A Christmas Hope by Joseph Pittman Page A

can grab a drink sometime.”
    â€œOh thanks, Chuck, that’s kind of you to offer, but I’m just getting settled,” she said, trying to sound lighthearted even as Thomas could hear the edge in her voice. “I’m barely back in town twenty-four hours.”
    â€œI’m a patient guy, maybe next week.”
    There was a frosty pause before she said, “You do know I’m married, right?”
    â€œI don’t see no husband.”
    â€œYou see this ring?”
    â€œYeah?”
    â€œIt’s attached to my fist.”
    Stifling a laugh, that’s when Thomas cleared his throat loudly and stepped into their line of vision. The two other people turned with wide eyes.
    â€œPardon me, I wonder, are you Nora Connors?”
    â€œRainer,” she said. “Nora Rainer. Yes. And you are?”
    Thomas paused, his expression falling to the man she had called Chuck, and if he had his way, chuck him out was what he would do. He was fortysomething, a slight paunch to his belly, a graying mustache and uncombed hair both in bad need of some fresh maintenance. A messy man indeed; even an unmarried, available woman would be rejecting his cheesy overture. Guy was probably a bully, and not a very good one, as he easily backed down, not just from Nora’s offer of a fist sandwich but from Thomas’s withering glance. Chuck bid a hasty retreat, though not before adding, “Hardware supplies, paint, they can be expensive. Just you think about it.”
    He left, the bell sounding again.
    â€œUnpleasant man,” Thomas said.
    â€œHe’s harmless. I knew him back in high school, he was two classes ahead of me,” she said, “and he hasn’t aged well in any respect. Unlike you, Mr. . . .”
    â€œVan Diver. Thomas Van Diver.”
    â€œYou don’t see many bow ties these days,” she remarked. “So nice.”
    â€œMy sole mark of distinction. If you’d believe it, I have a drawer full,” he said, with a slight nod of his head. “Dress well, you feel well.”
    â€œI couldn’t agree more, Mr. Van Diver, it’s the mark of a gentleman,” she said, extending her hand warmly. He shook it with a grip as strong as he could muster. A slight pause passed between them before their hands separated, strangers when they connected and now new friends as they parted. “A pleasure to meet you, my good sir, welcome to A Doll’s Attic. Not counting Chuck, and I don’t, you are my very first customer. Or so I hope—is there something I can help you with?”
    With a sudden twinkle in his eye, Thomas said, “If you can, my dear, you may just make these final days the most special of my life.”

C HAPTER 4
    N ORA
    W hile his words may have shaken her, it was his subsequent request that had her mind spinning, with possibilities and with surprise, and with the thought that maybe she had bitten off more than she could chew with this impulsive new venture. There were no rules suddenly, no easy place to start. Unlike life as an attorney, which had you so attuned to strict schedules. There was safety in the law, procedure to follow, dates to adhere to, and ultimately a judge and jury to tell you whether you did well or not. Going out on your own with the winsome wish of trying to fulfill the dreams of complete strangers, it came with a different responsibility, one that you could not foist off on the system. Nora, though, had made the conscious decision that if she couldn’t satisfy her own dreams, she might as well try and help others achieve theirs. And so A Doll’s Attic was created, a place for her to crawl into, lost in the safety of the past.
    â€œBefore we get started, tell me your favorite Christmas memory,” Thomas asked.
    â€œI’m sorry . . . Christmas?”
    â€œSurely a lovely woman such as yourself has some treasured moment from childhood?”
    â€œI’d have to think about it,”