Angels at Christmas - By Debbie Macomber Page 0,71

company had just had its best year to date. When any number of dot-com businesses were fast becoming dot-gone businesses, his own was thriving. Money and happiness, however, didn't seem to be connected.

Roy had dreaded spending Christmas with his mother. Being continually reminded of everything she'd lost in the divorce was too much for him, especially during the holiday season. Pretending was beyond him. Now she was in New York with her college friend and he could do as he pleased.

Only nothing pleased him.

"What did you do in other years?" he asked himself out loud.

Work had dominated his life for so long that he had no idea how to relax. Christmas Eve should be special in some way, except it wasn't. If he was with Julie, it would be...He refused to think about Julie. She was out of his life and he was out of hers. Good. That was exactly how he wanted it.

With nothing on television to intrigue him, Roy sat down at his computer. Because he felt he should know what was going on in the world, he left the local news channel playing in the background. He decided to surf the Internet. Maybe he'd get so absorbed investigating Web sites that the evening would vanish without his realizing where all those hours had gone; it had happened often enough before. Then he could forget that it was Christmas Eve, forget he was alone.

That didn't seem to work, either.

No Web site interested him for more than a few minutes.

"A Christmas story of generosity that's guaranteed to touch everyone's heart," the newscaster said from behind him. "Details after a word from our sponsors."

Roy was in no mood to be cheered by anyone's generosity. He turned around to reach for the remote so he could switch off the TV. Love and goodwill were not in keeping with his current mood.

The remote was missing.

It had been on the coffee table just a moment ago and now it was nowhere in sight. He started lifting papers and cushions in his search, but he always kept it in the same place on the coffee table. It was gone.

A sentimental commercial about a college student arriving home on Christmas Eve began to play. It was a sappy ad, meant to tug at the heartstrings. Roy had never liked it. He groaned and renewed his search for the remote.

Then the female newscaster was back. "Tonight we have the story of a single gift of twenty-five thousand dollars donated anonymously at a Salvation Army bell station."

The scene changed to one outside a local shopping mall. Cars whizzed past as the camera zoomed toward a lone figure standing in front of a big red pot. Dressed in his overcoat and muffler, a scarf tied around his neck, the volunteer diligently rang his bell, reminding everyone that there were others less fortunate this Christmas.

Roy continued his search with one eye on the television screen. He knew he should simply lean over and hit the power switch, but for some reason, he didn't.

"An anonymous donor came up to Gary Wilson yesterday afternoon and slipped a cashier's check for twenty-five thousand dollars into his collection canister. This is the largest single donation a Salvation Army bell ringer has ever received in our area."

Roy froze, rooted to the spot, his quest for the TV remote forgotten.

"Gary, can you tell us anything about the person who gave you that check?" the reporter asked, shoving a microphone in front of the volunteer's face.

The poor man looked like a deer caught on the freeway, lights coming at him from every direction. "No," he finally blurted. "I didn't notice anyone who seemed rich enough to give away that kind of money."

The reporter spoke into the microphone again. "That money will go a long way toward making this Christmas a happy one for a lot of community families, won't it?" Once more she thrust the microphone at the Salvation Army volunteer.

"I think it was a woman," Gary Wilson said. "It was about the middle of my shift, I'd say. Things were moving pretty briskly and then this tall gal came up." He paused. "She said Merry Christmas, and she smiled. But I don't know if it was her or not. It could've been." He punctuated his comments with a shrug. "Or maybe not. Could've been that short fellow who wouldn't look me in the eye. Real short, he was."

"Elf-size?" the reporter asked with a grin.

Gary nodded. "Yup, elf-size."

"Well, it looks like Santa won't have to work