Humbug (The Unwinding of Ebenezer Scrooge): A Science Fiction Adventure, page 25
“No, no. I just… who are they from?”
“He didn’t say, just that they were important.”
“Okay. Thank you, Samantha.”
The video journal had ended. Eb looked a bit more at ease, the round-spectacled glasses propped on his nose. The very same glasses that were now on her desk. Maybe he was relieved that he’d finally hit bottom. Or the girls brought a trace of satisfaction.
The imaginary girls.
“Jerri?” Samantha called.
“Yes?”
“I don’t know if this helps, but the delivery droid left contact information.”
“Where did he come from?”
“St. Mary’s Children’s Hospital.”
THIRTY-THREE
~
“Can I help you?”
The nurse looked up from a wide desk cluttered with candy canes, cookies and a Santa Claus bobblehead that went ho-ho-ho when you tapped it.
“The receptionist said you might be able to help,” Jerri said. “I’m from Avocado, down the street.” She pointed as if someone might need clarification of what Avocado was. “We received a delivery from the hospital earlier today. It was dropped off by a droid but didn’t have an explanation or contact person.”
“Okay. What was it?”
“It was a, uh, pair of glasses.”
“Did you lose them?”
“No. They belonged to a friend.”
“Did he leave them here on accident?”
“I don’t believe so.”
“Can I see them?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t bring them. I know it’s an odd request, I just wanted to thank whoever sent them. That’s all.”
The nurse picked up the phone and pressed a few buttons. Santa began laughing. At first, Jerri thought it was the bobblehead, but it was followed by children’s laughter.
The double doors led to a large room that could be separated by curtains. Children were often hooked up to tubes, lying in beds or pushed around in wheelchairs.
“Howard will be up in a minute,” the nurse said.
“Thank you.”
Jerri leaned an elbow on the counter and watched the double doors. A cheer rose up and more laughter followed. Perhaps the most wonderful sound in the world.
“I used to come here,” Jerri said.
“Oh, yes?” The nurse was busy at the computer. “Your child?”
“No. Well, yes, my granddaughter. But I was thinking of something else. I used to come with Jacob Marley when he delivered presents.”
She spotted one of the dogs on the corner of the desk. It was nestled into a crowd of various stuffed animals.
“There, that one. That was from Jacob.”
The nurse looked over. “Ah, yes. That was before my time. The others said he was a very nice man. Is that who the glasses belong to?”
“No.” Jerri went over to the pack of stuff animals. “Do you mind?”
“Go ahead.”
She picked up the dog. Several of the animals fell behind the desk. The nurse slid her chair over to pick them up.
Howard arrived.
He was a tall gentleman, not a wrinkle in his shirt, but his tie slightly undone. He smiled often. Jerri had no idea what his connection to the delivery was. Howard was polite, but assured her there had been no deliveries to Avocado.
What did she expect?
Part of her hoped the past four years had been a hoax, or a dream, or whatever could explain the death of Jacob Marley and the demise of Ebenezer Scrooge, that both of the men she met thirty some years ago would jump out from behind a tree and shout Merry Christmas.
At least, Jacob would.
He would be dressed in his Santa outfit, a bag over his shoulder. And Eb would be his elf.
“Everything all right?” the nurse asked.
Jerri realized she was smiling at the stuffed dog. “Yes. Of course. Thanks for your help. Merry Christmas.”
She handed the dog back. The nurse placed it with the collection she had picked up. Jerri started to turn. Something was out of place.
“Is that new?” she asked.
The nurse took a moment. “The doll?”
“I haven’t seen that before.” Jerri was reluctant to pull it out of the pile and cause another avalanche. It didn’t belong with the others. For starters, it was a doll instead of a stuffed animal. One of those old-fashioned rag dolls with bright red hair and button eyes.
Secondly, it was new.
“We just got it,” the nurse said. “Santa Claus is handing them out to the children.”
A buzz rode up Jerri’s backbone. “Now?”
“Yes, he’s in there.”
“Can I…?”
The nurse tapped the keyboard before leading her to the double doors. Jerri knotted her fingers together. The covers were pulled off dusty memories as the nurse slowly pushed open one of the doors. They crept inside and stopped against the wall.
Children were in wheelchairs or propped on crutches. Some were bald or very skinny, slightly off-color. Santa Claus was on one knee, a big bag by his side. He was walking a redheaded doll up a little girl’s leg. When it reached her lap, she throttled it against her chest.
From the back, the beard appeared to be real, a kinky mix of gray and white whiskers spread across white fluffy lapels. His laugh came from the belly and ran down the hall.
“Isn’t he wonderful?” the nurse said quietly.
“Who is he?”
“He showed up unannounced.”
Santa Claus heaved himself onto his feet and dragged his bag to the next child. His belly might’ve been stuffing, but he moved like a very large, very jolly St. Nick.
Jerri wanted to come closer.
She wanted to help him pull another doll from the bag, to lighten the load from another child shouldering a difficult, unfair disease. What if this was a stranger doing a good deed? She had gotten too many thoughts mixed with wishful thinking already.
But when Santa Claus bellowed another laugh, he threw his head back and, for a brief second, turned his head. Jerri found the courage to take a step. Santa had moved to a bedside where a young man was propped up with pillows, a tube taped to his arm.
Jerri reached into Santa’s bag and handed him a doll with red yarn for hair and button eyes. An old-fashioned doll that under normal circumstances wouldn’t stand a chance in a technology world. But these circumstances weren’t normal.
The dolls were anything but ordinary.
“Do you get scared?” the boy asked.
“Me?” Santa stood up. “Of course I get scared. Because some things are scary. And do you know what I do?”
The boy shook his head. Santa took the doll from Jerri and tucked it under his chin.
“I hug this.” He touched the boy’s nose. “And remember someone cares.”
Santa started for the next child, a young girl as pale as her sheets, and turned into Jerri. The stuffing shifted under the coat. His breath caught somewhere in his beard. He stood up, hands on his stuffed belly, eyes unblinking.
Jerri wiped her cheeks, a smile that beamed brighter than every child in a room. She put a pair of glasses in his gloved hand. He stared at the broken spectacles. She was certain that he had sent them to her, that he wanted her to find him. He appeared as surprised as her, caught in a stretching moment.
If he didn’t send them, who did?
“Is that Mrs. Claus?” the girl asked.
Santa looked up. He grabbed Jerri and squeezed her long and hard. Only her granddaughter could hug her like that. When he pulled away, he wiped his eyes. A grin crawled beneath his whiskers.
“I hope so,” Santa said.
He bellowed jolly laughter, his cheeks rosy. Jerri played the elf, carried the bag for him and handed out stuffed dolls. It was an old-fashioned gift that the children would cherish in their times of need. It was something they could hug. Something that reminded them.
Someone cares.
Much later, Jerri would understand what the dolls meant to a little boy.
She left the hospital with Santa. They would return to the hospital the next year and the next. In the meantime, they would talk. They would laugh. They would share their lives out of the public eye.
Eventually, she would secretly become Mrs. Claus.
While they never learned who sent the glasses that led her back to him, Jerri always suspected Santa knew. Someone knew his heart belonged to her. He was too frightened to give it. Someone knew that, deep down, Santa believed in her. He had always believed in her. And she had always believed in him.
And he didn’t need the glasses anymore. Glasses that once hid a blue eye.
And a green eye.
EPILOGUE
~
Hannah hated waiting.
Even Keurigs were too slow. She wanted her coffee now, not in two minutes.
She rubbed her face. The squabble from the next room was already climbing on her nerves. If she didn’t pour some caffeine through her system, she’d shut it down. She hated Christmas.
The longest day of the year.
This year, though, was slightly different, she had to admit. Not the screaming and the fighting of the children or the excess presents from the grandparents. That was exactly the same.
Hannah was actually looking forward to Christmas for the first time since she’d become an adult with adult responsibilities.
She was fourteen years old when that happened. Her parents died and she started caring for her younger siblings along with her aunt. She’d done such a spectacular job of raising them that they were all in prison. Well, technically not all of them. The youngest was on house arrest. It was only a matter of time.
Hannah turned out better than them. She was smart.
She married an older man. He was overweight and short-tempered, prone to angry outbursts and dangerous tantrums. It was no accident she chose him. He was a mirror image of her father, so there was that. Unlike his bank account, his health wasn’t built for the long run.
The end struck him in a restaurant on his sixty-fourth birthday.
Hannah received a lump sum settlement and four children that were currently throwing something in the front room. The littlest one began crying. Sometimes she wondered if he got a better deal.
This Christmas would be different.
Her late husband’s will promised help in the New Year. She wasn’t sure what that meant, but even if it was part-time, she might burst into tears. If it was a live-in sort of maid or butler, which she dared to dream, she might actually pass out when all the blood rushed to her head from prolonged celebration, after which she would pack her bags for a long-deserved vacation that didn’t include children.
She pulled her robe tight and sipped half the cup of hazelnut before braving the front room.
Wrapping paper was everywhere. Boxes were crushed, bows torn, toys still trapped in wire ties, their limbs twisted in attempts to free them. The two girls were under the tree, ripping open the remaining presents regardless of whose name was on the label.
The boys were playing tug-of-war with a lifelike gun.
Like throwing meat to the lions.
“Stop!” Hannah screamed. “Put it down, now!”
She threatened to haul it out to the backyard and have a Christmas bonfire, tree included. It would be fueled by their tears and last for days. The boys cheered. Nothing would make them happier than to burn something.
She fell on the couch and let the destruction continue. All the gifts were stripped apart by the second cup of hazelnut. They were already on their phones, the festive aftermath nothing more than a discarded pile of faded desires.
Hannah was waiting on her third cup when the doorbell rang.
“Someone answer that!” she shouted. When the doorbell sounded off a second time, she added, “It’s your grandparents!”
“Presents!” they exclaimed.
Her caffeine kick had already peaked, but she still hit the third cup, hoping the surge would carry her through the afternoon when her in-laws would take the kids off her hands.
That would be her Christmas present.
“What’s that?”
The kids were prying at the front of an eight-foot-tall crate, shreds of brown paper hanging from the sides.
“A box,” the youngest said.
“Where’s your grandparents?” Hannah asked.
She didn’t get a response. It would be much later that she discovered the shipment had arrived special delivery. It was supposed to arrive Christmas Eve but had instead been dropped off Christmas morning.
She tore a card off the front.
A little help, it said. Especially for you.
When the front of the box popped open, a flood of packing peanuts poured across the floor. The children tossed and rolled in them like snow, pulling the packaging out like endless snakes.
A hand was uncovered.
They stood back. Hannah with her coffee, the kids with handfuls of peanuts. She pulled on a pad of foam packing. A face, a bald head, a torso and fully developed biceps were revealed. All of them dull gray.
The eyebrows arched up. The eyelids fluttered.
The droid pushed his shoulders out of the custom-formed foam packing. The kids and Hannah took a step back. He looked at each of them, eyes glittering.
“Merry Christmas,” the droid said.
The children took the crazed celebration to new heights. The boys smashed ornaments; the girls kicked boxes. Hannah was struck numb.
The droid remained in the crate and offered her a small gift. Hannah put down her coffee and opened it. The children angrily shouted for their gifts. Hannah pulled out an odd little gift.
A pair of round-spectacled glasses.
“I am here to help you,” the droid said.
And cocked his head to the side.
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Tony Bertauski, Humbug (The Unwinding of Ebenezer Scrooge): A Science Fiction Adventure
