Christmas On Nutcracker Court (14 page)

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Authors: Judy Duarte

BOOK: Christmas On Nutcracker Court
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Max didn't think he would, but he was only a dog, for Pete's sake. And it was something Max shouldn't have put off. Hopefully, Hemingway wasn't impregnating every female pooch in town.
Maggie scanned his yard and house. “I see that you haven't put up your Christmas lights yet.”
“I'm not in the mood for all the neighborhood holiday hoopla, so I won't be decorating this year.” If truth be told, he couldn't see himself doing it next year, either.
Max hadn't felt like celebrating since Karen had left him for Jack, a man he'd once thought of as a friend.
“It's too bad you don't have children,” Maggie said. “Christmas would be a lot more fun for you this year. And your dog would be a whole lot happier.”
“Well, I can't very well go out and adopt a few kids just because Hemingway—or should I say
Butch
?—isn't content to stay home and hang out with me.”
Actually, when he and Karen had first gotten married, he'd wanted kids, but she hadn't. He figured she'd change her mind eventually, but by the time having a baby and starting a family had become important to him, she'd moved on.
So it was just as well that there weren't any kids in the mix. It would have made the divorce process a lot tougher to deal with.
“It was her loss,” Maggie said.
He hadn't said anything out loud, so he had no idea what she was talking about. “Whose loss would that be?”
“Your ex-wife's. She made a mistake when she left you, although she hasn't realized that yet. But she won't come back.”
This was too weird, he thought, even though Maggie's words had a balming effect on his wounded pride. But she was clearly a couple of cracked eggs short of a dozen, so he needed to cut their conversation short and go inside, where he could slip back into a fictional tale that would be a more productive use of his time.
“You know,” Maggie said, “some people who are lonely during the holiday season find that it's a good idea if they go through the motions anyway. And most of them are happier when they focus on others rather than themselves.”
“Maybe, but sometimes people prefer being left alone,” he said.
“Do they really?”
Before he could respond or excuse himself, she turned and walked away, leaving him standing on the lawn like a scarecrow in a withered cornfield, the chill of the air and dead leaves crackling in the breeze.
 
 
Susan hadn't known what to expect when she'd entered the soup kitchen, so she'd been nervous when she'd arrived this morning. But her initial uneasiness hadn't lasted long. Everyone she'd met so far had been kind and friendly, and before long, she'd settled right in.
She was glad she'd decided to offer Rosa a hand. Of course, she hadn't realized just how much work it was to feed forty or fifty hungry people. From the moment she'd entered the door, she'd been given a job—and she'd stayed busy.
Her first task had been peeling potatoes while Rosa prepared the main dish and vegetables. They'd continued to work together for more than an hour, but when the first people had begun to arrive, they'd split up, with Susan going into the dining room to start serving meals.
Susan had expected to see a lot of riffraff, but she'd been wrong. Sure, there'd been several men who'd worn dirty, ragged clothing and appeared to be living on the streets, but they'd been both polite and appreciative. Several of the other “guests,” as Carlos called them, were senior citizens on fixed incomes. And a few of those were veterans, if the military-style hats with American Legion and VFW patches were any clue.
One of the first to arrive had been a mother with two school-age children. The woman, a brunette Carlos had called Joanie, had worn a threadbare sweater that was no match to the wintry chill outdoors. Susan had been tempted to hand over her own jacket to her, but she hadn't known how to do it without embarrassing the woman.
The children, a boy who was about nine or ten and a girl who was a couple years younger, stuck close to their mother's side, their eyes bright yet apprehensive.
Susan had been drawn to them, but for some reason, once she'd said hello and served their plates, she'd remained at her post and kept her mind on her work.
She wasn't sure why she'd felt so awkward around the small family, and after they'd taken seats, she wished she would have done or said more.
When she'd seen Carlos discreetly slip Joanie some cash, along with an invitation to attend Christmas Under the Stars in Mulberry Park next week, she'd been relieved. Yet even after the small family left, they'd remained on her mind—and on her heart.
During a lull, Susan asked Rosa, “Does Joanie come here often?”
“Not every day.”
Susan glanced at the clock on the wall, noting the time. “Did school get out early today? Or has Christmas break already started?”
“Joanie's kids are in a special program. On Mondays and Fridays they get out of class around eleven, and Joanie brings them here for lunch. Afterward, they attend some kind of family counseling session sponsored by the local battered women's shelter.”
It didn't take Susan long to read between the lines. “Do they live at the shelter?”
“Not anymore. They're in a transitional living situation now.”
“Is Joanie able to work?”
“She has a job, but it's only part-time. Her hours were cut, so even with help, they're struggling. Of course, everyone here has one problem or another.”
Susan scanned the room, realizing that all of the “guests” had sad stories to tell. And that Carlos probably knew them all. As he made the rounds, he would chat for a while with the various groups who sat together or take a seat next to one who sat alone.
But there was plenty of work to be done in the kitchen, particularly the cleanup, so Susan couldn't help voicing her annoyance to Rosa. “You know, there are more productive things he could be doing right now.”
Taking out the trash came to mind, and so did washing some of the dirty pots and pans piled up in the sink and on the counters.
“His job is to make each of the guests feel welcome. I'd do it myself, but Carlos is a lot more outgoing than I am.” Rosa shifted her weight to one leg. “We seem to be having a lull right now, so I'll go back into the kitchen and start cleaning up.”
“I've got a better idea,” Susan said. “I'll wash the pots and pans while you use the slow time to get off your feet for a while.”
“No, you stay here. It's easier if I work in the kitchen. I know where everything belongs.”
As Rosa turned to go, Susan made a quick scan of the dining room, with its long, rectangular tables providing seating for the nearly twenty people who'd come to eat. At the rear, near the restrooms, two bulletin boards trimmed with a Frosty-the-Snowman border displayed flyers that advertised the community clinic, various hotlines, as well as benefits and opportunities in the area.
The soup kitchen, Susan realized, did more than feed the hungry. And since she considered Parkside Community her home church, even though she rarely attended Sunday services herself, she couldn't help feeling proud—and a part of—what they were doing.
As the front door swung open again, she glanced up to see Maggie enter the room. She hung up her jacket on one of the hooks by the door, then made her way to the buffet line. “I'm sorry I'm late. I meant to get here sooner, but something came up. I'll need to wash my hands, but what can I do to help?”
Before Susan could suggest that she assist with the cleanup—or better yet, give Rosa a break completely—the door opened again, and a family of five entered.
“Oh, good,” Maggie whispered to Susan, “they're back.”
“Who are they?”
“The man's name is Dave. He's been out of work for two months, and his wife, Marie, is battling breast cancer.”
How sad, Susan thought, but she tried her best to put on a happy face and give them a welcoming smile.
As Susan filled the family's plates, and Maggie went to the restroom to wash her hands, a middle-aged man entered the dining room wearing a frayed dark jacket and dirty pants. His shoulders slumped when he walked, as if he was weary from carrying a load he'd yet to check in at the door.
“Hey, Jerry,” Carlos called out. “It's good to see you, buddy. How're you feeling? Did you finally get rid of that sinus infection?”
The ragged man smiled, and his shoulders seemed to straighten a bit. “It's better, Carlos. That doctor down at the free clinic prescribed some medication, and it worked like a charm.”
“Glad to hear it.”
Susan was beginning to see that Rosa had been right. Carlos had a way of making the guests feel important. He treated them as though he were the owner of a mom-and-pop-style diner, and they were friends and patrons, rather than people in line for a handout.
Jerry had no more than reached the buffet line, when Carlos called out, “I almost forgot to give you this.”
“What's that?”
Carlos crossed the room, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a plastic baggie filled with chunky brown pellets. “I've got some treats for you.”
What in the world was he doing? Giving dog food to a man who was down on his luck?
“How's ol' Rex doing?” Carlos asked.
“Just fine.” Jerry took the bag and placed it in his jacket pocket. Then he nodded toward the door. “He's waiting outside for me. I got him tied to my cart.”
The homeless man had a dog when he couldn't even support himself?
As the door swung open and shut again, Susan looked to the entrance, where an elderly couple made their way inside. Even bundled up in a bulky jacket, the man appeared short and frail. The stooped and gray woman, whom Susan assumed was his wife, walked with a cane.
After hanging their outerwear near the door, they shuffled toward the buffet line.
Susan offered them a friendly smile, just as she'd seen Carlos do.
“Good afternoon,” she said. “My name is Susan.”
“I'm Stanley Grainger, and this is my wife, Edna.”
“It's nice to meet you. Can I get you some meat loaf and mashed potatoes?”
“Yes,” Edna said. “Please.”
“Green beans, too?” Susan asked.
They both nodded.
After filling their plates, Susan pointed to the table to the left of her. “There's coffee and punch to choose from. The glasses and cups are right there. But if you'd like to take your plates and find a place to sit, I'd be happy to get your drinks and bring them to you.”
“That would be nice.” Edna smiled, softening the craggy lines on her face. “Thank you, Susan.”
“My pleasure. What can I get you to drink?”
“Punch for me,” Edna said. “I've been told to cut back on caffeine. But my husband would like coffee—black, with a little sugar.”
Stan placed a liver-spotted hand on his wife's back. “There are a couple of seats at the front table, honey. Let's take those so you don't have to walk too far.”
It was heartwarming to see the affection the elderly couple shared for each other. And Susan wondered if she and Hank would have grown close like that, if he'd lived and they'd been in their golden years.
She'd like to think that they would have.
After delivering Stan and Edna's drinks, Susan took a moment to chat with the couple, just as she'd seen Carlos doing with the other guests.
“Is it getting any warmer outside?” she asked.
The old man shook his head. “Not really. Our car isn't running, so we almost didn't come today. But fortunately, our neighbor was able to give us a ride.”
“He's a nice young man,” Edna added. “He lost his wife in a car accident nearly a year ago, but he's a good father and is trying to make the best of things this Christmas. Stan and I would like to help, but there's not much we can do. I did knit the girl a muffler and mittens with scraps of yarn I had.”
Susan wasn't sure if a child living in a coastal community in Southern California would appreciate snow wear, but she didn't want to put a damper on the spirit in which the gift had been made, so she said, “That's really sweet of you. And it's great that you have a nice neighbor. I'm glad he was able to give you a ride today.”
“So are we.” Edna picked up her paper napkin and placed it in her lap.
“By the way,” Susan told the couple. “We have apple cobbler for dessert today. Just give me a wave when you're ready for a serving, and I'll bring it to you.”
Edna reached out and patted Susan's hand. “You folks sure are good to us.”

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