Read Remembering Christmas for Free Online

everyone who comes in.”
    Rick picked up one of the squares:
Art is very sick in the hospital—an aneurysm.
The doctor said no visitors or phone calls.
Please pray for a miracle.
    She was writing this out by hand, over and over. “How many of these you going to make?”
    “I don’t know. I figured I’d start with fifty, then see if I need more later. While I’m in the aisles helping customers, can you make sure everyone who comes to the register gets one?”
    “Sure.” He watched her a moment then looked up, did a slow pan of the store. What a dump. The paint was peeling on three walls. The back wall was covered with cheap beige paneling. Bright green Astroturf brought some color into the room. In the main aisle, two seams were joined by duct tape. None of the bookshelves matched. The store was empty.
    “Does it ever get any busier than this?” he asked.
    Andrea looked up. “It will. About a half hour from now, it’ll probably be nonstop until we close. That’s why I’m doing this now. Saturdays get pretty busy, usually just before lunch. But today we’ll probably be swamped because of the Thanksgiving sales. You think you can handle the cash register now?”
    “I think so.” Rick looked down at the keys, tried to mentally repeat the steps she’d shown him. He’d been a little distracted with her standing right next to him. It was more than her looks or even her light perfume. She gave off something he used to call “good vibes.”
    “With the next few customers I’ll stand beside you but let you ring them up.”
    “I’d like that.” Not what he meant to say . “That’ll work,” he said. She didn’t seem to notice his slip about liking to stand beside her.
    “Oh my gosh!” Andrea stood straight up. “Your mom would shoot me.”
    “What’s the matter?”
    “I forgot the music.” She hurried toward the back of the store.
    “The music?”
    “Your folks always have music playing through the store,” she yelled out. “One of them puts it on, usually your mom.”
    Your folks . He looked at the front door. Still no customers. He heard a scratching sound above and behind him. He turned and saw a little white speaker on a wooden shelf in the corner. A few moments later, music began to play. A group of male singers he didn’t recognize began to sing “O Little Town of Bethlehem.” Not his cup of tea, but the harmonies weren’t half bad.
    “That too loud?” Andrea asked. “It’s the new Christmas album by the Imperials.”
    “Maybe a little.”
    “How’s that?”
    “Maybe you better come back. I don’t know what you’re used to.”
    “Be right there.”
    She came out of the little corner office and walked down the center aisle. She really was an attractive woman, and he loved the brightness in her eyes. When she reached the counter, her expression changed.
    “What’s wrong?”
    She came behind the counter and reached for a tissue. “They should be here now . . . your parents. I’m so worried about Art. And your mom must be so scared, poor thing. Never met anyone who trusts God more than her, but—” She wiped tears from her eyes.
    He wanted to comfort her somehow but felt a tad hypocritical. He hadn’t thought of either one of them since he’d come into the store. Except to get annoyed every time she talked as if Art was his father. “Have they told you much about me?”
    “What?”
    “My mom and Art, they ever talk about me?”
    “Sometimes. I know they’re very proud of you.”
    “How do you know that?”
    “When they talk about you, about your job there in . . . where is it?”
    “Charlotte.”
    “Right, at that big CPA firm.”
    He found this hard to believe. “You said they . Art too?”
    She nodded. “I think he’s your biggest fan.”
    “You’re kidding.” Clearly, she wasn’t.
    “That surprises you?”
    “I guess it does. We’ve never really been that close, Art and me.”
    “You call your father Art?”
    “He’s not my father.” He tried