This is the third installment of my short story, The Christmas Sweater. Look for it every Thursday through October and November. Enjoy!
Chapter One—Scene Three
“We need to walk,” said Debbie Friday morning when she’d let herself into my house.
“Walk? Where to?”
“Just walk,” she said. “Doc says to keep the heart and lungs healthy we should walk every day. So how about it?” She was bouncing on the balls of her booted feet.
“Now?”
She shrugged. “Why not now? You have to vacuum first or what?”
I chose to ignore her ill-concealed sarcasm. “What about Mickey? Wouldn’t he like to go with you?”
“Can’t. He’s working.”
“Where?”
“Got hired on at the cop shop part time, just to help out over Christmas.
“He’s a cop?”
“Sheriff, actually, but he retired last year. Anyway, love, you’re my next choice and I’m getting too warm waiting.”
I stared out the window at the falling snow and shivered. “Looks cold out there.”
“Nah! It’s gorgeous. C’mom, grab a jacket and some mitts. I’m going to get my hat and scarf. Meet you outside in five. Steena’s gonna love it!”
Oh joy. We were going to take the dog too. I sighed. With no acceptable excuse, I donned my quilted jacket over Sam’s shirt, pulled on my heeled winter boots and a scarf and my driving gloves. I stepped outside into a chilly wind and hoped I wouldn’t freeze solid. When Debbie arrived, she took one look at me, ran back inside her house and came out with a lime green knitted toque which she unceremoniously pulled over my head.
“My hair!” I yelped. “I just had it done yesterday.”
“Fix it later. You have to dress properly if you’re gonna enjoy it. C’mon Steena.”
I was cold, but Debbie’s chatter kept me from dwelling on it. We talked of everything from the weather in Saskatchewan compared with Texas, to her grandkids and their antics, to Sam’s death. Again. Debbie seemed to home in on it like an hummingbird to sweetened red syrup.
“Are you set up okay?” Debbie asked.
“You mean financially? Yes.”
“Good. That’s a big worry for some people, you know, when their spouse dies. Sorry, passes away.”
“Passes. That’s what they call it now. As if he slipped away from me on a foggy night and I didn’t realize it in time.”
“I sense some anger here.”
The girl was nothing if not relentless. And tactless. “I’m not angry, only shocked and left reeling. Anger is pointless.”
“Anger is part of the grieving—”
“Don’t start with that,” I interrupted. “I’ve heard the sermons, read the books about the phases of anger and how we all go through them, only at different levels and in various orders. I am not angry.” So shut up already, I said in my head.
Seeger ran in front of me and I almost tripped over her. Nuisance of a dog.
By the time we returned to my door, my fingers were numb, my feet and legs ached, but I was thankful for the toque, even if my hair would be a mess.
“Thanks for coming, Jeannie. Next time wear flat boots or you’ll kill your feet. Yeah, Mickey loves law enforcement. So tomorrow we’re going into Regina to see my folks and figure out how to help them. So I won’t see you till Monday…or Tuesday, depending on how it goes. Bye for now, love,” and she gave me a hug and a peck on my frozen cheek while I tried to keep up with her scattered conversation.
As I took off my winter clothes and hung them back in the hall closet, I thought about several whole days without chatter, interruption and unwelcome walks. It would be a lovely, quiet weekend.
**Next installment next Thursday, November 1 right here on my blog. Only one month until Christmas!