The Christmas Secret (17 page)

 

 

 

 

Jason gathered the day's mail from the mailroom and closed the door behind him. The sound of a vacuum came from the stairs and he took them by two until he found a woman vacuuming up white powder. “What happened?” he asked.

“My cart started to fall,” the woman said, turning the vacuum off. She was petite and thin with short thick curly hair that covered her head like a shower cap. “This container of cleaner fell and busted open. Poof,” she said. “Everywhere.”

Jason lifted the broom and dustpan from her cart and helped sweep the powder off the landing. “Are you the head of the janitorial staff?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said. “And you're the owner's grandson.”

“Jason,” he said. “What's your name?”

“Shirley Cohen.” She turned the vacuum back on and ran the hose along the stairs.

“How long have you been here, Shirley?”

She talked over the machine. “Oh, boy,” she said, using her fingers. “Eighteen years.”

“Always cleaning?” He couldn't imagine the boredom.

“Marshall wanted to move me to one of the departments but the thought of standing there and dealing with people. Eh,” she said, throwing her hand in the air. “I love to clean. Might as well do what I like.”

Jason emptied the dustpan into the garbage can on her cart. “Have you ever wanted to work anywhere else?”

She finished the stairs and turned off the vacuum. “No,” she said, pulling a tissue from her smock pocket. “Marshall's good to me. He's fair. I don't take advantage of him and he doesn't take advantage of me or my staff. He knows the names of my children and asks how they're doing. When you're young you want this, that, and the other in a job but after a while you want something more than that.”

“And this is more?” Jason asked, sticking the dustpan back onto its hook.

She turned the vacuum back on and shouted over it. “It is for me!”

Jason ran down the stairs, leaping down the last three steps, and landed face to face with her . . . the irate black lady from the toy department! Her hair was bigger than before and this time she had a ribbon wrapped around it. She was wearing a bright red turtleneck, black slacks, and
high-heeled boots that made her tower above his head. “H-h-h-ello,” he said, stammering. “Remember me?”

“Yeah, I remember you,” she said, flicking long, purple nails in his face. “Mr. I Love Christmas.”

“I actually
do
love Christmas,” he said, following her to Santa's workshop. She adjusted a lollipop on the walkway leading to the front door. “I am pro-Christmas.” She picked up one of the giant lollipops and leaned it against her shoulder. “I may have come across as anti-Christmas but that would be wrong.” He waited for her to say something. “And I'm sorry if I came across in any way other than 100 percent
for
Christmas.”

She tapped the lollipop against her shoulder and pushed out her lips. “You're nothing like your grandfather, you know that?”

“I have been made aware of that, yes,” he said, tucking the mail under his arm. She smiled and stuck the lollipop back into position. “So? Are we good then?”

“We're good, Christmas,” she said, walking past him to a display of games.

“Well, you know my name's Christmas,” he said, smiling. “But I don't know yours.” He paused. “I offended you. The least I can do is learn your name.”

“Lana,” she said, straightening the display.

“That's beautiful,” he said.

“I know it is. My father named me. He was a porter in a
hotel on the weekends, and one weekend Miss Lana Turner herself rode up in the elevator with him and gave him a ten-dollar tip.”

“Wow, things may not have turned out so well for you if Yo-Yo Ma slipped him a twenty.” She threw her head back and cackled. “Of course kids probably wouldn't have teased you. They love to play with yo-yo's.” She cackled again and he laughed out loud. Every time her hair bounced, the smell of jasmine wafted toward him. “I like you, Christmas.”

“I knew you would,” he said, searching the aisles for the clock box.

“What do you need, love?” He smiled. He'd gone from Christmas to love in about a minute.

“The clock that you paint.”

She put a long-necked stuffed giraffe back into a bin as she walked past him. “We're out of the clocks. We have this heart box,” she said, handing it to him.

“I really liked the clock,” he said.

“For a girl or a boy?”

“Little girl painting it for her mother.”

She whistled through her teeth. “She will be all over this box and her mother will love you for it.”

“I'm not interested in her mother's love,” Jason said, paying for the box. “I was just looking for something easy.” He read the back of the box as he climbed the stairs and sighed. “What have I gotten myself into?”

He put the bag under Judy's desk and walked to the coffeemaker. “I'm ready to take that test again!” he said, yelling back to Marshall.

Marshall opened a file cabinet and pulled out a sheet of paper. He put on his glasses and wrote something on the back of the paper before handing it to Jason. “Feeling confident?”

Jason held the cup of coffee up as if toasting his grandfather. “I know every person's name in this building.”

Marshall smiled and put the test in front of him. There weren't any questions regarding the history of the building but every one was a person's name. “Who are the two people who work in the mailroom?” “What are the names of the security guards?” “Who is the supervisor of toys and Santa's workshop?” On and on it went until Jason filled in the last blank, smiling as he wrote Shirley Cohen's name. “Give me my check,” he said, waving the test in the air.

Marshall stepped down from his office, looked over the answers, and then over his glasses at Jason. “You did it.”

“I told you I would.” Jason sipped his coffee and held out his hand. “Check, please.”

Marshall laughed and walked up to his office, pulling out two weeks worth of checks from a file drawer. “So how does it feel?”

“To get paid for work I've already done? Awesome!”

“To know everyone's name,” Marshall said, sitting on a chair across from Judy's desk.

Jason folded the checks and put them in his back pocket. “I feel like I'm a vital part of humanity,” he said.

Marshall rolled his eyes. “A point is lost on someone like you.”

Jason grinned. “I get your point.” He looked out the office windows into the store. “I know everyone's name and because I took the time to learn them I know about them as a person. Satisfied?”

“Perfect. Now what are you going to do with the rest of your life?” Jason's phone vibrated in his pocket and he pretended not to notice. “You're not on the sales floor. Go ahead and take it,” Marshall said, closing his office door.

Jason pulled the phone out fast and flicked it open. “Hello,” he said.

“Hey, babe,” Ashley said. The hair on the back of Jason's neck stood on end. He'd forgotten all about her. “I've been driving a couple of hours already and should be there by two or so.”

 

Judy sat at her desk wearing her red jingle bell sweatshirt. She looked great. “You know, I'm perfectly fine to come back.”

“No, you're not,” Marshall said.

“My doctor says yes but you say no. Let me see . . . who should I believe?”

Marshall paced back and forth in front of her. “You're avoiding the question.”

She covered her face with her hands and moaned. “I am not avoiding it. I've already answered your question every way I know how. If you feel that you want to do this. Do it.” She banged on the desk. “This is your desk. This is your store. This is your life. If you feel strongly about it—”

“What do you think Jason will do?”

She leaned back and screamed. “Just say what you want to say and don't worry about Jason.”

“I can't call Linda and talk to her about it on the phone. It'd be better if she was here.”

“Well, that's a few more days,” Judy said. “If you want to wait and talk it through with Linda, wait.”

He stopped and looked at her. “What would you do?”

She pushed her chair back and stood up. “You know what? You're right. I am not ready to come to back to this.”

“I told you you weren't. Take a few days and enjoy the grandkids.”

She slid gloves onto her hands and walked to the door. “I will.”

He followed her, tapping her on the shoulder. “Seriously . . . should I wait for Linda?”

She threw her head back and laughed.

 

.    .    .

 

Glory's Place was closed on Thursdays so I spent Wednesday night and the drive into work Thursday morning calling sitters again. When the breakfast crowd left and my tables were cleaned I checked my phone to see if anyone had called back. I made another call and waved at Tamara when she sat at a booth. “Renee,” I said, into the phone, “is there any chance you'd be available tonight to watch the kids? I promise I'll never bother you again.”

“I can kind of do it,” Renee said. “I have to drive friends to the airport this afternoon. I couldn't be at your house when the kids get off school but could be there by five thirty or so if that works.”

It would have to work if I couldn't find anyone for the whole time. I carried the coffee to Tamara's table and she looked up at me. “Sitter troubles?” she said.

“If I had a dime for every minute I spent trying to find one.”

“How many kids do you have?”

“A boy and a girl,” I said.

“That's what I have,” she said. “My boy's eleven and my little girl is nine.”

“I didn't know you had children,” I said. Really, I didn't know anything about her. “Coffee and a day-old?” She nodded and I crossed to the baker's rack to pick out a pastry. I threw it back into the basket and went to the register where I input a bowl of oatmeal instead. The oatmeal
warmer was at the end of the cook's line and I lifted the lid, dipping out a bowl full. I put a small cup of berries covered with brown sugar onto the tray and delivered it to Tamara. She looked up at me. “Someone ordered it for takeout and never showed up.” She didn't move. “Who orders oatmeal for takeout, right? Probably why they didn't come get it.” She looked down at it. “If you don't eat it we'll have to throw it out.”

“Really?”

“Hopefully it's still warm. I dumped it out of its to-go container. The fruit makes it really good.”

“Thanks,” she said, pouring the fruit and sugar concoction on top of the oatmeal. I took orders from a table of four and from a new couple who sat in the booth next to Tamara. I delivered their food and checked back with Tamara. The oatmeal was only halfway gone.

“You're a slow eater,” I said.

“Just enjoying it,” she said.

“Do you ever bring your children in with you?”

She stirred the oatmeal and lifted the spoon up and over. I knew I'd said something wrong. “They live with their dad.” She took a bite and stared into the bowl.

“My kids live with me.” She looked up at me. “How often do you get to see them?”

She wadded the napkin in her hands. “It's been over a year.”

I was never good in these situations. I never knew the right thing to say. “Does he have sole custody?”

“He does now,” she said, turning the oatmeal up and over, up and over.

“I've been divorced for four years and it's been a nightmare.” She let out a puff of a laugh. “For you, too?”

She shook her head, wadding the napkin in her hand again. “I'm the nightmare in our divorce.”

I glanced over my tables to make sure they had everything and that no one new had showed up. “What does that mean?”

“I taught third grade and my husband worked in computer sales. Still works in computer sales. I went to the thirtieth birthday party of a friend one night. Girls only, you know, and one of the ladies, a real snooty ‘something's stuck up her butt' kind of lady with expensive clothes pulls out some meth and starts offering it around. We were all slightly buzzed because we'd had a lot of wine and she said we'd feel even better in a few minutes. I loved it. I'd never felt so charged in my life.” She pulled up a spoonful of oatmeal and tilted the spoon so the oatmeal dripped back into the bowl. “I woke up in the bed of my friend's husband. Some birthday present I gave her. And I was hooked on meth. Your face says there's no way it could happen that fast. I didn't think so either but it does . . . and it did.”

“So drugs were the reason you lost custody?” I asked, keeping my voice low.

“Drugs were one of the lesser charges,” she said, pulling the toast apart. “I kept those hidden from my husband. He had no idea. All he knew was I had a lot more energy throughout the day. The problem was I lost my job halfway through the school year. I had a hard time showing up on time and had a tendency to leave early. You do that a few weeks in a row and people notice. Without my paycheck I had a harder time paying for the meth and before long we were late paying the mortgage and car loans and that pissed off my husband.” She tried to take a bite and stopped.

“I'm sorry,” I said. “I'll let you eat.”

“No. It's okay. I've told this story a lot in treatment. It always ends the same. You'd think I'd know that by now.” I caught Karen's eye and she raised her brows, looking at me. My tables were now empty and I found myself glad for the lack of work. “We separated but had joint custody of the kids. They came to my apartment one weekend and I went to the apartment manager's place after the kids had fallen asleep with the intention of screwing him for rent before I went back to my apartment. But he had some crack and some booze and before I knew it it was morning and my kids were gone. My daughter had woken up in the middle of the night and was terrified when she couldn't find me.
She called my husband and he came to get them. He left twenty-seven messages on my answering machine throughout the night. When I woke up around lunchtime I ran up the flights of stairs to my apartment and threw up when I saw they were gone. The phone started to ring and I saw it was my husband. I picked it up and he called me a whore.” Her voice caught and she turned to look out the window. “And I couldn't deny it.”