Downstairs in the kitchen, he pulled out boxes of cereal, bowls, spoons and the nearly empty gallon container of milk. The light bulb in the fridge was out. He’d have to remember to buy more milk and light bulbs on his way home after work. Footsteps above him assured him that his children would soon join him.
He glanced at his watch. No time for cereal even. He left everything on the counter, except for the milk, which he returned to the dark refrigerator. And then realized that he’d forgotten to make the kids’ lunches last night like he’d planned. No time to make them now. He’d have to give them money for the school cafeteria instead.
Elijah was the first to make an appearance downstairs. His hair looked as if a brief attempt with a comb had been made, but a cowlick in the back kept the boy’s dark hair from lying flat. It must be genetic, Christopher thought, as he reached up to smooth his own hair. “Where’s your sister?”
The boy shrugged and started to sit at the kitchen table. Christopher sighed. “No time for breakfast this morning. Grab a box of granola bars from the cupboard and get in the car. I’ll find your sister and be right behind you.”
Elijah rolled his eyes and walked to the cupboards. Christopher left the kitchen and took the stairs two at a time to retrieve Daisy. He found her in her bedroom stuffing something into her backpack. “We’re running late, sweetie. Let’s go.”
“You should have gotten us up earlier.”
“The alarm didn’t go off.” He put his hand on top of her head and herded her out of the room. “I’m trying to get better.”
“You said that last time we were late.”
Truth was that he meant to get better at being a single dad, but after almost two years, he still struggled. There was never enough time and always too much to do. “Things have been a little better since then, haven’t they?” When his daughter gave him a look, he sighed and held up his hands. “I’m trying here, sweetie. Please help me.”
He marched Daisy out to the car, where Elijah had taken the front seat. His daughter tugged on the car door. “It’s my turn for the front seat, not Eli’s.”
Great. Just what he needed to add to this morning’s fun. “You can get the front after school.”
“But it’s my turn.”
“Daisy,” Christopher said in what he hoped was an authoritative tone. “We’re late. Get in the back.”
Christopher didn’t miss the look of triumph on his son’s face as Daisy got in the back seat. He glared at his son. “You’ll be in the back seat the rest of the week.”
His son’s jaw dropped. “But that’s not fair. I got here first.”
The children bickered back and forth as he backed the car out of the driveway. Looking up at the house, he saw their dog, Caesar, watching them from the front window. He raised a hand to bid the dog goodbye, then felt foolish for doing so. But in many ways, he wanted to stay home with the dog rather than getting the kids to school and himself to work. Just one day, he’d like to do something for himself.
But he’d promised Julie that he’d always put the children first, and Christopher never broke a promise.
Once the kids were dropped off at school with lunch money in hand, he headed to the assisted-living complex across the Detroit suburb town of Thora. Because of this morning’s troubles, he arrived a half hour late. His assistant, Brenda, met him at the front door. Never a good sign. “We lost two residents overnight.”
Though death was a natural part of working with senior citizens, Christopher still took it hard. “Who?”
“Mrs. Kensington in three-oh-one and Mr. Edwards in two-twenty-four.”
He recalled the woman who had a fondness for chocolate and the man who always called him “Sonny.” “I’ll contact the families.”
Brenda followed him into his office. “I already notified them. And EMS delivered the bodies to the funeral home.”
“Still, I think I should call them. Express my own condolences.” He hung his coat on the hook behind his office door. “What does today look like?”
She handed him a sheet of paper that listed his commitments. “And Dr. Watson wants a few minutes of your time at some point today. Preferably after she completes her rounds this morning.”
The young doctor seemed to have taken an interest in him lately. Something he needed to nip in the bud. And quickly. He didn’t want Brenda sending him those knowing looks, like the one she’d been giving him for the last few moments. “Stop looking at me like that. I’m not interested.”
“But she obviously is.”
A quick check of the schedule proved that a full day loomed, including a staff meeting at three. They needed to get their holiday rotation finalized so that everyone could spend some time with family and friends. Also, Brenda wanted to plan the staff Christmas party. He rubbed his face, frowning. “Coffee. I need lots of coffee.”
“Bad morning?”
“We’ve had quite a few lately.” He excused himself and walked to the cafeteria’s beverage station to pour himself the first of many cups of caffeine.
By the time he met with Mrs. Tepperman and her daughter at eleven, Christopher contemplated quitting his job. He looked across his desk at the women sitting there, the older one frowning even as the younger one patted her hand. “It’s a good place, Mom. And your friend Sylvia lives here. Didn’t she tell you that she loves it?”
“I don’t want to move out of my home. Your father and I lived there for fifty-two years.” She glanced at her daughter again. “That’s over fifty years of memories that you want me to walk away from, Deborah. I can’t do it.”
“You can bring the things from home that mean something to you,” Deborah said.
The daughter peered at him as if asking for help to convince her mother to move into the assisted-living home. He took up the proverbial baton. “As your daughter stated, we encourage residents to bring items from home to make the apartment more comfortable and familiar. To put your own stamp on it.” He leaned closer to the desk. “Our goal is to make you feel at home, Mrs. Tepperman.”
He paused, deciding what tack to take with her. “What exactly does your friend Sylvia say about why she likes living here?”
“That she loves all the activities. She’s even doing chair aerobics.”
Christopher nodded. “It’s a very popular exercise class. We also have game nights, live music on Sunday afternoons and planned outings to different places around Detroit. And if you’re a knitter, we have a club that meets together and works on their projects.”
Deborah touched her mom’s hand. “You said that you wanted to get back to knitting again.”
The older woman sniffed and glanced away. Christopher didn’t blame her. He knew the fear of moving away from a place that held too many memories and starting over somewhere else. Even if he hadn’t succeeded in doing it for himself, he was more than capable of helping others get to that point. That was why he’d been made director after almost four years of working at the home. He had what his former boss called “the touch” when it came to dealing with the doubts and worries of the older residents.
Mrs. Tepperman pulled the brochure closer to her and flipped through it. “I could bring my bedroom set here? My husband bought it for me on our first anniversary.”
“Absolutely.”
The daughter rubbed her mother’s hand. “We’ll hire movers to bring it over.”
“Movers?” Mrs. Tepperman waved her hand. “Why pay for movers when I have grandsons with muscles?”
Christopher pulled out the application and handed it to Mrs. Tepperman just as his office door opened, and Brenda burst inside. “There’s an urgent call for you.”
Christopher motioned to his clients. “I’m in the middle of an appointment.”
“You’ll want to take this now.” Brenda picked up the phone on his desk and thrust it at him.
Worried tha
t it might be about one of the kids, he accepted the receiver. “This is Christopher Fox.”
“Mr. Fox, your house is on fire.”
He frowned, thinking this was some kind of sick joke. “Excuse me?”
“This is Sarah Taylor from down the street. Your house is on fire. You should get down here quickly.”
Christopher bolted upright in his office chair. “What? On fire?”
“I’ve already called 911, and they’re on their way.”
He thanked the concerned neighbor, but she had already hung up the phone. He looked over his desk at the clients. “I apologize, but I need to cut our appointment short. There’s been an emergency.” He swallowed. “My house is on fire.”
Mrs. Tepperman put a hand to her mouth. “Don’t worry about us. Go.”
He opened the middle desk drawer to retrieve his keys. What else did he need to do? He looked at Brenda and saw that she had his coat in her arms. He thanked her as he took it from her and promised to try to be back by the three o’clock staff meeting. She shook off his words. “I’ll take care of Mrs. Tepperman and the staff meeting. Just go.”
He gave a short nod, then rushed out of the office and through the lobby, taking the side door that led to the staff parking lot. He searched for his car, trying to recall what he drove. The red sedan under the maple tree beeped as he pressed the button to unlock the doors. Details of his normal life seemed to be fleeing from his mind as he put the car in Reverse and struggled to recall the best route home. All that his brain could focus on was the fact his house was on fire.
Before he turned onto his street, he could smell the fire and see the smoke rising in the sky. Emergency vehicles crowded the street, and he had to park a few houses down from his and jog the rest of the distance to the scene. Flames licked at the air from windows, while the roof and front door were also on fire. A firefighter in full gear stopped his approach, his arms spread out. “You can’t go in there, sir.”
“That’s my house.”
“We’re doing everything we can to bring it under control. Is anyone inside?”
“The kids are in school.” He paused, then pointed. “But the dog is in there!”
The firefighter muffled a curse, turned and ran into the inferno. Christopher watched the flames progress and wished he’d taken Caesar to the doggy day care like he’d originally thought. But they’d been running behind, and he had left the little shih tzu at home.
Seconds, then minutes passed as more firefighters directed water at the flames and others entered the conflagration with axes. More minutes went by as the fire seemed to be winning the war and eating the house with its fiery jaws.
How was he going to tell the kids that they’d lost their house and their dog in a single day? Caesar had found them at their lowest point just after Julie had died. A stray dog had stolen their hearts and made the grief a little easier. And now this? Christopher closed his eyes and hung his head.
A shout brought his head back up, and he saw a firefighter run out of the flames holding the still figure of the dog. Christopher broke past the barrier and gasped as the firefighter laid the dog on the ground, then removed his helmet and face gear.
Not his. Hers.
She started to administer mouth-to-mouth to the unmoving dog. Please let him be okay. Christopher knelt beside them, willing the dog to live. The dog’s belly expanded as the firefighter blew her breath into the dog’s nostrils. Once. Twice. On the third attempt, the dog’s legs twitched. “Come on, Caesar. Breathe.”
The woman blew for the fourth time, and Caesar opened his eyes and gave a weak yelp. Christopher broke into a smile and wiped at his wet cheeks. “That’s it, buddy. Keep breathing.” He looked at the woman, this blonde angel with bright blue eyes. “How can I ever thank you?”
The woman gave the dog’s head a pat, then looked up at Christopher. “You’ll probably want to take him to your vet to get him checked out, but I think he’ll be okay. Just inhaled too much smoke.”
“What’s your name?” he asked, but she quickly placed her helmet and face mask back on and ran into the fire again, her ax in hand.
Christopher scooped the dog into his arms and cradled him close as he watched the fire consume the rest of his house.
Yep. Nothing good happened on Tuesdays before noon.
Copyright © 2020 by Cynthia Powell
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ISBN-13: 9781488068287
Mountain Mistletoe Christmas
Copyright © 2020 by Patricia Johns
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Mountain Mistletoe Christmas Page 23
