Chistmas Ever After (16 page)

“If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me.”

“Try me.”

Without any hesitation, knowing that he wouldn’t believe her anyway, Jennifer felt brave enough to tell him. “Mrs. Frances Wintergreen sent me.”

Dale turned his face away from her to the mirror, pondering her answer. “Hummm. You know, it’s funny you should say that. About a week ago, a woman came in, and she gave me a little present.”

He leaned over to the counter in front of them and, next to the styling gel, was a little snow globe. “This,” he said, holding it up to the light.

Jennifer studied it, thinking it looked strangely familiar. “May I hold it?” she asked.

He handed it over. Her eyes widened in recognition. It was Harvey’s Pond, in Willowbury! She saw the ice skaters, the gazebo and even the pine and fir trees surrounding it! It was an exact replication!

Jennifer twisted around toward him. “Why did she give you this?”

“I told her I wanted to buy my own place, but I couldn’t afford a place in the City. Just before she left, she opened her bag and handed it to me. She said that I would live near that pond someday. She said that’s where I would open my shop—in the town where that pond is.”

Jennifer stared into the void, her eyes not really focusing. “Did she say what her name was?”

“No, but I looked it up in the reservation book. Frances Wintergreen.”

Jennifer closed her eyes and slumped down into the chair. Dale leaned over.

“Are you okay?”

Jennifer nodded, numbly. “Oh sure... yeah, I’m just fine.”

“Good. Well, don’t worry, when I’m finished with you, you’ll be the hottest-looking chick in New York!” “What time is it?” Jennifer asked.

“Almost 6:30.”

Jennifer dozed off. When she woke up, Dale was blow-drying her hair. Her eyes opened broadly, and she stared back at herself in the mirror, in disbelief.

Dale shouted. “Close your eyes! I’m not finished yet!”

She obeyed.

“You also need some makeup. I’m going to help you.”

“But…”

He cut her off. “NO BUTS! I’m in charge here!”

Jennifer eased back while Dale reached for a conveniently placed makeup kit. “I also do makeup for a theatre company,” Dale said, proudly. “When I’m finished, you are going to be camera-ready, girl.”

Jennifer squeezed her eyes together tightly, trying not to be nervous, as he plucked her brows, put foundation on her face, lined her eyelids, blushed her cheeks and applied lipstick.

When he’d finished, he stepped back, folded his thick, genie-like arms and told her to open her eyes. She did.

“Well, what do you think?”

She saw layers and curls, gleaming under the light. There was a fullness and body to the style—a magnificent sheen! She touched her hair carefully, as if it were a brand new object. Her face looked buffed and soft, cheek bones highlighted, eyes glamorous. She actually looked mysterious! Imagine her, looking glamorous and mysterious!

Dale looked on proudly. “Not bad, huh? So, what do you think?” he barked, impatiently.

Jennifer sat up. “I don’t know… I mean, I’ve never seen myself look like this.”

“Of course you haven’t, because you were working at
ugly
, girl. UGLY! And you’re not! You’ve got a nice face, nice body and nice hair. But, and I stress
but
, it was a mess! I don’t know who’s been cutting your hair, but in my opinion, you should sue for malpractice and fire that chick or dude!”

Jennifer looked at Dale in wonder. “You’re a real artist.”

Dale beamed. “Yep, I can’t deny it. I’m a regular genius.”

After Dale showed her off, demanding compliments and applause, he escorted her next door to Tony Este Fashions.

There, Dale introduced her to Cheryl, a woman of 35 who had a willowy figure, large brown eyes and short amber hair. She made a quick study of Jennifer and then excused herself to the back room, while Dale continued making minor adjustments to Jennifer’s makeup and hair.

A moment later, Cheryl reappeared beaming. She presented a golden satin dress with spaghetti straps, a hidden back zipper and back slit. She brought matching shoes: golden satin sling backs, with a rhinestone trim.

Jennifer eyed them, worried. “You think so?” she asked.

Both Cheryl and Dale nodded. “Made for you,” Cheryl said, with a firm conviction. “Trust me.”

Ten minutes later, Jennifer was parading in front of the full-length mirror, moving languidly; the dress had somehow given her new grace and form. She felt strange, as if she were hovering just above ground, like an object from another planet, unsure if the ground would support her when she landed. Her eyes shifted from the mirror to Cheryl and Dale, who looked on with serious analytical stares and posed bodies.

“You look tense,” Dale said.

“I am!”

“Throw back your head in a carefree manner,” Dale instructed.

“How do I do that?”

Dale screwed up his lips in irritation. “Like this!” he said, demonstrating.

She tried it, watching the lines fade from her face, watching her hair bounce. Her furrowed brow disappeared. She looked younger, prettier. She grinned. “It worked!” she said, surprised.

“Of course it worked,” Dale said. “I know what I’m doing, girl!”

“Now you have celebrity wattage,” Cheryl said.

Dale danced around her, snapping “after” pictures.

“Your boyfriend’s going to love your new look,” Cheryl said.

“Where is he taking you tonight?” Dale asked.

Jennifer’s palms moistened. She remembered the child’s words to her just before they took the sled ride.
“You’ll meet him soon,”
he had said.

“I don’t know. I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“I have a brother,” Cheryl said. “Nice looking. He just broke up with his girlfriend and I know he’d love to take you out on the town.”

Jennifer looked over. “No… thanks.”

“Are you going to wear it, or shall I wrap it for you?” Cheryl asked.

Jennifer’s eyes were suddenly drawn to a newspaper that was lying on a table nearby. She crossed to it and picked it up. It was open to the second page; the headline caught her eye:

CHRISTMAS EVE MIRACLE 
BOY RETURNS TO LIFE AFTER SLEDDING ACCIDENT

When she saw the photograph, she was stunned. It was the boy! The same boy who had been leading her around! The same boy she had gone sledding with!

She dropped down into the nearest chair, her face blank with shock.

Cheryl went over. “What’s the matter?”

Jennifer couldn’t find words. She anxiously read the article.

A six-year-old boy, who had been pronounced dead on arrival at Mercy Hospital after a sledding accident in Central Park, began breathing again twenty minutes later. His father was by his bedside when he suddenly noticed the child begin to breathe. Doctors were quickly summoned, and by the time they arrived, the child was sitting up in bed, asking for a soda.

After a thorough examination, it was determined that the trauma to the child’s head had miraculously disappeared and, except for a few cuts and bruises, he was in perfect health. The doctors were at a loss to explain the sudden change; however, the child maintains that he was saved by a Christmas Angel, who was with him on the sled and protected him when the sled went out of control and struck a tree.

Jennifer slowly lifted her eyes from the newspaper to Dale’s and Cheryl’s curious faces. She gave them a strange and vivid stare. “I don’t understand what is happening to me. I don’t understand how time could have passed like this.”

Their faces held concern and sorrow, but they didn’t speak.

Jennifer shot up. “Where is Mercy Hospital?”

CHAPTER 12

At the hospital information desk, Jennifer quickly explained whom she wanted to see. She was asked to sign in and then given the room number.

Inside the elevator, she pressed 7 and stepped back, clutching the Tony Este bag Cheryl had placed her old clothes in, and a brown teddy bear she’d purchased at the hospital gift shop. She wasn’t sure what to expect: whether it would really be the same child, whether the child would even recognize her or what would happen if he did recognize her.

She stepped hesitantly out of the elevator and made her way down the gray tiled hallway, past a Christmas tree and open doors where TVs played holiday classic movies and parents lingered in doorways with faces of concern and apprehension. Nurses passed and smiled, while aides pushed carts and bantered about Christmas shopping. Jennifer took off her coat and draped it over her arm as she continued on, smelling a combination of coffee and rubbing alcohol, until she located the boy’s room. She paused, hearing Charlie Brown’s voice coming from the television inside, and recognized the program as
A Charlie Brown Christmas
. A young, blond, Hollywood-handsome doctor exited the room, stopped mid-stride, and looked Jennifer over approvingly. Slowly, he continued down the corridor, twisting back for an extravagant final glance before turning the corner. She looked down at herself self-consciously, wishing now that she’d taken the time to change clothes and have Cheryl box up the new dress.

Still unsure, she ventured inside the room, noticing a child’s playful scribbles of Christmas trees and Santas taped to the walls. A toy kangaroo with a baby in her pouch stood guard at the foot of the bed. More stuffed animals lay beneath a miniature Christmas tree; and get-well cards and Christmas cards were displayed on the windowsill.

When Jennifer saw him, she froze. It was the same child—the same child she had sledded with! He was propped up in bed, dressed in red pajamas, with crayons scattered carelessly around him. He was immersed in drawing a new masterpiece.

When he looked up and their eyes met, his face came alive, as if he’d just seen Santa Claus. He squealed, ecstatic, dropped his crayons and went to Jennifer in a rush. She dropped her bag and, instinctively, opened her arms. He leapt into them.

“I’m so glad you’re all right,” Jennifer said, embracing him. “I didn't know what happened to you.”

The child pulled back briefly to study her. “You look different,” the child said. “Better!”

“I feel better!” Jennifer said, hugging him again.

At the same moment, the young and startling handsome doctor reappeared with a middle-aged nurse. They took in the scene, exchanged puzzled glances, and went over.

“It’s the angel!” the child yelled. “It’s the angel I told you about! She was with me! She was with me on the sled!”

Jennifer felt the warmth of the child’s body as she held him; felt him squirm and twist toward the doctor and nurse. She was a little embarrassed, but pleased. It felt so natural to hold him, to smell his sweet candy breath, to feel the immense pleasure of being connected and close.

The doctor and nurse waited for an explanation, but Jennifer ignored them for a moment and put her full attention on the child.

“I was so worried,” Jennifer said.

She could feel eyes on her. It seemed dangerous, somehow, to say more than that. She didn’t know what had really happened. She didn’t really know who this child was.

“See,” the boy said to the doctor and nurse, “I told you she was real!”

The doctor said, “So you did, Jason. So you did.”

Jennifer finally released the boy, and sat him on the edge of the bed so that his legs dangled. She presented him with the teddy bear. “He reminded me of you,” Jennifer said.

Jason took the bear and hugged it, gleefully. “It’s mine!”

“Yes, Jason,” Jennifer said, “It’s all yours!”

The doctor approached and extended his hand. “I’m Dr. Phillips. Dr. Hal Phillips, and this is Nurse Flanders,” he said, looking toward the nurse.

Jennifer studied him for a moment, and at first sight, she thought he had the innocence and wholesome look of a minister, with his blond hair and blue eyes. But, on closer examination, she saw there were things that betrayed that image: mischievous eyebrows
and a devious glint of expectation and desire in his eyes.

Jennifer took his hand, limply. “I’m Jennifer Taylor.”

Dr. Phillips’ eyes wandered over her, as though she were a dessert tray. Jennifer’s eyes slid away from him, following Nurse Flanders, who went over to Jason and asked to see his new teddy bear.

“So are you a friend of the family?” the doctor asked.

Jennifer quickly analyzed the question. She thought it might be best if she said she was; it would make perfect sense and there might be fewer questions to answer. “Yes, I’m sort of a friend.”

The nurse helped Jason back to his pillow and crayons. His little face scrunched up in confusion. “You’re not our friend. You’re an angel.”

Jennifer chuckled, nervously. “Well, yes, I mean, some in the family think I’m kind of an angel. I mean, I help out when I can.”

The doctor took another appetizing look at her. “Well, Jennifer, if I may call you Jennifer, you certainly look like an angel.”