Bring Me Home for Christmas

Seven




The sound of Denny moving around the room woke her before the sunlight. She heard the shower, the water in the sink, the toilet. Then he came to the bed and gently touched her cheek. “I’m sorry to have to wake you,” he whispered. “After you get some breakfast, you can nap the day away in Preacher’s house if you want to. But I feel like I should take the boys out to the river. After all, I asked them to come.”

“Hmm, go ahead. I’ll be fine.”

“Becca, I don’t want to even think about you trying the stairs.”

“Don’t worry. If you write down the number, I’ll call the bar and see if Jack or Preacher can help me down.” She touched his cheek and gave him a sleepy smile. “That way, I can have my morning grooming without you standing right outside the bathroom door. Okay?”

“You promise? You’ll call the bar for help?”

“Sure,” she said, lying through her teeth. She had absolutely no intention of calling anyone. But she did have a plan. “Can I make a long-distance call from that phone?”

He hesitated for just a second. “No problem,” he said.

“Thanks. Go on. Have fun. Let me sleep some more.”

She rolled over and heard Denny leave the apartment. She sighed gratefully. She felt disgusting and in dire need of a fluff and buff. She’d had only sponge baths since falling into the mud hole. Her hair felt itchy and greasy and she’d had only one change of clothes.

When she was completely sure he wasn’t coming back, she pulled herself out of bed. She hopped over to the door and threw the dead bolt. Then went back to the bed where she sat on the edge for balance and stripped down to her panties. She was planning a good scrub and reassembly.

She started by figuring out how to kneel. With her hands on the rim of the tub, she lowered herself carefully, first onto the knee of the splinted foot. Then the other knee. Painless. Then she started the water and prepared to wash her hair. Ahhh…scrubbing her scalp felt like pure heaven.

Next came a real bath. Despite the discharge nurse’s recommendation that she make do with sponge baths out of the sink for a week, she was overdue for a good soak. Keeping her wrapped ankle dry while getting in wasn’t that easy, but she used her head—she lowered herself into the tub before there was too much water, which kept the splash manageable. Likewise, she had to let most of the water out before attempting to leave the tub.

She felt like a new woman!

She had to use her blow-dryer and apply her makeup while seated on the bed—although her balance was exceptional, she didn’t trust herself to stand on one leg for more than a minute at a time. Next, she had to find a sharp knife in one of Denny’s kitchen drawers to use to open a seam in her jeans—the only way she’d get into them.

Finally, she donned jeans, one boot, one of Denny’s socks pulled over her splint to keep her toes warm, a turtleneck and bright purple sweater, then sat on the bed beside the phone. She thought for just a moment before dialing Doug’s cell number. She punched in the private-caller code first. The last thing she needed was for Doug to call this number and have Denny answer!

You have reached the cell phone of Doug Carey. Please leave a message and I’ll get back to you.

She actually sighed in relief. She cleared her throat. “Hi, Doug. Just checking in. We had to get off the phone so quickly yesterday because you were getting on the plane that I didn’t have a chance to tell you there’s hardly any cell-phone reception around here. I can use the phone at the restaurant sometimes and you can leave a message on my cell and I’ll pick it up when I have a signal… But I’m fine and I’ll call when I can. Have fun with your family!”

She realized she hadn’t said the obligatory I love you before hanging up.

“Oops,” she said to no one.

With a sigh, she pulled on her jacket and looped the strap of her purse over her arm. She used the crutches to get out the door, then stood at the top of the stairs and looked down at the long, frightening descent.

Then she sat down on the top step. She slid her crutches down and carefully lowered her butt to the next step. And the next. And the next.

And she laughed.

She even practiced going up a few steps using the same method.

There was no reason to risk falling and breaking the other leg. If she could stay upright while riding a twenty-foot wave, traveling twenty miles an hour, she could get up and down these stairs without doing further damage.

Yup, she thought. I don’t need no steenking baby sitter!

Jack’s Bar was only a couple of short blocks from Denny’s little efficiency. Under any other circumstances, that might’ve felt like miles on a pair of crutches, but Becca was so pleased with herself she didn’t feel tired at all. When she faced the porch at Jack’s and the three steps up, she gave them careful consideration before taking them one slow step at a time.

Another victory! When she made it inside, she was wearing a smile brighter than the sun.

“Hey,” Jack said from behind the bar. “I was expecting a call from you! Denny said you’d need a little help getting down the stairs.”

She hefted herself onto a bar stool, lifting her leg onto the one right beside her. “Hah! Fooled him, didn’t I?”

“Becca,” he said, putting a coffee cup in front of her. “You shouldn’t take chances. What if you’d gotten hurt? I mean, more hurt.”

“Jack, I didn’t take any chances,” she said. “I was very careful and went down the stairs on my butt.” She grinned and tapped her cup. “Oh, please, coffee. I was so busy getting cleaned up—in private—that I never even looked through Denny’s cupboards for coffee!”

He chuckled at her and poured. “How’s it working out with your new roommate?”

She took a sip of the steaming coffee. “Poor Denny,” she said. “If it wasn’t bad enough I crashed his party, then I became his invalid to take care of because he feels at least partially responsible. What a load, huh?”

“Why does he feel responsible?” Jack asked.

“He was picking at me, so I told him to pull over and I…” She made a face. “I jumped out without looking.”

Jack frowned. “He shouldn’t be doing that—picking and arguing. If I do that with Mel, it never goes the way I think it will. Big mistake.”

“You do that?” she asked.

“Been known to, yeah.”

“I’m amazed,” she said. “You really don’t seem like that kind of guy.”

“Because I’m ninety-five percent sweetheart and five percent a*shole.” He smiled, pushing the cream and sugar toward her.

“This coffee is so wonderful, I don’t even need the cream and sugar, but that’s how I usually fix it. Spoon, please?”

He put a spoon and napkin on the bar for her. “That’s how I trapped Mel—the coffee. I’m only particular about a few things, and coffee is one of them. She was on her way out of town. She couldn’t wait to make this little one-horse town a memory, but she wasn’t leaving without a cup of coffee.”

She grinned at him. “And she stayed for the coffee?” she asked, dressing her cup.

“No, kiddo. The coffee distracted her just long enough for me to make my move. In the end, she stayed for me.” He smiled right back at her.

Becca looked around and realized she was the only one in the bar. “Where is everyone?”

“It’s after nine-thirty, Becca. My breakfast crowd is early. Plus, it’s the day before Thanksgiving—people are busy. I bet you’re hungry.”

“I’m starving! You have no idea what an ordeal a hair wash, bath, dressing and walking a couple of blocks can be.”

“Preacher was making omelets earlier. He always has bacon and sausage. What would you like?”

“I usually just have cereal, but I think I need some protein. Would you ask him to just break up a little sausage in the eggs and make a small omelet? Maybe a tiny bit of cheese?”

“I’ll ask, but I warn you, it’s very hard for Preacher to think small. Stay tuned,” he said, heading for the kitchen.

It was just a few minutes when Paige carried a plate with an omelet on it out to the bar. Jack was right, Preacher wasn’t good at making anything small. “Wow,” she said when Paige put it in front of her.

“It’s wonderful, you’ll see. I have to make a run into Fortuna this morning. Can I pick up anything for you?”

“Oh, I hate to ask favors…” Becca said, taking a second bite of a fantastic omelet.

Paige leaned on the bar, facing her. “What do you need?”

“Well, if you’re anywhere near a store that sells sewing supplies, I need a seam ripper.” She lifted the leg with the cast and opened jeans. “I used a sharp knife this morning, but I can see the advantage of having the right equipment. Before I slice off a finger or something.”

“I’ll not only be near that kind of store, I’ll be in one. I’m going to buy construction paper, glue and craft stuff. The kids all get out a little early today because of the holiday and we’re going to make some table favors for Thanksgiving dinner. The bar is usually quiet on Wednesday night before the holiday, so Jack and John can handle dinner alone. There are a bunch of town kids who want to make stuff for their tables.”

Becca’s fork paused in midair. “Don’t they do crafts at school to bring home?”

“Not so much,” Paige said. “They do have Thanks giving stories, an assembly program and they make stuff for the school bulletin boards, but nothing for our tables. And we’ll have a nice, big crowd here tomorrow. Of course, other people have big family gatherings, too, so we’re meeting in the church basement. It’s fun for the kids.”

Becca put down her fork. “Can I come?”

“Shopping?”

“Yes, that. But can I come do crafts? Paige, that’s my specialty, sort of.” She ran her fingers through her hair. “Oh, man, I wish I had my stuff! You just don’t know how much stuff I have—patterns and instruction books and stencils, all kinds of supplies. You know, money’s been so tight, lots of teachers just go buy stuff for the class. I used to hit up my surfing team for donations for supplies and once word spread, I had everyone from my mom’s ladies golf group to the neighborhood firefighters buying stuff for my kids. When the elementary school where I was teaching shut down, they let me keep all the things I had donated or bought myself.”

Paige was frowning. “Didn’t I understand that you’re not supposed to travel? It’s a good half hour, one way, to Fortuna.”

“Do you have a console between the front seats in your car? I can sit in the back and elevate my leg by putting it on the console.”

“You’d be sitting beside Dana, the road queen. She loves to go anywhere. She puts her jacket on every morning and says ‘We go now?’”

Becca laughed. “Even better. Love a road queen!” She shoveled some of her omelet into her mouth. “When are you going?”

Paige shook her head. “Finish your breakfast. The kids won’t be home till around two. We have lots of time.”

“Oh, this will be great,” she said. Finally, she thought—something she was actually good at!



Although Paige argued with her, Becca couldn’t help herself. She had great ideas for Thanksgiving projects for kids. She bought terra-cotta flowerpots, black felt and artificial mums for pilgrim-hat centerpieces; she found stencils for construction-paper turkeys; she knew how to make cornucopias out of paper plates and string, and decorative gourds from crumpled-up colored tissue paper. Then there was the standard turkey out of a hand-print. Actually, that was the tip of the iceberg—she had a million craft ideas. But she didn’t want to overwhelm the kids. She was absolutely in her element.

“I see you’ve mastered pushing around a shopping cart while on crutches,” Paige said. “What a woman!”

There were a couple of other women helping out with the crafts—Denny’s landlady, Jo Fitch, and the pastor’s wife, Ellie Kincaid. By two-fifteen, she was meeting the children in the basement of the church. Ellie’s kids, Danielle and Trevor, were nine and five. Danielle’s little friend, Megan Thickson, was only eight and hung pretty close to her; she seemed awful shy. Megan’s little brother, Jeremy, played with Trevor.

The first order of business was an after-school snack—these kids had had a long day. Jo and Ellie served up milk and chocolate chip cookies. Mel Sheridan brought her kids, though they were too young to do anything constructive—they sat at a table with Dana and colored on a large roll of butcher paper. Of course, there was Christopher and about six other kids who regularly attended Sunday school there and played with each other around the neighborhood.

Becca showed them how to glue precut black felt to the flowerpots, making them look like pilgrim hats. The older kids turned them out like little factories. She cut the colorful construction paper for the younger ones so they could glue the tail feathers on the paper turkeys. And she worked on constructing the horns of plenty from paper plates, then showed the older girls—Danielle and Megan—how to crumple tissue paper into the shape of gourds. Because Megan seemed so shy, Becca spent a little extra time showing her the ropes, trying to make conversation.

“Aren’t you supposed to be keeping your leg elevated?” Jo Fitch asked her.

“I forget, but it feels okay.”

“Forget less,” Jo said. “You don’t want trouble.” She pushed a chair next to Becca so she could put her leg up.

“How did you break it?” Megan asked her very softly.

“Oh, I was careless. I jumped out of my brother’s big old truck without looking first and twisted it funny. It turns out I’m lucky. It could’ve been worse. But I did have surgery and have a couple of screws holding it together!”

“My dad had surgery, too,” she said.

“Oh? Is he all right now?”

Megan shrugged and concentrated on her tissue-paper gourds. “Yeah. Except he doesn’t have his job.”

“Oh?” Becca asked. “What was his job?”

“Logger. He cut down the really big trees. He fell and got hurt and ran out of ability and they won’t hire him back.”

“Ability?” Becca asked. “Ran out of ability?”

“You know. What they pay you to live because you’re hurt.”

“Ah, yes, I remember,” Becca said. Disability. She wouldn’t correct the child. It was obviously an emotional issue. “But is he healed?”

She shrugged. “I guess. Except for his quiet spells. And his arm.”

“His arm is hurt?”

“Not exactly,” Megan said. “It ain’t there. But it don’t hurt, he said.”

“Oh,” she said. Sure. What guy wouldn’t have quiet spells, hurt on the job, left disabled, out of disability pay, no job? “Do you have brothers and sisters?”

“Three brothers. I’m oldest.” She pointed to the table Christopher occupied. “Jeremy is next oldest. He’s in first grade.”

“I bet you have tons of responsibility around the house.”

“Some. My mom has a job now, so we all have more chores.”

“And will you have to help fix the Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow?” Becca asked.

Megan turned her large, sad brown eyes up to Becca’s and said, “I don’t know. My dad said he ain’t interested in no town turkey.”

Becca was completely baffled. “What’s a town turkey?”

“It’s the one you get from Jack and the church because you can’t buy your own.”

Here was something Becca hadn’t exactly run up against in her school; it was a charter school and it was quite expensive. They gave out a few scholarships, but they didn’t go to children who lived on the brink of poverty, but rather to the kids whose folks earned a living, just not enough of a living to put their kids in an expensive private school. Her kids didn’t need a charity basket to have a Thanksgiving dinner.

She had another epiphany. Just like her stable and secure family life, she’d had a job in a safe zone. Oh, she’d had some challenges, but if she were a teacher in a town like this, there would be a much broader cross section of students who ranged from well-off to quite the opposite.

“Well, I hope you and your mom fix it up and I hope the good smells change his mind, because you know what? I bet a town turkey tastes every bit as good as the kind you go out and buy. And your decorations will make it smell even better!” She put an arm around Megan’s shoulders and pulled her close. “Hopefully this will pass and your dad will find a job. I’m crossing my fingers for your family.”

Megan smiled then. “I think you’re nice. I’m glad you moved here.”

“Oh, I’m just visiting for a little while. I’ll be going home to San Diego soon. But one of the best parts of my visit so far is meeting you.”

“Me, too,” Megan said quietly.

It seemed like the time flew, yet it had been almost three hours. At five, parents started showing up to collect their kids and their crafts. When Becca saw a woman in a pink waitress uniform giving Megan a hug and helping her into her coat, she assumed that was her mother. She hobbled over and said, “Hi, I’m Becca. I worked on some crafts with Megan. She’s such a sweet girl.”

The woman’s smile, as well as her eyes, were tired. “So nice to meet you. I’m Lorraine Thickson. Nice of you to help out.”

“I had fun. I’ve been so bored, grounded with this splint on my leg. Once I met the kids, things really perked up for me.” She put her arm around Megan’s shoulders. “And this one is special. Thank you for coming today, Megan.”

“She rides the bus home with Danielle. Since my kids are about the same age as the pastor’s kids, they stay either at the church or the pastor’s house until I’m off work,” Lorraine said. “You can’t imagine how much it helps.”

“Maybe I’ll see you again before I leave, Megan. The doctor wants me to hang around a couple of weeks.”

“Okay,” she said shyly.

Little by little, the basement of the church emptied of children as they left with their parents. Becca started gathering up construction paper and other art supplies, when Jo Fitch came over to her and said, “No, no, no, Miss Becca. You’re supposed to be resting, keeping the leg up. We’ll handle cleanup. You were a fantastic help and we so appreciate it.”

“Will you be doing anything else with the kids? Because while my brother and his friends are hunting, I’m just sitting around.”

“The Christmas tree goes up this weekend,” Jo said. “We don’t exactly plan activities, but it’s such an event, almost everyone in town turns out. Stick around the bar and you can’t miss the action. You’ll love it.”



The fishermen beat Becca back to the bar, and they had returned victorious. In their coolers, packed in ice, were four big, healthy, robust salmon ranging in size from six to sixteen pounds. All four sweaty, grimy, grinning guys were enjoying a pitcher at a table in front of the fire.

“Ducks and fish—you must be in heaven,” she said, joining them at their table.

Denny immediately pulled up an extra chair to elevate her leg. “Not bad. I think we had a good take.”

“And what’s it going to be tomorrow?” she asked. “Duck or fish?”

“I think it’s turkey tomorrow. Then on Friday, it’s wood.” He pushed a beer toward her.

“Wood?” she asked, lifting her beer.

“The Friday after Thanksgiving we go into the woods and find a tree worthy of what passes for the town square—the parking lot between Jack’s and the church. It has to be about thirty feet.”

“And who does this?”

“Only the most manly of men,” Jack shouted from behind the bar.

“Yeah,” the fishermen called out, lifting their ale toward him.

“Oh, brother,” she said, sipping her beer.

“Tomorrow morning, we have to stay out of the way so Preacher can concentrate on cooking. Big holiday dinners get him all revved up,” Denny said. “So, after breakfast we’re going out to the river for a little while, do a little more fishing. We’ll take you with us. You can stay in the truck with a thermos of hot cocoa or something.”

“That’s okay. I can borrow a book from Paige and just stay in your room….”

He grinned at her. “You should come, Becca. It’s fun to watch. And Jack says a lot of men are told to get out of the house on Thanksgiving morning so their wives can cook. The river could be full of action.”

“Well…”

“You’ll come. It’s settled.”

They ate beef-and-barley soup with soft, warm bread and apple pie for dinner. Then Becca did borrow that book, but only for something to read before sleep. Jack and Preacher closed up a little early, but Denny had his own set of keys and after getting Becca safely up the stairs to his apartment, he went back to the bar for some cards with his boys. Becca didn’t feel the least bit left out. If there was anything that seemed less intriguing than watching men fish, it was watching them play poker. What she hadn’t been prepared for was how much the kids had worn her out. Before this broken ankle, she could match the little ones for energy, but she was asleep before turning a half dozen pages on her borrowed paperback.

She had no idea when Denny returned to the room, but the sun was lighting the sky when he woke her.

“I made some coffee,” he said. “You can take your time getting dressed. I have to run out to the Riordan cabins to pick up the boys for breakfast.”

“Huh?” she asked, sitting up a little.

He ran a hand over the top of his head. “Preacher took ’em all out to the cabins. Your brother bunked in with them so Preacher wouldn’t have to drive all over the mountains. Fortunately, I could walk home.”

“But why did Preacher have to drive…”

“There was some serious drinking going on.”

She sat up in bed. “But couldn’t you have driven them?” she stupidly asked.

“No. We were pretty much equally drunk. Now we can check that one off—Got Drunk With Friends. I have a headache.”

“And you want to go fishing?”

“Don’t want to so much as have to. You never let a stupid night interrupt your plans for the next day. He who gives in is wearing panties…”

She put her hand over her mouth but giggled just the same.

“Enjoy your coffee, get dressed, and I’ll come back for you.”

“Sure,” she said. But what she thought was, I’ll get myself down the stairs! She took a brief sponge bath, promising herself a legitimate grooming before sitting down to the turkey dinner later. Then she dressed warmly and made her way down the street to the bar, beating Denny and the boys there. When she got inside, she saw only a few men, who appeared to be finishing their breakfast, and Preacher, who was behind the bar. “Morning,” she said. “I heard you were commissioned to drive late last night.”

“Wasn’t all that late,” he said with a shrug. “They’re young candy-asses. Don’t know anything about pacing themselves.” Then he actually smiled and Becca realized for the first time that a smile was unusual for this big man unless something amused him a great deal.

“Not very busy this morning?”

“Not on Thanksgiving. We stay open regular hours, but there isn’t usually much business. Anyone who wanders in here after two in the afternoon is forced to join us for turkey. No one pays or leaves my bar hungry on this day.”

She smiled at him. “That doesn’t surprise me. Where’s Jack?”

“He’ll come in a little later. The kids will nap and play in my house while we’re getting ready for a big crowd out here.”

“Do you need me to help?” she asked.

Again the smile. “No, Becca. I think I need you to have some breakfast. I hear you’re going out to the river with them.”

“Denny insists.”

“You won’t regret it. Let me bring you something to eat. Eggs, just about any way you want. Cereal. Toast. Bacon. I’m not making pancakes today….”

“A couple of eggs, scrambled, bacon, toast. And thank you.”

Before her breakfast was even delivered, the guys—minus Denny—came in, seemingly none the worse for their night of drinking. They were scruffy as hell; apparently no one thought it prudent to clean up before getting in the river. It made sense on a practical level, but she wrinkled her nose at her brother.

“What?” Rich said.

“After fishing, before Thanksgiving dinner, give yourself a good once-over, please.”

“See, this is the trouble with having girls on a fishing-hunting trip,” Rich complained.

Preacher was just delivering Becca’s eggs. “There will be women at the table today,” he said. “Do exactly what she says. Smell lots better. Eggs?” he asked them.

“Thanks,” came three replies.

Then Denny burst through the door. He saw Becca sitting at the bar, eating her breakfast, and let out his breath. “You did it again,” he said.

She nodded, chewing a mouthful of eggs. “On my butt. Perfectly safe. Have some breakfast.”

He leaned close to her. “I wish you’d just let me help.”

“I will,” she said softly. “When I need something, I’ll ask.”