A Christmas Home: A Novel Read online

  Todd walked back down the aisle and stopped in front of his dad’s chair. He bent over and whispered in his ear, “I’m going to the Wellness Center. Laura wants me to help her with something. Will you pick me up when you’re done?”

  George nodded. “We’ll see you in an hour or so.” Todd handed the leash to George. Christmas scooted over a few inches, and George sank his fingers into his thick fur. George didn’t know if he was prouder of his old black Lab or his son. His work completed, Christmas yawned and stretched out comfortably on the floor of the meeting hall.

  THE CROSSING Trails Wellness Center integrated many medical services into one building. Separately, the community could not sustain a hospital, a nursing home, a health clinic, and a rehab facility, so they combined these functions all under one roof. Although duly certified, it had by necessity evolved along unorthodox lines, and the hiring of Laura Jordan was a case in point. At most hospitals, trying to hire a young LPN who worked with a service dog would trigger a managerial and legal cyclone that would cause the HR person to dive for cover. At the Crossing Trails Wellness Center, the challenge had been addressed with remarkably little hand-wringing. “Why not give it a try?”

  Laura was twenty-four years old, slender, and not very tall, with long blond hair, soft brown eyes, and a welcoming smile. Because she was always quick with a helping hand and a kind word, most of her colleagues and patients did not immediately notice when she moved slowly on some days. Her rheumatoid arthritis would come and go like an unwelcome houseguest. When it arrived, she walked stiffly and sometimes needed assistance sitting down and getting up again.

  Under her photo this month—and not for the first time—was a small sign that read EMPLOYEE OF THE MONTH: LAURA JORDAN AND HER SERVICE DOG, GRACIE.

  More than one patient who checked in at the reception area of the Wellness Center looked at the photo and asked, “Can she be my nurse?”

  The receptionist would grin and say, “You’ll have to get in line—she has a long waiting list!”

  It turned out that Gracie was capable of doing a lot more than helping Laura up and down from a chair and fetching dropped objects. Gracie had an entire set of skills that had been slowly noted and assessed at the Wellness Center. For medically trained professionals, these skills were sometimes hard to believe or understand. The dog was accomplishing tasks that weren’t in the textbooks. At least, not yet.

  Gracie would stand patiently by a bed with a patient’s left hand drooped over the bedrail and resting on the dog’s furry white head while Laura took blood pressure measurements and asked about the person’s pain levels and symptoms. Something remarkable happened. It was right in the medical records and not subject to cynical guffawing. When measured and charted over several shifts, for a statistically significant number of patients, pain levels, heart rates, and blood pressure consistently dropped in the soothing presence of the dog. Gracie was a healer of a different variety.

  The dog intuitively offered something that many sick people needed. Laura would sit in a chair beside the bed and talk with a patient for a few minutes, waiting to see if Gracie felt the invitation to interact. If Gracie did, Laura would pull gently on the service dog harness that kept Gracie close to her. When given permission, Gracie would put her front legs up on the bed so the patient could cradle her furry white face in their hands and feel the dog’s warmth. Within sixty seconds, a healing exchange occurred. Depressed faces lit. Anxiety-ridden minds relaxed. Patients expressed feelings of gratitude. They felt safe and cared for in a unique way that was not typically experienced in a hospital setting.

  Todd jogged the two blocks from the town hall to the Wellness Center. He met Laura in the lobby. While she hung up his coat, Todd told her all about his dog’s fine performance that evening at the town hall meeting. Todd patted Gracie affectionately, looked up at Laura, and gave his little what’s up? shrug that was always delivered with a friendly twinkle from his sky-blue eyes. “What do you want me to help you with?”

  Laura led Todd to the closed door of a supply closet just past the reception area. Inside were stacks of boxes. For those patients who would be staying at the Wellness Center over the holiday, their family members were invited to leave one average-sized box with the patient’s name and room number written on the outside. They were to enclose in the box those familiar holiday objects that would help make their loved one feel at home for Christmas.

  Almost without exception, the one-box rule was broken. Also stuffed in the closet—with apologetic little notes—were assorted extras, including trees, stockings, ornaments, large framed photographs, nativity scenes, stuffed reindeers, flashing lights, angels, and miniature Santa Clauses.

  Laura turned on the light and tapped at one of the boxes with her foot. “Todd, would you pull that one out for me?”

  “What for?”

  “You’ll see.”

  She set their course. “This one is for Mrs. Walker. She’s in Room 211.”

  Todd picked up the box and started to walk down the corridor for the nursing home wing of the Wellness Center. “What’s wrong with her?” Todd asked Laura.

  “She’s very old and has dementia.” There was no reason for Todd to be familiar with Mrs. Walker’s condition, so Laura explained, “That’s when you forget lots of things and are confused most of the time.”

  Todd shrugged. “Maybe I have dementia?”

  “Don’t say that, Todd! You don’t have dementia. You’ll see when you meet her. We all forget sometimes. She forgets most of the time. Get the difference?”

  “Got it,” Todd said. “I think.”

  Laura laughed and watched a red stocking fall out of the box. “Gracie, help us out.” She pointed to the stocking, released the dog, and commanded, “Fetch!” Gracie retrieved the red felt stocking, gently took it in her mouth, and returned to Laura’s side.

  Mrs. Walker was ninety-four and had lived in Crossing Trails her whole life. She very much liked her pink flannel robe and warm, fleece-lined slippers—so much so that she rarely wore anything else. Earlier that afternoon, when Laura told her she would be coming by later to help ready her room for Christmas, Mrs. Walker had decided to dress for the occasion. Mrs. Walker had a hard time remembering many of the essential details of her long life history—particularly the names and faces of her assorted grandchildren and great-grandchildren. She figured Laura must have been some part of her family. She also had a very hard time hearing, which is why she thought that Laura had said that today was Christmas.

  Mrs. Walker had put on her best red-and-green Christmas dress, her white pearls that her husband had given her on their sixty-fifth wedding anniversary, and a blue cardigan sweater. She sat in her recliner and waited for the festivities to begin.

  Laura knocked and stuck her head inside the door, “Mrs. Walker, may we come in?”

  The still-proud woman struggled to stand up and steady herself over her walker. “Yes, please come in!” Once she was up, she moved the walker aside. “Merry Christmas!”

  Not wanting to spend the next ten minutes setting things straight for her, Laura just motioned Todd to join her. Todd entered the room and set the box down on the floor. Laura and Gracie moved closer, and Laura raised her voice. “Mrs. Walker, this is my friend Todd. We’re going to set up some Christmas decorations for you.”

  Mrs. Walker extended her right hand. Todd took it gently in his own.

  “How nice of you to visit me on Christmas.” She glanced down at the box that was resting beside her. “You didn’t need to bring me anything.”

  She sat back down and sized up her pair of visitors and the dog that was tagging along. “What a lovely dog!” Her eyes became bright and excited. “Is she yours?”

  Laura lightly put an arm around the old woman’s frail shoulders and tried to explain the purpose of their visit. “Yes, she’s my dog. Now, why don’t you rest and let Todd and me decorate your room for you?”

  “That would be very nice.”

  Although Mrs.
Walker did not remember her, Gracie knew Mrs. Walker quite well. She had visited her almost every day for the last six months. Gracie stood beside her, wagging her tail eagerly.

  Mrs. Walker did remember the dog that she and her brothers had owned when they were growing up. It was a black-and-white collie mix. Even though she was not quite certain why this dog was in her room, she could not have received a nicer gift. As she petted the dog’s head, she felt something. It reminded her of when she was a girl and had been playing outside in the cold for a very long time with her brothers and their dog Judy, coming back inside where it was warm and safe, and resting beside the fire that burned in the old potbellied stove so her frozen fingers and toes could thaw out and come back to life. With some effort, Mrs. Walker leaned over and put her arms around Gracie. She pulled the white dog closer so she could bury her face in the dog’s furry neck. Gracie stood there patiently and made small whimpering noises.

  “She’s a fine dog. What’s her name?”

  Laura looked up from the box of treasures. “Gracie.”

  “Ahh,” the old woman replied. “It’s a good name for her.” She closed her eyes and let the deep and warm feelings the dog generated resonate inside her heart like the vibrations inside a bass kettledrum.

  Laura pointed to the box. “Gracie.” When she was sure she had the dog’s attention, she completed the command, “Fetch.” Gracie walked over to the box, gently took one of the cardboard flaps in her mouth, and pulled the box over to Laura. “Good girl, Gracie.” Gracie sat and waited for her next instruction. Laura then pointed to Mrs. Walker and said, “Patient.” Gracie returned to Mrs. Walker’s side and sat close to her so the old woman could run her hands through the dog’s thick white coat.

  Twenty minutes later Mrs. Walker was asleep in her chair, with her old wrinkled hand still resting on Gracie’s head.

  Laura reached in the box and pulled out a small nativity scene. “This will look great on the console.” She arranged the pieces as best she could while Todd rummaged through the box for the next decoration to set out.

  Todd dug deeper into the box and pulled out a star that had been fixed rather awkwardly onto a plastic base so that it could rest on a tabletop. At first glance it looked more like a hat than a Christmas decoration. Todd grinned. “I know where this belongs!” He walked over to Laura and unceremoniously crowned her.

  Laura laughed. Todd steadied the star from tumbling to the ground with his hands lingering for a few seconds on the top of her head. “Now you look like a Christmas angel, Laura,” he said, his blue eyes dancing.

  Laura smiled and suddenly blushed. “As a Christmas angel, I order you to put the star back on the table and get to work!”

  “Where are you staying tonight?” Todd asked the dog just before shutting the car door. When Christmas didn’t budge, Todd shrugged, waved good-bye, and headed in the direction of his cabin, a small structure that rested at the bottom of the hill, well within view of his parent’s watchful eyes. With the town hall meeting behind them, and their son collected from the Wellness Center and restored to his own home, Mary Ann and George returned to the old farmhouse on the top of the hill and nestled on the sofa with Christmas to watch the rest of the late night news.

  Mary Ann reconfigured a question she had already asked George several times. “So you think he’ll take the shelter closing in stride?”

  Each time she asked, George parceled out a few more thoughts. “I don’t know for sure. I think it’ll take time, maybe even a few days, for him to figure out what this really means. With the economy the way it is, he’ll be competing with lots of folks for employment. We’re not charging him rent to stay in the old cabin. His truck is paid for. He doesn’t need to make much money to get by.”

  Mary Ann stiffened. “George, is ‘getting by’ the goal you have for him? You know, he’s never had an interview or filled out a job application. It won’t be easy for him. He may need help. This shelter has been such a blessing. I can’t imagine him working anywhere else. Frankly, I’m not sure he can.”

  “You’re right that it won’t be easy, but he’s not a child anymore, and there are plenty of ways he can earn a living—even if it takes time for him to find his way.”

  Mary Ann placed her latest knitting project in a large straw basket beside the sofa. George knew that this was the signal that his wife was about to get down to the meat of the issue. “I’m afraid that Todd may drown without that shelter job. We should be prepared to throw him a lifeline.”

  “What do you mean?” George asked.

  “Todd is sensitive. I’m afraid he’ll unravel if he’s left to flip hamburgers the rest of his life. We can’t stand aside and see a potentially meaningful life wasted.”

  George took her hand and held it reassuringly. “Of course not, but let’s give him a chance to solve his own problems. He just might surprise you.”

  Mary Ann stood up. “It’s a fine line, George—helping, but not interfering. We’ll both do our best to walk it. But right now I’m just plain tired.”

  George concurred. “It’s been a long day.”

  Mary Ann called to the dog. “Come on, Christmas—last chance to go outside.” Walking to the back door, she turned on the exterior floodlights and let the Lab out into the yard. She watched him for a few minutes as he poked about the yard. His black coat stood out against the white snow, and to her there was something regal about the old dog and the way he carried himself. He stopped and sniffed the night air, aware of some presence or sound lost to human senses.

  Mary Ann watched as Christmas moved beneath an old weather vane in the driveway that George and his grandpa Bo had fastened to a steel pole sixty years earlier. It was a small replica of a twin-engine Cessna, swiveling on the pole, charting a new course with each change in the wind’s direction, its tiny aluminum props twirling in the moonlight.

  Mary Ann opened the door and called out, “Come on, Christmas. Time for bed.”

  CLOSING A small business is hard—so hard that some ex-proprietors just give the keys to the bank and walk away. Without emotion, strangers can more easily crate broken dreams and set them curbside with the other discarded mementos of failure: reams of ledger paper stained by red ink; the personnel records of downsized employees; marketing brochures for failed products; and all the other pictures, plaques, and trophies of a team that will not suit up to play another day.

  While some closings will always be harder than others, closing an animal shelter might be the hardest of all. When your inventory is made up of living, breathing creatures—animals that you have come to love, innocent pets, each human-animal relationship its own untold story—it is tough. If things get really bad, you may well have to destroy the very things you have spent your entire career feeding, caring, loving, and fighting to save.

  In the early morning after the town hall meeting, Hayley sat at her desk trying to work through all the levels of this disaster, from the most obvious to the most subtle. Her face rested in cupped hands. She felt clammy, and the acid in her stomach was bubbling and boiling like a witch’s cauldron.

  She took out a pencil and paper from the top drawer and started to make one of her lists. Trying to get her logical mind around the previous day’s events proved an impossible task. The paper remained blank, so she pondered a different approach: a gigantic flowchart on her wall—full of arrows and scribbles—that would miraculously set her a course past the snow-capped peaks that towered in front of her like lofty Kilimanjaro. That didn’t work either. She didn’t know where to begin because she had not yet fully grasped the problem.

  It was only five in the morning, but already she had been sitting at her desk for more than an hour avoiding the hardest part, the first step in any crisis. It can only begin after we have accepted the unacceptable.

  She got up and turned on the kennel lights. She walked up and down the aisles between the cages of dogs and cats, now yawning, stretching, and seemingly questioning the early hour and the deviation in their rou
tine. Pacing, stopping in front of every cage, Hayley wondered which ones would make it. What would be the fate of each pair of soft, eager eyes? How could she turn her back on them?

  The events of life are supposed to sculpt us, to chip away at us, giving us form. That morning Hayley felt the stone hammer falling unusually hard, without mercy; shards of her old life were scattering in all directions. Intuitively she knew that she couldn’t resolve her crisis by trying to go around it. Painful as it might be, the only way was straight through it. Taking a deep breath, she struggled to define what the past ten years had meant to her, while she felt as if the core of her being was splitting into pieces.

  Her whole career seemed to be summed up in those precious moments when an owner walked away with a cat or a dog.

  Although they operate somewhat like a business, shelters are outside the normal bounds of commerce. When a sale is made, a transaction completed, hearts are transformed and some immeasurable energy—call it love—is set in motion. The shelter in Crossing Trails had improved the lives of so many families, and now all those moments, all those heartfelt transactions, would end forever. No, this wasn’t just another business shutting its doors.

  Defining the loss brought Hayley closer to the raw nerve of her hurt, but there was more to confront. It was suddenly obvious. The closing of the shelter would be awful for all the lost and abandoned pets in her corner of the world. Yes, that was a huge part of it. The loss to the community of this seemingly bottomless reservoir of companionship and love was tragic. Yes, that too. But the worst part of it might be what she would have to do next, what she was dreading the most. The prospect of speaking words that would hurt another human being caused her immeasurable pain.

  In a few hours, she would have to deliver news that might very well derail a young man’s life. Not just any young man, but Todd McCray, whom she had come to love and respect like a brother.