โBessie!โ I scream. โBessie!โ
Oh my God, this is the worst Christmas Eve ever. Not only have I been working two shifts in a row at a crappy diner, but after forgetting to serve one of my customers, sheย died. You would think that if you screw up as a waitress, the worst thing that could happen is somebody has a bad meal. But apparently not. Apparently, my neglect hasย killedย this woman. Sheย starvedย to death while waiting for one of us to bring her food.
I am worse than Scrooge. I definitely deserve coal in my stocking. (Instead of a bunch of stuff from the dollar store, which is probably what is actually in my stocking.)
Bessie comes hurrying over, looking about as panicked as I feel. She catches sight of the old woman and sucks in a breath. โIs sheโฆ?โ
โI think sheโs gone,โ I squeak.
This is going to be so awful. We will have to call the police, and thenโฆ Well, Iโm not sure what will happen next. I imagine her family will be notified. Her children and grandchildren will find out that their mother/grandmother wonโt be around to open presents with them on Christmas morning. Way to ruin the holidays.
Or what if she doesnโt have a family? After all, she is all alone on Christmas Eve. What if nobody even cares that she died? Thatโs even more horrible.
โWhat do we do?โ I whisper to Bessie, as if the woman might overhear us if Iโm too loud.
โLady!โ Bessie snaps, getting right up in her face. โWeโre closing!
Time to wake up!โ
Still nothing. Oh God, sheโs definitely dead. How long has a dead woman been sitting here with us?
โLet me take a look at her purse,โ Bessie says. โMaybe sheโs got identification.โ
โShouldnโt we call the police?โ
โYeah, but first, letโs check her purse.โ
I get the distinct feeling that Bessie doesnโt care about identification, and sheโs just hoping to score a few bucks off the dead woman before the police haul her away to the morgue. I canโt even contemplate doing
something like that. Yes, I like to have electricity and heat in our apartment, but Iโm not stealing from a dead woman. You have to draw the line somewhere, and thatโs mine.
But as Bessie reaches for the womanโs alligator skin purse, a wrinkled hand shoots out and grabs her forearm. Bessie lets out an ear-shattering scream as she backs away from the old lady, who apparently is very much alive.
โIโm so sorry!โ I cry. โWe thoughtโฆ I mean, we were worried that you wereโฆโ
The old woman finally blinks at me. She might be alive, but I very well could have a heart attack right about now. Bessie doesnโt look much better. The woman wipes a fleck of drool from the corner of her mouth and stares up at us.
โYes?โ she says in an accent that sounds European.
I wring my hands together. โWeโฆ weโre closing.โ I glance down at my watch. โLike, now.โ
The old woman considers this for a moment. Finally, she nods and carefully extracts herself from the booth. We donโt have a check for her to pay, but it doesnโt seem like she ate anything, so I guess itโs okay. I almost offer her a cup of coffee, considering we screwed up and failed to wait on her, but the thought of staying here even another minute is too horrible to bear.
The woman slowly pulls on an extremely worn wool coat, then limps in the direction of the exit. She looks like sheโs about to fall over and probably should have a cane or a walker, but Iโm not in any position to judge.
โMerry Christmas!โ I call out as cheerfully as I can muster. And I do feel a little cheerful. After all, Iโm going home soon to my wonderful and handsome husband. Although most of all, I am tired. Bone tired. Iโll be lucky if I can keep my eyes open while Justin and I are exchanging gifts. Not that I have a gift to exchange with him.
The old woman turns to look at me. She stops walking and reaches for her purse.
Oh God, what now? Is she going to take a gun out and rob us? Is that the punchline to this evening?
โI hear your problem,โ the old woman says in her slightly broken English. โI want to help you.โ
My problem? My problem is that it is Christmas Eve, Iโm tired, and I want to go home. But I stand there patiently while the woman rifles around in her purse until she pulls out what looks like a business card. She holds it out to me.
โTake,โ she says.
Obligingly, I take the card out of her hand. It is, in fact, a business card. Emblazoned in block letters on the card are the words: HELGAโS ATTIC. Followed by an address about a dozen blocks away from here.
โWhat is this?โ I ask.
โThis is my store,โ the old woman says. โI am Helga.โ โOh,โ I say.
โI will help you find a Christmas present for your husband.โ
โOh.โ I force an apologetic smile. โActually, I donโt have any money for that.โ
โNot a problem. We will make a deal.โ
Bessie has been listening to this exchange, and she suddenly speaks up, โSo itโs a pawn shop?โ
The woman, Helga, nods thoughtfully. โI am always willing to purchase interesting items.โ
I almost tell her I donโt have anything worth buying, but then I remember I am wearing a necklace that my aunt and uncle gave me as a graduation gift. Maybe thatโs worth something. And anyway, anything I could find at this shop is better than coming home empty-handed. Plus, itโs on the way.
โItโs late though,โ I point out. โYouโre still going to be open?โ
โI amย alwaysย open,โ Helga says. โIt is important to have a present for your husband for the holidays. I always have presents for my Sven and my daughter.โ
I look down at my watch. I really just want to go home, but at the same time, Iโm desperate to find a present for Justin. It is our first Christmas together as a married couple, and I want to get him somethingย amazing.
โYou come,โ Helga says. Itโs not a questionโitโs a command. โI will find you the perfect gift.โ
With those words, Helga turns and leaves the diner. The bells on the door jingle when she leavesโfor just a bit longer than they should.
As soon as she leaves, Bessie turns to me, clutching her chest. โOh my God, that woman nearly gave me a heart attack. I thought she was coming back from the dead!โ
โI know,โ I say, still feeling my heart race.
โYouโre not actually thinking about going to that weird store of hers, are you?โ
โMaybe,โ I confess. โItโs on my way home, and I really want to get something special for Justin.โ
โWhy even bother?โ Bessie snatches a fork from the table and waves it at me. โIโm telling you, every guy just wants a nice fork.โ
โAlright, alright. I get it.โ
โSeriously, though, you should head home to your husband. Iโll finish up here and lock up.โ
โAre you sure?โ
โYeah, Iโve got no one waiting for me. Just go, and donโt waste your time at that ridiculous store.โ
Maybe it’s because Bessie’s been married three times, but she doesnโt have the same sense of romance I do. I can’t go home without a Christmas gift for my husband. I just can’t.
Iโll swing by Helgaโs store and see if thereโs something nice and affordable. If there isnโt, Iโll walk out empty-handed. Itโs on my way home, so what do I have to lose?
Whatโs the worst that could happen?