Free A Christmas Hope by Joseph Pittman Page A

calling up to the second floor of the farmhouse; hearing her response, he felt his brain hurt, a nagging, pulsing headache. He shook it, afraid his brain would rattle inside his skull. Had she really just said what his ears heard?
    â€œJaney, I didn’t ask where you put it, I asked what you were looking for.”
    The tiny, determined force of nature appeared at the top of the stairs, hands on her hips in that special way patented by pre-teenagers, the child inside that body already outgrowing its youth. “Dad, I wanted to bring something to school, but I forgot what that something was. Once I remember, I’ll know where I put it and then I can go.”
    She made her roundabout way of thinking sound so methodical, it almost made sense. He looked at the big clock, then back upstairs. “You better remember in the next two minutes, the bus is probably already turning up the road, our driveway is the next stop. And I’m not driving you to school, I’ve got way too much to get done today.”
    â€œWell, you’ll have all afternoon to yourself, I’m going over to see baby Jake after school.”
    If that was news, it was old.
    Brian left Janey to her search-and-rescue exploration, returning to a messy kitchen to finish washing up the breakfast dishes. It was Monday morning, an early November day, and the sun was shining down on a mild day, with temperatures rising in the mid-forties. Some of the snow from last week had already melted, as though the taste of the holiday spirit was draining from the town, a mere appetizer to the larger meal of winter. Even though Christmas was still seven weeks away, Brian pondered the idea of the village not being covered in a white blanket of snow—unlike last year, when a powerful storm had left them nearly isolated from the world, and happily so. No snow on Christmas seemed as unlikely as Janey getting to school on time.
    â€œJaney!”
    â€œYay! I found it, I remembered exactly where I put it,” she said, galloping down the stairs, her book bag bouncing against her back. “Bye, Dad, see you whenever.”
    â€œWhoa, whoa, hold up, young lady.”
    Janey stopped short at the front door, spinning on her heels, again with hands on her hips. If her stance didn’t say it all, the rolling of her eyes sealed the deal. “You said it, I’m gonna be late.”
    â€œWhat did you remember?”
    â€œOh, the pictures from the Halloween Spooktacular that you helped me to download and print out,” she said. “I thought my friends might like to see them, even Travis might enjoy them, since he made a really good pirate.”
    â€œOh, that’s nice,” Brian said. “Travis, huh?”
    Again, the eyes rolled. “Dad, he’s a boy.”
    That seemed to sum it all up, Janey Sullivan back to being the all-knowing nine-year-old.
    So he let her go, hearing the beep of the bus moments later. It was the bus driver’s signal that she had picked up Janey safely, they were school-bound.
    Alone in the quiet farmhouse, Brian put away the last of the dishes, turned to look at the time again. Seven forty-five, according to Annie’s windmill clock that hung on the wall, the two sails ticking and clicking away the seconds, as constant and reliable as the actual windmill outside. He gave the clock a quick touch, Annie’s presence surrounding him, enveloping this place she’d called home. He felt her not just here in the kitchen but everywhere, upstairs in their bedroom and near the fireplace where photographs of her and Janey adorned the mantel, outside by the ever-turning sails of the windmill, and of course, always in his heart.
    Annie had been gone for more than a year now, and as such, there were no more firsts to think about. No more first time they celebrated Janey’s birthday, no more first time he and Janey shared Thanksgiving, Christmas, all the special days of the calendar that marked the