A Christmas Hope by Joseph Pittman

move to Edgestone, and preserve her aching knees.
    â€œOf course, it didn’t all happen in that order,” she said. “I moved first, Nora took over the business second, but even as I tried, I couldn’t convince her—yet—to rent the apartment upstairs. Still looking for a tenant . . . interested?”
    â€œNot the way you describe those stairs,” Thomas stated.
    â€œGuess Nora Connors Rainer or whatever her name is this week is not ready for a total makeover yet, but who can blame her with her life in such disarray. She’s living with Gerta Connors, that’s her mother, and it’s probably a good thing, too, for both of them. Gerta’s been alone in her big house for over a year, she, too, is widowed.”
    Lot of that going around, Thomas thought.
    With all that history relegated to where it belonged, Thomas was ready to concentrate on today. He was looking forward to his meeting with Nora Connors Rainer, he would tell her his situation and see if she had the wherewithal to help him. And time was of the essence, and not just because of his advanced age. As he looked around, at the snow, at the icicles hanging from pointed roofs, crisp, cold air filling his lungs, he realized that Christmas was coming faster than spring, so the time to spring into action was now.
    As Elsie pulled into the empty lot, Thomas looked over at her.
    â€œIf you wouldn’t mind, Elsie, I do need to do this on my own,” he said. “I very much appreciate the ride. As always.”
    â€œYou’re a very mysterious man, Thomas Van Diver.”
    â€œSo does that mean you’re not going to put up an argument?”
    She patted his knee. “You’ll tell me eventually,” she said with knowing confidence. “I’ll pick you up later, say in about an hour?”
    â€œThat’s not necessary . . .”
    â€œHow else will you get back to The Edge?”
    â€œMay I call you? I may be longer than an hour.”
    She pursed her lips. “Mysterious indeed.”
    Surprisingly, Elsie had nothing further to say on the matter, allowing Thomas to make his slow escape from her car. As he hit the outside, the air was bracing, and as he exhaled he could see his breath turn to mist. It had been some time since his body had been subjected to a Northeast winter, this attack on his creaky bones might take some getting used to. He bustled as quickly as he could up the shoveled sidewalk, grabbing on to the railing to help guide him up the three steps to the storefront. He pushed on the door and it opened easily, the ringing of bells overhead announcing his presence.
    He heard voices further inside the expansive rooms of the downstairs. Clearly he wasn’t her first customer, as the strong baritone of a man’s voice pervaded the open space.
    â€œYou’re right, Nora, this place, it’s gonna need some repair work. A fresh coat of paint for starters, and of course you’ll need a new sign outside. Something catchy and bright, you don’t want to miss the casual passerby, all those antique-seeking people who drive through town, got to give them a reason to stop, shop, and most importantly, spend.” Then came a pause before Thomas heard, “I’m sure I can get you a good discount.”
    â€œThanks, Chuck, I appreciate it,” he heard, this time a woman’s voice.
    Thomas sauntered around the overstuffed room, checking out the sundry items that were on display, assorted styles of lamps and vases made of ceramic and glass, old dishes and other such knickknacks, all things he expected to find in such a place. What he was seeking, he was certain was not to be found on these messy, cramped shelves. Not meaning to hover, he didn’t wish to disturb whatever transaction was taking place, but when things got decidedly personal, Thomas had to alert the owner that he was here. Clearly neither of them had heard the bell.
    â€œMaybe you and I, you know,