Another Christmas Story

Scrooge was right, after all
By Priscilla Berggren-Thomas

“Marley was dead.”
I on the other hand was very much alive, wrapped in a blanket, a cup of Earl Grey I hand, as I watched his ghostly face appear on Scrooge’s front door knocker. It was Christmas Day, and I was all alone. After a month of lying, conniving and finagling, I’d managed to get myself out of every Christmas invitation, so that I could stay home and watch, read and listen to Scrooge, in every adaptation available. So far, I’d watched the musical version and read the sci-fi version on Christmas Eve and was settling in for Christmas morning spent with George C. Scott. While other people, were busy cooking turkeys, watching screaming kids open more presents then they needed or their parents could afford, or juggling which parent got which kid for what holiday, I was huddled under a blanket with Dexter, my golden retriever, watching Scrooge and Tiny Tim. I couldn’t even explain why I wanted to watch Scrooge be redeemed, over and over. I personally thought he was right about Christmas being all a humbug and I was rooting for him to convince the Spirits of Christmas that it was, too.
Scrooge slid the bolt of the door to his room and cupped his warm bowl of broth in his hands, while I sipped my Earl Gray sweetened with honey and listened to Dexter snore. Marley’s chains rattled up the stairs, punctuated by Dexter’s rhythmic snores. I watched, my heart pounding in my chest, as the door bolt mysteriously slid open and the silver grey Marley dragged his chains into Scrooge’s room. Despite the fact I’d seen this scene hundreds of times and Scrooge only once, my heart raced. Scrooge had it easy, I thought, taking a sip of tea from my cooling mug. All he had to deal with where a bunch of ghosts and people who hated him. Where were his preteen half-sisters in hip huggers and midriff shirts demanding money for Christmas so they could get IPods and cell phones? I mean, Tiny Tim never ripped open his present and said, “Is that all?”
I got up to put wood on the fire, and warm my tea up in the microwave while the Ghost of Christmas Past appeared to Scrooge. Dexter trotted into the kitchen after me, delighted to have me home with him for the day. He ran to the back door, where his leash hung pounding the wall with his tail and dancing around in circles.
“Later, buddy,” I promised. “After this one, will take a long walk in the park.”

My Christmas plans had all started to unfold on Thanksgiving Day. I was at my mother’s having dinner with my mom, step-dad and 15 year-old half-sisters. It was their turn to have me; a system that had been in effect since I was ten and my parents divorced. That I was now 28, a veterinarian and living on my own, had no bearing on the subject. I still alternated Christmases and Thanksgiving between my now remarried parents, duly listening to them talk about their new spouses, children, step-children, in-laws, former in-laws, former spouses. Occasionally we might even talk about my life, although usually it was to ask if I had a boyfriend yet, or how my “little job at the animal shelter was?” That I was the director of the local ASPCA, had never sunk in to my family. To them, I was still the pig-tailed bucktoothed tomboy sitting under the holiday table with the dog.
So, on Thanksgiving Day as Dan, my step-dad, carved the turkey, and the twins text messaged friends, I sat and listened to my Aunt Beatrice and my mother talk about my cousin Kate’s wedding plans. In the living room, my cousins Tim and Mike played Guitar Hero, while their sisters sat at the computer checking out their MySpace pages. My mother’s old dog, Sandy, a German Shepherd, walked into the living room to lay down on her dog bed, but as the girls fought of the computer, she thought better of it and wandered back through the dining room and out into the kitchen.
“Get in here you kids,” Aunt Beatrice bellowed into the living room, “It’s time to eat.”
No one moved.
Dan finished carving the turkey and sat back, continuing his conversation with my uncle about the new golf course in town. My mother bringing the mashed potatoes in from the kitchen set them down on the table and continued her conversation with my aunt. I got up and wondered into the kitchen after Sandy, wondering if she had found a quiet place. I found her in the laundry room, lying next to the dryer. It was still warm from the last load of laundry my mother had dried before dinner.
“Found a quiet spot, did you girl?” I said softly as I started to sit down next to Sandy, but I hadn’t even gotten down to the floor when my mother hollered. “Come one Rachel, you’re holding up dinner.”
I wasn’t of course. My mother met me in the kitchen, handing me a bowl of yams to take out to the table, as she grabbed the green beans and followed me out.
“What are you doing for Christmas, Rachel?” Aunt Beatrice asked as I came through the door. Oh God, I thought, we haven’t even made it through Thanksgiving and you’re already planning Christmas.
“It’s her year to be with her Dad,” my mother said. “It seems like it’s always her year to be with her Dad.”
I looked at my mother surprised. Not by her comment about my always spending Christmas with my Dad. She said that every year, even when I was spending Christmas with her. No what surprised me was that my Dad had called me the night before to say he was sorry but he and Jan, his third wife, were taking Kyle, their 2 year old, to Bermuda for the holidays.
“Sorry, honey,” he’d said, “but you’ll have to make other plans.”
Now I blinked, realizing that my mother had no idea my father wasn’t going to be around for Christmas.
“Are you?” Beatrice asked.
“What?” I said, my mind racing.
“Spending Christmas with your Dad?”
“She has too,” Mom answered, “I’ll never hear the end of it if she doesn’t.”
“She’s an adult now,” Beatrice said talking to my mother and ignoring me, “She can do what ever she wants.”
“Really?” I wanted to say, but stopped by self.
Mom turned to me. “So honey,” she said smiling, “you want to come here instead?”
What could possibly be better, I thought. If Dad thought I was spending Christmas with mom, and mom thought I was with him, I could actually spend the day all by myself, me and Dexter and the animals at the shelter. I started to smile, the thought of what Christmas might really be like already dancing through my head.
“Sorry mom,” I lied, “I have to go to Dad’s for Christmas.

Two weeks later, my plans were solidifying better than my mother’s Christmas Jello. I stopped at the used bookstore, owned by my across-the-hall neighbor Bill, on the way home from work.
“Hey,” he said, “I found you a first edition of the Christmas Carol.” He picked up a beautiful embossed leather bound book from underneath the counter and offered it to me.
The cover was in pristine shape and it smelled of leather as I opened it up. On the fly leaf it had been signed, “Merry Christmas, Sarah. Love Mummy and Daddy.” I turned the pages gently, but they were still white and not too crisp.
“Wow, but I doubt I can afford that.”
“Sure you can,” Bill said, “they aren’t all that rare.” He came around the counter and knelt down to scratch Dexter’s ear, offering him a dog biscuit. Bill’s little Westie, Toby, followed him, his dog tags jangling like Christmas bells.
“But are you sure you really want to spend Christmas alone?”
“Yes, so don’t start acting like my mother,” I said digging out my wallet to pay for the book. “And I won’t be alone. I’ll have Dexter and Ebenezer to keep me company.” I waved the book at him, as I turned to walk out the door.
“Is ‘A Christmas Carol’ really the only Christmas movie you ever watch?” Bill asked.
“No, sometimes I alternate it with ‘Holiday Inn,’” I said.

I dropped Dexter off at home and headed to the grocery store where I found a copy of the Bill Murray version of Scrooge on sale for $5.00. At the video rental store, I picked up a used copy of Captain Picard as Ebenezer.
The phone was ringing as I came through the apartment door. I kicked the door shut behind me, set my bags down on the kitchen table and grabbed the phone.
“Oh, hi, honey.”
“Hi, Mom.”
I pulled the milk out of the grocery bag and put it in the fridge. Dexter walked into the kitchen, his dinner bowl in his mouth.
“I just talked to you father,” my mother said.
I held my breath as I stood up, Dexter’s dish in hand. Visions of sugar plums flushing down the toilet before my eyes.
“He said he and Jan are going away for Christmas. He said he thought he’d mentioned it to you already.”
“Oh, yeah,” I said, “he did.”
“Well, why didn’t you let me know sooner? I’ll have to change the seating arrangement to make room for you.”
“Oh no, that’s okay,” I said. I looked down at Dexter who was waiting for me to do something with his dinner bowl. “Help,” I thought at him, but he just wagged his tail.
“Well, you are coming, now. Aren’t you?” she said.
“Actually I can’t, Mom. Sorry. I have to work.”
“Work?” Her voice rose. “On Christmas?”
I slammed the dish down on the counter, surprising Dexter. Closing my eyes, I leaned my forehead against the kitchen cabinet.
“I run an animal shelter, Mom,” I said. “Someone needs to feed the animals and clean their cages.”
“Well, why’s it have to be you,” she said. “Can’t someone else do it?”
“It’s my turn.”
“You need to get a real job,” she said.
My hand squeezed the phone, threatening to crush it. No matter how many times I reminded my mother, I had eight years of college, ran a shelter with a 6-digit budget, supervised 6 employees, and found safe loving homes for thousands of dogs and cats every year, she still thought being a veterinarian wasn’t a real job. Well, this time I’d make that work for me. I was the boss. I didn’t have to work on a holiday. But my mother apparently had no idea that was true.
I breathed in trying not to hiss through my teeth and forced myself to sound sweet.
“Sorry, Mom, but it’s my turn to work the holiday. I’ll call you on Christmas, if not before.”

The next day, I told Katie she’d be off on Christmas Day.
“Why?” she said. “I always work on Christmas Day.”
“I know,” I answered. “That’s why I thought it was about time you got Christmas off.”
“I don’t want it off,” she said. “You go on and spend it with your family. I’ll take care of the feeding and cleaning.”
We were both in coveralls, hosing down one of the indoor runs. I raised my voice to be heard over the barking of the dogs exercising in the outside yard.
“No,” I said. “I’m working Christmas. You can have the day off to spend with your family.”
“I don’t want the day off. And besides, I only live a block away. I can come in for a couple hours in the morning and still spend the day with my family.”
I turned the hose on the walls of the run, which were smeared with dog poop. The water sprayed back at us, speckling my glasses, and soaking Katie’s leg. She glared at me.
“I’m the boss and I say you’re off on Christmas,” I said glaring back.
“So I lose out on time and a half, just so you don’t have to tell your mother you don’t want to spend Christmas with her.” She stormed out of the kennel.
I turned off the water, rolled up the hose and followed Katie into the workroom. She was filling dishes with kibble.
“Please Katie,” I said, “just this once, okay? I’ll make it up to you, you can work every other holiday and I’ll give you double time,” mentally figuring out what I’d have to cut out of the budget to come up with the money.
She turned to me and smiled. “Did it ever occur to you, you could just say you were working and not.”
I grinned. “You obviously don’t know my mother. She’ll be calling here all day to make sure I’m really working.”
Katie handed me a stack of six dog dishes to hand out, but I didn’t move.
“Oh stop it,” she said, “you do the hurt puppy look better than the dogs do. Okay, okay, I’ll let you work Christmas.”
“Thanks, Kate,” I said as I turned to feed the yapping dogs.

There was a knock on the door, just as the bright light of the Ghost of Christmas Present began to glow under Scrooge’s door. Dexter barked and wagged his tail, his toenails clicking on the hardwood floor as he ran to the door. I hit the pause button, as I dug myself out of my blankets and followed Dexter.
Bill stood at the door, taking in my ratty robe and unwashed hair.
“I guess you don’t have to get dressed for Ebenezer,” he said.
“Cute,” I said.
He bent down to pet Dexter, who rolled over on his back offering his belly for a scratch.
“You sure you don’t want to come over for dinner? We’ll be eating at 2.”
I tried to smile, “Thanks, but no. The point of spending Christmas alone, is to be alone.”
“Well, if you get sick of Scrooge’s company, come on over.”
He turned and headed back to his apartment across the hall. When he opened the door I caught a whiff of baking bread. He waved the door open and shut a few times fanning the tantalizing smell toward me.
“Sure, I can’t entice you?”
My stomach growled.
“No thanks,” I said and closed my door against the yeasty odor.
Dexter stood in front of me, his leash in his mouth.
“Soon buddy, after George C. is done.”
I headed back for the couch and was just wrapping myself back in the blanket, when the phone rang.
“Hi hon,” my mother said. “I thought you were going to be a work today.”
“It’s only 9 am, Mom.” I said, “I’m getting ready to go now.”
“Well, how long will you be? Why don’t you come afterwards.”
“Can’t sorry. You’ll have to have a great day without me.”
“Well, it won’t be the same at all. Why don’t you come for leftovers tonight.”
Dexter’s tail thumped against the floor. He shook his leash like it was a snake. The snap rattled against the floor.
“Gotta go, Mom. I’ll call you tomorrow,” I said and hung up quick before she could say anything else.
Dexter jumped up, running around me in circles and swirling his leash, the snap hitting my legs as he ran.
“Okay, okay. George will have to wait. We’ll go for a walk and down to the shelter to feed everyone, okay?”
He raced to the door, sliding on the throw rug for the last 5 feet and slamming into the door.
“I need to get dressed first, buddy,” I said as I headed to the bedroom.
The phone was ringing as Dexter and come through the door after feeding the animals at the shelter. I kicked off my boots and threw my coat on the chair, as the machine picked up.
“Oh, you must still be at work,” my mother’s disembodied voice spoke out of the machine, “I’ll try calling you there.”
I raced across the room, to pick up the phone before she hung up. I didn’t want to answer, but I knew if she called work and I didn’t answer there, I’d hear about it.
“Hi, Mom,” I hit the button to turn off the machine. “I just got back.”
“Oh good, are you done for the day? You can come over for dessert.”
I gazed at the dark tv, my stack of Christmas Carol dvds sitting on the coffee table. I still had Alastair and Captain Picard to curl up with. Dexter trotted over to me, leash in his mouth. “We just got back,” I mouthed at him silently, as I wracked my brain for an excuse not to get hooked into going to my mother’s.
“Sorry mom, can’t,” I said. “One of the dogs was off feed, I need to go back into the shelter in an hour to check on her.”
“Well, maybe after that,” her voice trailed off.
“I’ll call you if I have time, but I doubt it.”
I popped George back in the player and went into the kitchen to make myself a cup of Earl Gray and heat up some left over pizza. Dexter jumped up on the couch next to me, as I snuggled under the blanket. I feed him pizza crust while we watched the rest of George’s Scrooge be redeemed.
The ghost of Christmas yet to come, was pointing toward a grave as Scrooge begged for mercy and my mother pulled up in front of my apartment. Dexter ran toward the front window wagging his tail. I got up to see what had him so excited and saw her looking for a parking spot.
“Shit.”
Dexter ran toward the door, spinning in circles and sliding across the hardwood floors. I popped the dvd out of the player, grabbed Alastair and Captain Picard along with it. I pulled my coat and boots on, grabbed Dexter’s leash and stuffed the dvds into my book bag. Bill was coming out of his door and into the hall, as I threw open my door and grabbed my keys.
“What’s up?” he asked.
Dexter was heading down the front stairs.
“No, Dexter,” I hollered. He stopped looking at me, his head cocked to the side.
“The back way,” I said jerking my head to the back stairs. The dog turned and raced to the back stairs, which led to the parking lot where I’d left my car.
“What ever you do,” I said to Bill, “you didn’t see us. Please?”
The front door was opening and I could hear my mother’s quick light steps coming into the downstairs hall.
“Please?”
“What’s going on?
I headed toward the back stairs. “Please?” I asked again, “don’t tell her you saw us.”
“Sure,” he said, as I dove thru the door and raced down the backstairs.

I popped the DVD in the player in the conference room and curled up on an old donated couch with Dexter and a bag of microwave popcorn. The shelter dogs ran around the conference room trying to decide whether to lay down or play. I’d let them all out to join Dexter and I, as we watched Captain Picard play Scrooge. The room was dark except for the flicker cast across the room by the tv set. Lights ran around the room, as a car pulled into the shelter parking lot. I hit pause and waited quietly, hoping it was someone just turning around.
Someone knocked on the door.
“Shhh,” I said to Dexter and the other dogs as they raced toward the door barking.
“Rachel, it’s mom,” her voice yelled through the door over the barking dogs. “I know you’re in there, let me in.”
I slipped out the conference room door, letting Dexter come with me, but pushing the other dogs back. I pulled on my lab coat as I went to the front door.
“I’m really busy, Mom,” I said, as I opened the door.
“I’m not staying dear,” she kissed my on the check, “and Merry Christmas to you, too.”
“Merry Christmas, Mom,” I said, staring at my mother a box of food in one hand, Sandy’s leash in the other.
“Well, don’t just stand there, take something.”
I grabbed Sandy’s leash and then realized Mom was holding the box out to me. Dropping the leash, I grabbed for the box, just as Sandy ran through the door to greet Dexter and the two started tussling on the floor. One of the shelter dogs poked his nose between the door and the jamb, opening the conference room and 20 dogs poured out in the lobby, heading straight for the door where my mother stood. I tried to slam the door shut before they could get out, just as my mother moved to step through it and into the room. She stood wedged between the door and the jamb, effectively blocking the dogs escape.
“Get back,” I yelled as dogs danced around me, the box of food, smelling of turkey and stuffing, catching their attention. A shepherd and corgi started to growl at each other, as both jockeyed for a closer position. I grabbed the collar of the shepherd, trying to head off a fight. A boxer mix knocked against me sending the box to the ground, the sound of breaking china filling the room.
I grabbed the upside down box off the floor, to keep all the dogs from plunging for it and placed it on the counter. My mother stepped in, closed the door and opened the lid of the box. Broken plates lined the bottom. Mashed potatoes and gravy painted the sides of the box. She closed the box, not saying a word about her broken china.
“Which one’s sick,” my mother asked surveying the dogs gathered around my legs.
“Oh, she’s out back,” I said. I thought about crossing my fingers behind my back, but figured I was already going to hell for all the lying I’d done so far. One more wasn’t going to make much difference.
My mother looked at me a moment, then at the dogs. Her eyes flickered toward the conference room door.
“Sorry about the dinner, maybe the dogs will enjoy it.” She turned to head toward the door.
“What about Sandy?”
“She’s been moping all day without you. I thought I’d let her stay with you and Dexter.”
“I’ll bring her home tomorrow,” I said, as I kneeled to pet Sandy. She licked my face as the other dogs, circled us yapping and trying to push each other out of the way.
“No,” my mother said, looking down at Sandy and me. “I think she should stay with you permanently.” She pet the top of Sandy’s head. “You belong together,” she said very softly, as she turned to go out the door.
“Come to visit on New Years, if you can,” she said and walked out the door.

I packed up the DVDs and books, put the dogs back in their kennels, dividing the spoiled dinner among them. Sandy, Dexter and I got into the car and headed home.
I unlocked the door to my apartment, as Bill and Toby stepped out into the hall. Toby ran in circles around Dexter and Sandy, as the dogs sniffed each other and began wrestling in the hallway. Bill’s apartment was dark and silent.
“You’re company leave already?”
“No, they cancelled out on me. You hungry, I’ve got loads of food,” he said. “I should even have a copy of A Christmas Carol,” he said, “but I think it’s the The Muppets’ version.”
I shook my head. “I maybe a Christmas Carol fanatic, but I draw the line at the Muppet’s.”
“Well, how about ‘Holiday Inn,’” he said waving a DVD at me.
Toby trotted back into the apartment, Dexter and Sandy following him.
“I guess that’s a yes,” I said, following the dogs into Bill’s apartment. “I think I’ve had enough Scrooge for one day.”

Enjoy a Christmas Story by Lynn Olcott

The Shepherd
By Lynn Olcott

A television roars faintly from one end of the room. Light twinkle overhead. A young woman in scrubs stands by a table and pulls miniature figures from a carton, arranging them on a red cloth. She’s glad her supervisor has given her this task. When she dropped her son off at his babysitter’s house that morning, he seemed to be coming down with a cold, and her old car is running rough and needs snow tires. It’s soothing to work here in the community room for a little while before beginning her many other tasks of the day.
Cara, the aide, reaches into the scene, adjusting, placing and rearranging the figures in relationship to each other. The old story from Sunday school runs through her head as her hands work. The last figure in the box is a sturdy shepherd boy carrying a lamb across his shoulders. He is deftly painted with sandals, a brown robe, a cheerful smile, a touch of sunburn, and a headband of blue paint around brown paint hair. Cara steps back slightly to observe her work, studying the toy animals and the small plaster people in flowing plaster robes.
There are so many people left out of the story, she muses, the ordinary people. Who took care of the camels for the kings? What about the shepherds’ families and the innkeeper’s wife? In Cara’s mind, this little shepherd has just arrived from far away tawny fields, tired and triumphant from his journey. She thinks of her son Daniel. He will greet her later with his lopsided grin, later when she picks him up at the babysitter’s, later when her shift finally ends. She imagines him someday older, taller, off on an adventure, following a star. She sets the shepherd near the mother and moves the mother closer to her child.
Residents shuffle past Cara’s table. The ribbons on the front of Mrs. Harding’s walker waver in the hot, dry air of the community room. Cara greets Mrs. Harding and pats her arm. The old woman leans forward and peers into the Christmas scene. She reaches across the table to touch the figure of the shepherd, her hand trembling with tenderness and Parkinson’s disease.
Mrs. Jordan rolls up in her whirring chair, a knitting bag swinging jauntily from an orange clip. Mrs. Jordan’s voice trickles into Cara’s thoughts.
“…looks very pretty, dear.”
A glance at the clock reminds Cara that it’s time for the weekly staff meeting. Quickly she tucks the empty cardboard box under the table and walks down the hall to the staff room, where the meeting has already begun.
A nurse is saying, “ Mrs. Harding is still pretty frail…I don’t think she’s quite over that last episode of pneumonia yet.”
“Yeah,” agrees the activities director cheerfully, fanning out the fingers of one hand, studying her lavender nails. “She’s pretty out of it lately.”
The nurses look annoyed.
“Well, she is,” repeats the recreation coordinator defensively.
“Just watch for any sign of elevated temperature,” the charge nurse continues patiently. They go on to the next resident… and the next…and the next.
The meeting ends. Nurses and aides spill into the hallway and along the corridors, still talking. Cara returns to her wing where she moves competently through her tasks. All afternoon, call bells ring for her and she responds as quickly as she can, smiling her answers and smoothing, and tidying rooms. Mrs. Harding’s room is next. Cara arrives in Mrs. Harding’s doorway.
“Where’s my son?” asks the old woman, looking up.
“I haven’t seen him, Mrs. Harding.” Cara tries to remember if Mrs. Harding has a son. Cara secretly agrees with the activities director, though she wouldn’t have put it quite the same way.
Mrs. Harding is smiling. She has caught sight of someone coming toward her through the weedy field. It’s him. It’s summer time, and the grass is golden and the sun shines warmly behind him. She reaches out to him. He has something to tell her. What is it?
Cara takes Mrs. Harding’s hands in hers. She is remembering something from a training video about helping orient the patient to reality. There is more to this job than people think. There is a lot to remember. Cara concentrates on Mrs. Harding.
“Where does your son live?” Cara asks. Mrs. Harding doesn’t respond.
“Mrs. Harding?” Cara asks again, slightly louder.
Mrs. Harding’s hands drop to her lap and her eyes close, trapped in a memory only slightly muted by arterial sclerosis and time. She remembers the faint scent of the tarmac on the summer air the day her son came home. She watches as they unload his casket from the plane.
Cara watches, feeling alarmed by the old woman’s chalky face.
“Mrs. Harding?” Cara asks gently as she touches the old woman’s arm. “Are you feeling all right?” Cara puts her palm on the Mrs. Harding’s forehead, just as she would for Daniel. Too warm. She rests her fingers on Mrs. Harding’s veiny, papery wrist.
“Mrs. Harding?” she asks again.
Mrs. Harding seems not to hear.
Cara walks to the nurses’ station to alert them to Mrs. Harding’s possible fever and fluttery pulse. She asks the nurse about Mrs. Harding’s son. Is there a son? No one seems to know.
The evening aides are bringing dinner carts along the hall. Cara helps Mrs. Harding onto her bed. The facility doctor looks in on Mrs. Harding and decides to move her to the hospital unit. For hours, tides of chemicals flow through Mrs. Harding’s body. She drifts in a blue-gray solitude, Her son is talking to her. If only she could make out what he has to say.
Her shift ends and Cara is glad she has the next two days off. She slips her down jacket on over her scrubs and fingers the car keys in her pocket. It has been snowing all day and she didn’t wear her boots and now her shoes will get wet. She will go and pick up Daniel, and try to do something about her car, which is worrying her. Her two days off feel gobbled up already. She promises herself that tonight she and Daniel will watch a movie and relax, just sit on the couch and relax. She has enough energy left to fold the laundry and that’s all.
Mrs. Harding is telling her son that she feels very tired. He says that he understands and he puts his arms around her shoulder. She tells him that he looks wonderful. They begin to walk. Together they walk out of the facility into the field of weeds and wildflowers behind their house. The sun is warm.
When Cara comes back into work, she is told that Mrs. Harding has passed away. Cara feels a sting of sadness, thinking again of Mrs. Harding who was kind and who seemed very alone in the world. She remembers a training class about this too, about caregivers managing their emotions when a patient dies. Cara goes down the hall and looks into Mrs. Harding’s empty room, which is being cleared for a new resident. As Cara pauses by the doorjamb she spots something on the floor, lying partly hidden behind the leg of the shiny adjustable bed. It’s the shepherd. Cara scoops the figure up and slides it into the pocket of her scrubs.
In the community room, the residents are watching the blaring television. Tiny lights blink on and off around the room. Mrs. Jordan is knitting something blue. Briefly Cara wonders what it is. She wonders if Mrs. Jordan knows what it is.
Everything is the same except for the absence of Mrs. Harding. Cara pauses at the long metal table and pulls the shepherd from her pocket. Carefully she places him near the young mother watching over her child.

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