Page 43 of No Room in the Inn

“Mommy, it’s not night,” Flora says.

Nixon gives a snort of laughter, but Sarah takes the comment in stride.

“You’re right, baby,” she says. “It’s day.” Then she looks at us. “Are we ready to go?”

“Yep,” Nixon says, and with that he strides out of the kitchen.

Sarah looks over her shoulder as Nixon leaves, and when she’s sure he’s gone, she whispers, “That man was looking at you like he was seconds away from shoving you up against the nearest wall and kissing you senseless.”

“Good,” I grumble. I can’t help my feeling of satisfaction; if I have to deal with being attracted to Santa, Nixon should have to deal with being attracted to Mrs. Claus. It’s only fair—let him see how weird it is. “Let’s go.”

***

The “little old ladies” we’re singing to actually turn out to be not so little. When Edna James opens the door to her small home, she blocks the doorway almost entirely.

“Miss Edna,” Nixon says, stepping forward and kissing her hand. “We’re here to brighten your holidays.” He smiles at her apologetically. “I know it’s barely December yet, but we didn’t think you’d mind.”

Edna claps her hands delightedly. “What a treat! Of course I don’t mind, sweetie.” Her chin wobbles as her eyes grow bright. “Harold has been gone going on four years now, but the beginning of the Christmas season is always the hardest. He was diabetic, my Harold,” she says to Sarah and I, “and he was always grumbling and complaining about all the holiday goodies he couldn’t have.” Edna gazes off into the distance, then sighs heavily. “I miss his grumbling.”

Nixon smiles at her, his face all warmth and dimples. He then proceeds to carry on the conversation with her as though they’re old friends.

I just watch in amazement, although at this point I guess it’s my fault for being surprised. Will this man ever do something I actually expect?

“Come in, come in,” Edna says after a minute of chatting with Nixon, and we all nod gratefully. It isdangcold outside.

“Well, hello, sweetheart,” Edna coos at Flora, who’s being carried by Sarah and who looks like a little ball of fluff bundled up in a fuzzy coat and a fuzzy hat.

Flora buries her face in Sarah’s shoulder, and Edna smiles. She plays peekaboo with Flora for a second before bustling inside, and we all follow.

Edna’s home smells like some sort of potpourri, or maybe some sort of Lysol air freshener. It’s an overwhelming scent, sickly sweet and pungent. But Edna seems not to notice or mind. I debate whether to breathe through my mouth, but then I remember what my anatomy/physiology teacher told us at the beginning of the semester before our first cadaver lab: if you breathe through your mouth to avoid the smell, later you’ll just taste it instead.

I opt for the smell now, just like I did then.

As we file into Edna’s living room and sit in a row on the couch, I can’t help but notice the myriad of pictures on the walls. Not just on the walls, either; it seems there are pictures wherever she was able to squeeze them in. Most of the photos seem to show Edna along with her husband and a trio of dogs. Could they never have kids?

I decide against asking, because it’s a personal question and none of my business. I do look at Edna with a new sort of sympathy, though, and I find myself feeling overwhelmingly grateful that Nixon suggested we do this.

“What are you young folks going to sing for me, then?” Edna says, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

“We’re at your disposal,” Nixon says promptly. He gives her a glorious smile, one that seems genuine. “And we’re taking requests. What are your favorite Christmas songs?”

Edna smiles fondly at him and says, “Oh,you. You spoil this old woman, Mr. Nixon.”

Nixon just shrugs, still smiling, and waits for her to speak. I’m surprised at their interaction; I’m getting the vibe that they’ve spent time around one another before.

“Well, I do love Silent Night,” Edna says. “And Joy to the World.”

And so we sing. We start with Silent Night and then move on to Joy to the World, and I can tell the exact moment Nixon realizes I’m tone deaf. It starts with a bit of a wince and is followed by an almost incredulous glance in my direction. I just give him a little shrug, and he grins.

We make it through, and when we’ve finished singing, Edna actually has tears in her eyes. It pulls at my heartstrings to see that—to see a lonely old woman crying happy tears because of something we did for her. All I can think is that Granny would be proud.

Chapter 20

Willow

“Wow,” says Nixon after we bid Edna goodbye and go back to the car. He looks at me. “Sarah was not kidding. Singing isn’t your thing.”

I roll my eyes, shivering. The wind cuts straight through me; I should have worn a warmer coat, but this is the only one I brought with me. The dress doesn’t help, of course. “Well, now you know,” I say. “Next time don’t volunteer me to go caroling without asking first.”

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