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Chapter Four
November
“It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas,” sang a voice, and I groaned.
“Not again, Star,” I sighed, shutting down my computer and tucking it into my bag. “Does she ever stop singing?” Star turned his head right and then left before he barked once. “I know you like Hazel. You make it quite obvious every time you see her. Always making those googly eyes at her like your job as a service dog isn’t fulfilling enough for you.”
His only answer was a huff. He huffed at me! I’ll show him.
“Star. Get dressed.”
After throwing me an evil eye, he stood and walked over to me so I could fit his vest and prepare him for our outing. Then he helped get the bag on the back of the chair, so I had everything I’d need for work.
“Forward, door,” I said, and he marched to the door and hit the button, waiting for it to open. I rolled through, and he followed behind me as we moved into the main room of the recreation center.
Hazel was dancing around the open space with a box of tree ornaments in one hand and a candy cane in the other.
“Christmas carols? Halloween was just yesterday.”
Hazel set the box of ornaments on a table and turned toward me. “Let me guess. You went as the Grinch?”
“Ha-ha,” I said, sticking my tongue out like a third grader. “I know you love Christmas, but there’s still one holiday before it. Slow your roll.”
She motioned around my face with her pointy candy cane. “Whenever you give me that look, it sends me back to third grade when Mr. Hightower would look down his nose at me for singing in class.”
“Maybe Mr. Hightower had a point?”
“I like to sing. What can I say?” She finished the question with a shrug to tell me it was rhetorical. Then she popped the candy cane back in and let it hang out her lip like a cigarette.
“There’s nothing wrong with singing appropriate songs during the appropriate times of the year.”
“Hmmm, appropriate songs for the time of the year.” She stood and tapped her chin. “Sorry, can’t think of any. I’m pretty sure there isn’t a Thanksgiving song. You just want me to stop singing.”
“What’s all of this?” I asked, motioning at the table rather than reply. “Are you already collecting decorations?”
“Is my name Hazel Cane?” she asked, planting her hand on her hip.
“I’m not sure. I thought it was Candy Cane.”
She snickered, and a smile nearly broke free on her lips. “I do love a good candy cane. Thank goodness Mrs. Beesweasel stocks them year-round. I’m so happy I don’t have to order them anymore.”
“You ordered candy canes? Don’t you get tired of peppermint?”
“There are other flavors of candy canes, you know. Roll into the twenty-first century, Irving.”
“You can’t call those fruity things you eat a candy cane. They’re just a sucker in the shape of a J.”
“You say sucker. I say candy cane. Either way, they’re yummy. You should try one someday. You never know. You might like it.”
“Oh, I’m sure they’re good, but I’ve worked too hard on this body to feed it processed sugar.” I glanced down at myself momentarily and then back up at her. “Okay, so I’ve worked hard for my upper body to look this good. Leg days, for me, have a whole different meaning.”
While she bit her lip to keep from laughing, I wondered if my humor sometimes made her uncomfortable. She often didn’t know how to respond or wanted to laugh but held back. I’d been in a wheelchair for the last twenty-five years and there was no way I would stop cracking jokes about it now, so she’d have to learn to give me the same sass right back. “You can laugh,” I said, my gaze intent on her lips. “It’s not rude if I’m the one who makes the joke.”
“I was just thinking that sometimes I’m unsure if you’re joking.”
“Must be my deadpan delivery. I’ll work on that next time. Anyway, I stopped in to see if you wanted to have lunch and review tonight's committee meeting information. I want to be sure we’re both on the same page about everything.”
“Lunch sounds great, thanks! In your office?”
