Free The Christmas Promise (Christmas Hope) by Donna Vanliere Page A

him of how cold it was outside.
    Although it was going to take longer, he chose to walk around the square instead of through it so he could avoid Mike. He kept his head down and hurried for the store. Chaz recognized the guy in front of Wilson’s talking with someone in a car. On several occasions Chaz had seen him going into the building next door. He was a lawyer or something. The car drove away and Chaz crossed the street. “Hey,” the lawyer said. Chaz nodded and walked through the front door. He noticed a girl off in the corner. She was behind the sales rack in Women’s Clothing and her blond hair caught his eye. She kept pushing it behind her ear but it would fall again, and she’d cock her head just so to keep it in place. Fred Clauson stepped to his side and briefed him on a couple of late-night deliveries. Chaz listened but kept his eye on her. She was the most beautiful girl he’d seen since moving to town. He couldn’t see the rest of her body behind the clothes rack, but knew it had to be as beautiful as her face. He didn’t approach her, reasoning she wouldn’t be interested, and followed Fred to the security office.
     

    Erin walked into the kitchen and opened her arms. “Will this work? I found it on sale at Wilson’s.” She was wearing black maternity pants with a purple blousy top.
    “Work for what?” Miriam asked.
    “I bought it thinking I’d be going on interviews this week,” Erin said. “But Gloria found a job for me today.”
    “It’s perfect,” I said, banging a spoon on the side of a pot.
    “But women who work in law offices on TV are always wearing suits,” Erin said.
    “You’re dressed fine,” I said to Erin. “You’re not going to court. Besides, Robert Layton gave up on suits years ago.”
    Miriam sat slumped in a chair at the table, looking at her house. For days men had been ripping out carpeting and tearing out damaged walls while setting her belongings on the driveway. When she came in each evening she was exhausted and miserable from sorting through the things she had collected during her marriage to Lynn. On more than one occasion I offered to help but it was something she needed to do alone, painstakingly going through bloated photo albums or cards and letters that were blurry with ink and salvaging what she could.
    When she stepped into her home men would escort her back out. “We can’t have you in here,” the contractor would say. “Please, it’s for your safety.” Miriam would charge through anyway, telling the crew how to do their work.
    Early one morning I answered the door and found one of the crewmen looking sheepish. “I’m sorry to bother you, ma’am,” he said. “But would you mind keeping your friend out of her house?”
    I felt bad for him. “I’m afraid that’s like keeping a rash from spreading,” I said.
    There was no expression on his face. “Great. Thanks.” He went back to his work and I leaned out the door to hear Miriam barking orders from inside her home.
    “I always told Lynn I wanted a different house,” Miriam had said earlier in the week. “Now I want it, but it’s ruined.” I tried to encourage her, pointing out that now she could put up new walls with new color and paper; she could even make rooms bigger or smaller, but if there was a silver lining Miriam wouldn’t see it.
    She moaned and strained to read a stained-glass plaque hanging in my window:
     

    Grant me the senility to forget the people I never liked anyway
    The good fortune to run into the ones I do
    And the eyesight to tell the difference
     

    She grunted, shaking her head, and I laughed, watching her. I pulled plates down from a cupboard and held them in front of her. She sighed like a horse and stood wearily to her feet. “Don’t be late,” Miriam scolded. “Employers have no patience for tardiness.”
    I rolled my eyes and dumped mashed potatoes into a bowl. “She won’t be late.”
    “And they won’t tolerate any mucking around,