Page 56 of About Last Christmas
I remember reading a Secret Santa letter from someone requesting support in getting a service dog for her little brother with cognitive disabilities. I had no idea it was from Josie because the bottom of the paper was illegible. It was one of the damaged letters from the café.
I’m trying to process this information while also responding to Josie. “Service dogs are expensive because of the extensive training involved. I know someone who just started—” An idea hits. Of course! My lips ease into a smile because I don’t need to be the Silver Creek Secret Santa for this one. Though Icouldhave Josie’s brother as the candidate, except for the media coverage aspect. It bothers me that Fletcher insists on plastering the Secret Santa stuff all over the news. This little boy just needs a dog, not a camera in his sweet face. I know what I have to do. “Excuse me a minute.” I stand just as Brandy is about to put … garland? … yes, garland in my hair. “I’ll be right back.” I grab my phone and find Patricia in my contacts.
“Hey, Greta,” Patricia answers. “You finally taking me up on my offer to spend the holidays at our farm?”
“Not this time,” I say graciously. “But I plan to stop by sometime and see where you hung the painting, if that’s okay?”
“You know it is, girl! I can’t thank you enough.”
A family heirloom was accidentally sold at her aunt’s estate sale. Everyone was flipping out because it was a framed landscape their great-great-grandfather painted. It took some time, but I was able to track it down and recover the piece. She promised me afreaking huge favor. Her words. So here we are.“I’m calling to see how the nonprofit is going. Hope Unleashed, right?”
“You know we got the funding. One litter just went through initial training, and we have another ready to go soon.”
“Have you got the families selected yet?”
A pause. “Yeah, we did that pretty early on.”
Oh.
“But funny you should ask, because we just had a family back out. They discovered their kiddo was allergic to Labrador dander. They’re looking into finding a hypoallergenic breed.”
Hope billows. “Can I suggest a replacement family? I know someone who’s looking for a service dog for her little brother on the autism spectrum. Her name’s Josie Dubois.”
“Does she know we’re just starting out?” Patricia asks. “We can’t officially assign dogs for training until after the new year.”
I sneak a glance at Josie. Looks like she’s nearly finished with her cut. As the hairstylist’s removing her cape, I angle away and lower my voice. “I haven’t told her anything. I wanted to talk with you first.”
“Also, the family needs to be able to commit to at least a month of handler training.”
“Okay, I’ll let her know.”
The following pause seemed long enough for me to recite “’Twas the Night Before Christmas” … backward. Not that I could do that. She finally says, “If they agree to fill out the paperwork and complete the training, then I think we can make it happen.”
I jump up and down like a lunatic. Brandy yells something about my hair not being sprayed yet. “Thank you, Patricia. You’re amazing.”
“Be sure to give her my number. Then we’ll start the process.”
We hang up, and I approach a wary Josie, who’s now signing a credit card slip at the counter.
I wait for her to finish with the cashier, then blurt out, “My friend Patricia owns a nonprofit service dog organization. She’s got an opening for your little brother, if you want it?”
Josie claps a hand over her shocked mouth. Then, as quickly as the surprise hits, so does the skepticism. Her arm falls to her side, and she assesses me. “You’re not pranking me, are you? This isn’t the school cafeteria.”
Okay. That’s fair. I may have once replaced her mashed potatoes with art paste. “This is legit. Her name’s Patricia Caffrey, and the organization is Hope Unleashed.” I snatch a pen from the counter, write Patricia’s number on the back of Brandy’s lip-shaped business card, and hand it to Josie. “Call this number. She’ll explain everything.”
Josie’s eyes well with tears, and I have a nanosecond to brace myself before she squeeze-hugs me. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she squeals as she cuts off my air supply. “I can’t believe you did this.”
I can’t reply. Mostly because I can’t breathe, but also because I’m starting to see what Gran meant. It’s a different sort of feeling to relieve a burden. To offer some sort of hope. This is more heartwarming than any Christmas movie. Instead of watching these kinds of moments unfold as a detached audience, I get to live it.
Josie practically floats out of the salon, and I’m smiling as I return to my seat. Contentment spreads through me as Brandy finishes my updo.
“Okay.” She beams. “Just need the star.”
The what?
CHAPTER 18
A Christmas treeis exploding from my head. If that’s the effect Brandy was going for, she nailed it. All my hair is piled atop my scalp. Brandy must’ve placed something beneath all those locks to give the updo height. Little plastic bulbs, snippets of mini-garland, and strands of tinsel are all pinned here and there. The crowning feature is the LED star bright enough to guide Santa’s sleigh at night.
