Page 8 of A Very Beary Christmas
“Suit yourself,” he said, still grinning as he took off toward the others.
A glance down confirmed what I already knew—he had left the sandwich. I wondered if his mother had told him to.
I checked to make sure no one was looking, then tucked it into my bag.
Later that night, when my father locked me in the trailer and left to go out, I pulled out the sandwich. It was a little squashed, but I didn’t care. Sam had been right. I liked it. A lot.
By the time I woke up, the storm had passed. The windows had iced up overnight, making it impossible to see outside, but I could hear the scrape of shovels and the rumbling hum of snow blowers from down below easily enough. The power still hadn’t come on, but that was okay. I had a strong craving for a PB & J and didn’t need power for that.
I pulled out the jar I’d bought and fixed myself a sandwich. It wasn’t nearly as good as the stuff Sam’s mom made, but it did the trick.
While I ate, I looked at my latest painting with a fresh eye. It was good. The bear, especially, had come out well. He stared back at me with intelligence in those golden-brown, mischievous eyes that beckoned me to come and play.
As much as I might want to do just that, the painting would have to wait.
I wrapped up in as many layers as I could, then went downstairs to help with the clean-up efforts. Many people were already out and hard at work. Some waved, and I waved back.
We worked throughout the day, clearing sidewalks and steps, digging out cars, and carving passageways through the piles of snow and ice scraped up by the town plow.
Mr. O’Malley came around a few times, handing out hot coffee and hot chocolate, encouraging people to take breaks and warm up. I admit, once the area in front of Mrs. Jankowski’s was clear, I took him up on it. Not accepting charity was one thing. Not accepting a cup of hot cocoa when you were frozen inside and out was just plain stupid.
It was times like these, when the town came together, united in a common purpose, that I almost felt like I belonged to something; something bigger than myself. The feeling was fleeting, however.
As soon as the power was restored, people would shuffle away, back to their own homes, their own businesses, their own lives. Tomorrow, we would all be familiar strangers again.
I sat in one of the corner booths, sipping cocoa and staring at my artwork, which Mr. O’Malley had hung on the wall.
“Everyone loves the painting,” Mr. O’Malley said, coming around with a thermal carafe of cocoa. I waved off a refill.
“I’m glad,” I told him honestly. “It looks good there.” Placed between two large-paneled windows that faced the mountains, it looked like a natural continuation of the landscape.
“There were some college kids passing through right before the storm hit. They seemed particularly interested. One took some pictures; said he had a cousin who ran a lodge and loved stuff like that.”
“Did you get a name?” I asked hopefully.
“No.” Mr. O’Malley shook his head and frowned. “I didn’t think about it. I’m sorry, Chloe.”
“No worries.” I summoned a smile, hiding the pang of disappointment. If one of the big lodges bought a few pieces, the money would go a long way. A couple of bucks in my pocket would allow me to take the next step on my journey come spring, wherever that might be.
One of the first things I would do with a bit of cash, I decided a few hours later as I shivered beneath my blanket with chattering teeth, was rent a hotel room for a night. One with limitless hot water and a working heater.
