Remembering Christmas (30 page)

“A few minutes?” Amy said. “Then can I come out?”

“Yes, but wait till I come get you.”

“Close the door, Amy,” Andrea said. “No peeking.”

“All right.” The door closed.

Leanne walked into the living room. Morning light had already begun to slip through the sheers, casting a soft glow on every object in the room. Such wonderfully familiar things. She and Art had bought all of them together. She’d rearranged them a half-dozen times before she’d gotten it just right.

She loved this room. Especially today.

It was chilly enough that they didn’t have to turn on the air conditioning. Art had wanted a little nip in the house so they could use the fireplace. Felt like more than a little nip to her. She tightened her robe then turned on the lamp next to Art’s chair, illuminating the mahogany end table. The home for Art’s coffee mug. But today, it would transform into an almost sacred place.

It was the throne for the eggnog.

She smiled as she walked out to the kitchen to start the coffee. Art and his eggnog. He loved it so much, he thought everyone else must too. Years ago, he’d purchased a fancy crystal pitcher with four matching goblets. Unlike most years, this morning she’d get to pour the precious elixir into all four.

“Can we come out yet?” Amy yelled from the hall.

“Not yet, sweetie.”

As the smell of fresh coffee filled the kitchen, she brought the eggnog out to the table, poured then arranged everything just so, including the nutmeg. The real thing, not the powdered stuff. A little nut about the size of an acorn. Had its own special grater, with the word
Meg
etched in the metal.

She bent down and started the fire. This was her least favorite thing on his checklist. She loved the warmth and the look, but what a messy job.

“Now?” Amy pleaded.

“We’re so close,” she yelled back.

Once the fire seemed to burn on its own, she walked around the back of the Christmas tree and plugged it in. She backed up toward the hallway and took in the scene, including the smattering of presents under the tree.

Now they were ready. She turned toward the bedrooms. “Andrea, you ready?”

“I am.”

“Art, you ready?”

“I don’t hear any music.”

“Oops.”

“I don’t need music,” Amy said.

“I’m afraid Art does. Just be a sec.” She hurried over and turned on the hi-fi. A few scratchy sounds then Perry Como started singing “There’s No Place Like Home for the Holidays.” She walked into the hallway and got Art’s attention. He shuffled out of the bedroom and sat down in his chair.

“Okay! We’re ready!”

Amy burst out of the bedroom door, screaming with glee. Ran right past Leanne, almost spinning her like a top. Andrea came out slowly, looking remarkably well for someone who had just woken up.

“Merry Christmas,” she said and gave Leanne a hug.

“You too, dear,” said Leanne.

“Is that coffee I smell?”

“Should be ready. You know where the mugs are.”

“Got eggnog here too,” Art said. “With real nutmeg.”

“I’d love some,” Andrea said. “After coffee.”

Art stood up.

“Merry Christmas,” Leanne said, reaching out her arms to give him a hug. They walked together and stood arm-in-arm beside Andrea. All three watched Amy tearing into her small pile of presents.

“Don’t open the biggest one,” Andrea said. “That’s from Art and Leanne. Give Art a chance to get his coffee and sit down. Then bring the present over to his chair.”

“Okay, Mommy.” Amy lifted it up. “It’s so heavy.” It was just a bit bigger than a large shoe box. “What is it?”

“Tell you what,” Art said. “Bring it over here, Amy.” He pushed his ottoman to the side. “I’ll just sip on this delicious eggnog here, have my coffee in a few minutes.” He sat back in his chair.

Amy carried the gift over and set it by Art’s feet. Leanne looked back at the small pile of presents she’d already opened, the few things Andrea could afford. Some doll dresses for Annabelle. A pair of shiny white dress shoes for church. A hairbrush and a comb. A little make-believe makeup kit. She was glad she and Art had bought the Barbie car. Kids should have at least one big surprise gift at Christmas.

Andrea leaned over and whispered in Leanne’s ear, “Look at her. Thank you so much.”

“Glad to do it,” Leanne whispered back.

“Now?” Amy said.

“Okay,” said Andrea.

Amy ripped through the paper and screamed, “My Barbie Super Vette!” as soon as she saw the picture on the box. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she said before she even finished unwrapping it. She stood up, gave Art the biggest hug. Then ran over and did the same with Leanne.

“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.

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 voucher. 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.