The Christmas Lamp (7 page)

Too many financial obstacles to overcome
. Roni closed her eyes to a sudden light-headedness. She’d known — or sensed — that this would be the outcome of Jake Brisco’s tinkering, but the knowledge still rocked her.

“Just give the phone to …” Judy strode past, rolling her eyes at Roni. “Anabelle, give the phone to your older sister. No — don’t — Anabelle!
Put
the babysitter on the phone. Right now.
No
. Right now! Is that the sound of the stool flushing? Where’s the cat?” She covered the mouthpiece with her hand. “Have you ever had a day when you wished you could volunteer for a one-way ticket to Mars?”

Absently nodding, Roni continued to the mayor’s office with papers requiring his signature.

This was one of them.

6

Jake reached to switch off the radio. Outside the window, the grass actually looked greener than it had been yesterday. Radio and TV weathermen had been ecstatic about the continuing warm spell. Old-timers were grumbling that “winters weren’t like this when I was a kid.” His eyes searched a clear blue sky for change, but the heavens looked more like May than December.

Turning back to his desk, he studied the miniature town model he’d started constructing. During a brainstorm one morning, he had driven to Branson and visited a couple of craft shops. Before anyone else came to work he had brought in everything he needed for a town model.

“Jake?” He turned when he heard Roni’s summons.

She stood in the doorway, frowning. “The ice rink committee is back again. Do you want to talk to them?”

Actually he didn’t. This meeting wouldn’t be any more pleasant than the last one. “Send them in.”

She turned, and then turned back. “Perhaps if you took money from the snow removal fund and temporarily shifted it to pay for the rink …”

“And when it snows and we need money for road clearance?”

“It might not; we’ve had many years when we got only a smattering.” She stepped closer. “This year is starting out very mild. It wouldn’t be that hard to move the money. The rink would bring in revenue that could go back into the street maintenance fund.”

Shaking his head, he sat down at his desk. “Borrow from Peter to pay Paul.”

She grinned. “I haven’t heard that old phrase since Mom died.”

“It’s one of Grandma’s favorites.” Reaching for a ledger, he scanned the columns. Gravel, ice melt, snowplows, gasoline, manpower. There were ample amounts allotted to cover several good snowfalls, but his job wasn’t to move checkers. He was there to balance the long-term budget, not gamble on climate patterns. The weather could turn in a matter of hours. He pitched the book on his desk. “No can do, Roni. The rink is out this year.”

Her crestfallen expression didn’t help his mood. When she turned on her heel and left, he sat back, steeped his fingers, and studied the miniature town laid out before him. Days like today made him wish that he had followed his dream and remained in the air force. Flying was his love, not spoiling the holidays for a pretty, brown-eyed woman who, if only for a moment, made him consider the cockamamie idea of taking money from snow removal to provide an ice rink.

The committee appeared, and he mentally armed himself for another shoot-out. If their stormy expressions meant anything, he would need a bigger gun.

Around five thirty, Roni glanced up to see Jake leaving his office. The committee had taken up half of his day arguing and he was behind on his paperwork, but the rink was out for this year. The cancellation fee would be minimal compared to the construction itself.

He approached, yawning. “Are you working late too?”

She nodded without glancing up from the computer. “End of the month reports.”

She finished the report and pushed a key. In the back room the sound of a printer filled the office.

“Done?”

Gathering her purse and keys, she smiled. “All through. I’ll lock up.”

“Do you have time to grab a burger with me?”

“Can’t. Mimsy is waiting for her dinner, and I need to check on Ed.”

“Ed?”

“My elderly next-door neighbor. If I don’t watch him closely, he won’t eat properly.”

“So, we feed Mimsy and Ed and then we’ll feed ourselves.” He knew he wasn’t high on her list of preferred dinner company, but she was a rational thinker. She knew that his decisions were sound.

He trailed behind her, flipping off overhead lights.

“Leave the one on in the mayor’s office for a nightlight,” she reminded.

After she locked up they started toward her home. “What about your car?”

“I’ll get it later. How late does the café stay open?”

“It closed half an hour ago. Do you like Chinese?”

“It’s okay.”

“Mr. Wong’s always open late.”

By now they were passing Steil’s Hardware. Jake suddenly paused, apparently caught by the window display. “Look at that.”

Roni’s eyes fixed on the leg lamp, pleased that he’d noticed. “Yeah. I’ve been admiring it, but it’s outrageously expensive.”

Jake bent closer to the plate glass window. “Expensive? Seems reasonable to me. I would pay more than thirty bucks in Springfield for a set of sockets like that.”

Sockets
. She might have known.

The mild weather made for a nice outing, but then, Jake noticed that when he was around Roni life tended to be nice. She was good company, fun to be with, even though she made his job more difficult.

A large, black-and-yellow-striped cat waited while Roni opened the back door. With a meow, the feline headed for her. Scooping up the cat, she hugged him warmly, and then set him back on the floor. “I’ll only be a minute.” She reached for a can opener and opened a small tin of cat food.

Jake’s eyes roamed the homey kitchen. It had been years since he’d been in a house that reminded him of his early childhood. Linoleum on the floor, a green Formica table, and vinyl covered chairs; live plants sitting in the kitchen window over the sink. African violets. He’d seen the same plants on his mom’s windowsill. Through the doorway he spotted the front room with overstuffed sofas and chairs. Fringed table lamps and family pictures lined the wood-burning fireplace. He’d stepped back into a simpler era, a time when groceries were delivered to your back door and young boys on bicycles threw newspapers onto your lawn. Neighbors sat on front porches at night and visited. He imagined that if he sniffed he could smell pork chops sizzling on a skillet.

“Ready to go?” Roni’s voice broke into his musings.

“Ready. The cat’s food is starting to look good.”

Laughing, she switched a light on over the sink, and they left the way they’d come in, through the back door.

“We’ll check on Ed and then be on our way.”

“I’m right behind you.”

Later, over steaming plates of kung pao chicken, Roni felt the day’s tension draining away. She wanted to be mad at the man sitting across from her. Chair-kicking furious. After all, he was stealing her Christmas. But she couldn’t summon the emotion. He was only doing what he’d been hired to do, and she didn’t envy his work or his judgments.

“This is good,” he said, reaching for the soy sauce. “What’s with the owner’s Spanish accent?”

“Mr. Wong? He watches old westerns. Some days he talks in Spanish, other days he calls you pilgrim, imitating John Wayne. He’s delightful.”

He replaced the lid on the bottle. “Hey, I have to ask you something.”

She knew the question would have nothing to do with her opinions about the recent cuts; she’d found that out the hard way. “Shoot.”

“Okay, pilgrim. Is it just me, or has one of us grown two heads?”

“It’s you,” she confirmed. “You’ve only been in town a few days, and you’re acquiring quite a … shall we say, reputation?”

“Bad guy,” he surmised.

“If we rule out Grinch and Scrooge, I suppose bad guy will be adequate.” She bit into a crab rangoon. “Though I’ve pointed out to several people that it was the town’s mistake hiring you before Christmas.”

“The theory being that after Christmas I couldn’t touch tradition?”

“Not until next year.”

“But this year, Nativity would have its holiday.”

She thoughtfully studied her plate. “I know we seem very shallow and tied to tradition.”

“I hadn’t thought much about it, but every look you send my way accuses me of being a calloused, heartless management analyst.”

She smiled without looking up. “I haven’t openly accused you.”

Roni was a tough one to figure out. From Jake’s observations, he figured she valued convention as much as, if not more than, the other towns people, but yet she gave him the least flak. Grandma’s earlier phone conversation drifted through his mind.
You’ ll do what you must, Jake.

Yes, like Grandpa he’d do his job with the most sensitivity possible, but he would do his job.

It was past ten when Jake walked Roni home, and Nativity’s streets were empty. “Is the town always this quiet?”

“Business will pick up after Saturday’s parade. Santa comes to town that night.” Last year Earl Bentley’s grandson parachuted in by air, dressed as the jolly old man with a bag full of toys strapped to his back. The children’s round eyes were more rewarding than the small payment the town had given him.

They passed the community church where Roni attended. “Do you sing?”

“Only in the shower,” he admitted. “Why?”