Christmas Eve Love Story

Twelve

Leo pranced toward Annie when she flipped on the light. She’d made it home in time to help Harrington and meet Eric, just as she’d planned.

“Hi, big guy,” she told him. “How was your day?”

He meowed.

“Yes, I can see you’re exhausted from all the work you’ve done around here. I hope you behaved.” Annie perused the living area, surveying her small tree. Eleven candy canes were still on it, like they’d been this morning. Good sign.

But wait. She spotted something on the floor. A long white sheet of toilet paper ran across the hall in front of her, seemingly emerging from the bathroom—and what?—disappearing through her open bedroom door? “ Leo ,” she said in exasperating tones. “What did you do now?” She’d thought she’d outwitted him by taking the toilet paper off the roll holder and setting it on the shelf above the toilet. How had he reached that? He had to be a jumping superstar. At eleven? Maybe it was a good thing she hadn’t gotten him as a kitten. Who knows what he would have been capable of at that age.

She left her groceries in the kitchen and peered into the bathroom. He’d evidently knocked the roll to the floor and nudged it with his head somehow—or maybe his paws—shoving it into her bedroom and—where? Oh, there! “Nice going, big guy,” she said as he watched her dig the roll out from underneath her bed. Or more like, what was left of the roll. Great. He’d partially shredded it too. “You’re very lucky Santa’s forgiving and kind.”

She returned to the kitchen to unpack her groceries. Leo meowed like she’d forgotten him, but of course she hadn’t.

“Okay, okay.” She smiled indulgently, because—honestly—he was the only friend she had, and he kept her good company—when he wasn’t being a little devil. “I’ll feed you first and then put the groceries away.” Although a few of them weren’t going anywhere except for straight into a cooking pot. She fed Leo and took out the skillet she’d use to brown the beef. She went to the kitchen bookshelf loaded with the old cookbooks that used to belong her mom. One was really a recipe folder with handwritten index cards inside clear plastic sleeves. The pages were clamped together in a three-ring binder.

“You know what?” she told Leo, taking off her coat. “I think I’ll look up Mom’s recipe.” She waited for that angsty feeling to wash over her. The one that always consumed her when she remembered cooking with her mom. She waited a minute more.

Nothing happened.

Annie removed the recipe holder from its shelf. She flipped open its pages, and her heart stilled. All the recipes were in her mom’s very tiny and precise printed handwriting. Her throat went raw, but the moment passed. She traced a finger across the cool plastic page covering the recipe she sought: “Nancy’s World-Class Chili.” Annie’s dad had always complimented her mom’s cooking, saying it was world-class. “World-class dinner tonight, Nancy.” He’d said that about everything from tuna casserole to meatloaf. He’d been a good husband, Annie saw that now, and a really great dad.

A drop of moisture splashed against the clear plastic page, and Annie realized she’d shed a tear. But no. She didn’t need to feel sorry for herself. What she needed to do was cook for Harrington. If she could remember how. Roy had questioned her culinary capabilities, along with so many other things. When she’d finally gotten up the nerve to leave him, she’d never seen him looking so shocked.

“You don’t mean it, Annie.” He glowered at her. “You’ll be back.” No. She didn’t want this any longer. As scary as it was, she was better off on her own.

She stuffed her things into her backpack with her laptop and zipped her backpack, putting it on her shoulder. Roy’s apartment was muggy with summer air, and all the windows were open. He stood in the foyer between her and the door, but she was done with being blocked by Roy.

She walked right up to him, channeling her Grandma Mable. “Don’t let anyone make you feel small,” her dear grandma had said. “Remember who you are: a girl with a big heart.” But her heart was bleeding, and Roy was squeezing the life out of it. She’d thought he’d really loved her, but no. She’d learned that this morning when the text message from Eileen popped up on his phone. Apparently, a lot more than sewing went on in that tailoring room.

“Please get out of my way.”

“Come on, Annie.” He put on his soft tones. “Let’s talk.”

But there was nothing left to say. “Roy,” she grated out his name, “move.”

He threw up his hands. “Okay, okay!” He stepped aside. “But you’ll regret this.”

What she regretted was believing his lies in the first place.

Annie landed back in the present, staring down at her mom’s recipe. Enough. Roy was history now, and she was her own person. She could order whatever she pleased off a menu, and cook exactly what she wanted as well. Roy had never liked her chili. She couldn’t wait to fix a huge batch.

She set all her ingredients on the counter and glanced at Leo, who’d finished his food. “What do you think, boy?”

He meowed loudly.

“You’re right,” Annie agreed. “I’ve got this.”

An hour later, she lifted a spoonful of piping-hot chili to her lips and blew on it to cool it. Steam rose off the hearty mixture, and savory aromas wafted toward her. She took a tentative taste, appreciating the complex flavors. Hmm, not bad.

She finished the taste on her spoon, and her tongue tingled with sensation. Annie smacked her lips. “Okay,” she told Leo. “This passes the test. I’m taking it to Harrington.” But first, she’d set aside a mugful to have for her own supper when she got back.

Annie carried the covered casserole dish of chili down the stairs. She knocked on Harrington’s door, and it didn’t take him long to answer. A television was on in the living room. It was the old tube kind. From the depression in a sofa cushion and the plaid throw blanket that had been pushed aside, it looked like he’d been sitting there watching a show.

“Annie?” He stared down at the casserole dish and leaned into his walker. “My, that smells delicious.”

She grasped the heavy container with her oven mitts. “It’s a homemade chili. I don’t know if you’ve eaten?”

His cloudy eyes glistened. “You made that for me?”

“It’s my mom’s recipe.” She swallowed hard. “My late mom’s.”

Harrington donned a compassionate frown. “I’m sorry about your mom, young lady.” He studied the dish in her hands. “But how kind of you to think of me.”

“Can I set this on the stove for you? It’s still hot.”

Harrington tugged on his cardigan sweater. “My mouth’s watering already.”

“It’s not too spicy,” she said because she hadn’t been sure if he had any restrictions. “If you’d like spicy though.” She dug a bottle of hot sauce out of the pocket in her apron. The apron had belonged to her mom, and it was her first time using it. She’d worried that it would feel morbid, but it didn’t. More like comforting, as if her mom had been right there with her.

“My. My. My.” Harrington shook his head. “You have thought of everything.”

She placed the hot sauce bottle on the counter beside the stove.

“This is very good timing,” Harrington said, easing his way toward the kitchen. “I was about to fix myself a late supper.” She noticed a mug with a teabag tag dangling from it on the coffee table.

“Well, good.” She smiled. “I’m glad I got here in time.”

“You certainly did.”

“Don’t worry about the container. You can return it whenever. Just let me know and I’ll come and get it.” But how would he contact her? He definitely couldn’t climb more stairs. Not all the way up to the third floor, unassisted. Much less carrying a casserole dish. “Tell you what,” she said. “Why don’t I give you my number, and you can text me—”

He waved a hand. “I’m afraid I don’t do that.”

She smiled, spotting his landline. “You can call me then. If I don’t answer, leave a message.”

He nodded. “And they say this old world is going to rot.”

She set one hand on her hip. “Who’s they?”

“The great ‘they.’” He dramatically swept a hand through the air. “Those know-it-alls who say the world isn’t the place it used to be.” That was just because they didn’t live in her world, where every day was just like the last. But she knew what he meant.

“I guess we’re all kind of in it together,” she said. “We’re doing the best we can with what we have.”

“Yes.”

Annie let herself out. Before she closed the door, Harrington stopped her. “I wasn’t wrong in what I said before.” He grinned with a solid assurance. “You really are some kind of angel.”

“Don’t give me too much credit!”

“Merry Christmas, young lady!”

“Merry Christmas.”

She nearly bumped into Eric when she spun toward the hall. He’d retrieved a stack of mail from his mailbox and held a few packages. “Oh, Eric! Hi!”

“Hi, Annie.”

“Looks like you got a lot of special deliveries.”

“Yeah. I ordered some stuff.”

She had too. Where were those snow boots?

“Christmas stuff?”

“Not exactly.” He lifted the heavy packages. “Books for next semester.”

“You like to read hard copies, huh?”

“Yeah, when I can. I spend lots of time—writing,” he finally said. “So being off the computer for a while is a nice break.”

“That’s cool. What is it you’re writing?”

“A novel.” He lifted a shoulder like it was no big deal. “Not sure if it’s any good.”

“I’ll bet it’s fantastic.”

“Hope my profs think so. It’s for my master’s thesis. The others in my program are writing one too.”

“Well, I think that’s awesome. I can’t imagine writing anything that long. I’m lucky to complete a grocery list.”

He laughed, seeming more at ease. “What is it you do?”

“I work at Lawson’s Finest designing their window displays.”

“Now that sounds cool and creative.”

She stood up a little straighter. “It has its moments.” Images of that careening Christmas tree flashed through her mind. “Most of them great ones!” she added when he looked perplexed.

“Ah, nice. I’m glad you like it.”

“I do like it,” she said, understanding just how much. “I guess I’m lucky to enjoy my job.” She’d be even luckier to get to keep enjoying it. If only she could dream up a way to help Ms. Lawson see her window in a new light. “Anyway,” she said. “Good seeing you!”

“You too, Annie. Merry Christmas.”

If she had a dollar for every time her neighbors wished each other a merry Christmas around here, she’d be a very rich woman soon. Of course none of them recalled saying that yesterday. Neither did Braden or any of her other coworkers at Lawson’s, including that department-store Santa. Wait.

She relived that mysterious twinkle in his eyes when he’d said, “All in a day’s work.” No. There was no Santa Claus. Not actually. And the jolly old elf couldn’t cast spells either. Or could he? For goodness sakes, Annie! She shook her head, continuing up the stairs. Next, she’d be hearing reindeer prancing on the roof!

***

Later that evening, Annie passed Bea a cup of sugar in her kitchen. “I was just about to have some cocoa,” she said, nodding at the pot on the stove. Tonight, she’d made it authentic with melted chocolate and real milk. “Would you like a cup?”

“Oh, that sounds delicious, but I’m baking.”

Annie couldn’t help trying again. “I made it from scratch,” she said, tempting.

“Well in that case,” Bea said. “Maybe I’ll have to.” Leo pressed up against Bea’s ankles, purring.

“Leo’s happy about that,” Annie said.

Bea smiled and bent down to pet the cat. “Me too.”

Annie fixed them both a mugful, and they carried their drinks into the living room. She glanced at the candy canes on her tree and said, “I’ve always liked adding a candy cane to my cocoa. Makes it minty.” She turned to Bea. “Want to try it?”

“Why not?” Bea held out her hand, and Annie gave her a candy cane. They both sat and unwrapped their treats, dunking them in their drinks.

Bea made herself comfortable in the armchair, placing her house key on a silky red ribbon on the coffee table. She stirred her candy cane around in her mug a few times and took a sip of cocoa. “Ooh, this is delightful.”

Leo jumped up beside Annie on the sofa and curled himself into a ball. “It’s my mom’s recipe.”

Bea placed her mug on the side table. “Does she live nearby?”

Annie’s heart pinged. “No. Unfortunately, I lost both my parents young.”

Bea frowned at the news. “I’m sorry, honey.”

Annie rolled back her shoulders. “It’s all right, but thanks.” She stared at her tiny Christmas tree and the snow globe sitting beneath it. The cocoa was great. It tasted so much like home. “Do you live alone?” Annie asked, although she suspected she knew the answer.

“Do now.” Bea picked up her mug, staring down at it. She looked up, and her eyes seemed sad. “I lost my Harry a little over a year ago.”

Annie’s heart went out to the older woman. “I’m sorry. Were you together long?”

Bea nodded. “Thirty-six years.”

“That’s amazing,” Annie said.

“Yes,” Bea answered. She got a fond look on her face. “It was.”

Before they knew it, an hour had passed with Bea telling Annie so much about her late husband and family. Annie shared a few minor details about her life too, but mostly kept the conversation casual and focused on her work at Lawson’s.

“Well, thank you for the Christmas Eve cocoa,” Bea said. “This has been lovely.” She stood and looked around, scanning the coffee table. Nothing was on it but Annie’s closed laptop. “Now that’s odd.”

“What is?”

Bea shoved her hands in her bathrobe pockets, rummaging around. “I could have sworn I put my house key on that table.”

Annie frowned, noting the cat’s empty spot on the sofa. She hadn’t even realized he’d stealthily gotten up and moved. “Leo!” she called. She stood and smiled at Bea. “Hang on. I have an idea.” Annie strode into the bedroom and peeked under her bed. Sure enough, Leo had Bea’s key pinned down by his paws. Part of the red ribbon hung from his mouth. “Rascal.” Annie snagged the key away from him. “Found it!” she called out to Bea.

Leo obviously liked Bea as much as she did.

He’d wanted her to stay.