The Perfect Love Song (23 page)

Doris smiled. “Well, we can certainly take care of that.” She turned toward the dark-haired, fair-skinned boy, who looked up at her with big brown, soulful eyes. “So what’s it going to be, Teddy? A glazed or a maple bar?” It was a Saturday
morning tradition. Doris always looked forward to seeing Lottie, who had once been her fifth-grade teacher.

The pair lived in the yellow and white wood-framed house on Maple Street next door to Doris, but they didn’t get to visit much, not with the hours Doris worked. But she had always admired Lottie Sparks, and Teddy was purely a treasure.

The child stared into the case that was filled with donuts: jelly, chocolate frosted with walnuts, powdered, and crumb. There were also bear claws and all manner of coffee cake rings. He nibbled his lower lip, then pointed toward the top shelf of the case.

“A maple bar, please.”

“My, that does sound good.” Doris plucked a piece of waxed paper from the box on the counter, reached into the case, and drew out a fat, maple-frosted bar. “Here you go, Teddy.”

The little boy grinned. “Thank you, Mrs. Culver.”

Lottie ordered a cinnamon roll, and Doris handed it over on another sheet of waxed paper. When Lottie turned to leave, Doris reminded her that she had forgotten to pay for her purchase.

“Silly of me.” Lottie reached into her handbag for the little plastic coin purse she always carried. She asked again
how much she owed, then dug through the money to find the right change, fumbling with this coin and that until she finally put the money up on the counter and Doris picked out the sum she needed.

Doris watched the woman cross the room, feeling a hint of concern. Lottie was getting more and more forgetful. Doris couldn’t help wondering what would happen to Teddy if the old woman’s memory continued to get worse.

The pair sat down at one of the small, round tables in front of the window to savor their purchases, and Doris watched with only a small twinge of jealousy as the boy looked up and smiled so sweetly at his grandmother.

When Doris had married Floyd at thirty-four, she was already too old to have a child, or at least she had thought so at the time. Floyd, whose two boys by a previous marriage were living with their mother in Florida, didn’t really care. Occasionally, Doris wondered if, all those years ago, she had made the right decision, but deep down she knew that she was never cut out to raise a child.

Grandmother and grandson finished their treats and got up from the little round table. Doris waved good-bye as they tossed their used waxed paper and napkins into the
trash can and walked out the door. She thought of Teddy and the mother he had lost four years ago, the reason he now lived with Lottie. If he lost his grandmother as well . . .

She shook her head, worried what the boy’s future might hold.

Lottie exchanged places with her grandson on the sidewalk, positioning herself between him and the light passage of Dreyerville traffic on Main Street. At seventy-one, Lottie never would have suspected she would be raising an eight-year-old boy, though it shouldn’t have surprised her.

Her only daughter, Wilma, had never been the responsible sort. In her early teens, Wilma had run away from home more than once. She missed school, and started smoking in secret when she was fourteen. Lottie found her drunk the first time two years later. The girl had graduated high school by the sheer force of Lottie’s will, though she never went on to college as Lottie had hoped.

Instead, at the age of thirty-seven, after two failed marriages and a string of deadbeat, live-in boyfriends, Wilma had wound up pregnant by the married man she was
dating. Four years later, after drinking and partying with a friend, she had lost control of her car on her way home and died when she hit a tree.

Lottie had wound up with Teddy, but he wasn’t a burden. The boy had become the joy of her life.

As they walked along the sidewalk, she felt his small hand in hers and smiled. Glancing ahead, her steps began to slow and Teddy came to a halt beside her. Both of them looked into the window of Tremont’s Antiques, a favorite place to visit on their Saturday morning outings. Today, they didn’t go in, but Lottie could see the small Victorian hand-painted clock she had been admiring for nearly a year.

“It’s still there, Gramma.”

“Yes, I see it is.” Lottie loved clocks. She owned four beautiful antique clocks she had purchased over the years and a big grandfather clock her late husband, Chester, had bought for her on their fortieth wedding anniversary.

But this little clock was special. It reminded her of the one her mother had on the wall in the kitchen when she was a little girl. She used to sit at the old oak table and watch the hands move over the face while her mother baked cookies. The clock at Tremont’s reminded her of the happy days of her childhood, memories that were rapidly fading.

Lottie’s chest tightened with sudden despair. Something terrible was happening to her, something she couldn’t fight and simply could not stop.

Two years ago, she had been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease. At first the signs were subtle: misplacing objects, forgetting the date right after she had looked at the calendar, not remembering little words like
cat
or
comb
, saying another word in its place. Worried, she had gone to see her longtime family physician, Dr. Waller. He had referred her to a doctor named Davis, who specialized in Alzheimer’s cases.

Several visits that included a medical history of her family, a physical examination, a brain scan, and a mental status evaluation revealed the truth. She had a very progressive form of Alzheimer’s, a type of dementia that destroyed brain cells and robbed the mind of memory. She could expect the symptoms to worsen at a very rapid pace, and she needed to be prepared. Eventually, the disease would kill her.

Lottie looked down at Teddy, who was staring up at her with big, worried, brown eyes.

“Gramma? Are you all right?”

How long had she been standing there? She had no idea. She managed a smile for Teddy. “I’m fine, sweetheart. Why don’t we go on home?”

Teddy looked relieved. Lottie gazed off down the street, which suddenly seemed less familiar. Their house was located two blocks farther down Main, then left on Maple Street. So far, she hadn’t forgotten how to get there, but the doctors had warned her it could happen.

Teddy took her hand as they started walking. She let him lead the way. She wondered if he had noticed the subtle changes coming over her, and she suspected that he had. Lottie was a deeply religious woman. She was ready to meet her maker, though she would have preferred another path to glory. She would go without complaint, but there was Teddy to consider.

Her husband had passed away eight years ago. Her sister and daughter were dead. She had some distant cousins, but they were more feeble than she and certainly not suitable parents for an eight-year-old boy. For the past two years, ever since she had learned of her condition, Lottie had been hoping to find an answer to the problem of Teddy’s future.

Before it was too late, she had to find Teddy a home.

Copyright © 2010 by Patti Callahan Henry

 

Published by Vanguard Press
A Member of the Perseus Books Group

 

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Set in 12 point Centaur MT

 

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

 

Henry, Patti Callahan.

The perfect love song : a holiday story / Patti Callahan Henry. p. cm.

eISBN : 978-1-593-15652-7

1. Christmas stories. I. Title.

PS3608.E578P47 2010

813’.6—dc22 2010019377

 

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