Tina Yeager's Blog, page 10

The Snow Angel, Part Twelve

Meg slid the scissor edge along the packing tape and popped the seals free. As she unfolded the boxtop flaps, dust rose to dance where smoke once flowed through the air.

“See it!” Angela wriggled her fingers toward the crinkle of packing tissue as Mrs. Standover drew out the long-latent gift.

“Is there a note?” Amber put a spoon in her baby’s hand, as a distraction.

Babygirl dropped the spoon on the table and squirmed, reaching for the the shimmering box as Meg lifted it from the package. The gold-embossed image of a luminary bag adorned the front.

Meg embraced the box. “It doesn’t need one.” She bit her tear-dripping lip. Flashed her gaze up at the dusty popcorn ceiling. “My angel-girl … so wise, so big for your tiny little frame. How did you know?”

Amber handed her a napkin. “Feel like talking about it?”

She accepted the tissue substitute, streaking her face with its fuzzy residue. “Her last hours, I just squeezed her icy hands. So limp and bony, all the life had drained out and left them blue. I held onto them anyway. I had to hold onto something while I strained to hear the fading wheeze of her breath. No amount of begging could keep her beside me.

“‘I can’t do this,’ I told her.

“Her chest rose slowly as she drew in enough breath to answer me. ‘Remember telling me I had to go through what hurts in order to heal? You have to do that now, Momma.’

“‘I don’t want this day. Or any beyond it where you aren’t there.’ Despite having sworn myself to wait until she didn’t see it, I cried.

“When I apologized, she said, ‘So tired of that word. Don’t be sorry. Live. Care. Do good things like …’ She had to catch her breath, and I was feeling sorry in spite of her words. In her wheezing was something about ‘together,’ but I didn’t want to ask her to repeat it. My angel’s lungs rose less and less each moment.

“I sobbed again. Tried to stifle it, but stopped a syllable short of an apology. I leaned over and kissed her forehead. As I drew back to look at her face, her lashes fluttered. I mumbled to myself, ‘I don’t know what to do.’

“I almost jumped at the sound of her weak, croak. I hadn’t expected her to respond at all. What she said … that’s what’s got my hair standing on end right now.

“‘It’ll come to you,’ she said. ‘Already sent it.'”

Amber’s tongue burned dry, alerting her to the extended gape of her mouth. She covered it with her hand. Gasped a pasty, rasping reference to God.

Babygirl tugged her mom’s earlobe. “Door!”

The chime rang a third time. Both women blinked out of their stupor and headed to the foyer.

Meg opened the front door.  “Oh, Chuck. Did the smoke interrupt your meal today?”

Wearing a cardigan, the neighbor scuffed his loafers on the stoop and rubbed his hands together. “No, but I do smell a little tinge of it now that you mention it. Did you have a fire?”

“Down!” Babygirl shoved Amber’s arm.

She bounced sideways to appease her. On the first sway, she caught sight of a man approaching in his bathrobe and slippers. “Is that Gerald?”

Chuck glanced back as several other neighbors filed in behind him on the walkway. “Yep. There’ll be a few more yet, I suppose.”

“What’s this about?” Mrs. Standover cocked her head. “Look, I know the lawn needs work, but–“

“No, no.” Chuck raised a palm. “You’ve got it all wrong. This isn’t about your lawn, or smoke, or any other complaint.”

“We made a promise,” Gerald said.

“To whom?” Meg rose on her tiptoes, scanning the crowded yard. She teetered off balance a bit. Laid her now-trembling hands on her cheeks. “Angela, of course.”

“You okay?” Amber sidled closer and laid a hand on her shoulder.

Meg nodded.

“She made us promise to come see you at twelve-thirty today.” Chuck shrugged. “Said you would need us to help you with something.”

“And I thought it was just a gift for her father and me …”

Amber smiled and shared a gaze with her hostess. “Wise, and then some. Your tiny little girl sent dreams to live in a future she couldn’t reach.”

Meg cleared her throat and addressed the neighbors. “I’ll need more luminary bags in order to cover the neighborhood. And if any of you are up for the task, we will have a lot of work to do beyond the Christmas lights. Something big is starting here today. Angela wanted her heart to live on through us.”

“Now faith is confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see.  This is what the ancients were commended for. By faith we understand that the universe was formed at God’s command, so that what is seen was not made out of what was visible. …  These were all commended for their faith, yet none of them received what had been promised, since God had planned something better for us so that only together with us would they be made perfect” (Hebrews 11:1-3, 39-40).

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The Snow Angel, Part Eleven

Amber shifted Babygirl to her other hip as Meg opened the front door.

A deer-stalker capped fellow turned on the sidewalk. He clutched a package against his navy blue coat. “Oh, you’re home.”

“And you’re not the fire department.” Meg stepped out of the smoky haze onto the threshold. She glanced over her shoulder. “Can you push that open a bit wider?”

“Sure.” After nudging the door against the foyer wall, she followed Meg into the brisk air.

The man glanced from the package label toward the homeowner. “It’s addressed to a Megan Standover. She here?”

“That’s me.” She accepted the package, turning it side to side. “I didn’t order anything, though.”

“Who do you work for?” Amber stretched her neck and peered beyond the stranger. A small pickup truck idled at the curb. “Who delivers on Thanksgiving day?”

He pushed his dark-rimmed higher on his nose. “Normally, I wouldn’t on a holiday. But this was a very special request. The young lady ordered it over a year ago and insisted we bring it today.”

Meg’s body trembled, the package quaking in her hands. Her lips parted, quivering a moment before she uttered her question. “W-who ordered this?”

“She looked so frail.” The man gazed away, in the direction of vanishing smoke wisps. “But still so cheerful and determined. I couldn’t say no. I don’t think anybody could’ve refused that girl, especially after she walked all that way to get to our shop. She paid in small bills and coins. Put your name on the order. I don’t recall if she told me hers.”

Meg swallowed hard. Her uneven fingernails dug into the craft paper wrapping. “What is it?”

He shook his head. “The girl insisted I only say two things at delivery. First, it is important someone open it. And second, follow the instructions.”

“Look, Sherlock.” Amber strode past the grieving mother into a damp, icy gust. “Put it together. Can’t you see why this is hard for her?”

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t forgive myself if I betrayed her wishes.” He retreated to the driveway. “If you could’ve seen her eyes.”

“Hey, wait, you!” She pursued him a few steps. Babygirl shivered, so Amber halted to wrap both arms around her and draw her soft, fleshy form against her chest.

“Everyone’s always saying they’re sorry.” Meg’s sorrow-cracked voice floated toward her on the wind. “Never mind. I get it. I’ve faced that little girl’s eyes. Begging to walk the neighborhood in the snow.” She shuffled back up the walkway. “Come on in. Get your little angel out of the cold.”

Angela wriggled a hand free and grabbed at a swirling white fleck. “Snow?”

“Yes, Babygirl.” She shuffled inside after the hostess, keeping a few yards’ distance.

The package thudded onto the dining room table.

Angela opened her palm and pouted. “All gone.”

“Shh!” Amber sat with Babygirl and took her tender palm.

“Snow gone.”

She pointed to the wet spot on Angela’s hand. “See? Not gone, but it’s water now.”

Meg turned her gaze from the mystery package to her guests. Her faint words glided like the final wisps of smoke vanishing from the air. “Go ahead and eat.” She ambled out of the room. “Be right back.”

“Where are you going?”

“Have to get something,” she said from beyond the doorway. “To open the package.”

“‘What no eye has seen,

    what no ear has heard,

and what no human mind has conceived’—

    the things God has prepared for those who love him—

these are the things God has revealed to us by his Spirit.

The Spirit searches all things, even the deep things of God” ( 1 Corinthians 2:9-10).

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The Snow Angel, Part Ten

Citrus, thyme, and basil scents wafted from the kitchen. Angela wriggled on her mother’s lap to grab a handful of the umber tablecloth.

“No, no, babygirl.” Amber scooted back from the table’s edge and drew her child close. She raised her chin and yelled over the clattering sounds in the adjacent room. “You sure I can’t help you with something, Mrs. Standover?”

“It’s Meg. I’ve got it, but thanks for the offer.” The hostess emerged from the kitchen bearing an oblong platter. She blew a stray wisp of gray hair  from her eyes and set the steaming plate of sliced turkey breast in the center of the table. “Help yourself. I’ll be right back with the sides.”

Dusty brown and gold leaves nested around a plastic jack-o-lantern centerpiece. Bare ends of the wiry vine jutted into the corner of the pumpkin’s faded grin. Beyond the makeshift decorations, a sole place setting lay on the other side of the table. Wrinkles stretched across the cloth toward five empty chairs.

“Dat!” Angela pointed at the bowl of mashed potatoes as Meg laid it beside the turkey.

“She must be hungry.” Adding a dish of can-shaped cranberry sauce to the table, she wiped her hands on her tattered apron. “Really, go ahead and start.”

 

“Aren’t you expecting anyone else?”

Meg hesitated. “Edward is finishing up a project at the office. Quiet there today, he said. Family’s at my sister’s, but we …”

Amber bit the inside of her lip. “I’m sorry. It’s–”

“No, please. Don’t say you’re sorry.”

An acrid odor drifted into the air.

Meg gasped. She spun and raced into the kitchen. “The rolls!”

Amber rose, hoisting Babygirl onto her hip, and followed her. The gaping oven spewed thick, ashy breath. Smoke poured across the room to blanket the ceiling. An alarm squealed.

Angela clapped her hands over her ears.

A dark cloud veiled Meg’s face as she whisked a cookie sheet toward the back door. “Can you get the handle?”

Amber opened the French doors and carried Babygirl onto the back patio.

“No!” Angela shouted at the house. “Be ki-yet!”

“Shh. I know.” Amber kissed her round, petal-soft cheek and swayed the baby on her hip.

“Ruined.” Meg tromped across the dead, weedy lawn and slung the charred bread into a brick-rimmed fire pit. With a clang, she slammed the cookie sheet onto the grate covering the pit. She raised her voice above the sound of the alarm. “It’s all ruined!”

“No, the turkey looked perfect.” Amber approached. After shifting the baby, she patted Meg’s shoulder. “No one really cares about the rolls, anyway. It’ll be fine.”

“But it won’t. Nothing will ever be fine. She’s gone.” Hair stuck to her blotched, tear-streaked cheeks. “My perfect angel is never coming home again.”

“I–I–” She blinked back the threat of her own flood of sorrow. “Maybe we should go. I don’t want to intrude.”

Plump fingers spread wide, Angela kissed her own hand and pressed it onto Meg’s cheek. She then patted her mommy’s face with another kiss.

“What a sweet girl. That’s one reason I invited you.” She dried her face with her sleeve. “You’re not intruding at all. But, I don’t want you to stay if it’s uncomfortable.”

The alarm halted. Angela clapped. “Good job!”

They ambled into the house. “I’ll help open windows. Clear the air.”

The doorbell rang.

Meg waved her to follow. “How about helping me start with the front door? Maybe a cute baby will spare me from a bad tempered lecture from the fire department.”

“Share with the Lord’s people who are in need. Practice hospitality … Rejoice with those who rejoice; mourn with those who mourn. Live in harmony with one another” (Romans 12:13, 15-16).

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The Snow Angel, Part Nine

Hickory and poultry scents wove through the neighborhood’s brisk air as Amber lifted her cherub-faced daughter from the car. White flecks floated aimlessly on the breeze, dotting their cheeks with chilly kisses.

A flake landed on Angela’s long, dark lashes. “Whassat?” She blinked at her mother and pointed a chubby finger at the swirling flurries.

Amber adjusted the tot on her hip. She extended her gloved hand to catch a few flakes and showed them to the gaping eleven month-old. “Snow, babygirl. We’re getting it early this year. Usually doesn’t come until after Thanksgiving.”

Angela poked at the vanishing snowflakes on her mommy’s hand and gasped.

“Must be a special Turkey day tomorrow.” She tapped her daughter’s button-nose. “Let’s get inside before it gets any colder out here.”

Shifting the baby bag and purse on her shoulder, she turned toward the front walk. A gust of wind snatched the papers tucked into her purse. Yellow forms tumbled down the driveway.

“Oh, no!” Clutching her tot, she shuffled after the medical release forms. “I don’t want to have to get those shot records all over again.”

The wind swept the pages across the street. Amber chased them. She hustled as fast as her jostling load would allow. Past six homes with blanketed shrubs and chimneys curling with smoke. The papers flattened against a row of dead bushes in front of a familiar-looking home. She picked her steps carefully up the unkempt walkway. Dried grass and leaves crunched under a layer of frost. Pots lay strewn along the stoop. Skeletal plant remains clung inside a few dish gardens. The home bore all the marks of vacancy until the splintering door creaked open.

A wispy-haired woman, grayed beyond her middle age, stepped outside. Uncovered head hanging as she crossed the threshold, she glanced up with surprise at Amber and recoiled a bit. “Oh. I was just fetching the mail. Wasn’t expecting visitors.”

Amber held out the forms. “I was chasing runaway vitals.” She studied the woman’s eyes. So familiar. Then, she fought the urge to gasp. This was Angela’s house. Averting her gaze, she stuffed the papers deep inside her purse. “Sorry to bother you. Um, on such a hectic day.”

“Not at all. I’d rather it were hectic, I think. Instead, it’s very quiet. Like all the sounds drifted away from us after she …” The woman sighed. She blinked her watery eyes. Her quivering lips stretched into a weak grin as she marched toward them. “This must be the child you were pregnant with last year. What a lovely girl.”

“Thank you.” She leaned toward her baby girl. “Can you wave at the nice lady?”

After missing her hand with a dramatic kissy sound, the tot thrust her arm toward the grieving neighbor. “Mwa!”

“Aw, she’s adorable.” The woman lighted a hand on her chest. “What’s her name?”

“I …” Amber cleared her throat. “I named her after the little girl who saved me from darkness. The most inspiring person I’ve ever met. Her name reminds me to be the best mother I can.”

The woman covered her nose and mouth with both hands. Sobs choked through. Tears streamed down her cheeks.

“I’m so sorry.” Amber backed a few steps.

“No, please!” The woman reached toward her. “You have no idea how much this means to me. Would you …” She shook her head. “No, you surely have plans for the holiday.”

“Oh, yes. We’re cooking up a frozen turkey dinner.” Amber flashed a sardonic grin and leaned forward for emphasis. “In the actual oven, even.”

“If you’d consider joining us, it’d really be a treat to have you here.” She wiped the tears from her cheeks.

Amber shrugged. “I’d love to, but I don’t really have anything to bring.”

The neighbor patted the knitted cap atop Angela’s head. “Oh, you’re bringing the best part of our day.”

“Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God. For just as we share abundantly in the sufferings of Christ, so also our comfort abounds through Christ” ( 2 Corinthians 1:3-5).

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What’s More Delicious than a Writers Conference?

Hello, my beloved readers!

I’m taking a short break from The Snow Angel, but there’s a scrumptious reason. Richer than French brie. More savory than aged, rosemary-garlic crusted filet mignon. Sweeter than chocolate (although I plan to bring Lindt truffles for my favored editors and workshop attendees).

Hungry yet?

I hope so. If you share my appetite for writing, maybe you’ll join me. Voracious readers and writers will gather next week for one of my favorite delights–a writers conference. We will devour craft insights and indulge in mutual encouragement. Conferences gather us around the spiritual table to partake of abundant blessings in the company of like-minded disciples. I look forward to sharing time with comrades I’ve known for years as well as the opportunity to make new friends.

If you’d like to learn more about our delicious menu, watch the series of video interviews with Florida Christian Writers Conference faculty. The insights and encouragement come free from those teaching at next week’s smorgasbord. I’ll include a link to mine, so you can see what I’ve cooked up for my workshop guests.

I hope to see you there!

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The Snow Angel, Part Eight

Instruments clattered. Latex gloves and masked faces loomed beyond the blur of Amber’s squinted eyes. She groaned louder and deeper with each increasing, merciless cramp torquing her womb.

Amber gripped the sweat drenched hospital sheet at her sides. Pain clenched her abdomen, searing through her entire body with horrific intensity. Every other muscle tightened, while her jaws spread wide. A guttoral sound erupted from her mouth. The growling scream filled the room and threatened to burst the fluorescent bulbs glaring overhead.

Her pulse throbbed at the inside of her eardrums.

Muffled voices swirled in the torrent around her. “Almost … Push!”

Heels digging into the stirrups, her legs thrust with such a desperate press she might stand upright on them. A searing pain ripped at her tissue and drilled through her core, triggering a gut-wrenching screechy roar.

Energy rippled away from her. Amber’s trembling body collapsed against the stiff mattress. Another cry rose from near her quivering legs. Strident, yet smallish and plaintive.

Heaving, panting, she shifted her weak, damp shoulders upward. Semi-sitting on the inclined bed, she accepted the ruddy, squealing life and cradled it in her arms.

“It’s a girl,” the nurse said.

Amber caressed tender, purplish fingers. Tiny. Perfect. “Such a blessing to meet you, sweet one.”

The nurse asked, “Do you have a name?”

Amber stroked a petal-soft nose and pointed chin. The blush-skinned, wriggling infant turned slightly toward her. As if snuggling into her chest. Spasms and weariness faded under an exhilarating rush of tingles over Amber’s skin. Her fatigued cheeks burst into a broad grin. “I know only one name for such a perfect little girl–Angela.”

 

“In fact, this is love for God: to keep his commands. And his commands are not burdensome,  for everyone born of God overcomes the world. This is the victory that has overcome the world, even our faith” (1 John 5:3-4).

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The Snow Angel, Part Seven

 Intense pain seized her abdomen. Amber doubled over and staggered backward, knees faltering. Cradling her womb with one hand, she clutched at her neighbor’s porch column with the other. She crumpled as horrific cramps shocked her entire core.

“Are you okay?” The neighbor caught her before she hit the deck. Arm around her back, he lifted her up to a semi-standing position. As she leaned against his side, he yelled through the front door of his bungalow. “Beatrice!”

Hurried footsteps rushed toward them. Amber groaned. Not now. She struggled to reclaim her footing.

A round-faced woman rushed in. Pom-poms shimmied on the cuffs and hem of her fluffy red-sweater. Crinkles formed around her eyes as she studied Amber’s face. “Are you in labor, miss?”

She sucked in shallow breaths between her words, barely able to get the sentence out. “Not … due … for … another… week.”

The man released his grip on her arm. “It’s our next door nei–“

Amber cried out as another contraction clenched her abdomen. A gush of warm liquid flooded down her legs. She bent forward as the fluid soaked her socks and puddled around her feet.

“Grab some towels, George!” Beatrice grasped Amber’s arm and elbow, supporting her. “We need to get her to the hospital.”

****TO BE CONTINUED****

“It is a sin to despise one’s neighbor, but blessed is the one who is kind to the needy” (Proverbs 14:21).

“Finally, all of you, be like-minded, be sympathetic, love one another, be compassionate and humble” ( 1 Peter 3:8).

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The Snow Angel, Part Six

 The damp scent of snow tingled at Amber’s nose as she waddled across the parking lot. Handbag clutched tight, she hugged it as a shield over the drafty opening of her coat. The buttons no longer met to close over her swollen belly.

The drugstore manager yelled out of the door. “Don’t bother calling. You won’t be on our schedule for at least two weeks, if not longer.”

Without glancing back at her, Amber drew out her car keys. “Okay.”

She hustled the door of her hatchback open and settled into the driver’s seat. Sighed. As she turned the ignition, she glanced in the rearview mirror. Her expression caught her by surprise, halting her shift to reverse. Instead of a scowl, she smiled. Two weeks ago, she would have responded to the loss of her only income with fury and despair.

Amber pulled out of the drugstore lot and settled against the seat back. Shoulders relaxed, she tilted her head. It made no sense, this nonchalance about the job. As she drove into her neighborhood, her heart drummed. But she wasn’t anxious about paying bills, or other logical concerns. All she could think about was finding Angela.

In the past week, she’d discovered three neatly wrapped gifts on her front stoop. A handmade angel pendant came first. Then, the crocheted booties. Each time, she hurried out to scan the sidewalk and found only the imprint of a snow angel on her lawn. Even when she lifted a still-warm box of cookies from the mailbox yesterday, the girl who left them was nowhere to be seen.

Her gloves squeaked against the steering wheel as she tightened her grip. She’d promised herself to speak with Angela this week, before Christmas. A gift she couldn’t afford to withhold, she’d declared to the mirror. She determined to transform from a troll into a decent mother to her unborn child.

She tapped the radio button to end its season of silence.

Orchestral music and the voices of an international choir flowed through the dusty speakers. “Angels bending near the earth to touch their harps of gold. Peace on the earth, good will toward men …”

Amber found herself humming along to the forgotten words. Glissando and crescendo washed over the dingy car’s interior, and made it seem a bit brighter somehow. Even under the gray cover of wintry twilight.

The announcer broke in. “It’s Christmas Eve, so we’re sharing our favorites …”

As she approached her bungalow, she drove past a series of porches with luminaries glowing along the front stoop. Brightly lit pathways spangled the neighborhood. Amber laid a hand on her chest and batted her teary eyes at the starry scene of the community. When she turned in to her driveway, she gasped at the glowing bags lining her front walk. She hustled out of the car to inspect them.

Flameless tealights glowed inside the perforated lunch sacks, set every twelve inches from the drive to the stoop. She hustled along the sidewalk, past the angelic calling card on her lawn. Gone already? With a glance at her blanket-veiled window, she shuffled away from her hermit cavern. No, she could not let Christmas go by without a word to the snow angel child.

Clutching her coat in front of her, she marched up the neighbor’s steps and rapped at the door.

A paunch-middled fellow with a salt-and-pepper beard answered. “May I help you, miss?”

“I’m sorry to bother you on Christmas Eve, but have you seen Angela? The girl who–“

“Oh, of course. We all know Angela Standover. Poor, sweet child.” He pushed his spectacles higher on his nose and leaned through the doorway. With a wide, sweeping gesture, he pointed to the expanse of luminary-lined walkways. “You can see where she left off. That last snow angel across the street. We–several of us neighbors, that is–helped pick up the rest after the ambulance took her. She made us promise.”

She echoed the word, hoping there was some mistake.  “Ambulance?” As her numb lips formed the syllables, it didn’t feel real.

“Even though her family expected this, they’re still devastated, of course.” He squinted at her. “Oh, you didn’t know. Angela has struggled with cancer for several years now. Last month, Mrs. Standover told my wife that the doctors had given her only a few weeks.”

Frigid air gusted into Amber’s gaping mouth. She stammered, “But … but, why would they let her do all this out in the cold?”

“Some kids would choose to visit Disneyland for their last wish. Nobody’d blame them for it. But this is what Angela wanted. To spread kindness and joy every day, to give until she had nothing left.” He sniffed, wiping under the rim of his glasses.

“Still, wouldn’t her parents have made her stay home?” Amber shook her head. This couldn’t be true. He must’ve overestimated the seriousness of the child’s condition.

He drew back his head and raised a brow. “You have met Angela, haven’t you? She’s the most persistent child I’ve ever seen.”

Her eyes welled with tears. “Is she … I mean, please tell me she’s not …” She couldn’t speak it. Couldn’t see his expression through the blur.

“I don’t think so. Not yet. But, she probably doesn’t have long.”

“What hospital? Did they say?” Amber clasped her hands to her cheeks and staggered back, nearly stumbling off the porch. “I’ve got to find her.”

****TO BE CONTINUED****

“Show me, Lord, my life’s end

    and the number of my days;

    let me know how fleeting my life is” (Psalm 39:4).

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The Snow Angel, Part Five

Amber shuffled through her birthday cards, scanning the well wishes until the words blurred together. A hot tear spilled down her frigid cheek. She stacked them on the end of the kitchen counter. Reading the rest would have to wait.

She shuffled back to the entrance and re-tacked the draft-blocking coverlet over the door. The hefty, black bag lingered beside the mat. Still unwrapped, the gift tarried in the drafty foyer like an unwelcome guest. Although she had gradually moved all the canned goods to the pantry, the trash bag remained.

Amber grunted as she lowered her bulbous shape to the floor. The knotted handle-ties resisted efforts from her numb fingertips. She finally worked the drawstrings open and unpeeled a hulking, vent-grilled space heater. The worn lettering on the control panel suggested years of use. As she freed the base from its plastic trappings, a folded piece of notebook paper fell from the back.

Scrolled in raspberry-scented marker, the note read, “Sorry it isn’t new. I used it in my room, since I get cold so easy. I won’t be needing it much longer. Thought you could use it more. Love, Angela.”

Amber shook her head. “I hope she got a new heater. Otherwise, both of us have been freezing while the heater sat here. I’m such a troll.”

As she wrangled the heater into the living room, her mind whirled. Apologies. Gratitude. And how to make amends with the willowy child whose heart outweighed her. She plugged the device into the wall and sat on the chair facing it. With a tap at the control, the gift chirped at her. Deep inside the grill, an inner glow mounted. Warmth spread across her face and reached around her arms in a soothing embrace. Whatever she managed to say, she must make a point of speaking with that precious girl soon.

****TO BE CONTINUED****

“The generous will themselves be blessed,

    for they share their food with the poor.” — Proverbs 22:9

 scanned the fresh blanket of snow

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The Snow Angel, Part Four

A cramp seized Amber’s belly. Pain shot through her core. Her knees crumpled, but she  clutched the counter in either side of her register. The life within her writhed. Gut, hips, and low back burned all at once. Not yet. She grit her teeth through the vice of tension. Exhaled. Steadied herself.

“Are you okay?”

“It’ll pass.” I hope. Amber lifted her gaze from the register to focus on the antler-crowned customer.

Sleigh bells jingled from the woman’s felt headgear. “How often does this happen?”

The store manager emerged from the far aisle and glared at the long checkout line.

“It’s not anything to worry over. I’m fine.” The pressure eased enough for her to straighten her posture a bit.

A sharp-jawed fellow stood next in line, rapping the counter. “Then there’s no reason we should wait here all night, is there? Let’s step it up. I got other things to do today.”

Amber forced a smile and resumed scanning the items. “I’m sorry for your wait, sir.”

She handed reindeer-lady her bag. Exchanged the normal pleasantries.

The manager raised a brow as she ambled toward the register. “Is there a problem, here?”

A plump woman leaned out of her position in queue. Her diamond earring hoops sparkled as she tossed her chin. “Seems you hired a sloth. I’d like to get out of the parking lot before Santa comes next week.”

“My apologies, ma’am. This isn’t our usual wait time.” She darted a glance at Amber. “My new hire and I will both work through our breaks to help you until closing. Next three in line come to the cosmetics counter for check out.”

The angular-faced man drummed his fingers on the top of the register. Checked his Rolex throughout the transaction. “You should pay me back for my time.”

Bile splashed into her mouth. She tucked his receipt in with the purchase. He snatched the bag.

“Have a–“

The last of her farewell hit his back as he stormed out of the drug store.

Diamond hoop lady stepped up next. Slammed her Coach satchel and a bottle of sale-priced perfume on the counter. “Think you can handle this?”

She bit her lip. “I’ll do my best …” Not to vomit on your designer bag.

A relentless stream of shoppers flooded the counter. Despite green and candy striped garb, maleficence soured their faces. She passed the hours naming these holiday goblins. Rude-Dolph. Slayer Belles. Hag Nog.

She shuffled the last customer to the exit. Mumbled, “Have a Christmas.” Jerked the door to a close and twisted the lock.

Paper tapped on her shoulder. She turned. The manager extended a folded slip of yellow paper.

Not a birthday card.

Amber hesitated a moment. Took the paper. Unfolded its carbon-imprinted surface.

“It’s a warning. Goes on file. In the probationary period, you only get one.” The manager tightened her lips as she pointed into her employee’s face. “Next time we get a complaint, you’re fired.”

She studied the bluish tint seeping through concealer in the hollows of her boss’s eyes. The bell-trimmed decor of her uniform vest contrasted with deep wrinkles pronouncing the sag at her jowls. Elf Vader.

“Do you understand?” Vader asked.

She sighed. Nodded.

“Then I expect you here promptly at six tomorrow.”

Merciless gusts whipped at her across the parking lot as she de-iced her car’s windows. The chill burrowed deep beneath her layered clothing to root itself in the marrow of her bones. She climbed into her hatchback. Shivering complicated her attempts to settle in the driver’s seat. After coaxing the engine to a rumbling start, the fuzzy numbers on her dashboard insisted a full night’s sleep would not be possible.

Snow drifts walled the sidewalks along the city streets. An ambulance screamed by. She slowed. The child jolted within her. Not yet. Don’t have a birthday this close to Christmas, kid. Trust me.

Decades of neglect flashed through her mind. No parties with friends. A bottle-littered coffee table instead of a cake glowing with candles. And that first year of marriage brought her a single rose. A notion of romance, the promise of love, now turned to dust.

Bulges moved across her abdomen as the imminent visitor wrestled with its confinement. She took one hand from the wheel to stroke her belly. Wait. Stay in the dark as long as you can. Avoid this life and all that comes with it.

With a yawn, she turned onto her street. Colorful spots flooded the center lawn–her bungalow. Her hatchback’s tires crunched onto the frosty driveway and stopped just short of an inflated Mylar smiley face. Crisp wintry air filled her gaping mouth as she wandered through a forest of latex balloons. Anchored with weights strewn across the lawn, each ribbon bore an envelope. Tears streamed over her frigid cheeks as she plucked cards from neighbors, the postman, strangers. Near the middle of her yard lay a snow angel. The balloon next to it held a handmade string of paper dolls with wings. An inscription in blueberry-scented marker was scrawled across the center.

Li fe is a gift.

Receive and give every moment of it.

You have more to offer than you know.

–Love, Angela

****TO BE CONTINUED****

“For whoever has will be given more, and they will have an abundance. Whoever does not have, even what they have will be taken from them … The King will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’”

– Matthew 25:29,40

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