A Little Christmas Spirit Read online

  “I’ll do exercises, too, Mommy,” he promised as they left.

  “That’s a good idea,” she said. “You can get strong ankles right along with me.”

  Back in the vehicle, conversation once more was between her and Brock with Mr. Mann their silent chauffeur.

  He didn’t speak until he’d pulled up in front of their house. “I’ll give you a lift tomorrow if it’s raining.”

  He sounded grudging, and she hoped it wouldn’t rain.

  “Well, thank you again,” she said as she let Brock loose. “And please thank your wife for being so willing to share you with us.”

  The smile he’d almost been growing shriveled. “My wife’s dead.”

  Something heavy landed in Lexie’s chest, and she could feel her cheeks blazing. “I’m so sorry.”

  “It happens.” He looked straight ahead, his face set in grim lines.

  She couldn’t think of anything to say, so she shut the door and gave a limp wave, which he didn’t see, then followed Brock up the walk to the house. The poor man. No wonder he was so unhappy and unfriendly and un...everything.

  It explained a lot. It also left her feeling at a loss for what to say next time she saw him. Where did they go from here? He obviously didn’t want to talk about his wife. He obviously didn’t like to talk at all. Awkward.

  Oh, please don’t let it rain tomorrow.

  * * *

  It rained.

  Once more she found herself being chauffeured to school by her neighbor.

  Their parting the day before hung between them like a thick, black curtain, and Lexie felt nervous about trying to part it.

  She wanted to ask about his wife—how she’d died, when she’d died, what she’d been like when she was alive. But Lexie could imagine how that would go over. Perhaps it was just as well that Brock kept up a running commentary all the way to school, telling Mr. Mann about his teacher and the boy in his class who’d lost a tooth and gotten five dollars from the tooth fairy.

  “Tooth fairy,” Mr. Mann had grunted in disgust. Obviously, not a fan.

  Brock moved on from the tooth fairy to Santa Claus and how he wanted to ask Santa for a dog, but Mommy said they couldn’t have one yet.

  “Every kid should have a dog,” Mr. Mann said.

  Oh, fine. Now her neighbor wanted to talk?

  “Santa knows we’re waiting until you’re a little bit older,” she said to Brock, and Mr. Mann shook his head in disgust.

  Obviously an expert on children. “Do you have children, Mr. Mann?” she asked. Sweetly, of course. Manners were important.

  “No,” he said shortly.

  No wife, no children. Did he have any family nearby? Did he have friends? She hadn’t seen any signs of visitors at his place since she’d moved in.

  Brock kept chattering. Fortunately, it was enough to keep the two grown-ups from having to make conversation. But she had to say something about his wife. Had to.

  Once they reached the school, she sent Brock on ahead again. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry about your wife,” she said.

  “Things happen.” If it wasn’t for the scowl on Mr. Mann’s face she’d have thought he’d resigned himself to his loss.

  “It doesn’t make it any less awful when they do,” Lexie pointed out.

  He didn’t agree or disagree. Instead, he asked, “Do you have physical therapy today?”

  “No, not until later in the week. And if it’s not raining we can walk home after school today.”

  He nodded. She shut the door. He drove off. She breathed a sigh of relief and shot up a quick prayer for sun come afternoon. Stanley Mann was not proving to be a comfortable person to be around.

  He was the antithesis of her own father, who had been upbeat and happy, determined to always look on the sunny side of life, as he liked to say. He was like those men you saw in old paintings from the fifties that made life look so perfect. To be with him anywhere was to feel at home. Mr. Mann would not have made it as a subject for any such painting. The way he reined in his lips so severely it was as if he thought his face would crack if he smiled. Had he always been like that? Surely not.

  She thought about her mother. She’d smiled plenty when Daddy was alive, but when they lost him it was like she’d put her smile in the coffin with him.

  Lexie sighed as she trudged into school. Life could be so hard sometimes.

  But it wasn’t awful all the time, and seeing the happy faces of her students reminded her that there was still much to appreciate. Life was what you made it, right? Life could be good in spite of the bad.

  Mr. Mann’s troubles were forgotten as she got busy with the children. There was music time, some math and language drills, and playtime when the children could go to different activity stations where they could enjoy dramatic play with various costumes, work on floor puzzles, bake imaginary cakes, or enjoy a taste of science, examining shells and rocks with magnifying glasses. She also provided a reading corner with favorite books, and a blocks center where children could create walls and houses. As always, the day went by in a hurry.

  The sun did come out later, and her neighbor took her at her word, leaving her to walk home after school. Clomping along in a walking boot may not have been the perfect ending to a perfect day, but it sure beat another awkward ride with Mr. Mann, and she was relieved.

  She also felt a little guilty that she was relieved. Okay, so he wasn’t the happiest person on the planet. It was understandable. The poor man had lost his wife. He needed to feel like someone cared.

  “I think we should make some fudge when we get home,” she said to Brock, who was skipping along beside her. “What do you think?”

  “I like fudge,” he said.

  Maybe Mr. Mann liked fudge, too. Happily, she wouldn’t have to ask him to run her to the store. She’d shopped before Thanksgiving, and she had everything she needed.

  After a snack—that apple-a-day thing—she let Brock help her assemble the ingredients for chocolate-mint fudge, one of her favorites. Soon the house was filled with the aroma of chocolate. The first baking smells of the Christmas season, she thought and smiled. Maybe fudge would help their neighbor smile, too.

  Okay, probably not, but she’d give him some, anyway.

  As it cooled she got Brock started on his small amount of homework. Then she called Shannon to see how she was feeling.

  “I think I’m going to live,” Shannon said. “I’m planning on going to school tomorrow. Want a ride?”

  “That would be great.” Lexie suspected Mr. Mann would like a break from her as much as she would from him.

  “I feel bad you had to walk to school in that boot,” Shannon continued.

  “I didn’t. My neighbor wound up giving me a ride.”

  “Which neighbor? I thought you didn’t know any of them.”

  “I don’t really. It was the older man next door.”

  “You mean the hermit? Interesting. I guess he’s not such a hermit after all.”

  “Oh, yes, he is.”

  But Lexie supposed that was what happened when you didn’t have people in your life. What if Mom turned into a hermit? She’d never been as outgoing as Daddy. The last thing Lexie wanted to see was her mother becoming the female version of the never-smiling Stanley Mann. Hopefully, spending the holidays with her daughter and grandson would help Mom rediscover life.

  Maybe having people to interact with would do the same thing for her reclusive neighbor. Fudge was a good way to begin.

  While Brock dawdled over his homework Lexie walked next door to deliver her gift. His Christmas lights had come on, but no porch light glowed to encourage drop-in visitors.

  She knocked on the door and immediately heard his dog barking. The porch light didn’t come on, and the door didn’t open. She knocked again. The dog barked. She could see lights on inside
. She was sure he was home. She rang the doorbell. The only one interested in her presence on the front porch was the dog. Obviously, Mr. Mann had looked out the window and saw it was her and was deliberately hiding.

  Rather a lowering thought, but she told herself not to take it personally. He probably wouldn’t have opened the door even if Joseph, the Virgin Mary and all the shepherds were standing on his doorstep. Oh, well. She’d tried.

  She was bending over to lay the plate on the porch when the light suddenly came on, and the door opened. There, with his dog prancing and barking at his side, stood Stanley Mann. Not smiling.

  “Did you need something?” He made it sound like a crime if she did.

  “No, I just wanted to give you some fudge.” She held out the plate. “As a thank-you. For being so kind to us. It’s been so nice to find a helpful neighbor.”

  He scratched an ear. “Uh, thanks.”

  As he reached to take the fudge the little dog rose up on her hind legs to greet Lexie. “What a sweetie,” Lexie said, bending to pet her. “What’s her name?”

  “Dog,” he said.

  “Dog,” she repeated. What kind of name was that?

  “I found her. I’m waiting for whoever owns her to claim her.”

  “What if no one does?”

  “Someone will.” His tone of voice added Someone better, or else.

  For a moment, Lexie was tempted to offer to take the dog, but she resisted, determined to stick to her resolve to wait until her son was a little older and would be more responsible in helping care for one.

  Maybe Mr. Mann would decide to keep the dog after all. Maybe, come summer, he’d let the pup come over for playdates with Brock. Maybe by then they’d be good friends.

  By this time next year I’ll be married. That sure hadn’t happened. Ah, yes, Lexie was so good at inventing perfect scenarios that didn’t come to pass. She liked to think of it as being hopeful, but it was probably more a case of self-delusion.

  Mr. Mann didn’t appear inclined to stand around chatting. “I’d better get back,” Lexie said. “I left Brock working on his addition, and I know he’ll be needing help. Thanks again for everything.”

  “You’re welcome,” he said and managed a nod.

  “Oh, and I don’t need a ride to school tomorrow.”

  “Good.”

  Had he meant that as in good for her, or as in good for him? She decided not to ask. “Well, good night,” she said and took a step back.

  “Good night,” he said, then he called the dog back in and shut the door.

  * * *

  Christmas lights, lifts to school, fudge, Stanley thought. What next?

  11

  Snow, that was what was next. At least according to Carol, who entered the quiet nothingness of his slumber to give him a weather prediction. She was still wearing that Santa hat, and now she had on her favorite jacket with the faux-fur trim, along with mittens, some sort of ski pants and boots. Carol had never skied. Was she taking up cloud-skiing?

  “It’s going to dump,” she warned.

  He didn’t care. “If it does, I’m good. I’ve got snow tires.”

  And, speaking of good, Carol sure looked cute all dressed up like a snow bunny. Tonight she looked about thirty. Her hair was long again, hanging to her shoulders, and her cheeks were rosy. She perched on the edge of the bed. If he sat up and reached out, he could touch her.

  He tried, but she danced away and floated up to hover in a corner by the ceiling.

  “Your little neighbor will probably need you to drive her to physical therapy,” she said. “And don’t forget to shovel Mrs. Gimble’s walk.”

  He and Carol had watched over the old woman ever since she’d lost her husband ten years earlier, and that wasn’t going to change. Mrs. Gimble’s daughter had moved back east with husband number two, and Mrs. Gimble was pretty much on her own. If Carol were still around she’d have been popping over there with cookies or to share a cup of tea, letting Mrs. Gimble ride shotgun when she went to the bookstore. Stanley had limited his involvement, but the old woman could hardly shovel snow by herself, so him doing it was a given.

  “You’d better shovel Lexie Bell’s as well so she can get to her mailbox,” Carol continued.

  “What, are you trying to kill me?” he protested. Hmm, probably not in good taste considering the fact that she was already dead.

  “Your heart is fine, and you need the exercise. You’re gaining weight. You’ve been eating too much junk food, Stanley.”

  “Not that much,” he lied.

  “Anyway, it’s nice to help the neighbors, isn’t it?”

  Yeah, but how nice was up for debate.

  “The lights you hung look lovely,” she said, floating back down and hovering just out of touching range. “You have a good heart, Manly Stanley.”

  “Not so good anymore,” he said. “It broke the day I lost you.”

  “I know,” she said softly. “But it will mend. And I’m happy to see you’ve found someone to keep you company,” she said, pointing to where Dog slept down by his feet. “A Westie, too.”

  Stanley crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m not keeping her. I told you before you di—er, left, no more dogs.”

  “Now, darling, you can’t give up on enjoying animals simply because you know they’ll leave you.”

  “Everyone I love leaves me,” he said on a sob, feeling very sorry for himself.

  “And new everyones come into your life,” she pointed out.

  “No one can replace you,” he said, offended by how casually she dismissed her departure and his loss.

  “I didn’t say that. Stanley, you’re being awfully difficult tonight.”

  “I am not,” he insisted. “But you’re not here anymore, and I can do what I damn well want.”

  “Am I going to have to get angry with you? Remember, I can be very scary when I’m angry.”

  He knew. He’d already seen.

  Oh, no, there came the creepy red-hot flaming eyes again, and she was right in his face, and he didn’t want to grab her anymore. And he sure didn’t want her to grab him. He crab-walked to the other side of the bed.

  “Carol, you gotta stop doing this,” he protested.

  She settled back on the foot of the bed, and the red died back to blue. “I want you to be happy, Stanley.”

  “How can I be happy without you?”

  “By looking to the future instead of the past,” she said. “You can do it. I have confidence in you.”

  “Will you come and visit me every night?” If she did maybe he could get through the days.

  “No, dear. I’m only here to get you started down the right path.”

  She was beginning to fade.

  “Don’t go, Carol,” he begged. “Let’s talk some more.”

  But it was too late. She vanished, and it was only him and Dog, who was lying at the foot of the bed, whimpering in her sleep, her little paws pumping like she was chasing something. Maybe she was chasing Carol.

  Like me, he thought. “If only you were real,” he murmured and lay back down, burrowing into his pillow.

  He shut his eyes.

  A voice whispered, “Name the dog Bonnie.”

  Oh, brother, he thought. Easy for her to tell him to keep the dog. She wasn’t the one who’d have to walk the silly thing and shovel the turds out of the back yard.

  The next morning he awoke to a wet tongue licking his chin and bright eyes looking eagerly at him.

  “You only like me ’cause I feed you,” he informed the dog.

  Man’s best friend, that was what people said, but really, a dog would go with anyone who’d feed it. And if you and your dog were marooned somewhere with no food, Fido would have no problem taking a chunk out of your leg. Dogs bit and growled and peed on carpets. Got sick. Cost a fortune in
vet bills. You had to let them in and out, take them for walks, buy them food and flea collars and dog licenses. They cost a small fortune, and then they died. That was the reality of dogs.

  He pushed aside thoughts of wagging tails and furry faces at the window looking for his return after a day of work. No dogs.

  He let Dog out to go do her thing. She didn’t stay out long.

  “I know it’s cold,” he said as he let her in, “but you’ve got fur.”

  The silly thing just wriggled and barked, anxious to be petted.

  “Yeah, you’re a good dog,” he admitted and obliged her.

  He wiped her paws, filled her dog bowl, then checked for messages on his phone. Still no one calling to thank him for finding their beloved pet.

  He poured himself a cup of coffee, then went to his computer to check the weather. The forecast had changed since the last time he’d checked. Carol was right. Snow was predicted for that very day.

  “We’d better stock up,” he said to Dog, who’d come to sit at his feet and keep him company.

  Even though Stanley was in the store by nine, there was already a crowd. He wasn’t the only one who’d seen the forecast. Although the Pacific Northwest usually experienced mild winters, every once in a while it got a dumping, and when that happened it was Snowmaggedon, and everyone panicked. Grocery-store shelves would get wiped clean faster than you could say “Where’s the bread?”

  Stanley didn’t need to panic. He had all-wheel drive on his SUV, and his snow tires were on. Not that he wanted to go anywhere. No, he’d be perfectly happy tucked in his house. No need to interact with anyone. Snow was the solitary man’s friend, and he could hardly wait to leave this crowd of panicked shoppers and get back home to enjoy his solitude.

  He got milk for his cereal and more dog food, then rounded out his shopping by adding other essentials such as pizza and chips. And peppermint ice cream. Carol was going to come around whether he ate it or not, so what the heck. He went back home, put away his groceries, checked the news on his computer, read a Lee Child thriller and threw some clothes in the wash. Colors and whites together. Who cared if his white T-shirts didn’t sparkle?