A Christmas Peril (The Teacup Novellas - Book Five) (6 page)

“I can’t believe I dropped
you!” he lamented, lifting the apron over his face. “I’ll never be able to face
you again.”

I wiped the tears rolling
down toward my ears, still trying to stop my giggles.

“What on earth
‍—‍
”

Gary
scrambled to his feet at the sound of
Mother’s voice. “Oh, Mrs. Alexander, I’m so sorry!” He reached out both his
hands to lift me from the floor, our clumsy efforts regaling me all the more.

Mother folded her arms as
she leaned against the counter, but I could tell she was doing a little acting
herself. “I heard so much laughter, I just had to come see for myself. I knew
it was a mistake to let a man in uniform take over my kitchen.”

By then we were both
standing again,
Gary
wiping his hands on his apron, me
dabbing at the tears with my thumbs.

He shot Mother a nervous
smile. “Mrs. Alexander, I take full responsibility. I made the mistake of
trying to entertain your daughter, and I’m afraid I got a little carried away.”

She turned to go. “Thank
you, Lieutenant.”

“Thank you?”

Mother nodded toward the
sink. “Nice job with the dishes.” The swinging door closed behind her.

Gary
’s eyes grew wide as he whispered,
“Oops?”

As we finished the dishes,
I began to dread the moment he would leave. After a brief chat on our chilly
front porch,
Gary
tucked his cap under his arm and slowly
made his way to the top of the porch steps. “I should apologize for stealing
your entire evening. One moment I was picking up a textbook on the aisle of the
train, and the next thing I know, I’m having trouble finding a way to say goodnight
to the beautiful girl who dropped it.”

Standing at the porch
rail, I burrowed my hands into my coat pockets and glanced across the street,
suddenly shy. “I’m not sure I thanked you for doing that,
so . . . thank you.”

“No problem.” He stepped
closer. “Lucille, I can’t remember when I’ve ever had such a nice evening. I
mean that.”

“It was fun, wasn’t it?”

“Right up until your
mother found us sprawled on the kitchen floor. But otherwise? Yes. It was
definitely fun.” He paused, fingering one of the charms on my bracelet. “More
than fun.”

I smiled as my heartbeat
pounded in my ears. This was the moment I’d been dreading. Would this be
goodbye?

“I’ve got five more days
before I head back overseas. I know you’re probably busy, but I want to see you
again.”

I looked at his face,
shadowed by the light from the window. Even so, his eyes glistened so kind and
serene. “I’d like that. I really would.”

He beamed, taking my hand
in his. “Good. Tomorrow it is. Shall I just meet you at the train station in
Evanston
again?”

“No, silly. I don’t have
classes tomorrow. It’s Saturday.”

“Even better. How does
breakfast sound?”

“Even better.”

His dimples deepened as he
leaned closer. “About eight?”

“Perfect.”

“Eight it is. Goodnight,
Lucille.” Ever so gently, he pressed a kiss against my cheek.

“Goodnight,
Gary
,” I whispered.

He stepped back, put his
cap on his head, and tossed me a wink. Skipping down the steps, he whistled a
familiar tune, but I was too mesmerized to recognize it. I touched the spot on
my cheek he’d just kissed, wondering if it was all a dream.

As he turned onto the
sidewalk, he gave me a quick salute, stuck his hands in his coat pockets, and
kept whistling until he was out of sight.

Only later, as I lay my
head on my pillow did I remember the name of the song he was whistling . . .

“Let’s Fall in Love.”

Chapter 6

A lot of visitors came and went with each
passing day. Most of them were Mark’s UPS buddies, who’d stop by after work. I
knew many of them from the bowling league. They were a great bunch of guys, and
I knew it would mean the world to Mark when he found out how many came and how often
they stopped by.

Mark’s boss came every day on his lunch
hour. Every single day. I knew Mark had tremendous respect for Calvin, and now
I knew why. Calvin was a hulk of a guy who reminded me of Cuba Gooding, Jr.,
minus the comic effect. Mark told me Calvin ran a tight ship, but had a big,
big heart for his employees. He seemed genuinely concerned for me as well,
always asking if there was anything I needed. We’d chat for a few minutes, then
he’d stand beside Mark’s bed, place his hand over Mark’s, and close his eyes
offering a silent prayer. He’d leave a couple minutes later, his eyes often glistening
with tears as he gave me a fatherly hug.

Gordo came every day too and never
empty-handed. He knew Mark’s weakness for Krispy Kreme donuts, so every morning
on his way to work, he’d drop by with a dozen glazed donuts, still warm in the
box. “Just like Mark likes ‘em,” he’d say. I’d share them with the medical staff,
allowing myself only one a day. I had to smile when the staff started routinely
asking me if the donut guy had stopped by yet.

During that first week, Gordo told me
he’d learned an important lesson when his mother was laid up in a hospital for
several weeks before she died. “The best hospital visitor is the one who’s in
and out,” he’d said. “Unless you’re a close friend or family, patients and
those staying with them don’t need visitors overstaying their welcome.” He told
me of people his mother hardly knew who would show up, spend hours on end
talking about anything and everything. “Or worse yet, the ones who want to tell
you all about their loved one who
died
in a hospital. Like that helps?” Gordo
shook his head. “Eventually I had the staff post a
No Visitors
sign on
the door. You may need to do that at some point.”

I had one such visitor yesterday. Her
name was Winifred Small, and she said God told her to come see Mark after she’d
watched an update about him on the news.

“God has a word for Mark, and the
Almighty has told me to share it with him.”

At first, I didn’t know what to think.
I’d always been skeptical of those who claimed God told them to do this or that‌—‌particularly
when they’re complete strangers. Too often, such a claim was nothing more than someone’s
self-proclaimed excuse for butting into someone else’s business. At least
that’s what I’d always thought. But I was exhausted and grasping for any semblance
of hope, so I welcomed Winifred against my better judgment.

She stood beside Mark, studying him from
head to toe, whispering to herself. I assumed she was praying. Suddenly, she
looked over at me. “You might want to step outside.”

“Excuse me?”

“Sometimes it’s difficult to hear truth
in times of crisis. I thought you might like to leave while I‍—‍”

“No, I’ll stay, thank you.” I stood up,
wrapping my sweater around me tighter.

“Suit yourself.”

I opened my mouth to respond just as she
began speaking her “truth” to Mark.

“The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh
away; blessed be the name of the Lord.”

A chill scurried down my back at the tone
of her voice as she recited the verse.

“The Lord is calling you home, Mark
Christopher. You must stop resisting His call, stop wallowing in this coma, and
allow Him to welcome you into heaven.”

“No!” I rushed around the bed. “Don’t SAY
that! God would never tell you that!”

“Oh, He most certainly did.”

I grabbed her by the arm. “Get out.”

“Not until I’m finished.”

“I said, GET OUT!”

“What’s going on?”

I’d turned at the sound of Shelly’s
voice, her face reflecting the tension in the air.

“Would you kindly tell this young woman
to let me go?” Winifred pleaded.

“I’ll do no such thing.” Shelly dropped
her purse and keys on the floor, then grabbed Winifred’s arm and escorted her
out the door. She returned a few minutes later, holding me while I explained
what had happened against an avalanche of fresh tears.

“She’s crazy, Lucy. Stuff like this
always brings the wackos out of the woodwork. But I’m so sorry. If God has a
message for Mark, I assure you He doesn’t need a complete stranger to tell
him.”

From then on, we kept the door closed and
allowed in only those we knew to visit.

The experience left me uneasy. From then
on, Shelly made sure either she or
Chad
was with me throughout the day. When she
tried to insist on staying overnight, I wouldn’t have it.

“I’m okay, Shelly. No one ever visits
this late.”

It took some convincing, but she finally
left around ten, promising to be back first thing in the morning. I’ll admit, I
was a bit jumpy for an hour or so after she left.

Until now, I had never spent a lot of time
around hospitals, and certainly never kept a bedside vigil like this. I’d
already learned that hospitals are the utter anti-thesis of restful recovery.
Time still meant nothing to me at this point, but I’m pretty sure an hour never
passed without a nurse, doctor, aide, housekeeper, or orderly stopping by. Even
in the middle of the night, the constant flow of medical staff continued; most
of them flipping the glaring overhead florescent lights on as they entered the
room.

Of course, I was the only one
inconvenienced. Mark didn’t seem to mind.

Around two in the morning following one
such interruption, I couldn’t get back to sleep. I finally gave up and made a
pit stop, the mirror in the small bathroom a ready reminder of the toll this
was taking on me. I made a mental note to take better care of my appearance. I
wanted to look my best when Mark came around.

When Mark comes around . . .

He would, of course. There could be no
other option.

The day before,
Chad
had tiptoed into a conversation with me about what he
called, “the worst case scenario.” I know he was only trying to help. Just in
case. Still, I refused to go there. I refused to even consider that
possibility. Mark
would
recover. It might take a long, long time, but in
my heart I knew he’d be okay. He had to.

I took my seat again and huddled under
the blanket before reaching for the diary.

“Okay, the last part we read was the
first night, after Uncle Gary followed Aunt Lucille home and stayed for
dinner.” I looked over the top of the diary at Mark. “Kind of sweet, wasn’t it?
Him doing the dishes, the two of them cutting up, falling on the floor laughing
like that? Then the whole goodbye kiss on the cheek? I always thought Uncle
Gary was charming, but he must have dazzled Lucille with all his antics.”

I waited, half-expecting Mark to engage
in the conversation. Talk had always come so easy for us. Sometimes we spent
hours just talking. I
loved
that about him. He never got bored or
distracted, even when I chased rabbits on plot lines or story ideas. Some of my
most colorful characters evolved from those gabfests.

I felt the familiar ache in the pit of my
stomach, missing my big guy who was still stretched out in that hospital bed. I
shook off the grief in my soul and tried to push myself out of its grip. I focused
on opening the diary and finding my place.

“The next entry is four days later.” I
flipped the pages back and forth. “That’s odd. Lucille wrote a play-by-play
account of that first day, then skipped four entire days? Well, I don’t know
about you, but I’m anxious to find out what happened next.” I peeked back at
Mark, then started reading aloud.

Dear Diary,

The past few days have
been the most wonderful days of my life. I’m head over heels in love with
Gary
, and I want to shout it from the
mountaintops! We’ve spent almost every waking moment together, which explains
why I haven’t written here. It’s almost
midnight
,
but I’m determined to catch up on paper before I forget the bliss of every
single moment
‌—‌
no
matter how long it takes.

After our serendipitous meeting
on Friday, the next morning we had breakfast together at Mason’s Diner.
Somewhere between the second and third cup of coffee,
Gary
convinced me to spend the entire day
with him. It didn’t take much arm-twisting, of course. I tried desperately to
be cautious, to guard my heart and be reasonable, knowing I might never see him
again once he headed back overseas. I failed miserably.

With each passing moment,
I fell more in love with my handsome lieutenant. Leaving the diner, he tucked
my gloved hand in the crook of his arm and escorted me through the most perfect
winter day. The air was bitterly cold, but the sky was blue, and I half
expected to hear birds singing on such a glorious day.

We rode the El downtown to
the
Loop
, where we strolled along the sidewalks
at Marshall Field’s and admired the festive window displays. The famous golden
trumpets lined above each window seemed to proclaim the news that the holiday
season was in full swing.

“Christmas just isn’t
Christmas without Marshall Field’s,” I said. “When I was just a girl, we always
came here the first week of December. It was a tradition. We’d join all the
others, moving in clusters from window to window, and I thought it was the most
magical place on earth. Then we’d go up to the Walnut Room where we’d have hot
cocoa and Christmas cookies under that enormous Christmas tree that stands
several stories high.”

“I’m sure we came when I
was a kid, but I don’t remember much about it.”

“Not even the displays
with shiny red bicycles and train sets?”

“Okay, I do remember
those. And I remember that big tree. I used to pretend all those wrapped
presents under the tree had my name on them.”

“They were just empty
boxes, you know. So you didn’t miss out much.”

As we stood beneath the
famous green clock, the breeze picked up and I shivered.

“It is a bit chilly out
here,”
Gary
said, turning to face me. “How about we
go inside for a while?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

We took our time wandering
the aisles, taking in the fanciful décor and gazing up at the famous Tiffany
mosaic glass dome.

“Did you know there are more
than one and a half million pieces of glass in that ceiling?” I asked.

“No, I didn’t.” He twisted
his head back and forth to study it. “Makes me a little nervous to think what
would happen if they all came crashing down.” He looked back at me. “I’m getting
hungry. Want to head up to the Walnut Room for a late lunch?”

As we rode the elevator up
to the seventh floor, I caught the uniformed elevator operator staring at
Gary
as she announced the floors on our way
up. A tinge of jealousy coursed through me until I looked over and found
Gary
staring at
me
, oblivious of the
operator. I couldn’t help smiling.

 After the hostess led us
to a small round table beneath the elegantly decorated tree,
Gary
seated me then sat across from me, his gaze
inching all the way up the forty-five foot distance to the top of the tree.
“I’ve lived in
Chicago
all my life, but would you believe this
is my first time to eat here?”

 “Surely you’re kidding?”
I spread the linen napkin across my lap. “Mother and I must have eaten here
hundreds of times over the years. I can’t imagine shopping at Marshall Field’s
and not stopping by for lunch or a cup of tea.”

“Well, there you go. I guess
it’s more of a gal’s thing.”

“Then you’ve missed out.”
I accepted the menu from the waitress. “And you simply haven’t lived until you’ve
had Mrs. Hering’s Chicken Pot Pie.”

Gary
handed his menu back to her. “Might as
well make it simple and do as the lady says,” he teased. “I’ll have the chicken
pot pie.”

Since we’d eaten such a
heavy breakfast, I opted for the Walnut Room Salad with lettuce, mandarin
oranges, walnuts, and their famous toasted sesame dressing.

A few minutes later, the
waitress returned with a teapot and two cups and saucers. “I’ve always loved
this Christmas pattern.”

“Is there anything you
don’t love?” he asked, a twinkle in his eye as he poured our tea.

“Rude people, mosquitoes,
and sauerkraut. You?”