Finding Christmas

“I needed that,” Joanne said minutes later as she slipped from her pew into the aisle.

“I did, too,” he said, sending her a tender smile.

He walked beside her into the cold, and she shuddered as they turned into the wintery wind.

“Want to stop for coffee?” Benjamin asked, slipping his arm around her shoulders as if to ward off the cold.

“That would be nice.” She glanced at him, afraid to gaze too intently. His closeness affected her in a way she hadn’t expected. She felt a familiarity she hadn’t felt since Greg died.

Benjamin nosed the car onto the highway and soon a small coffee shop appeared on the right. He pulled into the parking lot. “Is this okay?”

“Anything’s fine,” she said as she opened the door.

They hurried inside, and a waitress waved them toward a table. They ordered mugs of coffee, which were brought to their table immediately. Benjamin sipped the hot brew and Joanne lifted the cup and let the aroma surround her.

“Thanks for coming to worship with me today. I felt less lonely than I have in a long, long time.” She paused, then decided to continue. “I like the feeling.”

“So do I,” he said.

“I was thinking that you’re a glutton for punishment, though. I’m not the greatest company lately.”

She took a sip of the coffee and looked at him over the edge of the cup.

“You’ve always been good company, Joanne. You and Greg.”

“Thanks,” she said.

He set the mug on the table and leaned forward. “I think we’re avoiding something, Joanne. What’s on your mind?”

“It’s the same.” She gave a shrug. “I’m worried about the calls, yet disappointed she hasn’t called again. I need three, remember.”

He seemed to study the murky pattern in his mug.

“If I only knew what she wanted.”

He looked up. “It might have been a wrong number, and you can’t assume it’s a she, Joanne. People sometimes change their voices for crank calls.”

She saw the flicker of frustration in his eyes and felt the same emotion.

“Remember the sermon today,” he said. “God is in your camp. The Lord is your ever-present help in trouble.”

“I heard the sermon.” She immediately regretted the edge in her voice.

“I know, but believe it.”

Her terse comment hadn’t swayed him, and she felt good knowing he cared that much. She’d hurt him with her abruptness, and she longed to smooth the concerned look from his face.

“I’m so afraid when it all pans out to be nothing that you’re going to be hurt,” he said.

His hand slid over hers, and the warmth rolled up her arm. She sat a moment in silence, then drew back her shoulders and sent him a brave smile. “I’m making a big deal out of two calls. Maybe wrong numbers. Forget it. I will, too.” She rested her free hand on his shoulder. “I should have listened to you. You said tomorrow will be better. Maybe it will.”

Hearing her sound more positive lifted Benjamin’s spirits. “Good for you,” he said, tapping his index finger against her hand, hoping she’d smile. “You need a break from all of this tension. “Let’s do something fun, Joanne. Let’s be kids again and enjoy one day without thinking about all of this.”

Her brow wrinkled and her eyes narrowed, but he didn’t let the look stop him. “I’m not kidding. It’s Thanksgiving. Let’s go downtown to the Thanksgiving Day Parade.”

She gave him a disbelieving grin. “Are you sure you’re not kidding?”

“I’m not. How long has it been since you went?”

“Four years, I guess. We took Mandy when she was nearly two, but she was too young to enjoy it.”

“But did you?”

“Enjoy it? Sure. Who doesn’t love a huge parade like that one.”

“Then it’s time to go again—giant helium balloons, marching bands, floats, clowns. What do you say?”

“I say you’re ridiculous. Two adults going to a kids’ parade?”

“Let’s be kids for a day. Come on.” He chucked her under the chin, and she laughed.

“Okay, but if it’s freezing cold you’d better bring along a thermos of hot chocolate.”

“I’ll do better than that.”

Donna sat in the living room and watched Connie concentrate on her toy house. Sometimes she was amazed at the depth of love she felt for the child. She’d been her stepmother for less than three years, but time didn’t matter. Connie fulfilled her longing to be a mother, a pleasure her body would never allow her.

She remembered that when she met Carl, one of the draws for her was the child. Connie seemed so lost and so in need of a woman’s touch. Carl said he’d hired sitters to care for her, but that wasn’t a mother’s love. Donna had opened her heart to Connie.

“Can we go to the parade?” Connie asked, looking up from her playhouse. Plastic furniture and plump, molded characters were strewn across the floor.

“You mean the Thanksgiving parade?”

Connie nodded. “My friend Sarah is going. Can we go?”

Donna had never taken Connie to the parade. Carl wouldn’t take the time or effort to fight the Detroit traffic, then stand out in the cold to see the gigantic helium balloons and the floats or listen to the bands. “I’ll ask your daddy.”

Connie hung her head.

Donna realized the child knew her father too well.

“Could we go?” Connie asked.

“You mean just you and me?”

Her face brightened and she nodded.

Donna knew there were shuttle buses. Maybe if they went to Fairlane Town Center they could take public transportation. “Let me think about it, okay?”