Christmas by Accident Page 6

  Carter mostly watched, waited, and listened.

  A nurse hurried in, checked the IV, then explained to Mannie that it would take another twenty minutes.

  “In that case,” he informed her, “I’ll need you to add some Dr. Pepper to the IV.”

  The nurse giggled, her chubby body shook, her eyes sparkled. It probably wasn’t her first joke from Mannie.

  “I’m kinda serious about the Dr. Pepper,” he told Abby once the nurse had gone. “Do you mind? Get one for everybody.”

  Abby had barely left the room when Mannie directed his gaze at Carter. Not really at him but rather through him, as if Carter were made of glass and Mannie wanted to examine his heart.

  “I’ve been watching you watch Abby,” he finally said.

  Carter’s eyes were metallic. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Son, I need to ask you a serious question.”

  Carter hesitated, then bent in. “Certainly.”

  “What do you think of Abby?”

  Leaning close had been a mistake. Mannie had grabbed onto Carter’s arms and wouldn’t let go. Should Carter call for help?

  “Um . . . she seems like a very nice person.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake! Do you think she’s attractive?” He let the boy go. His head wagged, as if to say he’d seen granite that was less dense.

  “I . . . um . . . yes, she’s very pretty. But Mr. McBride, you’ve completely misunderstood. I thought Abby made it clear. We’re not dating.”

  “Obviously! Look, I like you, Carter, so I’m going to ask you a favor. I’m wondering if you can help me with something. It’s rather important.”

  “I can try. What is it?”

  “First, can I trust you?”

  “You don’t even know me.”

  “That’s why I’m asking, can I trust you?”

  Carter didn’t bother pointing out the man’s skewed logic. “Yes, you can trust me.”

  “Perfect. Now, you can’t breathe a word of this to Abby.”

  “Of what?”

  “Abby said you’re a writer.”

  “I wouldn’t say . . . well, I’m working on it.”

  “Good enough. Carter?” He motioned him closer, waited until his mouth was inches from Carter’s ear. “You never know how these hospital visits will turn out, and just in case things don’t go as planned in the long run, I’d like your help in writing my obituary. Can you do that?”

  “Your obituary?”

  “Yes, it’s the summary of one’s life they print in the paper when—”

  “I know what an obituary is, but is it going to be necessary? For you, I mean? And if so, wouldn’t Abby be the one—”

  Mannie’s words sliced Carter’s sentence in half, stopped it cold. “She’ll say that it invites negativity. I don’t even want to go there with her. I’m asking you. Will you help me?”

  Steps tapped on the tile behind them as Abby slid into the room. “Paging Dr. Pepper. Dr. Pepper, please come to the examination room,” she joked as she passed canned drinks to both Mannie and Carter.

  “I see where she gets it from,” Carter quipped.

  Abby took it as the compliment it was meant to be, then turned around to place her wallet back into her purse. With her back turned, Carter silently raised his can to Mannie. He’d made his decision. His lips didn’t need to move. As his head nodded, his eyes did the talking.

  “I will.”

  Carter was at the computer making changes to his story when his phone rang. Caller ID politely informed him that it was Lenny.

  “Carter, I’ve got some answers for you on the McBride claim—but be warned, it’s a little complicated.”

  “Talk to me,” Carter said.

  “It turns out there are two policies.”

  “Two?”

  “Yes. They’re a small business, so, as you know, the cars are registered in the business name.”

  “Nothing wrong with that.”

  “That’s correct, but in addition to the auto, Mr. McBride took out a life policy thirteen months ago.”

  Carter’s eyebrows lifted. “Life insurance?”

  “Yes, and here’s the problem. When he sent in his payment, he wrote one check for both policies but apparently only wrote one policy number on the check. It meant the entire amount was applied to the life side, which put his auto policy into default.”

  “But we would have sent him a notice of cancellation?”

  “Which we did. That’s where it gets tricky. When he received his notice of nonpayment, he called up to complain. He spoke to Jennifer in billing in the Providence call center. I pulled the tape and listened to the entire conversation.”

  “And . . . ?”

  “Jennifer noticed the problem and told him that she would fix it, that he was paid up on both policies, and to disregard the cancellation notice. But either the system glitched or she didn’t apply it correctly because the payment never transferred over to the auto side.”

  Even Carter’s phone was nodding. “So he was covered?”

  “Sure, he sent in the payment on time. It’s definitely our mistake. I’ve already sent it to processing, and they’ve just sent over the check. The car is a total, so they’ve paid out the entire claim. I’ve signed off and I’m putting the check in the mail to her now.”

  “Lenny, she’ll . . . well, she’ll need it right away. I’ll swing by and pick it up for her since I’ll be seeing her later today.” Carter didn’t have to see Lenny’s face to know his mouth was hanging open.

  “Wait, you two are dating?” Lenny asked, but as a statement, not a question.

  “We’re just friends.”

  A low laugh crawled through the phone. “Holy moly! You’re dating. Good for you, Carter!”

  “So, what about the check?” Carter asked again. “It would sincerely help her out, and we’d both owe you.” Carter was spreading on the charm so thick, Lenny would need a knife to scrape it off.

  Carter could almost hear Lenny’s shaking head. “Thing is, I can’t let you drop it off since you aren’t an employee any longer.”

  “Lenny, come on. What am I going to do, throw on a wig and try to cash it? You know me better than that. The thing is, I need to impress this girl, and this is your chance to help me out—and when do you want to do lunch again, Friday?”

  Lenny hesitated for only a moment, but it was long enough that Carter knew he had him. “Excellent. I’ll swing by right now and pick up the check. Oh, and Lenny . . . one last question.”

  “Yes?”

  “The life insurance policy. You say it was opened a little over a year ago?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did he have a checkup? Was there a physical submitted as part of the application?”

  “Of course, there would have to be. We won’t write a policy that large without one.”

  “That large? Do you remember the amount?”

  Carter heard a ruffle of papers as Lenny looked it up. “I have it. Are you ready?”

  “Go ahead.”

  “If Mr. McBride dies, his heirs—in this case, his niece—will get a check for half a million dollars.”

  Carter drove by ReadMore, glanced in the front window from the street to make absolutely certain Abby was working, and then headed directly to Mannie’s house. It was a white Cape Cod with cedar shingles, dormer windows on top, and a large chimney flanking each end. Carter knocked twice before Mannie finally opened the door.

  “Carter?” Wrinkles wrapped Mannie’s eyes. He checked his watch.

  “What are you dying from?” Carter asked, skipping the customary hello. His words couldn’t fly straighter. “How much time do you have left?”

  Mannie turned sideways, letting the questions slip past. “What are you talking about?” he asked, but the understudy in
a third-grade play could have done a better job of acting.

  Carter spelled it out for him. “At the hospital, you said you watched me watch Abby.”

  “So?”

  “You weren’t the only one paying attention. She mentioned that your hospital visits are the result of fainting spells. When we walked out that night, I noticed you were favoring your left arm. You were clenching your jaw trying like crazy not to let Abby see you limp. You asked for help writing an obituary, and then I learned that just over a year ago, you took out a life insurance policy. You may be able to sell Abby on a tale about low blood sugar, but I’m not buying it.”

  Mannie’s frame sagged. It seemed he was out of words and sick of pretending. This time when he turned sideways, it was with a sweep of his arm to steer Carter inside. The two men rested together on the couch.

  “It’s kind of a relief,” Mannie finally said, “having it out on the table, not needing to hide it.”

  “What do you have?” Carter asked.

  “Amyloidosis. You can Google the specifics, but the gist of ol’ Amy is that she’s a party girl and my organs, most notably my heart, are party central. The type I have is called light chain, but there’s nothing light about it.”

  “Is there anything they can do?” Carter wondered.

  “I’m past that, Carter. I’d like to think I’m reaching the acceptance stage.”

  “Why haven’t you told Abby? That doesn’t seem fair. Doesn’t she have the right to know?”

  A stillness draped the room, as if the entire home wanted to hear what Mannie had to say. “Carter, you’d need to have grown up with the girl to understand. She lives for Christmas, plans for it all year. She always has. She starts listening to the music in October, makes her lists in early November, cries during every cheesy Christmas special all through December. You could say she loves Christmas the same way that flowers adore sunshine. If I break the news to her now, it will completely ruin not only this Christmas but every single one to follow. I won’t have her being sad on my account every year—year after year—when her favorite day rolls around. Do you understand?”

  Every word was unwavering. Every inch of the man was determined. “Yes, sir,” Carter answered.

  “Then you need to promise me, Son, with a Holy Bible, swear-on-your-grave type of promise that you won’t tell her. Can you do that for me?”

  Was there truly a choice? “I promise.”

  “Thank you.”

  “So how long do you have?”

  For a man with little time, Mannie was noticeably calm. “They first said I’d be dead by Christmas. Then, out of the blue, my doctor discovered a trial drug that should give me the time I need to get ready. Let me ask you a question, Carter. Was that a coincidence, or was it a miracle?”

  Carter’s shoulders lifted. “I don’t know.”

  “Do you believe in miracles?” Mannie asked.

  Carter edged forward. It gave him more time to think. “I guess they’re possible. I mean, I think they’re feasible. I just feel like too many people call things in their lives miracles that don’t rise up to meet the qualifications. Does that make sense?”

  Mannie had also scooted forward. “I hear you, Son. You and I are not much different in that regard. But I’m telling you, I was going to be dead, and that’s all Abby would have remembered on her favorite day of the year, and so I looked at my ceiling and I asked aloud for that not to happen. And the next day when the doctor called, I can tell you that in that sliver of a moment, it felt an awful lot like a Christmas miracle to me.”

  “When do you plan to tell her?”

  “I hope I have until January, perhaps February.”

  “There’s one more thing I need to ask you,” Carter added.

  “Sure.”

  “The life policy.”

  “Yeah, how do you know about that?”

  “I worked for the insurance company. That’s how I met Abby. My colleague there says it was taken out a little over a year ago. When were you diagnosed?”

  “In October.”

  “I’m confused, then. Did you know when you took out the policy that you were sick?”

  “If I did, then that would have been a preexisting condition and the company wouldn’t have written the policy, right?”

  “Are you saying it was luck?”

  “I’m saying that after I’m gone, Abby isn’t going to have to worry about the store doing well to pay her bills. I’m saying that if she wants to pick up and move to Zimbabwe to raise giraffes, she’ll be able to do that. And to that end, I hope my brother and his wife are proud of the job I’ve done.”

  Carter pressed. “Did you have a feeling something was wrong?”

  Mannie stepped around his words. “It felt like I needed to be better prepared, and so I did something about it. I guess that takes us back to the very same question, doesn’t it?”

  “What’s that?”

  “Would you call that a coincidence or a miracle?”

  It was the third time Carter sat down with Abby at ReadMore, let her read his work, tried to implement her suggestions, marshaled as much information about the writing process as would stick. He told her that she’d been kind to take the time. Would she be as considerate, he wondered, once she knew her insurance claim had been settled?

  He tried to not watch her as she read, the way her tidy white teeth tugged at her lower lip, the way she tapped her pen in circles around troublesome words. Sometimes he couldn’t help himself.

  “This is much better, Carter,” she said, handing his pages back. “Your story is not nearly as gloomy.”

  “What you’re doing is very helpful.”

  “Carter, I’m an editor. Hand me a Bible and I’ll mark it up for improvement.”

  She was right. He’d learned that, as an editor, she could be brutal. Yet, though she always scribbled across his work like a disgruntled teacher, he couldn’t remember a time when he’d been so excited to take criticism.

  His eyes raised a hand. “If that’s true, if a story can always be improved, how will I know when to stop?”

  Abby surveyed the store. There were currently no customers. “Here’s how I see it,” she explained. “There are mechanics to writing—grammar, punctuation, style. These decisions are constant: should I write a short sentence or a long one? Should the story be told in first person or third? Would it be better in past or present tense? These choices cumulatively shape the finished product. Within these hundreds or even thousands of decisions, many are mechanical, like where do I put the comma? Do I join two sentences with a comma or a semicolon? These can all be mastered with a little time and practice.”

  “Or, in my case, a lot of time and practice.”

  “Perhaps. My point is, they can indeed be learned and conquered. But there is another side to the writing equation that gets tricky: the esoteric side. Those decisions are harder to teach. I find they are more innate.”

  “Give me an example.”

  “Like knowing when a story is ready. You have to be able to visualize your finished product, grasp what you as the writer are trying to say, and then repeatedly sculpt it until it matches or exceeds your vision. It’s important to be able to know when it’s ready, and it’s equally important to know when it’s time to stop.”

  “Will I ever get it?” asked Carter.

  “I doubt it,” Abby answered, holding a serious expression for as long as her lips would allow. “Hemingway said it aptly: ‘We are all apprentices in a craft where no one ever becomes a master.’”

  Carter scribbled the quote in his notes. Then, as Abby stood, apparently finished for the day, he made an announcement. “Abby, come with me. I have a surprise for you in my car.”

  Abby honestly hadn’t minded helping Carter. He’d been improving and seemed genuinely grateful. She waited while he fished an envelop
e from his car’s center console. When he turned, a goofy smile was pinned to his face.

  “Now that we’re finished for today,” he said, “I have this for you.”

  He sounded like a game-show host passing out contestant prizes, and Abby half expected a spotlight to swing over and a studio audience to spontaneously clap. As she reached for the envelope, it slipped from her fingers to the ground, and she stumbled into him trying to pick it up.

  To ease her own tension, she attempted to make a joke as she tore at the flap, still unsure what was inside. “And the winner is . . .” Except it wasn’t very funny and he didn’t laugh. She assumed that he had bought her movie tickets or perhaps a department-store gift card, but instead she noticed a check—a very large check—from her insurance company that would more than cover the cost of her deceased Fiesta.

  “My insurance money?” she asked, which was a silly question because it was self-evident, but it was also unexpected, and she was so overjoyed at the possibility of not having to drive Mannie’s stick shift any longer that her voice cracked. “It’s more than my car was worth!” she exclaimed, sounding like a pubescent teenager.

  “That part wasn’t me,” admitted Carter. “You should thank Mannie. He had the policy rider that pays out a claim with a car that’s a model year newer. Normally I’d suggest it’s not worth the cost, but Mannie’s been . . . lucky.”

  Red-faced, and without really considering her actions, Abby reached both arms around Carter, forgetting how much broader his shoulders were than her smaller limbs, and she tried to offer a thankful hug.

  It should have been a harmless gesture, except that her brain was flashing a warning signal to her arms that hugging a man so unexpectedly would not be completely proper. Her confused muscles froze mid-motion as an internal argument ensued.

  Hug the guy! He was kind enough to bring you this massive check, demanded the spontaneous side of her brain. Are you crazy, girl? Back off or he’ll think you’re into him, screamed the reserved side.

  Then an unexpected memory opened, a moment from when she was tiny, perhaps four or five, standing in a supermarket checkout line with her uncle. She reached up and wrapped her uneasy arms around his protecting leg, not noticing until seconds later that her uncle Mannie was standing two people ahead in line as she clung to the leg of a complete stranger.