The Christmas Secret Page 12

  “Have the laws changed since that time?” she asked.

  I smiled. “I don’t think so.”

  “No, they haven’t.”

  “But what if he gets here and he rants and raves and threatens lawsuits and—”

  “That’s his choice,” Patricia said. “You will have done nothing wrong.” It’s amazing how a word spoken in kindness or anger can set the course for the remainder of the day. Although I didn’t know much more beyond Patricia’s name, the grace in her voice and the choice of her words calmed me when I would ordinarily get up in arms after a call with Brad.

  The school bus stopped in front of the house and the door swung open. I moved the boxes out of the entryway and set them on top of the kitchen counter. “Thank you, Patricia,” I said, hanging up. The kids ran screaming up the driveway and fell inside the door, breathing hard. “Did you outrun Mrs. Meredith?” I asked.

  Zach shook his head. “She wasn’t at her door today. Probably hanging upside down in the attic.”

  I took his coat from him and laid it on the back of the sofa. “How about something to eat before we go to Glory’s Place?”

  “I don’t want to go there,” Haley said, throwing her coat on the floor. “It’s scary.”

  “You’ve never even been there,” I said. I went to the kitchen and made each of them a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. “Each of you take your homework because you can do it there.”

  Zach took a bite of his sandwich. “Why do you work at night all the time?”

  “I’m just doing it so we can have some extra money,” I said.

  “Why do we need extra?” Haley asked. “Don’t we have like fifty dollars?”

  I laughed. “Exactly! And we need more than that!”

  Zach noticed the boxes on the kitchen counter. “What’s in those?”

  “Nothing yet but I’ll need to pack our things in them.” I didn’t know how to tell them so I just came out with it. “We need to move to another house.”

  “Why?” Haley said. “I like this house.”

  “I like it, too, but I just can’t afford it anymore. We need to find a place that’s not as expensive.”

  “I don’t want to move,” Zach said.

  I sat down beside him. “We have to move. It’s not my decision.”

  His eyes filled with tears and he buried his face in my shoulder. “It’s not fair,” he said, rubbing his eyes on my shirt.

  “We’ll find a great place,” I said, trying to convince him and myself.

  I signed the kids up with a woman named Heddy Gregory at Glory’s Place. She was a retired black woman with a tremendous smile and short-cropped salt-and-pepper hair. Her husband Dalton showed Zach and Haley where they could hang up their coats and gave them a tour of the center. I watched them out of the corner of my eye and could tell they were afraid; Haley held on to Zachary’s hand and he didn’t shake her off. When they finished the tour Zach snuck up to my side and tapped me on the hip. I looked down and he pointed to the basketball hoop. “You can go over there,” I said. He tugged on my arm. “I need to fill out this paperwork but you and Haley can go play.”

  “It’s all right,” Dalton said, crouching down in front of them. “Everybody feels scared their first time here but as soon as you throw a basketball all that goes away this fast,” he said, banging his hands together and pretending to scatter magical dust in front of him. He held his hand out and Haley grabbed hold of it.

  “Wait a second,” I said, bending over for a kiss. “Who are you?” I asked Haley.

  “Mommy’s angel,” she said. I kissed her and leaned toward Zach.

  “Do I have to say it?” he asked, whispering.

  I smiled. “No, but you do need to let me kiss you.” He leaned the top of his head toward me and I kissed it. They walked with Dalton to the basketball hoop and joined four other children who were already shooting baskets.

  “They’ll be okay,” Heddy said, watching me.

  I signed the forms and jumped in the car, crying as I pulled out of the driveway. I would have given anything to have some sort of normal schedule with my kids, to have more energy during the times we were together, and not be so consumed with the reality of bills, finding an apartment, and battles with their father. By the time I got off work tonight, picked them up, and got them home it’d be close to nine; too late for children to go to bed on a school night. I hated it but didn’t know a way around it. I pulled into the back lot, wiped my face, and walked through the kitchen. “Cutie out there waiting,” Betty said, laying the top crust over a berry pie. I hung up my coat and turned the corner to see TS leaving.

  “Hey!” A table of customers turned to look at me and I realized how loud I was.

  He turned and smiled. “I was supposed to be somewhere ten minutes ago,” he said, holding the door open. “Did you check your coffee schedule?”

  “I get a thirty-minute dinner break at seven o’clock Thursday night.”

  “I’ll be here,” he said, running out the door. Snow tumbled to the ground outside the window and he smiled as he passed it. My thoughts were as inconsistent as those flakes: He’s so handsome. What’s the point? Maybe he’ll love kids. When he hears about the kids he’ll be gone. He’s too young for me. I’m too old for him. I felt silly for hoping but something somewhere, maybe in those flakes falling just beyond the window, or a voice inside, seemed to whisper, “You’re still here. I’m still here.” And something in me believed it.

  Jason pulled a box out of the trunk of Marshall’s car and carried it up the steps of Glory’s Place. “Hey, what’s that?” a small boy asked. “Can I help?”

  “Sure,” Jason said. “What’s your name?”

  “Zach. This is my first day,” he said, following Jason back to the car.

  “It’s my first day, too,” Jason said. Zach wrapped his arms around one end of the box and held it close to him. Jason backed slowly up the stairs so Zach could keep up. They set the box inside the door and Jason raised his hand in the air. Zach gave him a high five and ran off to play. Dalton and another volunteer were shooting hoops with a group of children while another volunteer sat at a table playing Sorry with three girls and opened cans of Play-Doh for two other children. A few girls and one boy pretended to cook in the kitchen and took each other’s “orders.” Some children worked on puzzles, others flipped through books, and a group of boys built towers with LEGOs. The room was full and loud but bearable.

  “So you’re Jason?” Heddy said. “Marshall’s told us all about you.”

  “I’m not as bad as he makes me sound,” Jason said, taking off his coat.

  “He makes you sound like a superhero,” Heddy said.

  “Really?” Jason said. It didn’t sound like his grandfather.

  “Frankly, I haven’t believed much of it at all,” she said, winking at him.

  “These are the donations from the store for your Christmas boxes.”

  “We’ve been expecting those. I don’t know what we’d do without your grandfather’s donations of socks, underwear, hats, and gloves every year!” She walked in front of him and led him to the far side of the room where a large cubicle and cafeteria table was set up. “We need someone to help the kids with their homework. We send them over in groups of six. The older kids are good about sitting here and getting the work done but many of the younger children need supervision and help. Are you up for it?”

  Jason would have rather played basketball but he nodded. “How long should they be here?”

  “Until their work is done,” Heddy said. She pointed to the pencils, erasers, and a pencil sharpener on the table. “I’ll send the first six over while you sharpen the pencils.” She opened a small white cabinet, pulling out a package of cookies and napkins. “They each get two cookies while they work. Gloria cringes because they’re not homemade. She thinks children should eat cookies and milk while doing homework. Sometimes we have these. Sometimes we don’t. It just depends on donations.”

  Fo
ur girls and two boys, one of them Marcus, bounded to the table carrying backpacks or loose papers with crumpled edges. Marcus came empty-handed but reached for a napkin. “I don’t go to school so I don’t have homework. I just come for the cookies,” he said, holding his napkin in front of Jason. Jason laughed and set a cookie on it.

  Three of the children busied themselves with math, English, and science books but Zach and Haley sat and watched. “Do you have any homework?” Jason asked.

  Zach reached for his backpack. “Normally my mom helps me,” he said.

  “Is she working?” Jason asked. Zach nodded. “Well, I can help you today so when she picks you up it’ll all be done. Is this your sister?”

  Zach nodded. “She’s Haley.” Haley’s legs stuck straight out over the edge of the chair.

  “Hi, Haley,” Jason said. “Do you have homework, too?”

  “I have to do my letters and I hate letters,” she said, throwing her backpack onto the table.

  “She always whines,” Zach said, pulling out a sheet filled with math problems.

  “Can’t I just eat a cookie like him?” she asked, looking at Marcus.

  “Maybe these will help you like letters,” Jason said, setting two chocolate cookies with vanilla centers in front of her.

  Haley bit into one. “What’s your name?”

  “Jason.”

  “How old are you?” she asked.

  “I’m twenty-four.”

  “Is that old?”

  “It’s older than you but no, it’s not old.”

  “It sounds real old,” Marcus said, waiting for another cookie.

  “My mom’s old like you.” Haley said. “She’s twenty-seven.”

  Jason laughed. “Better not say anything to her. Women don’t like to be told they’re old.”

  “She knows she’s old. She always says, ‘I’m getting too old for this,’ when me or Zach do something bad.”

  Jason leaned over and read a math problem out loud for a first grader named Aiden. “The woman needed a dozen eggs but she only had eight. How many more did she need?”

  “I know,” Marcus said, raising his hand. “Forty-two.”

  Jason smiled and put his finger to his lips to quiet Marcus. Aiden put his pencil on his head and rolled it back and forth, thinking. “How many is in a dozen?” Jason asked. Aiden shrugged. “There’s twelve in a dozen. So if she has eight eggs how many more eggs does she need to make twelve?” Poor Aiden. He had no idea. Jason set out four cookies each on three napkins. “Okay. Here’s twelve cookies. Can you find eight of them?” Aiden pointed to one plate of cookies and then a second. “So here’s eight of the twelve. How many more cookies do you need to add to those eight to make twelve?” Aiden rolled the pencil up and down his forehead.

  “I know!” Zach shouted at the end of the table.

  “I know, too,” a fifth grader named Demarius said. Aiden looked up at Jason. “Four?” he said in a whisper.

  “Exactly!” Jason said, putting the cookies back in the package.

  He made his way to each of the children and then to the end of the table again where Haley stared at the letter v. “What is going on with v?” Jason asked.

  “I hate v,” she said.

  “She hates all the letters,” Zach said.

  “You could have had them done by now,” Jason said.

  “That’s what Mom always says,” Zach said.

  Jason put his hand over Haley’s and helped her form a v on the page. “I don’t like it here. It’s scary,” she said.

  “She’s always scared,” Zach said. “It’s not scary. There’s no monsters or Bat Lady or anything.”

  “Are you scared?” Haley asked.

  “I’m not scared of this place,” Jason said. He sat down next to her. “But I am a little scared about something.”

  Her eyes were huge. “What?”

  “I’m going out on a date Thursday. Well, kind of a date.”

  “With a pretty girl?”

  “Not as pretty as you but she’s close,” he said. Haley smiled and attempted another v on her own. “So what do you guys want for Christmas?”

  “A spaceship!” Marcus shouted.

  “I want a pair of fairy wings so I can fly,” Haley said.

  “I want a star command building set,” Zach said, “and a LEGOs kit that I can build an airplane out of.”

  “Cool,” Jason said, watching Haley make a v. “What are you getting your mom?”

  “She always says she wants us to make her something,” Zach said. “So I’m going to draw her a picture and Haley won’t do anything.”

  “That’s because I need help and I can’t have Mom help me make something for herself,” she said, slapping her pencil down on the table.

  “Then make her the noodle thing again,” Zach said.

  “I don’t want to make her the noodle thing again,” she said, upset. “I want to make her something new but I can’t.” She turned away from her brother and put her head on the table.

  “I can help you make something,” Jason said. “What do you want to do?”

  She lifted her head off the table. “I want to make her something.” She picked up the pencil and erased a v that looked like a u.

  Jason thought for a moment and popped a cookie in his mouth. “You know what? I work at a store that sells these clocks that children have to paint. Would your mom like that?”

  “Yes!” Haley said, waving her pencil in the air.

  Jason spent the rest of his time helping children with their homework and then shooting hoops with Marcus. He never noticed when Zach and Haley’s mother picked them up.

  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?”