Restoring Christmas Read online

  Restoring Christmas

  By Kate Kasch

  For Mom,

  Thanks for always making Christmas magical

  Copyright Kate Kasch, 2018

  Published by CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

  ISBN: 978-1721070510

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events other than those clearly in the public domain, are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Adrienne Harkins raced down Fifth Avenue as fast as she could in 4-inch heels and a fitted skirt. Her phone rang inside her handbag and she stopped short to answer it while carefully balancing four coffees in a cardboard tray. Commuters rushed past her on the packed sidewalk bumping her from all sides.

  “Hey, watch where you’re going!” She yelled to a man in a suit that almost knocked her into the street. An incoming bus barreled down the block. Only inches from the curb, the gust of air from the bus whizzing by blew her hair into her face and almost tossed the coffees.

  New Yorkers.

  “Hi Elaina. Yes, I’m on my way. I know I’m running late, there was a line at the coffee shop and then they got the order wrong . . . No, I’m not making excuses. I will be right there.”

  If you would stop calling me, I could get there even faster, Adrienne thought to herself as she put her phone away and started to hustle down the sidewalk. Just up ahead she could see the building entrance with the words “MORGAN LYNCH” etched above the double doors - almost there.

  The lobby of the Morgan Lynch building was modern with two sets of security desks, one for employees and one for visitors. Adrienne typically enjoyed the sleek décor when she entered through those large double doors. However today, on December 18th, it looked as though a Christmas bomb exploded, sending cheesy green wreaths, stiff red bows and shiny gold ball ornaments scattered around the once chic lobby. Walking right past the fifteen-foot Christmas trees, fake presents and faux pine garland that was wrapped around every visible column, Adrienne marched up to the employee security desk. She flashed her badge to Nico, one of the regular security guards, and ignored his wishes for her to “have a blessed day.” Holidays or not, Adrienne was not in the mood. Or perhaps it was due to the holidays that she was not in the mood.

  Aside from one small Christmas tree in the elevator bank area, there were no other signs that Christmas was one week away in the actual offices of Morgan Lynch. This was one thing she could appreciate about the financial institutions in New York; no one got too caught up in the holidays. And she didn’t need any unnecessary distractions right now. Quickly dropping her coat and bag at her desk, she pulled her straight, blonde hair back into a bun, a nervous habit. Then, grabbing the tray of coffees, she headed toward the conference room.

  Adrienne knocked gently on the conference door and without waiting for an answer, walked in.

  “Do you have the coffees for Dan, Todd and Charles?” Elaina asked without even looking in Adrienne’s direction.

  “Um, you said to get coffee for you, Dan and Todd. I didn’t get one for Charles.”

  Elaina stopped passing out the paperwork at each seat and finally looked up at Adrienne, a scowl of disapproval on her face. “I see four coffees, one for Dan, Todd, Charlie and me. Put the coffees down at their usual seats and make me ten photocopies of the agenda.”

  Adrienne did as she was told, putting the coffees down in the appropriate locations. With a black sharpie she scribbled out the name “Adrienne” on the one coffee cup and wrote “Charles.” She had never needed a cup of coffee so bad in her life. Would it be totally awful if she stole just one sip? Charles wouldn’t notice one sip missing. As she struggled with this moral dilemma, Elaina disrupted her inner monologue, “Harkins -- photocopies!”

  Walking back from the photocopy machine Adrienne passed by the kitchen area where the smell of coffee lured her in. Burnt drip coffee may not be the Gingerbread Latte she was expecting, but it was still caffeine. Bad coffee is better than no coffee, she convinced herself as she poured the steaming brew into a Styrofoam cup.

  After sitting through an hour-long marketing meeting where Adrienne was responsible for taking notes and running the projector screen for Elaina’s PowerPoint presentation, her mind started to wander. She sipped of her coffee to stay focused. Gross. Maybe no coffee was better than bad coffee.

  “Harkins. Harkins? HARKINS?!”

  Adrienne jumped at the sound of her name being yelled across the boardroom and accidentally knocked her coffee cup over. The bitter coffee spilled all over the table and the laptop Adrienne was using to work the PowerPoint presentation. The laptop groaned and green and purple zigzags flashed across the screen. The projector screen went blank. Uh oh. That’s not good. Adrienne popped to her feet, attempting to wipe down the laptop with her hand, and then picked up the laptop and shook it off, coffee dripping off the machine onto the table.

  “Ohmygoodness, I am so, so, sorry. I can fix it, I promise. I have this great techie guy – he’s amazing. Seriously, not a problem.” Adrienne babbled on as she grabbed napkins off the side buffet and tried to soak up some of the coffee.

  “Harkins. Harkins! HARKINS!” Elaina yelled over Adrienne’s ramblings.

  Adrienne looked up and saw nine solemn faces staring back at her in complete . . . disgust.

  “Harkins, I think we are done for now. Why don’t you go back to your desk and get cleaned up,” Elaina said with forced patience. Adrienne looked down at her light gray skirt and suit jacket and for the first time realized she is covered in coffee.

  “Right. Okay. I’ll just take the laptop and see what I can do. I will get it fixed; I promise. My guy is a miracle worker . . ..”

  “Adrienne. Just go.”

  At her cubicle, Adrienne slumped down in her desk chair and laid her head down on the desk. This cannot be happening. She worked in the Marketing Department at Morgan Lynch for over three years now and should be up for a promotion at the end of the year, which was only two weeks away. How was she going to show the team that she was ready for the next step? She needed to get the laptop fixed and save Elaina’s presentation.

  With a sense of purpose, Adrienne put on her thankfully long wool coat, threw the laptop in her giant handbag and made her way to the elevator bank. Out on the street the cold, crisp air was a welcome relief. Adrienne took a deep breath and started the ten-block walk to iTech. Her phone rang, and she answered hoping it wasn’t Elaina calling to scold her some more.

  “Adrienne, it’s me. How are you?”

  Jason.

  “Jason, I’m so glad it’s you. I have just had the worst morning.”

  “I heard. A complete meltdown like that and word gets around the office pretty fast. That’s why I’m calling – I wanted to make sure you’re okay. Where are you?”

  Word of her coffee disaster has already spread to the bankers? This was worse than Adrienne thought. Bye-bye promotion!

  “I am on my way to see my tech guy – I’m hoping he can fix the laptop. He has really helped me out in the past, so fingers crossed.”

  “Hey, it’s fine. You’re a young assistant – the guys will have a good laugh for a few days, but it will blow over. Maybe someone will get really drunk at the office holiday party and overshadow your coffee explosion.”

  “I wouldn’t call it an explosion. I just spilled a cup of coffee . . . Why, peo
ple are calling it an explosion? Oh no . . .”

  “Look, you’re having a rough day. I think I can slip out of here for an hour or so around lunchtime. I have a great idea; can you meet me around one? I’ll text you the address.”

  “That sounds perfect. Thank you, Jason.”

  Starting to feel better, Adrienne pulled open the glass door at iTech. Upon entering the store, she was assaulted by a burst of warm air and the all-too-familiar sound of Christmas music. Thankfully, there were only seven more days of hearing this music everywhere she went.

  “Hi, can I speak with Michael please?” Adrienne asked the pretty woman at the counter.

  “Oh honey, Michael is out sick today. Is there something I can help you with?”

  Noooooooooo. This can’t be happening. Not now. Adrienne threw her head down on the counter and moaned.

  “Is there any way we can call him? Maybe ask him to come in for a minute to look at something?”

  “I’m afraid that’s not possible, he is really not feeling well. Are you sure I can’t help you? I am known to work a little magic,” the woman said with a twinkle in her eye. Her dark hair was pulled back in a French twist, her eyes were a sparkling hazel and her light mocha skin was glowing – she was definitely not a native New Yorker. With white wool pants, a white soft sweater and a white furry scarf, she was taking the “winter white” thing to a whole new level. It worked. Adrienne had never seen anything like her before. And the woman couldn’t seem to stop smiling – definitely from out of town.

  “Well . . . Angela,” Adrienne said as she read the woman’s nametag, “Michael has gotten me out of a jam before. He saved my iPhone from a near death experience. And I am currently desperate – walk-the-plank kind of desperate.”

  “Let’s see what we can do.”

  Adrienne handed over the laptop figuring she had nothing to lose.

  “It really needed a caffeine boost this morning,” Adrienne joked.

  “Just excuse me while I take it to the back room.”

  Adrienne pulled out her phone thinking she would check her email while she waited. In what could not be more than two minutes, Angela was walking back out with the laptop in her hands. That was probably not a good sign.

  “Can’t be saved, can it?”

  “Oh honey, everything can be saved. It is good to go.”

  “Wait, what? Seriously? You fixed it that fast?”

  “Just needed a little elbow grease,” Angela said with a giggle.

  Adrienne stared, her mouth hanging open, in complete shock. Then she jumped across the counter and grabbed Angela in a giant hug, squealing in delight.

  “Thank you, thank you, thank you! You have no idea how much you have just helped me. You are a miracle worker!”

  Still smiling, Angela said, “Now you should take the rest of the day off. Go get yourself a gingerbread latte, do a little Christmas shopping, see the tree at Rockefeller Center, maybe go buy a new dress . . . enjoy the magic of this holiday season.”

  With the mention of a new dress, Adrienne followed Angela’s gaze to her coffee stained suit.

  “You don’t happen to have some magic stain remover back there, too, do you?”

  “That I’m afraid I can’t help you with.”

  “You know what? I think I'm going to take your advice. My boss does not want to see me right now. Although, the fixed laptop would cheer her up, not that she is ever ‘cheery.’ But, I am not going back to the office. I am going to go home and change . . . and then buy myself a latte.”

  With a little extra pep in her step, Adrienne hailed a cab to take her to her apartment on the Upper East Side. She watched the city slide by in streaks of color – Christmas decorations lighting up the usually gray buildings, Santa Clauses ringing their bells every few blocks, and throngs of people bundled up in colorful scarves and hats. In a moment of weakness, she thought, it really is a magical time of year.

  Adrienne rode the elevator up to the twelfth floor and walked down the hall to her apartment. As she pushed the door open, she noticed a red envelope on the floor behind the door. Since her mail was delivered to her mailbox in the lobby, Adrienne had no idea how the envelope got inside her apartment. Opening the envelope, she scanned the letter. Then, she read it again. Lightheaded and panicked, she felt as if the floor beneath her had dropped away. She stumbled toward the nearest chair and collapsed on it with a thump.

  Now she had to call Gretchen. Ugh. Worst. Day. Ever.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Not the garbage truck again! Gretchen thought to herself as she rolled over in her bed and threw the blanket over her head. It’s only 9 a.m.! Don’t the garbage men know that half of the people in New York City work nights? Gretchen groaned as the sound of metal on metal pierced through the quiet morning. The big crane lifted the giant garbage bin right outside her basement level apartment. Gretchen rolled over onto her back and stared up at the pockmarked ceiling. As the crane dropped the container back onto the street, her whole apartment shook. Coffee.

  Shuffling in her fuzzy socks across the parquet floor over to her little kitchenette, she put a pod into the Keurig machine and waited for the comforting aroma to fill her small home. With a shiver she threw her favorite over-sized sweater over her shoulders and checked out the thermometer. Sixty-five degrees? Now that doesn’t seem right. She kicked the old radiator a few times and felt relief when she heard the clanging sound of the heat pumping through the pipes. Once the coffee was done dripping into her favorite mug that read, “I am an ARTIST, that does not mean I’ll work for FREE,” she added cream to it and walked around the apartment to look at the framed photos stacked in every available space – which was not much. Aside from her full-size bed, one tiny desk and the kitchenette, which was so small it could never be called a kitchen, the rest of the 500 square feet was filled with a tripod, studio lights, a variety of camera lenses, black and white photographs scattered all over the desk, counter, and floor, and Gretchen’s prized possession: her Canon 5D Mark IV DSLR. In other words, a fancy camera.

  Like most artists, Gretchen moved to the city full of hope and promise. She got a job bartending at night at McMurphy’s Pub to pay the bills and was happy to have her days to work on her craft. She gave herself four years to find success. Gretchen let out a big sigh as she realized the end of this year – December 31st, would mark her fourth year in the city. Unless she could find a miracle in the next 13 days, she had decided to give up on her dream.

  With that depressing realization, Gretchen decided she needed a pastry to cheer herself up. She switched her sweatpants for her favorite pair of jeans, and kept on the thermal top and cozy sweater she slept in. In lieu of a brush, she just ran her fingers through her long wavy honey-blonde hair. Good enough. She stuck on a knit beanie to hide the tangles. Outside on the sidewalk the wind cut right through her sweater - she should have worn a coat.

  “Excuse me,” a voice from behind interrupted Gretchen’s thoughts. She turned around to see a beautiful woman in a long white coat.

  “Your shoe is untied, dear. I wouldn’t want you to trip,” her voice sang.

  Gretchen looked down at her boot, and indeed her shoelace was untied.

  “Oh, thank you. That is so nice of you, really.”

  As Gretchen bent down to tie her laces, she placed her purse on the sidewalk next to her. Within seconds it was swiped from right next to her feet. She looked up quickly, half in shock her voice froze up as she watched the young boy in the hoodie sweatshirt darting down the sidewalk with her bag.

  “Stop! Thief!” She heard someone yell what she should have been yelling. Gretchen followed the sound of the voice to the mysterious woman in white.

  Unfortunately, since this was New York City, very few people actually reacted to the fact that there was a thief running down the sidewalk. A few people may have glanced in her general direction, but Gretchen realized she was on her own with this one – per usual. Her body recovered from the immediate shock and she started to chase
the boy down, yelling, “Stop! Thief,” as she ran.

  The world was whizzing by Gretchen as she zoomed in on the gray hoodie. She saw him trying to cross the street, but the holiday traffic was insane. Just as Gretchen seemed to be gaining on him, he slipped between two big tour groups and turned left. Gretchen got stuck in the middle of a group of Japanese tourists and tried to push through them, attempting to show urgency without being too rude.

  “Excuse me. Excuse me. I’m trying to get this man that stole my purse,” she yelled to the mob. But they all just smiled at her and nodded “A thief! I’m trying to catch a thief!” Gretchen yelled, elbowing her way through. Once on the other side of the group, she could see the hoodie, but he was so far ahead of her, she would never catch him.

  “If only he’d bump into that pretzel cart that’s coming to set up on the corner,” a voice behind her said. Gretchen turned around and there standing right behind her and looking like she just stepped out of a limousine, was the woman in white.

  “You? You followed me? That was so . . . thoughtful. You’re definitely not a New Yorker, are you? How are you not out of breath?”

  Before the woman could answer, there was a loud crash heard above the traffic noise. Both Gretchen and the mystery woman’s eyes darted down the sidewalk to where the pretzel cart was setting up. The boy and the cart had presumably collided. The pretzel cart man was yelling at the boy who was now pinned under the cart. Gretchen and the woman in white raced down the block. Once at the scene of the collision, Gretchen looked at the boy who was too ashamed to look her in the eye, and she held out her hand. He reluctantly handed Gretchen her purse, and then she and the woman in white helped the pretzel cart operator lift the cart off the boy. Once freed, the boy took off running.

  “Well, that was an eventful morning,” Gretchen said to the woman. “Can I please buy you a coffee or a muffin, to thank you for your help?”

  “That would be delightful, thank you!”