Sweet Christmas Kisses (2 page)

“Abigail just came in,” Bridget told her.

All Christy could see was a sea of heads and shoulders. Abigail Bixby was the Head Administrator of Pediatric Oncology. A visit to her office could bring very bad news, such as a reprimand due to a patient complaint or a write up due to mishandling of hospital procedure, or it could bring exceptionally good news, an award of excellence or a commendation of some sort. There was rarely a middle-of-the-road visit with Abigail. 

“And Izzie’s dad is with her.” Bridget’s voice lowered as she added, “Aaron Chase could be a freakin’ movie star.”

Bridget was the kind of person who said whatever was on her mind; the classic no filter between the brain and the mouth. But she only spoke the truth. Aaron was a very handsome man. He was friendly and outgoing, and he always smelled like a cool walk in the forest, woodsy and fresh. No doubt about it, the man was a distraction no matter where he was on the hospital floor. And he was on the floor often whenever his daughter was in treatment.   

Christy would have chuckled at Bridget’s all-too-true observation about the man, but as soon as she heard his name, she frowned. Isabelle Chase was once again a patient in the pediatric oncology unit. As a standard practice, the nurses rotated areas so that none of them became too attached to any one patient. Christy was working at the far end of the hall this week, so Izzie wasn’t one of her patients. But she’d cared for the eight-year-old in the past, and she’d no doubt care for her again since Izzie probably wouldn’t be going home any time soon.

“Okay, people, please settle down.” Abigail Bixby’s voice resonated to all four corners of the room. “The sooner we get things started, the sooner everyone can get back to work. All of you know Mr. Chase, I’m sure. He has a request he’d like to make. I’d like to help him out if we can, so please listen up.”

Bridget leaned over and whispered to Christy, “I wonder what he wants. Oh, gosh, I hope I don’t have to work on Christmas. I already bought my plane tickets.”

Christy just shook her head, hoping the index finger she pressed against her lips would quiet Bridget.

“Hello, everyone,” Aaron Chase began.

Someone on the other side of room called out, “Can’t hear in the back.”

“I’m sorry,” Aaron said louder. “I want to thank all of you for coming today.”

Bridget whispered, “As if we had any choice.”

Christy elbowed her in the leg. “Hush.”

“All of you probably already know,” Aaron said, “that my daughter’s not doing well. The doctors have tried everything, but Izzie’s cancer is just too aggressive.”

Christy let her eyes roll shut as compassion swelled inside her. That poor man.

The room went totally silent. She heard Aaron clear his throat, then he sighed.

“Izzie has asked me if…”

The second little cough that issued from him was evidence that his emotions were making it difficult for him to speak.

“She asked for a family Christmas,” he said. “You see, we—Izzie and me and her mom—used to spend Christmas at our beach cottage on Maryland’s eastern shore. Ocean City. My wife is… I’d like to ask… I, um… I need a… Izzie would like…”

Aaron huffed out a breath and then went quiet. Christy could almost feel his frustration all the way in the back of the room where she was imprisoned.

When he spoke again, his voice was stronger. “My wife died two and half years ago. Izzie wants me to find a stand in. For Christmas. For a… a family Christmas.”

A final family Christmas
. He might not have said the word
final
, but that’s what he’d meant.

“I’m sure all of you know that Izzie is a list-maker,” he told them. “Let me read her wish list. A tree with lights. Christmas carols. A picture with Santa. Lots of cookies. Presents. Snow. My daddy. A make-believe mommy. A Perfect Christmas.”

One of the nurses in the crowded room sniffed and then blew her nose into a tissue. Christy pressed her fingers against the achy lump that had risen in her throat.

“I need Izzie’s make-believe mommy,” Aaron said. “I need a woman who would be willing to come to our beach cottage in Ocean City and help me give Izzie the perfect Christmas she’s wishing for. All I’m asking for is three days. Christmas Eve, which is tomorrow. Christmas Day. And the day after Christmas. We’ll return on the evening of the third day.”

No one stirred.

“I know this is an odd request,” Aaron said, “but I promise we’ll do everything we can to keep a festive atmosphere. It won’t be awkward. Not in the least. It will be a happy time. I’m determined to make that happen.”

Christy could tell, as everyone else could too, that he wasn’t quite sure he was telling the truth.

Finally someone said, “I wish I could help you, Mr. Chase, but I already have a house full of company.”

Several other people offered excuses.

Christy caught Bridget’s gaze, a question in her eyes. Bridget shook her head vehemently. Christy mouthed
It’s Izzie
.

Both of them knew just how ill the child was.

Christy raised her hand and said, “I can go.”

“Who said that?” Aaron asked. “Who said they could go?”

Bridget looked crestfallen, but she motioned Christy up onto the chair with her.

From this vantage point, Christy could see that Aaron’s handsome face sported red-rimmed eyes and a tense jaw. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. He was clutching Izzie’s journal to his chest. His little girl really was an avid list-maker, Christy knew. Izzie drew pictures in that book and kept notes about what she was doing and how she was feeling. On the front cover, she’d printed “Izzie’s Journey” and she carried the book with her everywhere. If her father had the journal in his possession, it meant that Izzie must surely be busy with some sort of medical test or she was taking a nap.

“I did,” Christy confessed. “I can go. But we have a problem because I’m supposed to work on Christmas Eve. And I’m scheduled for a double shift on Christmas Day.”

This was Abigail’s cue to take care of business. “Okay, people, we need some volunteers. Who can take some hours?”

“Some of those hours are mine, but I can’t work on Christmas,” Bridget lamented. “I’m flying to Florida tonight. I haven’t seen my fiancé for over four months.”

Suddenly it was raining excuses, everything from, “My parents are flying in,” to “My sons are coming home,” to “I have reservations for a week at Disney.”

“Okay, hold it!” Abigail’s voice cut through the throng. “All of us have to sacrifice if we’re going to help Mr. Chase. Izzie should have the Christmas
of her dreams
, people. Who’s willing to take half a shift? I don’t normally schedule half-shifts because they turn my life into a nightmare. So come on, now. If I’m willing to bend the rules, you can certainly do your part. Who’s willing to take a few hours? Let’s get the holiday schedule filled up.”

Slowly but surely, volunteers were found to cover all the hours Christy had been scheduled to work. It took about ten minutes to take down all the names and double check the hours, but soon the room was empty, except for Abigail, Aaron, and Christy.

Aaron said, “Abigail, thank you very much for helping me.” Then he turned his gaze to Christy. He just offered her a relieved smile and grabbed her up in a bear hug.

“Thanks,” he whispered in her ear. “I’ll be forever grateful.”

The scent of his cologne swirled around her, and she felt heat emanating from his rock hard body.

“I’m happy to do it,” Christy told him. His dark eyes glistened with gratitude and she repeated, “I am happy to do it.”

Because she truly was.

Although she’d never admitted it to anyone, she wished beyond measure that she had been able to make her own little girl’s last wish come true.

Eight-year-old Izzie Chase had big, dark eyes, made to look even larger due to the fact the recent series of chemo treatments she’d endured had caused her to lose every strand of her long, black hair. Even her eyebrows had fallen out. Her skin was smooth as fresh cream; her wide mouth and tiny nose giving her the look of some sort of magical forest fairy who might spout wings at any moment and fly away. The flowered elastic band she wore around her bald head sported a tuft of glittery tulle. The headbands were made by a group of dedicated volunteers at the hospital and distributed to the cancer patients free of charge. Although leukemia was slowly sapping the life out of her, Izzie smiled often, her upbeat personality making it impossible for her to do anything else. The child was a favorite among the nurses because, rather than constantly complaining about her condition, little Izzie was always going out of her way to lift the spirits of the other children on the ward.

But now, having exchanged her hospital gown for black corduroys and a pretty red sweater, she looked almost like any other healthy eight-year-old, save the lack of hair and the shadowy circles beneath her eyes. She snuggled on the sofa in front of a fire with several stuffed animals strategically placed around her and her ever-present journal while the adults unpacked the car and stowed the luggage in the bedrooms.

Christy kept up a constant chatter with Izzie each time she breezed through the living room. Every nurse who wanted to remain sane tried to keep an emotional distance from patients, especially when it came to kids with cancer since the odds were so often stacked against them, but Christy found it difficult, if not impossible, not to lose her heart to the children she tended. She had entered the profession because she
cared
… about her patients’ health, physical and mental, and also their overall well-being. Not everyone had a long and healthy life written into their future, but each person deserved to live as happily and as comfortably as possible. And children—sick kids, especially—seemed to have a sixth sense when it came to deciding if the people around them were being open and honest, and if they were worthy of trust. Above all else, they wanted candor and if they thought they were being duped with lies and false promises, they usually planted their feet, squared their shoulders, and insisted on the truth. So Christy had decided early on to open her heart and shower these children with the same warmth she’d have given to her own daughter—no matter what emotional toll it might take on her—because that’s what they wanted. No, it was what they needed.

The instant Aaron and Christy sat down in the living room, Izzie began making plans.

“We need a tree,” she told them. “And we need to pull out the lights and decorations.”

“We can make that happen this afternoon,” Aaron told his daughter.

“Daddy, I know you packed some food,” Izzie said, “but we need ingredients for cookies.”

“The slice and bake kind are delicious,” he said with a grin.

“Oh, no, no, no. I want to make them from
scrap
.” Izzie spoke the final word with firm decisiveness.

“From what?” Aaron asked.

Christy pressed her lips together to keep from smiling.

Izzie shifted on the sofa, sitting cross-legged. “You know, from scrap. With flour and sugar and butter and eggs. And don’t forget the chocolate chips.”

Aaron’s voice softened as he corrected her. “You mean from scratch.”

“Oh.” She giggled with delight, the sound ringing out and making the adults smile. “I was mistaken, and I didn’t even know it. From scratch is what I meant.”

“My baking skills are a little rusty,” Christy offered. “But I’d love to help with that.”

“Dad, remember when Mom burnt the sugar cookies and the whole house filled up with smoke?” Izzie reached out, grabbed hold of her stuffed elephant, then hugged the soft, furry beast to her chest. The animal’s name was Ernie, and Izzie reached for him whenever she was tired or nervous or in need of comfort.

“I remember, honey. It was just two Christmases ago, wasn’t it? I thought we were going to have to call the fire department.” Aaron looked across the room at Christy and she knew he was trying to keep the conversation light when he quipped, “Please don’t make the smoke detectors go off.”

She smiled. “I’ll do my best. We can make chocolate chip cookies. I’ll make a list of ingredients we’ll need.”

Aaron nodded. “We can stop at the grocery store when we go out to pick up a tree.”

Then Christy added, “I also have a special cookie recipe I’d like to try, if you don’t mind.”

Aaron said, “I never say no to a cookie. How about you, Izzie?”

Christy swung her gaze to the sofa and saw that Izzie had rested her head on Ernie, her eyes drooping slowly shut. Without even thinking about it, Christy rose from her chair and crossed the room. She eased Izzie down and stretched out her legs so she’d be more comfortable, then she covered her with the lap blanket that had been draped over the back of the couch.

“I’m not surprised she’s out like a light,” Aaron said softly. “She chattered in the back seat for the whole two hour drive.”

Christy straightened. “She needed a nap.”

“How about a cup of coffee?” he asked. “Or tea.”

“Tea would be great, thanks.” And she followed him into the kitchen.

While he busied himself filling the kettle, she pulled mugs from the cabinet he pointed to.

“The house is beautiful,” she told him.

“It’s small,” he said, flipping off the faucet. “But it’s always worked for us.” He set the kettle on the burner and turned on the stovetop. “Barb and I considered selling when they started building the condos next door. The developer offered us a lot of money, but we hated the idea that our little beach cottage would become a parking lot. And we enjoyed the beach so much. Izzie’s always loved it here. We just decided we had to keep it. My grandfather built the cottage about sixty years ago. It’s squat and sturdy; just what you want when you’re so close to the ocean. The weather can be harsh. We’ve been pretty lucky, though. We’ve lost some shingles a time or two during hurricane seasons, but nothing too drastic.”

He reached up and knocked twice on the cherry wood cabinets.

“You’re superstitious,” Christy observed quietly.

“Actually, I’m not. That’s just a silly habit.” He slid a glass canister toward him, removed the top, and took out two teabags. “I’m not superstitious, and I don’t believe in luck, good or bad. I can’t. I mean, I lost my wife. I’m about to lose my daughter very soon.” He glanced toward the doorway, then looked back at her. “That kind of luck would make a man want to drive off a cliff. No, I despise the idea that all I’ll ever have is bad luck. So I don’t believe in any of that stuff.”