Page 116 of The Twelve Months of Christmas
Only the night before, sitting on the balcony of Reggie’s waterfront condo, watching the ferry come in (she could get used to condo living), she’d told him she was going to make more of an effort at work.
“I still think you should marry me and retire,” he’d said.
“There were a lot of times I thought about quitting last year but I’m no quitter and I’m not leaving without my retirement. It’s the principal of the thing,” she’d hurried on before he could argue that if she was with him, she wouldn’t need it. “I like helping people and I think, for a while there, I lost track of that. But when we were walking around the neighborhood, delivering cookies, I remembered one of the reasons I went along with this Christmas-all-year thing. It’s not about a monthly party, even though those are fun. It’s about my attitude. I should be celebrating Christmas every day, doing my best to keep that joy going, trying to spread a little cheer to people who are having a hard day. Or a hard life.”
“Molly, you have got the biggest heart of any woman I ever met,” he’d said.
“It could be bigger, but I’m working on growing it.”
Which was exactly what she was doing this day. Mrs. Bigman came in, looking sad. Uh-oh. Here was her first challenge.
“Mrs. Bigman, you look like you could use a cookie,” Molly said, holding out her plate.
Cookies were obviously not the answer. Mrs. Bigman burst into tears.
“Oh, no. What’s wrong?” Molly asked.
“Don’t tell me you’re gonna have a shrink session,” protested the next person in line, a young man whose mama hadn’t taught him any manners.
“Just a minute,” Molly said to him. She went back to where Helen was trying to get the last of the letters put in the post office boxes. “I need you to come open your window,” Molly said to her.
“These should have been out half an hour ago,” Helen protested. As if Molly didn’t know that.
“Just for a few minutes. I’ll help you finish once we have a lull.”
“Somebody’s complaining about the line,” Helen surmised with a frown.
“Nobody will be complaining if we hurry up and help them. Come on.”
Helen opened the window next to Molly’s and Molly returned her attention to Mrs. Bigman. “Now, tell me what’s wrong.”
“The cookies,” Mrs. Bigman said, her lower lip trembling.
“The cookies,” Molly repeated, not following.
“It’s my son’s birthday.”
“Oh, and you want to send him cookies.”
Oh, boy, here we go again. Except Mrs. Bigman only had a card.
“He doesn’t like my cookies.”
“Oh, now I’m sure that’s not true,” Molly said.
Mrs. Bigman set down the card. “I’ll take one stamp. A flag.” There were tears in her eyes.
Molly dug out a stamp from her drawer. “What makes you think he doesn’t like your cookies?”
“My granddaughter told me. He threw them out. Then he told me he’d never gotten them.”
Trying to spare her feelings. Molly suddenly felt very sorry for Mrs. Bigman.
“I know I don’t bake as well as I used to. I...forget things sometimes and end up mixing up the ingredients. I guess lately my cookies aren’t very good. He used to love my cookies,” she finished, and a tear spilled onto her cheek.
“I really am sorry,” Molly said. “That has to be hard. But there is good news.”
Mrs. Bigman scowled. “What’s that?”
