Bright Lights, Big Christmas(73)

A cab pulled up to the curb and deposited Patrick and Austin, both of them loaded down with shopping bags.

“Kerry, Kerry,” Austin greeted her. “Just one more sleep and Christmas will be here.” He was hopping up and down with excitement. Suddenly, he stood very still.

“Where’s Spammy?”

Kerry and Patrick exchanged a worried glance.

Murphy searched for a palatable answer. “Somebody took a razor and slashed all Spammy’s tires,” he said.

“Those bad guys?” Austin exclaimed. “I knew it!”

“I can’t prove it was them, but the tires were ruined. They’re expensive to replace, and it would have cost more money to fix the camper than she was worth. So we, uh, had Spammy taken to a place where old cars and campers go. Kinda like a nursing home.”

“Oh. But where will you guys live now?” Austin asked.

“As soon as this weather clears up, I’ll drive back home to the mountains in North Carolina, where I have a real house, with heat and running water,” Murphy told him. “But until then, Miss Claudia is letting me stay at her apartment.”

“And I’m staying at Heinz’s apartment, so I can help take care of him,” Kerry volunteered. “Queenie’s staying there too.”

“That’s good, I guess. Hey, Kerry. Me and Dad got you a Christmas present. You wanna know what it—”

“Whoa!” Patrick laughed as he clamped his hand across his son’s face. “Christmas gifts are supposed to be a surprise, remember?”

Austin pushed his father’s hand away. “Oh yeah,” he giggled. “But wait until you see how cool this present is.”

Kerry felt her face grow hot despite the icy temperature. “I don’t … have any presents for anyone. I didn’t know I’d still be here today.”

“Don’t give it another thought,” Patrick said quickly. “We got you something small and inexpensive. We don’t expect anything in return.”

“But Dad,” Austin protested, shaking the shopping bag he held.

“We’d better get home,” Patrick said, cutting him short. “Kerry, do you think Heinz would mind some company this evening? We won’t stay long, I promise.”

“I think he’d like that,” Kerry said.

“Dr. Oliver told me to tell you she’s going to drop by and check on him later this morning.”

The door of the bakery opened again, and Lidia stepped out holding a white paper sack. “Your brother says Heinz is sick. Just a few cannoli and biscotti and amaretti for him. And the little wedding cookies he likes.”

“Oh, Lidia…”

Before she could say anything else, the clerk from the bodega came bustling up with a plastic grocery bag. “This is for the old man,” she said, pressing the bag into Kerry’s hands. “Ginger tea. My auntie sends it from home. The very best for a head cold. And some lemon throat lozenges. You tell him to get better quick, you hear?”

“I will,” Kerry said. “Thanks so much.”



* * *



Abby Oliver tucked her stethoscope into the jacket pocket of her running suit and removed the pulse oximeter from the patient’s fingertip. “Your chest sounds clearer this morning, Mr. Schoenbaum, and your oxygen saturation looks good.”

“It’s Heinz. No one calls me Mr. Schoenbaum.”

“Okay, Heinz. Well, no fever today, and your color is better. I’d say the meds are working. How did you sleep last night?”

“Fine, fine,” he said. “But too many people fussing over me. Eat this. Take that. Drink this.”

“Sounds as though you have friends who care about you. You can never have enough of those,” Dr. Oliver said. “Just stay warm and keep doing what you’re doing. Also, if you’re not too weak, it’s good to get up and walk around every so often.”



* * *



Heinz found Kerry in the studio with a lukewarm cup of tea in one hand and a sketch pad in the other. He lowered himself carefully onto a wooden chair and peered over her shoulder.

“What’s this?”

“I’ve been trying to come up with an idea for a Christmas gift for Austin. It’s Christmas Eve, and he and Patrick are going to come over to see you tonight, and I have nothing for them.”

“And what is that supposed to be?” Heinz asked, pointing at the sketch while simultaneously trying and failing at diplomacy.

“Trying to draw a picture of Spammy. And Queenie, of course. Something to remember us by,” she said.

“It’s so serious-looking,” Heinz said. “Dark. Even brooding. Why not draw it the way you did with your little storybook?”

She considered the sketch. Ripped it from the pad, wadded it up, and tossed it in the trash.

“I think I’m stuck. I’ve been sitting here for ninety minutes, trying to come up with something that will be meaningful to a little boy.”

Heinz cocked an eyebrow. “And his father?”

“Am I that transparent?”

“You must be. I’m not a very astute judge of people’s emotions, but even I can see the attraction between you and Patrick.”

“He wants me to stay here. In the city.”