I'll Be Home for Christmas and One Golden Christmas

Nick sighed, his own fears cresting in the midst of her eloquent story. “But…unconditional love is so hard to give and so very hard to expect. To love so completely, you have to give up so much control. How can you trust something that abstract, something that can make you seem so weak?”

“That’s the whole point,” she said, her expression changing from sorrowful to hopeful. “Love doesn’t make us weak, Nick. Love gives us the strength to go on. That night, alone and afraid, I remembered God’s unconditional love for me. I’d lost that, as well as my trust. I’d been emotionally stripped of that love and that trust, by a man who didn’t know how to give either.”

“Your husband.”

She nodded, then stepped back. “I’m all right now. I won’t be afraid of the dark, ever again. I made a promise to take care of my children. They don’t deserve to have to live like this—they didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Neither did you. You seem so brave. Is that for your children’s sake?”

“I have to be strong, for them.”

Nick felt his heart melting in half. He’d never seen such a fierce defense of love, or heard such a strong testimony. She had come to him with nothing, yet she had more to give than any woman he’d ever known. “Is there anything I can do?”

Unable to look at him, Myla couldn’t speak about her pain. Leaning close, she whispered, “Just hold me again.”

He did, for a long while, his arms wrapping her in what little protection he could offer. Finally, he brought a hand up to her chin so he could wipe her tears away. Gazing down at her, Nick wanted badly to kiss her.

But Myla stood back, her voice clear once again. “You’d better rest. And I’d better get away from you. I don’t have time to get the flu.”

He laughed at that. “Always the practical one.” Leaning back down on the bed, he added, “I am feeling a little wobbly. Are you sure you’re all right?”

“I’m fine now,” she said as she lifted his tray away, her eyes downcast. “Do you need anything else?”

He looked up at her, thinking how right it seemed to have her here with him, thinking he needed her strength. “No, thanks. You’ve spoiled me quite enough, I believe.”

His words soothed Myla like a balm. “Nick?” she called from the door.

“Hmmm?”

“Thank you, for understanding.”

He wanted to tell her he didn’t understand, really. But the weight of sleep blocked out his reply. He didn’t understand how one minute he could be so sure, so secure in his firm, smug convictions, then the next, begin to doubt everything he stood for.

He wasn’t as fearful as he should be. He wasn’t so much afraid of reaching out for love now. Myla had done that for him. She’d opened up her heart and told him a story of faith that left him humbled and ashamed. For so long now, he’d been afraid of the power of love. He’d believed loving someone could make a person weak, just as his grieving, dying father had become. But he’d been so very wrong. Nick needed to hold Myla again, just to be held himself.

Instead, he reached for his pillow and buried his dreams and his doubts in a deep, troubled sleep.

Nick woke hours later to find his room dark, except for the flickering light from the fire someone had lit in the sitting area fireplace. The room was cozy, but a flash of thunder and lightning told of the wintry chill settling over the city. He shuddered to think Myla and her children could have been out there, alone, in that cold night. And he wondered how many people were cold and shivering and afraid this night.

Groaning, Nick rolled over, acutely aware of his own discomfort. This was a mean flu bug, that was for sure.

His throat felt like he’d swallowed a jalapeño pepper and his head throbbed with each beat of his pulse. Craving a long, hot shower, he rose to calculate the distance to the bathroom. A bold knock hit the bedroom door before he could attempt the trip, causing a ricocheting rumble in his head.

“Come in,” he called in a raspy voice.

Lydia popped her head in the door. “Well, big brother, sleeping the day away won’t get your Christmas shopping done.”

He moaned, rolling over to face the fire. “Go away.”

“Glad you’re feeling better,” she replied as she tossed him a bag of prescription medicines. “Dr. Loeffler sent you these—antibiotics and a decongestant. He said to take all of it.”

“He’s just trying to poison me so I won’t beat him at racquetball again.” Giving her a false smile, he added, “I don’t like being sick.”

Lydia handed him two drawings. “Maybe these will cheer you up.”

Nick grinned. Jesse had reproduced the kitchen disaster, complete with Shredder sitting on the ceiling fan and Pooky lapping away amidst a pile of food. Patrick had drawn a Christmas tree loaded with colorful gifts.

“Your two biggest fans send their regards. Aren’t those two adorable?”

Nick laid the pictures on the nightstand. “Yeah, and very well-behaved, as far as children go. Lydia, has Myla told you anything about their past?”

“A little. Why?”

“We had a long talk today. She’s had a rough time, but she won’t tell me exactly what happened in her marriage.”

Lydia sat down to stare at her brother. “Well, don’t press her. I introduced her to Reverend Hillard. I’m sure he can give her some spiritual guidance.”

“Maybe,” Nick said, remembering the story Myla had told him. “But I think her faith’s intact. It’s her self-esteem I’m worried about.”

Lydia sat up, her eyes squinting toward him. “You’re worse off than I thought. Did I hear you say something good about someone’s faith? And that you’re actually aware of another person’s mental stability?”

He nodded, then shot her a wry smile. “Yes, you did. I want to help her, Lydia. She’s a good woman.”

“Well, praise the Lord.” Lydia hopped up to give her brother a breath-stopping hug. “Oh, Nicky, I knew you’d come around. You really want to help, really, really?”

“Yes, really, really,” he said, laughing. “I’d be a real Scrooge if I didn’t see how much Myla and her children have been through. But don’t make more out of this than it is. I think this flu’s gone to my head.”

“Or maybe Myla’s gone to your heart,” Lydia said softly. “After all, it is Christmas. A time for miracles.”

He patted her on the back. “I’d forgotten what a joyous time it can be. And I’m sorry, really sorry, for being so hard to live with since Father’s death.”

She kissed him on the temple. “No need to apologize. Welcome back, Nick.”

When Nick came out of the bathroom, his food was sitting on a tray in front of the leather armchair by the fireplace. Glancing around, he was disappointed that Myla wasn’t there to make sure he ate everything on his plate. He still had a lot of questions to ask her.

Lydia was right. He did have a soft spot in his heart for Myla and her two children. And the spot was opening to include other possibilities such as attending church and opening the Bible he’d tossed aside years ago.

He should be scared, yet when he searched for the old fear, he only found a new, growing strength. Now, he was beginning to dread the time when Myla would have to leave.

Two weeks until Christmas. Usually, this old house was hushed and quiet around this time of year, haunted by the memory of his parents. Not this year. This year, things were going to be different.

A soft knock at the door caused him to put down the spoonful of beef stew he’d been about to eat. Two reddish blond heads bobbed just above the ornate door handle. Patrick and Jesse eyed him curiously.

“You two going to stand out in the hall all night, or are you going to get in here before your mother catches you?”

“We ain’t supposed to be here,” Patrick said in a small whisper. “But we wanted to say hi.”

“It’s aren’t—we aren’t supposed to be here,” Jesse corrected as she pushed Patrick into the room.

Patrick made a face at his sister’s redundancy. “I know that. That’s what I just said.”

“Where’s your mother?” Nick asked, smiling at them.

Jesse tossed her ponytail. “Talking to Miss Lydia. Mama’s gonna go to school at night and she’s looking for another job, for when Miss Henny comes home. We’ll just have to live in the shelter for a while, that’s all.”

Nick didn’t want to think about that, so he changed the subject to more pleasant things. “Well, Santa’ll be coming soon,” he said, hoping to find two worthy allies in the children. “What do you want him to bring you?”

Both children rushed to his side, talking at once. Nick heard it all, registered each request and vowed to travel to the North Pole if he had to, just to get them all the loot they wanted.

“And what about your mom?”

“Oh, that’s kinda hard,” Jesse said, giggling. “Mama wants stuff you can’t find in the mall.”

“Yeah, like what?”

Jesse settled down on the floor, wiping her nose with her hand. “She wants a house, of course. She talks about having a home of her own again. And she wants a job. She doesn’t like not having any money. Oh, and once, she told us she’d like a long soak in a tub of hot water, then get dressed up in a pretty green dress for a special Christmas dinner. She loves to cook, you know.”

Nick once again marveled at the simple things he’d taken for granted. Clearing his suddenly clogged throat, he said, “Are you sure that’s all she wants?”

Thinking for a minute, her nose scrunched, Jesse held her hands wide. “Oh, and roses. She loves yellow roses.”

Patrick nodded. “Yeah, and one day, Daddy got real mad and mowed all of hers down.”

Nick went still inside. Trying to keep his tone light and casual, he asked, “Why would he do a thing like that?”

“’Cause she didn’t have dinner ready on time,” Jesse said in a matter-of-fact voice. “She cried when he wasn’t looking.”

Dinner. No wonder she’d tried so hard to make his dinner party a success. No wonder she’d been so shaken when it had gone bad. She was used to fixing things up, hiding her fear behind a false bravado.

Patrick pulled on Nick’s sleeve, bringing him out of his numbed state. “I don’t want much, Mr. Nick. I just wish we didn’t have to leave here, ever.”

Nick was beginning to wish that very same thing.

Before Nick could reply, however, the door swung open and Myla stomped into the room, a mother’s wrath apparent in her expression. “What in the world! You two are supposed to be in bed! How’d you get up here?”

“We snuck by you,” Patrick blurted out in spite of his sister’s glaring look.

“That’s obvious enough.” Myla pointed a finger toward the door. “Get back downstairs with Miss Lydia. Do you both want to catch the flu?”

“I didn’t breathe on them,” Nick said, glad to find a light moment in the children’s misdeeds. “And I’m glad they came by for a visit. I was getting downright lonely.”

“Want us to stay awhile?” Patrick offered hopefully.

“No, he doesn’t,” his mother interjected. “Go on down. I’ll come and read to you and help you with your prayers in a little while.”

Nick managed a chuckle as he watched the children scoot out of the room. “Well, you certainly got rid of those two varmints.”

She looked at his half-eaten food. “Why didn’t you eat your supper?”

“I wasn’t very hungry.”

“Are you feeling better?”

“A little. I heard you and Lydia were plotting down there.”

“Planning,” she corrected. “There’s a difference.”

“I’ve never looked at it that way.”

She started to take the tray, but his hand shot out to stop her. “Myla, could we talk some more?”

“No,” she said, not daring to look at him. “I’d rather not.”

“I won’t press you about your life before,” he said. “I just have some questions, about…this unconditional love about which you speak so highly.”

She glanced up then, her eyes wide. “You want to discuss…religion?”

“Yes,” he said, smiling slightly. “I think I’d like that.”

And so they talked. She told him the stories of the Bible that he’d forgotten. As she talked, memories washed over him; memories of his mother, telling him these very same stories, her faith as strong and as shining as Myla’s. How could he have forgotten the beauty in that? How could he have let it slip so far away?

After Myla said a gentle prayer for him to feel better, both physically and spiritually, he sat in the darkness alone, watching the fire. And realized he was tired of being alone in the dark.

Then it hit him—Myla had said something earlier about being afraid of the darkness. They were so alike, he and his Myla. They’d both been out in the cold for too long. Together, maybe they could find the warmth of that unconditional love she’d told him about. Together, with the help of a higher being watching over them.

Outside, the rain fell in cold, indiscriminate sheets and Nick shuddered, thinking again that she might have been out there tonight, all alone and frightened.

But she wasn’t out there. For some strange reason, God had sent her to him instead. He wouldn’t take that obligation lightly.

“Not again, Myla,” he whispered to the fire. “Not ever again, if I can help it.”

Then he did something he hadn’t done in a very long time. He folded his hands and he prayed.

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