The Christmas Clock and A Song For My Mother - Kat Martin Page 0,9
or something. Instead, Joe handed him the same ol' broom and dustpan he had used every afternoon and pointed down at the floor.
“Let me know when you're done and I'll find something else for you to do.”
Teddy nodded, then brightened. The day wasn't over. Maybe he'd get to use the grease gun yet. “Okay, Joe.”
“Take your time. You've been doing a good job so far. I don't want to see any dirt.”
Teddy was going to make sure there wasn't any to see. He liked doing a good job, liked it when someone said he had. Joe Dixon had taken a chance on him and Teddy didn't want him to regret it.
The broom felt clumsy in his hands. He fought to get a grip on the handle and set to work sweeping the floor. Joe came in a little later and moved the sofa so he could sweep underneath, then shoved it back into place.
“You can dust when you're finished,” Joe said. “You remember where the dust cloth and furniture polish are?”
He nodded, pointed toward a cabinet at the far end of the room. “Up in that cupboard.”
No grease gun. At least not today but Teddy remained optimistic. He had only been working at the shop for a week but he really liked it. Liked the noise and the smells and the laughter. It seemed like there was always something that made Joe and Bumper laugh.
And he liked working for a man who knew all about cars, the way Joe Dixon did.
The trip home from the doctor's office didn't take long. Doris pulled up in front of Lottie's house and turned off the engine. All the way home, she had been trying to work up the nerve to ask Lottie what was wrong.
“Thank you, Doris. I appreciate your taking me to ...” The words trailed off and Lottie's silver eyebrows drew together in confusion.
“The doctor's office,” Doris gently reminded her. “We went to see Dr. Davis.”
“Oh, yes, of course.” She reached for the handle of the door.
“Lottie...”
“Yes, dear?”
“What's wrong? Won’t you please confide in me?”
Lottie sat back in the seat and for an instant, her face seemed to crumple. She let out a tired, resigned sigh. “I forget things, dear. The doctor says I have ... Alzheimer’s.”
“Oh, Lottie.”
“It isn’t that uncommon as people get older. Unfortunately, I have the sort that hits folks at a younger age and progresses fairly quickly.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Yes, well, we don't get to choose our diseases. I hope you won't say anything, Doris. Teddy's too young to really understand and I wouldn't like to be the center of gossip."
“You know me better than that. I won't say a word."
“Thank you, dear.” She cracked open the door and climbed out. For a moment, Lottie stood on the sidewalk looking at her front door. Then she turned back to Doris. “Where did you say we went?”
“To the doctor’s office.”
“Oh, yes, that’s right. Thank you, Doris.”
“You’re welcome, Lottie. Let me know if you need another ride.”
Lottie just nodded, turned, and wandered off toward the house.
4
The late summer grew hot and the days passed slowly. The ceiling fan in the bedroom of Syl’s small apartment did little to cool the humid air. The window air conditioner worked, but it was old and the apartment never really cooled down. Syl didn’t mind. She preferred the warmth of summer to the long, cold, snowy days of winter, except, of course, for Christmas.
Syl loved the holidays when the streets overflowed with shoppers searching for just the right gift, when the lampposts were decorated with wreaths and holly, and tiny multicolored Christmas lights hung in store windows and everyone seemed to have a smile.
Brenner’s Bakery was a favorite place to visit that time of year. The shop overflowed with Christmas treats decorated in bright red and green, and the rich, yeasty aromas of baked goods filled the air. Though Christmas was still months away, Syl found herself looking forward to the first time she had been home for Christmas in years.
In the meantime, she was enjoying her job, the lazy weekends fixing up her apartment, and seeing old friends. She had lunch with Mary Webster at least once a week. But now with a husband and two beautiful children, Mary had less time to spend with her friend.
Syl and Doris were developing a friendship. Doris was about as old as Syl’s mother would have been and Syl was grateful for the older woman’s guidance. They talked about Lottie and poor little Teddy and what