The Christmas Town Page 2

  “I’ve never asked but…” He wrung his hands in front of him. “What…?”

  “When he was born the doctor thought everything was normal. We thought everything was normal. But during the pregnancy fluid had built up in his brain. Nobody knew. Three months after we brought him home we could tell there was something wrong. He just wasn’t like other babies that we had been around and he wasn’t growing that much. He would never really look at us but kept his eyes downward. He wasn’t active like other babies his age. His head was bigger than most. Tests revealed hydrocephalus and doctors put the first of many shunts in his brain to redirect the fluid.”

  Les looked to the door to make sure that Jo and Ben weren’t coming back yet. “Does he still get them?”

  There were no more tears as Stacy shook her head. “His last shunt revision was when he was thirteen. It doesn’t mean he won’t need another one someday. Because of the length of time before diagnosis and the severity of Ben’s case, doctors had said he wouldn’t be able to do this or he would only be able to do that, but at every milestone he has proven them wrong. He can’t drive; his reflexes aren’t quick enough. Controlling the steering wheel while putting pressure on the accelerator or brake requires great motor skills and he doesn’t have them. He won’t drive but so what? In June he graduated with his class. It took him longer. He was nineteen when he got his diploma but it didn’t bother him. He worked hard and did it with an unbelievable attitude.” She looked at Les. “He’ll be just like that here.”

  Stacy was right. Ben loved his job and the people he worked with. However, on many days when she picked him up at the end of his shift, he seemed lost in thought. Six months into the job, he walked in the door one day and flopped down on the couch, which was out of character for Ben. Stacy set her purse on the kitchen counter and walked toward him. “What’s the matter? Did something happen at work?” He shook his head. “Did an employee or a customer say something to you?”

  She braced herself for his answer. Over the course of his nineteen years Stacy has had a harder time dealing with the comments and opinions of others than with Ben’s own struggles. She cringes each time she remembers snapping at a child who would say something cruel to him. She assumed that the day would come when a fellow worker or customer would choose to use harsh or demeaning words toward him.

  “Nobody said anything, Mom.” He flung open his hands and rested his head against the back of the sofa. “It’s just that I don’t feel like I’m doing enough bagging groceries. Anybody can bag groceries.”

  Lucy had heard her mom come into the house and yelled to her from upstairs, asking for help with her homework. Stacy knew she didn’t have much time and prayed that she could say the right thing to Ben. Through the years, she and her husband, Jacob, had felt overwhelmed by Ben’s special needs at school and often walked into meetings with school staff with the simple prayer Help me do the next right thing for Ben on their lips. “Do you mean you want a different job at the store? You want more responsibility?”

  He rolled his head from side to side on the back of the couch. “No! I love my job! It’s just that people come into the store and sometimes they look so sad or angry or something and I wish that there was something I could do for them.”

  Stacy sat beside him and pulled his head toward her, kissing his forehead. “That’s what’s bothering you?”

  “Yeah, Mom! What do you think would be bothering me?”

  He gave her a look that said she really should know him by now, and she smiled, wrapping her arms around him and squeezing him. She and Jacob had said many times that the areas of Ben’s brain that built up fluid during her pregnancy were given a double portion of mercy and love. Of course he would pick up on the weariness, sadness, disappointment, and loneliness of people throughout the day. Lucy called again from upstairs and Stacy patted Ben’s leg. “I’m going to run upstairs and help Lucy for a few minutes. While I’m gone why don’t you think of something that you could do at work that might be able to help brighten someone’s day.”

  Stacy was still in Lucy’s bedroom, helping with English, when they heard Ben bound up the stairs. “Mom! Lucy! I know what I can do!”

  “Do about what?” Lucy asked. Lucy was fifteen at the time and although she was younger than Ben, she had always been fiercely protective of him.

  “About customers who look sad or lonely or upset when they come into the store,” Stacy said.

  Ben grabbed Lucy’s bumblebee Pillow Pet and paced the floor, squeezing it. “Put Buzzie down before you squeeze the stuffing out of him,” Lucy said.

  Ben threw the Pillow Pet back onto the bed and sat on the end of it. His whole body was trembling with excitement and Stacy hoped he had not come up with an over-the-top idea that could never happen. “Every day when I get home from work I will write notes that I can give to each customer.”

  Stacy and Lucy looked at each other then back at Ben. “You mean like you’ll find quotes and stuff off the Internet?” Lucy asked.

  He shook his head. “No, I’ll come up with each thing that I want to say.” His eyes were bright as he glanced from his mom to his sister, looking for support.

  Stacy couldn’t imagine him writing that many notes per night but there was no way she was going to discourage him. “It’s awesome!” She hugged him and said, “I think it’s an amazing idea!”

  He wrote notes for three hours that first night. He started writing them as Stacy was making dinner, and before long the kitchen table was littered with different-colored pieces of paper. Although she tried to steal a glance occasionally, Ben wouldn’t let Stacy or any of his family see the notes while he worked. He moved them aside during dinner but continued to write. When Jacob asked how his day was Ben shook his head, never looking at his dad, and said, “Not right now, Dad. I have work to do.”

  Jacob was in the garage and Stacy was folding laundry in their bedroom when Ben finally called to them. In the kitchen he held the papers, a jumble of different colors and sizes, and handed several to each of them. Jacob and Stacy read aloud what was written on each paper.

  You are more awesome than you know! Have a great day! Ben

  Flowers, trees, and lakes are beautiful but not as much as you! Ben

  Our dog will give up chasing our cat and walk away. Sometimes you just have to know when to walk away. Have a great day! Ben

  Whoever is happy will make others happy, too. Anne Frank said that and I think she’s right! Ben

  A man who is honest and has great character can change a town. I’m so glad you’re changing this one! Ben

  Stacy and Jacob flipped through each one and looked up at Ben, slack-jawed. “You came up with all of these?” Jacob asked.

  Ben shrugged and nodded.

  Stacy struggled for words. “You didn’t look on the Internet or in a book?”

  “No. Why?”

  “I … They’re incredible! I thought they would all say the same thing but they’re different.” She sifted through the papers in her hands. “Every single one of them is different.”

  Ben fell asleep that night realizing that his job might be one of the most important in the entire store.

  * * *

  His first shift for slipping notes inside grocery bags was on a Saturday. He ran the idea by Les (in hindsight, that was something Stacy realized they should have done first) and Les said he would allow Ben to try it. Ben watched as people stood in line and he selected just the right note for each one.

  For the customer who wouldn’t make eye contact with him or the cashier: Maybe what’s happening isn’t really a problem but a gift! Have a great day! Ben

  For the single mom: You aren’t everything to your kids. You are just enough! Have a great day! Ben

  For the cranky man: My grandma says that if we are not careful we can lose the song in our soul. I hope your soul keeps singing! Ben

  For the sad-looking teen: Without sadness happiness wouldn’t mean as much. Everything comes and goes. I hope you’ll st
ay! Ben

  Customers came and went those first three days without much to say. Most assumed the notes were a one-time thing. At the end of the week, when customers were coming in again and receiving another note, they began to thank Ben for “making their day” or for “doing a great job.” In fact, Les didn’t think Ben would be able to keep up with the notes, but six months later he realized Ben would continue to do them as long as he worked at Clauson’s. Les thought the notes were cute and some people found them inspirational, encouraging, and motivational, but he had no idea they could be life-changing. Sometimes that’s just the way it is with things that seem too simple to matter.

  THREE

  “Are you serious? You put a listing on Craigslist looking for a family at Christmas?” Lauren took two days to tell her roommate, Brooke, about the idea and wishes now she had kept it to herself. “Do you know how many crazy people you’re going to hear from? What does the listing say?”

  Lauren shrugs, slipping her bag over her shoulder. “Just that I’m looking for a family at Christmas.”

  Brooke opens the refrigerator and pulls out a carton of milk, putting it on the counter. “Some guy could say he’d be”—she uses her fingers as quotes in the air—“‘happy to be your dad’ and turn out to be a rapist!”

  Lauren digs for her keys in her bag and heads toward the door before she’s late for work. “I really don’t think most people are like that.”

  Brooke shakes her head. “It doesn’t take most people. All it takes is one lunatic.”

  “I know all about lunatics,” Lauren says under her breath, closing the door.

  She reasons that there are decent people—unlike her own parents—who would respond to a listing and want to be part of her family. Lauren discovered years ago that when a child is born it doesn’t necessarily mean that a father and mother are also born. She imagined her father standing outside the glass window of the hospital as a nurse held up a pink bundle, roughly the size of a loaf of bread, and the look on his face. Was it at that moment he saw she had his eyes that he decided to take off? Was it when he heard her cry that he realized his own cries had never been answered? Could the nurse tell that he was planning his escape as she held up that six-pound newly born life for him to see? Lauren has stopped wondering if that image nags him because it has nagged her enough for both of them.

  Seven years after her mom’s release from jail she wonders if her mom ever hears her voice. Does she see Lauren in a young woman her age a thousand miles away or wherever she lives? Does she think about Lauren on her birthday or Christmas? Does she mark the days off as she marks the end of another day?

  The thought of home is what Lauren always returns to in her mind. Every home is a little created world furnished with things and people. The furnishings in her home were all shabby and unreliable. She is often homesick for a home she never had.

  She pulls into a parking space at Gordon’s and reaches for her phone to read her Craigslist ad again: I am a 20-year-old woman looking for a family this Christmas. I’ve been in many foster homes and some of them have been very good homes, but I’ve never felt as if I have a family to call my own. A family would be the best Christmas present because a family isn’t there for just a day but for life.

  So far, she has received no e-mails or phone calls regarding her listing. She opens Facebook and thinks for a moment before posting, I’m looking for a family at Christmas. Maybe one who has always wanted a daughter or maybe one who needs another daughter. Lauren looks at the words and then deletes them. She then posts, Anybody interested in starting a family at Christmas? She realizes how that sounds and groans, erasing it. She tries again: Anyone interested in an extra family member at Christmas? She reads it again, clicks post, and tosses the phone into her bag.

  Time moves way too slowly as she stands at her cash register. She wonders how people are responding to her ad on Craigslist and her post on Facebook. Since being on her own she has not had close friends. In truth, she has never had a close friend. While living with her mom, she was ashamed of her and never asked to have a friend over. When she entered the foster home system she was too ashamed to let the kids at school know anything about her home life. She went from one foster home and school to another without ever attending a birthday party or a play date or after-school activity of any kind. The closest thing she has to friendship is with her roommate, who worked briefly at Gordon’s, and the seventy-nine people on Facebook and fifty followers on Instagram who claim to be her friends.

  On her break she races for her locker and reaches for the phone. Her heart sinks when she sees there are only four likes and three comments to her Facebook post.

  Sure! Lanny commented. Come on down to Florida!

  Can you cook? You’re free to use my kitchen! LOL! Bethany said.

  Lori just put a smiley face as her comment.

  “What sort of answer is that?” Lauren says, looking at the bright yellow face. “I have no idea what that means.” She sighs and deletes the entire post, feeling stupid for putting it up in the first place.

  She checks her e-mail and notices one from Craigslist. She opens it and reads, How lame are you to put an ad like this on Craigslist? Her heart pounds and tension stretches through her chest. She is working on opening her post so she can delete it when her phone buzzes. Someone just left a voice mail from a number she doesn’t recognize. She puts the phone to her ear to listen.

  “Miss Gabriel, my name is Darrell Jamison with the district attorney’s office in Grandon. Could you return my call at your earliest convenience?”

  Lauren can’t imagine why he called as she presses the “call back” button on her phone. “I’m returning Darrell Jamison’s call,” she says. She gives her name and listens to instrumental music as she digs in her purse for change for snacks out of the vending machine.

  “Darrell Jamison.”

  She slides seventy-five cents into the vending machine and pushes the button for peanut butter pretzels. “This is Lauren Gabriel returning your call.”

  “Miss Gabriel, we have a suspect in the hit-and-run accident that you witnessed two days ago and we would like you to come to Grandon in order to identify him.”

  Lauren rips open the bag and sits at one of the tables in the break room. “What? Why? If you picked him up and he looks like the guy that I described then obviously he’s the guy! Why do I have to make a trip there to tell you what you already know?”

  “We found the truck parked on a side street, and when an officer saw the suspect advancing toward the truck, he approached, but the suspect denied that the truck was his. He was brought in on suspicion and we’re quite sure he is linked to several robberies in Grandon, but at this time we are unable to hold him on those possible charges. The only one that we could hold him on is the hit-and-run and that is with a positive identification. We really need your cooperation, Miss Gabriel. We would need you this afternoon or tomorrow morning at the latest at the police station.”

  Lauren can’t believe what she’s hearing. “Are you serious? I can’t be there this afternoon. I’m at work!” She groans. “I shouldn’t have even got involved!”

  “I understand the inconvenience. Please understand that we firmly believe he is linked to several crimes but we are unable to hold him without an identification. Nine A.M. tomorrow would be great if you can make it.”

  She sighs, not believing her bad luck. “Fine. I don’t have to work until late tomorrow afternoon so I’ll be there.”

  * * *

  On her way into Grandon, Lauren decides to stop once again at Clauson’s. She has just enough time to grab something to drink before making her way to the police station. A Salvation Army bell ringer is outside the front doors and twinkly lights outline the store windows. On entering, she glances to the cash registers to see if the young man who had slipped the note inside her bag is working. He’s not. She’s looking over the refrigerated drink options when she hears, “Hi! Good to see you back!” Ben is carrying a box of ins
tant rice. “We have a price check on register two,” he says, rushing to the front.

  She grabs an orange juice and follows behind him, standing in his line. She watches to see if he is still putting notes inside shoppers’ bags. An older woman reaches for her bag from Ben and puts her hand on his face, patting it. The next man in line grabs his bag, oblivious to the fact that Ben studied him before picking out just the right note. When Lauren steps up to the register, Ben has a stack of notes close to his face, looking through them. “This is my new friend,” he tells the cashier.

  “You have so many friends, Ben,” the cashier says, smiling at Lauren.

  “She’s new here,” he says. “This is only her second time in the store. Well, really, it’s her third time because she came back twice on the first day she was here.”

  Lauren hands money to the cashier and says, “Wow! You remember all of that?”

  Ben slips a note on top of her sandwich, juice, and chips, and hands the bag to her. “I remember all of my customers. Even the little babies. “

  The cashier looks at Lauren and nods. “It’s true. He does. He puts the rest of us to shame, don’t you, Ben?”

  “Customers are the most important part of our business.”

  Lauren moves out of the way for the next customer and looks at Ben. “I think that’s really cool.”

  “Thanks!” His mouth is open to ask her name when a little boy standing next in line with his father misses the conveyor belt and drops a jar of olives to the floor, breaking it. “It’s okay,” he says to the little boy. “I’ll get a mop.”

  Lauren walks to her car and opens the door, getting inside. She reaches for the note in her bag. It’s on a plain green piece of paper.