Free A Christmas Wish by Joseph Pittman Page A

mother’s heart. The only fact I had kept from Gerta was the monetary gift from my father. No one other than my parents and I knew about it, and I preferred to keep it that way. So, grace said, drinks served, we feasted on food and company and the welcome feeling of a blended family. After dinner I helped clean up, while Janey went into the living room to watch Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer on DVD. That gave me and Gerta an opportunity to talk.
    â€œHow are you doing?” I asked, drying a pan.
    â€œOh, Brian, you know me. I get by.”
    â€œWith a little help from your friends,” I said, realizing such a sentiment applied to us both. “That’s the good thing about Linden Corners, we can’t help but look out for one another. I don’t know what I’d do without you all, you and Cynthia and Bradley. Heck, even Mark—having him take some of my hours down at the tavern has made a huge difference. Janey and I, we need that extra time together.”
    â€œOf course you do,” Gerta said with authority. “Now, Brian, be honest with me, are you making enough money at the bar, you know, to be paying Mark? I know you’re not paying him a lot and you rely on tips a lot, but you’ve got such responsibilities now. It’s not just the amount of time you spend with Janey, but how you can provide for her.”
    â€œNow you sound just like my father,” I said, deciding it might be a good idea to share what he’d done for me. Get a second opinion on what I should do with all that money. “My father gave me a check at Thanksgiving, said it was his way of helping.”
    She nodded. Said nothing.
    â€œWhat aren’t you saying?”
    â€œI don’t want to know how much,” she said.
    â€œYes, you do.”
    â€œFine, I do. But not because the amount is important. It’s the reason behind it.”
    â€œTwenty-five thousand.”
    â€œWow—that’s very generous.”
    â€œBut I don’t want to accept it, Gerta. I realize what a help it would be, but . . .”
    She said nothing again. I hated it when she did that. She waited for me to answer my own question.
    â€œI’ll figure out what’s right.”
    She pointed toward Janey. “You always do.”
    â€œOkay, but what to do about the check can wait until after the holidays,” I said. “Then I’ll start to figure out what the future holds. You know, New Year, new life, all that stuff about resolutions. Maybe this year it’s time to make some and actually keep them. I’ve thought that I need to find myself some additional form of employment with more regular hours and better pay. The question daunting me is what to do—and where. Don’t get me wrong, Gerta, I love running the bar, and I enjoy the sense of freedom it affords me. But in reality, it’s probably not the most suitable long-term solution given the current circumstances.”
    Gerta finished loading the dirty dishes in the dishwasher, then poured soap into the dispenser. “Has Janey said anything about it?”
    â€œNo. But I’m not sure she would. Janey’s a constant marvel ; some days I’m amazed at how composed she is. Still, she’s a kid and she reacts like one. If something’s bothering her, she’s more apt to shut down. She reacts by not reacting. Last night, she had her first sleepover since . . . since Annie died, and all night long, both at the bar and when I returned home, I couldn’t concentrate on anything, not the customers or on falling asleep. Alone in the farmhouse, I never felt more like an intruder. I think part of me was waiting for the phone to ring, and it would be Ashley’s mother asking that I come and get Janey. Or hoping it would ring. But the call never came, and I can’t figure out whether I was glad or sad.”
    â€œI think you didn’t like rattling around that farmhouse all by