Operation Christmas (3 page)

Inside, she heard Kurt’s voice in a phone conversation. No, an argument that sounded domestic in nature. Obviously, he thought he was alone in the office. She slunk into her office quiet as a mouse and began her day.

Had she known what awaited midday, she would have had the sense to turn heel and leave behind a resignation letter.

Chapter Two

The creepy guy standing before her gave Madeleine the willies. She wanted to wipe the smirk right off Derek’s narrow face with a firm slap. Sandy hair, a splash of freckles, inappropriate glances with dark eyes that peered out from behind wire-rimmed glasses. Most would call his looks okay. He’d spoiled such thoughts for her. Her dislike grew daily and stemmed from his crude suggestion he could “service” her “no strings attached.” All she had to do was ask. Oh yeah. She’d rather have her fingernails removed. She avoided him at all costs.

Now he entered her office without the simple courtesy of a halt at the open door. Red faced, he threw his expense report on her desk. “I need my expense check today. All of it.”

“You were at last week’s meeting. Repair techs can’t claim gym memberships as a company expense. No one can.” Madeleine did her best to remain professional, knowing which red-lined expense held up his check. The report had been returned to him to see the deletion before a check would be issued.

“It’s part of my deal.”

“No one told me about your special deal. I’ll have to run this past Kurt. Do you really want that?”

“Sure. Why not? In fact, I’ll run it by him for you.” He snatched the report off her desk. “You seem to have forgotten who I am.” He turned in a huff and headed for Kurt’s office.

Oh yeah, she knew. Her boss and Derek were buddies with geek tendencies. Off-hour fun included a quest to develop the next big application to rock the computer world. Obviously, Derek didn’t know Kurt the Scrooge, who metered out her minutes. It made her curious as to whether the glue in the friendship held enough strength for Kurt to fork over the monthly expense denied everyone else publicly in a meeting.

Kurt’s friend or not, it didn’t give her the authority to pay every bogus expense that came across her desk. She might hate that part of her accountant’s job, but Kurt depended on her to be ethical. And if unfair practices loomed in her future, she’d search for a new job. Somehow her thoughts were always braver than her actions.

****

Late that night, while in deep sleep, Madeleine awoke in a tangle of bed sheets. Unwelcome sorrow gripped deep at her core. Since learning of Tiffany’s new pregnancy, she avoided talking to her best friend for fear her depression would mar her happiness. They were like sisters, really, since Madeleine didn’t have any siblings.

But that wasn’t the dream that woke her. Some stupid office dream disrupted her sleep. Now she lay in the dark rehashing the day with new anger. Derek’s gloating when Kurt approved the “special” expense had frayed her last nerve. She intuitively suspected Kurt intended to approve the expense from the moment he called the meeting to redefine allowed company expenses. Was it a test to see if she’d red-line it? Or a means to deny any other such requests from his repair techs should they catch wind of Derek’s allowance? She didn’t know what to think.

Christmas brought with it as many emotions as people. Given the lack of Christmas spirit in her office, maybe Kurt had bad childhood memories. She did know he struck out on his own at an early age, a self-made man who put himself through college on loans. And God knows she had her own Christmas dread. Planning a funeral killed Christmas two years ago so she too didn’t seem inclined to decorate the office when Kurt pooh-poohed it as silly.

Turning to her side, she forced herself to conjure up some
happy
thoughts her mother always suggested. The stranger with the manly aftershave popped into her mind. Her flicker of interest and his handsome face made it impossible to look direct into his gorgeous smile. Danny had been on her mind, and Tiffany’s new pregnancy. The stranger obviously made up the segment of the population who celebrated joyous Christmas memories.

Even last night’s dinner conversation revealed an undercurrent of tension in her family. They might be “carrying on,” but Danny’s death defined the season and overshadowed the birth of Christ. Oh, they said all the right words. Went to church and celebrated. The bakery stood a seasonal bastion of holiday cheer. Yet discord among the family members snuck into the most benign conversations over dinner.

Last night Grams had been on a roll, grumping about everything. Madeleine zoned, after venting about her disastrous day at the office. By the time she observed her mom’s red sweaty face, she didn’t know the cause—Grams’ half-heard talk about hormones or lack of them or menopause.

Her mom clarified the topic with a roll of her eyes. “I don’t care about anything except this ending.” She fanned her face with her napkin.

“Don’t complain,” Grams said over her spoon poised mid-air. Hot, homemade chicken noodle soup sent up a curl of steam. “You’ll miss those hormones one day.”

“Never.” Her mom dabbed at sweat above her brow and upper lip before applying a death grip to a piece of French bread to yank it apart.

Madeline tuned in out of curiosity, when her dad snorted.

“And so will you.” Grams jabbed a finger at her son.

“I already do.”

This caused a burst of laughter between the three that Madeleine didn’t seem privy to its meaning except it was sexual, or lack of it, by the looks on everyone’s faces. Parents were so weird. And did Grams have to bring up her parents’ sex life at the dinner table?

When the confusing recollection played out, Madeleine glanced at the clock. Too soon to get up on her day off and too cold to roam the dark house, she punched her pillow into a new shape. “Well,”
punch, punch,
“I don’t miss my libido.”

Unable to sleep, she sank limp into her bed sheets. No one fully understood. Dating held no interest. She didn’t want to feel attraction.
What about the stranger?
Flopping to her back, she adjusted the pillow again and closed her eyes.

“Ah uhmmm.” Her jaw snapped shut in hopes a Yoga mantra would lull her back to sleep. Instead, it tickled her tongue and woke her up more. The furnace kicked on with a rattle. Madeleine’s eyes flew open. She went rigid and clenched her fists. If only she could scream out in some primal cry that would wake the neighborhood and relieve the inner turmoil.

There were so many haunting wonderings that surrounded Danny’s death. The pain of knowing he died so violently, while she slept safe and unaware in her bed. Thoughtful by nature, Danny was the gentlest soul she’d ever known. He didn’t deserve to die in such a way. Yes, she knew the risks of having a husband in the Army. Yes, yes, yes. She knew, already.

So how could she betray him by feeling attraction for another man no matter if a split second encounter in the bakery door? Especially toward a stranger who knew nothing about pain and suffering or the stigma of being widowed at such a young age.

“Ah uhmmm.”

Soft noises in the kitchen below her bedroom signaled her parents were getting ready to head to the family bakery where their day began in the pre-dawn hours. She scurried out of bed and threw on a robe not wanting to be alone with her thoughts another second. The wonderful aroma of strong Colombian coffee led her nose first to the kitchen. Day-old bakery sat on the table, as usual.

“You’re up early.” Her mother turned from the gurgling coffeepot.

“Can’t sleep.” She yawned with a full stretch before slumping into a chair. Her mom slid a steaming mug of coffee in front of her. She leaned her face over the mug and closed her eyes. “Ah uhmmm.”

“What?” Her mom set a mug by her dad, who grunted his thanks.

Madeleine snickered. “What Dad said.”

“Okay.” Janet settled herself into a chair across from Madeleine. “It’s too early to decipher what’s going on here or play games. You two make my head pound.”

“She said it smelled good,” her dad offered with nonchalance.

“Oh, and now you understand our daughter better than me?”

“Apparently.” He returned his full attention to his paper.

Madeleine, not inclined to explain, avoided her mother’s eyes boring into her with questions she didn’t care to answer. Her mom’s clean short-clipped nails made a rhythmic
kachink kachink kachink
against the ceramic mug in a bid she glance her way. She lifted her gaze to stop the annoying request for eye contact. Her mom lost no time in getting in her say. “We’re making Christmas stollen and cookies today. Get dressed and come along. It will do you good to make your hands busy.”

“So my mind won’t be?”

“Don’t put words in my mouth, young lady. I mean its Saturday, and you don’t have to go to the office. So come help us make pretty Christmas cookies. This is your favorite time of year at the bakery.”

Not anymore. Not since Danny left me alone at Christmas.

Guilt tapped along her spine in tandem with the dismal thoughts streaming across her tired brain. She needed to stop or she’d be headed deep into another low of self-pity and depression. Heaven help her, now that she was up, all she wanted to do was crawl back into bed and sleep the weekend away. “No one will be here when Grams wakes.”

“Grams always gets up to an empty house.
Loves it
, she says.
Glad
we’re out of her hair so she can
drink
her coffee in
peace
.” The corners of Madeleine’s mouth quirked up to hear her mom mimic Gram’s cranky voice.

The newspaper crackled as her dad reached around his morning ritual for a perfect blind grab at his coffee mug. “I’ve plenty of hands to bake. What I need is someone to make deliveries. Stan called in sick.” He drank the hot coffee and set it on the table to turn a page of the newspaper without missing a beat.

Madeleine heaved an exaggerated sigh.

“You’d be helping me out,” Dad’s invisible voice said from behind the sports section. “Your dear old worn out Pop.”

He lowered the newspaper with a pointed gaze over the top of his glasses. “In fact, I might get all hormonal if someone doesn’t help.”

“
Bill.
” Janet’s curt reprimand held too much humor to be taken as anything more than jest.

Madeleine laughed out loud. “And here I thought you were a deaf fixture at the table. You hear every word we say, don’t you?”

“You bet.” The kitchen chair scraped the floor as he stood. “You have to listen close when you live in a house full of women or there’s no hope of survival.”

The expressive light brown eyes she inherited from him crinkled at the corners then filled with concern.

“I’m fine, Dad.”

“Are you?” He let that hang in the air, weighty enough to get his point across before springing his trap. “Good. Then get dressed and play delivery girl today.”

She groaned.

Bamboozled by her own father.

Again.

Chapter Three

Driving the bakery’s panel van always gave Madeleine’s spirit a boost. Big and substantial and nothing like the small hand-me-down Mini Cooper from Grams, who could no longer be trusted to drive without taking out a mail box or two.

With only one delivery that morning, she doubted Stan called in sick. More likely, Dad wanted to keep her the heck out of his kitchen. The last time she worked alongside him she had ruined an industrial-sized mixer full of bread dough when she over-mixed the batch. It meant making paperweights or starting over. So he made her do it over.

Hitting a patch of rough pavement, her eyes immediately went to the rearview mirror to check on the 75 tins of Christmas cookies and one Christmas stollen she was delivering. They chattered but remained in place.

The address: 29 Industrial Drive, Hartley, Illinois, happened to be in an industrial park thirty minutes from the bakery and near her office. However, this address might possibly face I-90 in an area she’d never had reason to venture.

Were the tins Christmas gifts for the employees of Arrow Tool and Die?

Somehow Madeleine expected to see cars in the parking lot not
zero
cars. She grabbed the clipboard to check the address and found a match. Noting a shoveled front walk and lights in the back warehouse area, she hurried through the bitter cold and found the entrance unlocked.

The postage stamp lobby closed in on her. The fake Christmas tree with white lights hogged most of the space. Hey, at least this office celebrated Christmas. On top, an angel held a scotch-taped placard with two words:
Operation Christmas.
She squinted to get a better look at the names and addresses of men and women in the armed services on handmade ornaments.

Her interest piqued, she rapped on the partially opened glass window. An empty desk sat on the other side of the wall. “Hello. Belmar Bakery. Delivery.” She listened and thought she heard a scraping sound from somewhere out back. Maybe she should go around to the dock. No one would hear her with the steady
punch
,
punch
,
punch
of a machine in the warehouse area.