Merry's Christmas: A Love Story (5 page)

“Hi, ya, Skeeter, “ Merry grinned. She
handed him the sack. “God bless you.”

“He does,” Skeeter nodded. “Thank you,
Sweetheart.”

As Merry entered the diner’s door, a
little bell rang. A yellowed plastic Santa at the register leaned back
mechanically, then bobbed up and down with a raspy sort of
ho-ho-ho
. She
shot a look at Arthur.

Arthur glanced up from the grill. A
sheepish curl formed on his lips. “Yeah, I figured it was time to coordinate a
little Christmas around here, too.”

Relieved not to have to broach the
subject, Merry seized the opportunity. “Did he call yet?”

“Nope,” Arthur replied. “But we got a bus
load of blue hairs coming for a birthday party. So, get hopping, Hopper.”

Merry kicked into gear. “Be right back,”
she promised before she spun right into Kiki, whose empty tray went flying.
“Sorry!” she called, retrieving Kiki’s tray.

Arthur opened his mouth to comment, but
Kiki intervened. “You hush, now.”

Arthur recoiled. “Who you telling—”

“Shoosh,” Kiki ordered as she accepted
the tray back from Merry. “Just you think about it first with your smart self.
What would Oprah do?”

It had been a long day for Merry. There
had been no call about the Christmas Coordinator job, even a quick buzz just to
check Arthur as a reference. Arthur hadn’t mentioned it. He didn’t have to.
With each passing hour, it had become harder for Merry not to give into
disappointment.

The diner was closed for the night.
Business hours were over. Still, Merry dove to answer when the phone rang.

“Arthur’s.” Once again, Merry’s face
fell. “No, Arthur’s as in the Downtown Diner...Okay, bye.” Merry sighed as she
hung up, with a sheepish glance toward Arthur.

“You always got your job here,” Arthur
reminded.

“Thanks. You know, just because I wanted
that temp job doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate what I’ve got.”

Suddenly, the phone rang again. Merry
started for it, but Arthur put up a hand to stop her. He picked it up himself.

“Arthur’s...Yeah, you got him.”

Merry caught her breath. Her fading ember
of hope burst back into flame.

Arthur shooed Merry away. “Yeah, she told
me you might call.”

Arthur’s look said it all. It was the
call Merry had been waiting for all day.

“She’s a good girl,” Arthur continued.
“Hate to give her up, but...Couldn’t do better if you ask me...Well, hang on.
Lemme check.” Arthur put the phone on hold and turned to Merry. “Mr. Moneybags
wants to know if I can spare you, as soon as tomorrow.”

Merry silently pleaded.

“How am I supposed to say no to you?”
Arthur groused.

True to her name, Merry hopped up and
down. “Oh, thank you! Thank you!”

“All right, already,” he bellowed. “So,
pick up the phone, before I come to my senses.”

There were times in Merry’s life when she
could hardly imagine that she was awake, that a turn life had taken really was
happening. That’s how it was for Merry the next morning. She looked around,
wanting to drink in every detail of it.

The early December air was crisp; the sky
was a brilliant blue. It offset stately elms lining an affluent street Merry
had never even dreamed to explore. Iron fences led to tony brownstones, each
with its own stairway, leading up to individual doorways.
Here I am
, she
thought, marveling that it was true. She glanced heavenward with a smile,
knowing it was the answer to her prayer.

As she passed each residence, Merry
checked addresses against a slip of paper in her hand. Finding the matching
house number, she stopped and looked up, dwarfed by a four-story townhouse.

Merry took hold of the rail and climbed
the stairs. She reached for a brass knocker just as the over-sized door flew
open and nine year-old Ollie Bell blew by her, then bounded down the stairs and
sprinted for the arriving school bus.

“Hi!” Merry called after him.

Ollie glanced back with a wave, “Hi, bye,
whoever you are!”

Next out the door was Ollie’s older
sister, Tara. One of the two, Merry surmised. Tara glided out, put together
more like a model from a fashion magazine than a teenager headed for school.

“Pardon moi,” she said, scooting by
Merry.

“Gotta be Tara,” Merry intuited, just as
her sister, Hayden ambled out in grungy contrast, zipping her laptop into her
pack.

“Yeah, so how’d you tell the difference?”
Hayden asked.

“Uh... The computer?”

Apparently, Hayden didn’t buy it. “What,
not my chichi fashion sense?”

Tara called back to her twin impatiently,
“Will you shake it, Hayden?”

Hayden tromped down the steps, calling to
Tara sardonically. “Yeah, wouldn’t want to miss a second of walking in your
shadow.”

Merry grinned, happy to think that the
adventure of this job was already starting. She spun around to the door,
inadvertently crashing into Daniel. Again. The proximity was a bit awkward, but
she was at least glad that she didn’t have coffee to spill on him this time.

“Good morning, Merry,” he said.

“Oh! Hi. I met the kids. Sort of.”

Daniel headed down the steps. “I’m off,
too, but stop by the bank before lunch and I’ll get you set with the Christmas
account. Mom is in the kitchen, she’ll show you around.”

Merry watched Daniel as he opened the
door of his Range Rover, parked out front.

“Thank you!” she called. “You won’t be
sorry you gave me this chance.”

“Certainly hope not,” Daniel smiled as he
climbed into the car. The door closed with the solid ca-thunk of a posh family
vehicle, worlds apart from Merry’s repossessed Bug. In fact, Merry noticed that
the whole street was lined with shiny, new luxury cars. It made Merry realize
the advantage of having had to walk a few blocks from the El’s stop, since her
faded, forty year-old car would have seemed so completely incongruous.

Turning, Merry stepped into the handsome
residence and closed the door. Knowing there was only one first time for
everything, she savored each step of the experience. Taking it all in, she
wandered through the foyer and into the tastefully appointed living room. There
was a handsome leather chair and ottoman that she supposed Mr. Bell frequented.
Cushy sofa pillows accented the colors in an Oriental carpet that was almost
the size of her whole studio apartment.

Though there was no escaping the awe
Merry felt of what wealth can provide, the personal touches were what captured
her attention most. There on an end table was a family photo. She could tell it
had been taken years ago, both from the way the kids had all grown since and
the fact that a comely brunette stood beside Mr. Bell, his arm around her
shoulders.

Merry lifted the frame for a closer look,
and the surrounding photos dominoed, clattering onto the tabletop.
 
Merry did her best to quickly regroup as
Daniel’s mother, Joan, entered from the kitchen, drying her hands with a tea
towel.

“Oops. Sorry,” Merry said, her face reddening.

Joan smiled warmly. “No worries. I always
do the same thing myself. I think it’s rigged that way.” Joan stepped in to
help Merry with the photos, not an ounce of pretense in her voice.

“That’s his wife?” Merry inquired. “I
mean, it was?”

Joan gazed at the photo fondly. “Amanda,
yes. Lovely, wasn’t she?”

Merry nodded as Joan set the photo back
into its place.

“I’m Joan. Mother, slash grandmother,
slash chief cook and bottle-washer.” Joan offered her hand, which Merry readily
shook.

“I’m Merry. M-E-R-R-Y.”

“Yes, Daniel told me.”

“Oh, Daniel,” Merry repeated. “Right. I
heard that was his first name.”

Joan chuckled. “What, does he have you
calling him Mr. Bell?”

“I just did,” Merry demurred. “Out of
respect and all.”

“Well, out of respect for my age-sensitivity
issues, do you think you could call me Joan?”

Merry smiled broadly, liking Joan
immediately. She followed her on an impromptu tour of the downstairs, taking in
the layout. Down the hall, Joan led Merry into a nicely furnished study.

“So, this will be your work area. By
day.”

Merry took in the masculinely decorated
space. “Wow...very, uh, manly.”

“Yes, it’s Daniel’s,” Joan added. “Not
that he’s ever home to use it. Works too hard if you ask me.” Joan pulled a
small key ring out of a bowl on the desk. “Here’s your key—door and deadbolt.”
She handed it to Merry. “Use line three on the phone. The phone book is in the
lower left drawer. Upper right is yours for stowing Christmas secrets. The
children know it’s off limits, but check it mornings in case Daniel leaves a
communiqué.”

Merry opened the Christmas drawer. It was
empty, but for a single envelope with “Miss Merry Hopper” penned on it.

Joan stepped back toward the door. “Well,
I hate to abandon you, but I’d better scoot. I teach pottery at a little shop
around the corner. Number two on speed dial, anytime you need me.”

“Two. Got it,” Merry assured. She looked
around happily. “Is it way too soon to start loving this job?”

Joan smiled warmly. “I’d say you’re just
in time. And who knows? This could turn into quite the little sleigh ride after
all.”

As Joan left, an idea suddenly popped
into Merry’s head. She sat down in Daniel’s swivel desk chair and jotted down a
note:
Sleigh Ride
. Happily, Merry spun around in Daniel’s chair. This,
she convinced herself, was going to be good.

four

M
erry
sank into an overstuffed chair, across from Daniel’s desk at Strong Bank &
Trust, unabashedly amazed. How different it felt to be there than it had on her
original visit just two days prior. She was actually getting to know someone
there now, and that
someone
had hired her for the job of her dreams. It
wasn’t that she felt entitled to be there. In fact, she knew this job was far
from what she’d ever deserved. What it felt like was that a brightly wrapped gift
had dropped into her lap—straight out of heaven—and she was just starting to
untie the ribbon.

Daniel drew up an expense account
notebook as Merry watched, still pinching herself. Gone was the desperation of
having to apply for a loan. Gone was the abject terror of not being able to pay
her December rent or to put food in Rudy’s belly. She was beginning to live out
a Christmas miracle, and everything in her knew it.

Daniel passed a spreadsheet to Merry. She
accepted it readily, doing her best not to betray the fact that it was the
first one she’d ever been called upon to use. As lean as things had been, Merry
knew that she could make a little go a long way, so she tried not to let all
the numbers intimidate her as much as those things normally did.

“So, within this budget, you’re
pre-approved to sign for incremental withdrawals,” Daniel explained. “Whenever
you need another advance, you’ll turn in the receipts from the previous one to
access the next. We can arrange a deposit for anything you need to outsource.”

“Outsource?” Merry asked.

“Like a caterer for Christmas dinner, or
if you could throw a little party on Christmas Eve—maybe some extended family,
a few friends. Mainly, it would be for the kids.”

Merry nodded, jotting it all down on a
notepad. “Do you know what they want?”

Daniel paused. For the first time, she
saw a break in Daniel’s otherwise completely professional demeanor.

“Actually, Christmas, it... Well, it was
more Amanda’s department,” Daniel confessed. “So, hopefully you can burrow into
those mysterious adolescent minds of theirs and figure it all out. Don’t skimp,
but don’t go crazy. No cars or computers or personal TVs. The last thing I want
to do is to spoil them. Just a simple, nice, old-fashioned family Christmas.
Sound do-able to you?”