is my sister, Polly.

  And the older girl is me.

  I don’t know how this is happening. How did this snippet of my childhood end up inside my presentation to my most important client? I click on the screen, furiously trying to pause the video, but it won’t stop.

  “What are we going to do about a nose?” the younger version of myself asks on the screen.

  “We can use a rock?” Polly suggests.

  “Don’t be silly! It’s got to be a carrot!”

  Polly plants her hands on her hips. “Well, I don’t got a carrot! Do you?”

  I anxiously look over at Nick Danvier, and he’s frowning. He crosses and uncrosses his legs, then clears his throat. “Elizabeth, this seems a bit long…”

  “Of course,” I say quickly. “I’m so sorry. Just having some technical difficulties here…” I crook my finger at Michelle. “Could you help…?”

  I glance back up at the screen. Polly and I have started a snowball fight. My sister gathers snow into her little gloved hand and hurls it with all her might. It hits my puffy purple jacket, and I squeal with delight. I remember that jacket. I thought it was the most beautiful jacket in the world, but now it just looks cheap. But in this movie, I couldn’t have cared less.

  Was I ever really that happy?

  “I don’t know what’s going on,” Michelle hisses at me. She is clicking everywhere she can with the mouse. “The video won’t stop. It’s frozen. I think we need to reboot the computer.”

  “Girls! What are you doing out there?”

  Oh my God, it’s my mother’s voice.

  “Let’s reboot,” I say. I can’t watch anymore of this video. I press my thumb against the power button on the laptop, desperate to shut this down.

  But the video keeps on playing.

  The two little girls run into the house. And there is my mother. My mother, who has now been dead for over a decade. She looks somehow different than I remember her. Shorter. Skinnier. Younger. She isn’t any older than I am righ
t now. Her hair is frizzy the way mine would be if I didn’t get keratin treatments. And when she smiles at the two little girls, her eyes crinkle in a painfully familiar way. She loves those girls. More than anything. You could see it all over her face.

  “Oh, Ebbie, you’re all wet!” My mother strips off my puffy purple coat. When she’s freed me from it, she wraps her arms around me. I can almost feel her hugging me. I remember how safe I used to feel when I was with my mother. “We’ve got to warm you up.”

  “Can we have hot chocolate, mama?” Polly asks.

  “Hot chocolate!” I cry happily.

  “Two cups of hot chocolate coming right up!” my mother says.

  “With marshmallows?” I add.

  “With marshmallows,” she agrees.

  Oh God.

  Just when I am ready to hurl the laptop out the window to get this stupid movie to stop showing, the screen goes dark. It’s over. Thank God it’s over.

  But then I look at Nick and realize the damage is already done.

  “I think this is all we have time for,” he says in a clipped voice. “Thank you for your time, Elizabeth.”

  “But that wasn’t the right video,” I say weakly.

  Nick offers me a thin smile. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll be in touch.”

  No, he won’t. I just blew the biggest account of my career.

  Nick and Charles exit the conference room, with barely a goodbye, although Charles takes a stack of cookies with him when he goes. Michelle and I are left alone, casting glances at the laptop.

  “What the hell happened?” I say.

  “I don’t know!” Michelle cries. “Where did that video even come from?”

  That’s a great question. Where did it come from? Who has access to a video from my childhood?

  Michelle casts an anxious glance in my direction. She’s worried I’m going to blame it all on her. “What should I do?”

  “Go back to your desk.”

  She doesn’t have to be told twice. She scurries out of the conference room with a pile of her notes. I can’t believe this just happened. I was so sure we were going to get this account. Nick had all but told me.

  I sink into one of the chairs in the conference room and bury my face in my hands. What am I going to do now? There’s no way I’ll get the CEO job after this performance. I really blew it. There’s no way to come back from this.

  That’s when I hear a noise. Like footsteps.

  I look up and see that the video has started playing again. Even though the laptop is off. It’s off, for Christ’s sake. What in hell is going on here?

  Polly is on the screen again. She’s about six years old, and she’s lying asleep in bed, wearing those duckie pajamas she always loved. At least, she’s asleep until the younger version of me tiptoes in the room and starts shaking her roughly.

  “Polly!” I say. “Wake up!”

  Her eyes fly open and she’s instantly awake. She sits up in bed, rubbing her eyes. “Did you look downstairs?”

  “No, we have to go together! Come on! Let’s go, Polly!”

  I remember this now. I was eight years old. It was a rough year for money—even though my mother never talked about it, I could tell. There was a two-day period when the power got shut off. But in my heart, I had been certain that my stocking would be filled with presents to make up for the fact that I was wearing pants a size too tight. Santa wouldn’t forget me.

  Polly and I tiptoe downstairs in our bare feet and pajamas. When we get to the fireplace, the two stockings are exactly where we had left them the night before, only now they’re bulging with presents.

  There’s a close-up of my shining face. I run over to the stockings as fast as my legs can carry me and pull out a Barbie doll. Well, it’s not really a Barbie doll—it’s a cheap knockoff—but I didn’t know it at the time. As I look at the presents that the younger version of myself pulls out of the stocking, I realize every single thing in that stocking was cheap crap purchased from the dollar store. But it didn’t matter back then. I was so happy.

  And then the screen goes black.

  But just for a moment.

  When the picture returns, there’s a school bus on the screen. But not the kind of school bus I took to school. It’s a shorter school bus, the kind for kids with disabilities, and it’s lingering at one house for a long time. I slide to the edge of my seat, trying to identify the house. But it doesn’t look familiar.

  And then the bus drives away, leaving behind a little boy standing with the aid of two forearm crutches.

  The boy is very cute. He has a face full of freckles, and his green hat is lopsided on his head. His blue eyes are clear and determined.

  It’s snowing out and the ground is obviously slippery. The little boy is walking very slowly to make sure he doesn’t fall when his crutches leave the ground. He takes careful steps on the sidewalk. But then out of nowhere, a snowball hits him square in the chest.

  “Hey, retard!” an older boy’s voice rings out. “Watch out for the snow!”

  There are two older boys, both at least a head taller than the boy on crutches. They start laughing hysterically. And then the second boy forms another snowball with his fists.

  As I watch, I get an ache in my chest. Who would attack a little kid? Especially one on crutches.

  But the little boy has more spunk than I thought. Even as the snowballs smash into him, he doesn’t cry. Instead, when the camera zooms in on him, there’s a determined look in his eyes. And at that moment, I realize who I’m looking at.

  It’s Tim. A tiny version of Tim, at least.

  He drops his right crutch down onto a snowdrift, then scoops up some snow with his right hand. He has to let go of his left handle to form the snowball, and even I realize how precarious this is. As the boys laugh at him, he draws back his right hand and fires that snowball at the boys. It hits the taller one right in the face. “Take that, asshole!” he yells.

  Wow, Tim had a lot of spunk when he was a kid.

  It wasn’t a wise move on his part, because both boys scoop up more snow and pummel him with four snowballs right in a row. He holds his own for the first three, but the fourth throws him off balance, and he falls in the snow, right on his butt.

  The door to his house swings open at that moment and a woman emerges. The dark hair throws me off, which is why it takes me a few moments to recognize Roberta. She quickly takes in the situation with keen eyes and screams at the boys, “What do you hooligans think you’re doing? You should be ashamed of yourselves! Get out of here before I call the police!”

  Well, it looks like Roberta had some spunk too.

  She rushes over to Tim, who isn’t having much luck getting back on his feet in the slippery snow. But to his credit, he’s trying his best.

  “Timmy!” she cries. “Are you okay, honey?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Do you want me to carry you into the house?”

  Even though he’s just a little boy, Tim looks properly horrified. “Mom. No.”

  But he does let her help him to his feet. And she stands guard as he carefully steps through the snow to get to the front door of their home.

  And then the screen goes black again.

  What is going on here? Where did these videos come from? The first or second could maybe be explained as a home movie, although they honestly didn’t look like any home movie I’ve ever seen. But that video of Tim was really weird. Where did that come from?

  I’ve got to talk to Tim. I’ve got to figure out if that scene in the snow really happened. Because otherwise, I’m scared that I could be losing my mind.

  Or worse, I’m being haunted.

  I start to stand up, but the screen flickers one more time. Oh God, not another movie. I don’t think I can take it. I just want to go back to my normal life where I can give a presentation without some insane computer glitch making me question my sanity.

  The picture comes into focus, and I can see that it’s a couple. A co
uple making out like they’re really hungry for each other. In love? Possibly. In lust? Definitely. I squint at the screen for a moment, and then I realize who it is.

  The man is Richard. And the woman is me.

  I cock my head to the side. Gosh, I look really cute. Was my skin ever that smooth? I must’ve been in my mid to late twenties, around the age Courtney is right now. I was always staring critically at myself in the mirror back then, but now I can’t imagine what I ever found wrong with myself. I look great. My stomach is perfectly flat in a clingy red dress, and even my hair looks good in that layered hairstyle I used to have before Marley convinced me to grow it out so I could wear it back in a twist.

  Richard looks especially good too. He looks great now, obviously, but there’s something boyish about him on the screen that’s really sexy. His face is more square now, his jaw somehow more prominent. It’s like watching the first episode of the TV series that’s been on for ten years and you suddenly realize how hot everyone used to be when they were younger.

  “Ebbie,” he breathes. He lifts me up in his arms and places me on a desk. We must have been in his office. He had an office before I did. I remember the first time I walked into it, how impressed I was. He seemed so much older and wiser than me. But not as wise as Marley. “You’re so sexy.”

  The camera backs up, and I can see the snow falling through the window of his office. “Do you want to go back to my place?” I ask him.

  “Your place?”

  “It’s a little bit more comfortable than your desk… for a change.” I wink at him. “Also, I can make you a Christmas dinner…”

  He laughs. “Christmas dinner, huh? Do you know how to cook?”

  “Actually, my sister might come by with some food…”

  Richard cringes. “Your sister? Ebbie, I thought we were keeping this casual.”

  “We are.” I frown at him. “Just because you’re meeting my sister, that doesn’t mean we’re getting married, for God’s sake. It’s not a big deal.”

  He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. His dark hair used to be thicker back then—I hadn’t even noticed the difference until I saw this video. “We both agreed. Neither of us have room in our lives for a relationship right now. You don’t want that, do you?”