Stocking Stuffers

Santa sat at his desk.  He leaned back in the leather chair that was now shaped just like him.  He rested his feet on the oak desk after looking around.  Oh, good.  Mrs. Santa was no where to be seen.  She did not like to see his feet sitting among the paperwork and feathered pens.

For some reason boots on furniture bothered her.

Santa had been married to her for over five hundred years.  He still hadn’t figured out a lot of the things that made the Mrs. angry.  What’s the big deal about boots on furniture?  Must be a female thing.

There came a knock at the door.

“Come in!” bellowed Santa in his best “I Mean Business” voice.

Earl ducked his head around the corner of the door.

“Hey!  Santa!  Looking good!  I think there must be some mistake?  But, I figured I’d better check to be sure. You didn’t call for me did you?  Earl?  Elf Number Two?” Earl asked in a faint voice.

Earl had never been summoned to Santa’s office before.  It’s much worse than being sent to the principal’s office in school.

“Get in here, Earl!” Santa said as he planted his boots on the floor.

Santa twirled his leather chair around.  He looked down at the Number Two Elf.  Santa pointed to the guest chair on the other side of his desk.

The shaking elf looked like he was about to fall over.

Earl sat.  He grabbed his hands and he pinched the skin around his knuckles to try to stop the shaking.  It didn’t work.

“Deep breaths, Earl.  Deep breaths.  In.  Out.  In.  Out.  Try to calm down.  What’s the worst that can happen, Earl?  The worst?  That would be that I would fire you, Earl.  Demotion.   Eternity shoveling reindeer poop as you clean out the barns…..Oh, Jingle Bells, Earl!  I’m messing with you!  Deep breaths.  In.  Out.  In.  Out.”  Santa teased.

Earl breathed in deeply.  He slapped his own cheeks until they were red.  He sat up straight in the chair.  He leaned down and straightened out the curly tip on his right shoe.

“Yes, Santa.  You sent for me?  What can I do for you?” asked Earl after he had calmed himself down.

“We’ve got a problem, Earl.  And, I think between the two of us we can figure out a solution.” said Santa.

“Our problem is one Louise Smythe.  Oh, it’s Darlene Kelly’s fault too.  You now who she is don’t you?” asked Santa as he leaned over the desk.  He stopped Earl from playing with his shoe.

Earl stopped messing with his shoe.  Santa needed his help.  He had just said so.

“Darlene Kelly!” said Earl as he sat up straight.  He had just been asked a question that he knew the answer to.  Thank the mistletoe!  “Yes!  She’s the little girl that stopped asking for dolls a few years ago.  She decided she wants to be a writer.  She asked for a typewriter on her list.  Journals.  Diaries.  Yes, no more dolls for her.”

“Earl…………….Darlene is no longer a little girl.  She turned sixty this year.” Santa said gently.  Time passes quickly for elves Santa knew.  One Christmas melted into the next for them.

“Sixty?” Earl whispered.

“Yes, sixty.  That’s not my point, Earl.  My point is that she’s been writing stories.  She dreams and she writes.  She’s gotten very close to the truth of it all because she still believes.  Her stories about the North Pole aren’t exactly written for children.  They are written for adults that still believe…..or those that want to believe.  Some of those stories are read aloud to children.  She’s got their attention…………which isn’t a bad thing.” Santa explained

Earl shook his head up and down.  He shook it some more until his cap fell right off his head.

“Louise Smythe has read some of these stories to her grandson, Tristan.  And, somehow you………..Earl…………you have caught their imagination.  Tristan has somehow come up with the idea that you sneak into his house and steal his socks when he’s not looking.  When a child believes something with all his heart…………..it can become real.” said Santa.

Santa sat back in his chair like he was all done explaining.  Like he had done his job delivering the message.

Earl’s eyes grew big…..he stared back at Santa……he waited for the other big black boot to drop.

“What do you have to say for yourself?” asked Santa

Earl’s eyes grew even bigger and then he started to stutter.

“But, but, but, but, but, I’ve never left the North Pole!  How can I be accused of stealing socks?  Stealing anything?  I don’t understand, Santa!  How could this happen?  How can human children know my name?  How can a human child think that I’d sneak into his house and steal anything?  Even socks.  Oh, I love socks.  I collect socks.  Socks make me happy.  Thin socks.  Heavy socks.  Red socks……oh, red socks are my very favorites.”  Earl sputtered out as Santa glared at him.

“Earl!  Snap out of it!  I know you’ve never left the North Pole.  I know that Louise has one snowball of an imagination.  Her bedtime stories have rolled into one big problem for us.” said Santa as he handed Earl a candy cane and a pat on the head.

“I sent for you because this is a problem with your name stamped all over it.  We can figure it out together.” Santa said calmly  Like he solved these kinds of problems every day.  Which he does.

“Let us eat a candy cane.  And, think.” said Santa as he plopped a red and white candy into his mouth.

The saint and the elf sat and crunched away at the peppermint sticks.

Earl still had no idea what was needed from him so he made the candy cane last………and last.

“Earl!  Aren’t you in charge of stocking stuffers?”asked Santa as he threw his candy cane wrapper into the trash can.

“Yes, I am!” said Earl hopefully.

“What’s big this year?” asked Santa.

“Oh, you know………..” replied Earl.  “The usual.”

“No, I don’t know, Earl.  Because, it is your job.  Not mine.  And, your report is two days overdue.  I just asked you a question, Earl.  What is big this year?” Santa said in a quarrelsome tone.

Earl sat up straight.  He stopped sucking on his dwindling candy cane.

“Candy.  Slinkies.  Playdough.  YoYos.  More candy.  I throw a toothbrush in now and then.  The parents complain about too much sugar and dental bills.  Um………walnuts and oranges are out.  Um………..miniature candy bars.  Flash cards.  Comic books.  Socks.” said Earl as he crunched down on the last of his candy cane.

The peppermint settled his nervous stomach.  He let out a little belch and blushed in embarrassment.

“There you go, Earl.  There’s the answer to our problem.” said Santa as he checked his book for his next appointment.

Santa frowned as he looked at the next entry.  He was needed at the reindeer training facility in ten minutes.  There were two reindeer in detention for being naughty.  Red nosed reindeer are so talented but they are also full of attitude.

“Socks! Earl, socks are the answer.  You put a few pairs of socks in Tristan’s stocking every year.  You attach a little note.  That gets you off the hook, Earl.  The handwritten note.” said Santa as he pushed his chair back.

Meeting over.

“A handwritten note?” asked Earl as he stood because his superior had just risen.  “And, what should this note say, Santa?”

“Oh, mix it up.  Anything you’d like…………….um, let’s say………………Missing a sock, Tristan?  Look behind your bed…………elves don’t steal socks, Tristan……………it’s all in your head!  How is that, Earl?  Problem solved?” asked Santa as he strode out the door.

“Problem solved, Santa!” Earl said as he stood at attention.

Santa had vacated the room.  Earl took a Christmas card from Santa’s desk.  He borrowed one of Santa’s feathered pens and he sat down and wrote.

Dear Tristan,  Missing a sock?  Look behind your bed……………………………..

 

 

Finding Christmas

My father was a Hershey Bar with Almonds kind of guy…………….until the Snicker Bar was invented.  That day and every day after……….all other candy was just a waste of his time and taste buds.

My father was also a Christmas kind of guy.  He got into it all.  The tree.  Midnight Mass.  Santa Claus.  Elves.  Secrets and intrigue…………….but mostly the Christmas cookies.

My parents spent their Christmases with my husband and me after we got married.  I had two little kids…………….and Christmas was all about the kids to my parents.

They came through the door after four trips from their station wagon.  My mother loaded up my refrigerator with casserole dishes.  She spread a tablecloth over the hood of my car in the garage.  She loaded that up with mini cheesecakes.  Frosted brownies.  Jello molds bouncing with fruit.

“Good thing it’s cold here in December.  This garage is as good as a refrigerator.” she’d say.

My father sat in a recliner and smiled at the kids running around.  He grunted when a little one would jump onto his lap.  He asked when I was going to feed him as he tapped his watch.

My mother and I got busy in the kitchen.  She glanced his way and whispered in my ear when he wasn’t looking.

“He’s lost it.” she hissed.

“Lost it!  What are you talking about, Ma!  Daddy hasn’t lost it!  He’s as smart as a whip.  He found his way to NY didn’t he?”  I asked in my own panicked whisper.

“No, he hasn’t lost it……….lost it.  He is just not into Christmas.  He’s lost his Christmas spirit.” she corrected herself.  “That’s pretty much your fault.  You went off and got married.  No Little Girl in the house……….no reason for Christmas spirit.” she said as she banged some ice out of an ice tray.

“Well, wow!” was all I could say.

“He used to take me Christmas shopping.  But, no……..not anymore.  He drops me off and picks me up in two hours.  He used to help wrap……………..but, no!  He drinks coffee while I do it all alone at the kitchen table.  I sent him to the store for curling ribbon……….he knows what curling ribbon is…………..but, what does he bring home?  Yarn!  He’s lost it!” she said as she handed me a drink that was made out of cranberry juice, sherbet and ice cubes.

“Drink that.” she hissed.  “And, quit staring at him.  He’ll know that we’re talking about him.”

I drank it.

My daughter sat on her Grampy’s lap.  She read to him from a Rudolph The Red Nosed Reindeer book.

“Feel the cover, Grampy.  It’s fuzzy.  It’s reindeer fur.  Doesn’t it feel funny?  Doesn’t it give you the shivers?” she asked between pages.

My son had the He-Man Christmas Special on the VCR.  He danced around the room with his plastic light up sword.  My father ducked out of it’s way more than once.  Grampy clapped his hands together as my son hit the window with the sword over and over again.

I yelled from the kitchen that I was about to take that sword away from them.

Grampy and my son giggled together like little girls.

“Will you come every Christmas, Grampy? my little girl asked him.  “Don’t get up too early tomorrow, though.  When the light comes through the window it is still too early.  Roll over and try to go back to sleep.  When you hear Daddy get up then it’s okay to get out of bed.  Mommy will make cinnamon rolls and then you can open your stocking.  So, don’t try to get up too early.  They’ll just send you back to bed.”

“Yes, I’ll come every Christmas , Baby Girl.  As long as I can.  And, when I can’t come anymore………..you just think of me.  You remember.  I’ll be in your Christmas memories.” he said as he tapped her on the forehead.

My father came into the kitchen.

“Do you have any carrots?” he asked me.

“No…………carrots are not on the menu.” I replied.

I hate carrots.

“When is this dinner going to be ready?” he asked.

“A couple of hours, Daddy.  Do you want some cheese and crackers to tide you over?” I offered.

“No, I”m going to the store.  I need to buy some carrots.” he said as he grabbed his coat out of the hall closet.  “What’s the matter with you?  Christmas!  And, you don’t have any carrots!”

He stomped out the front door with his car keys in his hand.

My mother just shook her head at me.

“We’re getting old.” she explained.  “We’re getting weirder and weirder by the day.”

Some explanation.

My father came back in time for dinner.  He had a grocery bag full of carrots and sacks of Snicker Bars.

“None of your business, Little Girl.  Don’t be so nosy.  Get your nose out of my bag.” he said as he threw the bag into the closet along with his coat and shoes.

Dinner was wonderful.  Dessert was too.  Christmas Eve mass tired us all out.  Teeth were brushed and pajamas were put on.

Santa Claus paid a visit after the children were fast asleep in their bed with their kitties.

My husband had gone to bed.  My mother had too.  My father saw me head towards the stairs.

“Not so fast, Little Girl.  I need a broom and a plunger.” he said.

Was he losing it after all?

“Daddy………….I’m tired.  Those kids are going to be bouncing around in about five hours.  What are you talking about?  A broom and a plunger?” I asked hesitantly.

“Get them for me and I’ll show you.” he replied.

I went into the bathroom closet and brought out the plunger.  I handed him the broom from the kitchen cupboard.

“Tape.  I need tape.  None of that scotch stuff.  Do you have packaging tape?” he asked as he stood there with a plunger in one hand and a broom in the other.

I stopped asking questions.  I handed him packaging tape.

He taped the plunger to the end of the broom…………..now he had a very long handled plunger.

He opened the door to my backyard deck.

“This really should be done on the roof, you know.” he said.  “But, I’m a little past crawling around on a snow covered roof at my age.”

He stood at the edge of the step and made plunger marks all over the deck.

“There.  That’s where the reindeer landed.” he said as he un-taped my broom and plunger.

“Now, go get those carrots.  And, leave those Snicker bars alone.” he added.

I handed him the carrots.  He stuck one in his mouth and started chewing.  Then he started spitting onto the deck.

“Daddy!  You’re grossing me out!” I said.

“Well, too bad, Little Girl.  You could help you know.” he said as he spit at the railing and hit it.

“I hate carrots, Daddy.” I said.  I grabbed a few of the orange vegetables.  I broke them into pieces and decorated the untouched snow.  Untouched except for a plunger.

“Alright.  That’s enough.” my father advised me.  “Go to bed.  You have to be up in about four hours to make me some bacon and eggs.  And, toast with raspberry jam.  Oh, and hashbrowns would be nice.”

I went to bed hungry for the breakfast my father had just described.

The next morning two little kids jumped on our bed.  My husband and I groaned.  I heard my mother groan from across the hall.  My father had already freshened himself up in the bathroom.

“Hey, I think Santa came!  Aren’t you people ever going to get out of bed?” he called from the bottom of the stairs.

The kids tore down the stairs.  The rest of us followed a little more slowly.

The kids were exclaiming at the top of their lungs.  I asked them to calm down.  I didn’t know what had them so excited until I hit the bottom stair.

There I saw Snicker bars in their shiny wrappers.  They were spaced about six inches apart.  They drew a line from the bottom of the stairs and down the hallway.  They went through the kitchen and across the living room rug.  They ended in a Snicker arrow that pointed towards the door leading to the deck.

The kids followed the candy like Hansel and Gretel lost in the woods.  They pressed their hands and faces to the glass door.  They screeched with excitement.

The reindeer had landed on our deck!  They had stayed long enough to eat their dinner!  How come we didn’t hear them?  Oh, how had we missed it?

My mother looked at me.

“Don’t you ever sleep?” she asked.

“Wasn’t me, Mom.  Daddy hasn’t lost it.” I replied.

Merry Christmas!

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hello, Little Girl

Inside every woman…….lives a little girl.

Oh, you remember her well.

And, when you forget……. she’ll come knocking at your door.

A smell can bring her back to you…….the scent of an apple pie. There standing next to the little girl is her grandmother.   Grammy has a peeler in her hand and a smile upon her face.

The woman smiles back. But, she discovers herself standing all alone……..in a kitchen that looks very different from her grandmother’s.

A silent minute alone with a black sky brings the woman face to face with the youngster yet again. Memories of camping trips. Lying on the grass holding her mother’s hand as they gaze up at the stars.

The woman sheds a few tears as she gazes down at her now empty hand.  Then she smiles and goes about her business of being a grown up.

The women feels the sand between her toes and hears the cries of the seagulls. The sun kisses her shoulders sharply. She remembers these sounds and feelings and turns to see if her father is still there untangling the fishing net.

He isn’t.

But, that’s alright.

Because, inside every woman…….lives a little girl………and, this is still her time.

The memories are enough.

Sweetening Up Mr. Grump

I delivered an evening newspaper for four years when I was young.  My mother was a little leery about me being on the streets in the dark of winter.  My father talked her round.  It would be a good experience he said.  I’d learn to deal with money, timeliness…………….and people…………lots of people.

I learned the ropes pretty quickly.  People wanted their paper on time.  They wanted it dry.  It didn’t matter that they didn’t tie up their ferocious dogs.  Some paid me on time.  Some didn’t.  Some people were nice and some were as mean as their dogs.

I stopped to chat with lonely young mothers.  I skirted around the whole babysitting issue.  I told them kindly but firmly that I was delivering papers because babies and diapers weren’t my thing.

I stopped to chat with lonely old people.  One ancient lady actually said to me, “I wish you delivered on Sundays too.  If I drop dead you would notice………..before the cats eat me.”

I assured her that I would find help before the cats got that hungry.  I told her to put out plenty of dried kibble…………..she got a laugh out of that.  I was kind of serious.

I always wondered about one tiny empty house on that route.  The trees were over grown.  The siding was slipping off.  The roof was covered in moss.

One day the sound of chainsaws greeted my ears when I got to my route.  Men were taking down trees in front of the empty house.  A new roof was being pounded on.  New siding lie in neat stacks.  A van sat on the edge of the street.  The advertisement on the van told me that it was full of new windows.

About six weeks later…………the circulation department called me and told me to start delivering the paper to that address.

I rang the doorbell a few Friday’s later.

I heard someone taking a long time to get to the door.

A grumpy old man pulled the door open and stared at me.

“What do you want?  And, make it quick.  You’re making me miss the weather report.” he snarled at me.

“Well!  Happy happy Friday to you!” I chirped back at him.

He wasn’t my first grumpy old man.

“I’m collecting for the Evening Herald.  42 cents, please.”  I added.

“Harumph.” he replied while he dug in his pocket for some change.

“I suppose you want a tip, too!  42 cents won’t do.” he mumbled.  I wasn’t sure if he was talking to me or to himself.  I found that old people talk to themselves a lot.

“Only if you’d like to give me a tip.  You don’t have to.” I said.

Grumpy old men didn’t tend to be the best tippers in my experience.

“Harumph.” he said again as he put three quarters into my hand.

Yes,  I know what you’re thinking.  People don’t actually enunciate the word harumph.  But, he did.  It turned out that it was his favorite word.  And, just so you know……..back in the day getting paid 75 cents for a 42 cent newspaper bill was a very decent tip.

“Give me my newspaper, Girlie.” barked the old guy.  “You come on time.  You deliver it dry.  But, you need a lesson on how to fold this baby.  You crease it here……………and then you tuck the other end in.  I sold newspapers as a boy………….read all about it………….you young kids …………..didn’t anybody ever teach you how to fold a newspaper?”

‘Very nice, very neat Mr. Grump.” I replied “But, that won’t work on Wednesdays when the paper is three inches thick with flyers.”

“Hey, Girlie!  My name is Grumm………….not Grump.” he said as he stopped twitching his lips that almost smiled at me.

“Well, Mr. Grump.  My name isn’t Girlie.  My father calls me Little Girl……….but you don’t get to call me Girlie.  The name is Darlene, Mr. Grump.” I replied.

“You’re a feisty little thing.  Good.  You have to be to walk around in the dark all by yourself.  But, you know what?  I’m feisty too.  You know why I’m feisty?  Because I’m five hundred years old.  I live all by myself because I can’t stand people anymore.  I’ll call you Girlie and you can call me Mr. Grump.  I’ll leave your money in an envelope in the mailbox every Friday.  I don’t want to have to leave my TV to talk to papergirls that don’t even know how to fold a newspaper correctly.” he said in a very long speech for someone that doesn’t talk to people anymore.

“Harumph!” he said as he slammed the door in my face.

Oh, stop feeling sorry for me.  I was used to this kind of stuff.  I walked away from that door laughing.  This guy with his snarls and his harumphs tickled my funny bone.

I knew I was going to love him.

Neighbors talk.  I didn’t need to get the lowdown from him.  He used to live in that house for years with his wife and little kids.  The kids grew up.  His wife died on him.  He moved to some southern state to be with his daughter.  Because, she decided he shouldn’t be alone.

His daughter got on his nerves because she was bossy.  His grandchildren were all too noisy…………..they listened to devil music…………and they didn’t jump when he told them to jump.

He let his little house in Manchester molder for years…………sitting all empty and forlorn………….until one day he couldn’t stand the bossy daughter and ungrateful grandchildren one moment longer.

He hired some contractors and put himself on a plane.

He came home.

He came home to sit all by himself with his television console.  Neighbors stopped by to say hello and to welcome him back.  He harumphed at them too.

Well, let’s just say that I like a challenge.

The next Friday there were three quarters in a little yellow envelope in the mail box.  I knew it was for me.  I knew he was giving me a tip but I rang the doorbell anyways.

I heard him stomp towards the door.  He was leaning on a cane this time.

I nodded towards the cane and said “That’s new.  Did you hurt yourself?”

“Did you ring my doorbell just to ask asinine questions?  Are you always this nosy?” he barked at me.

“No, I wanted to know if you needed change or if all this money is for me.” I replied.

He narrowed his eyes at me.

“Yup, you’re just nosy.  The money is for you but I’m going to rethink that.  Making me miss the weather again!  And, for your information the cane is because my legs are no good.  The doctors want to fix them.  It’s the veins.  But, to hell with that.  They’re not carving me up so I can walk to the door a little faster. ” he said as he grabbed the paper out of my hands.

“Nice folding job.” he said as he slammed the door in my face yet again.

This one needed some sweetening up.

I baked cookies two times a week to keep my father and his lunchbox happy.  I placed six cookies in a baggie the next day and tied it shut with curling ribbon.

My father found me curling the ribbon with his best scissors.

“What’s with the packaging, Little Girl?  I don’t need ribbons in my lunchbox.” he said.

“Not for you, Daddy.  I have a grumpy old man on my paper route.  He’s all alone.  He doesn’t even want to be bothered coming to the door to pay me.  Can you imagine what he’s going to be like on Halloween when the trick-or-treaters come?  I have to sweeten Mr. Grump up before October 31st.  Or, else, he’ll be sitting in a dark house pretending he’s not home instead of meeting all his neighbors.”  I said as I twirled the ribbon.

My father’s eyes looked misty for some reason.

“You’re a good soul, Little Girl.” he said.

“Oh, Daddy……………..not really……….I just love me a good old grump!” I said as I put the cookies in with my newspapers.

That Friday………….there was no little yellow envelope in Mr. Grump’s mailbox.

He came stomping to the door and pulled it open.

“Girlie!  Did you leave those cookies for me?  I figured it must be you.  I was afraid to eat them because they might be from my neighbor.  I have bitched out their barking dog three times this past week.  I thought, hmmm, maybe they are trying to poison me.  Then I thought, no, maybe these are from Girlie.  They looked so good I decided they were worth dying for.  When do I get more?” he speechified at me.

I laughed.

“Oh, Mr. Grump!  Those cookies are made twice a week.  If you want more you just need to come to the door to say hello.  You need to hear a human voice once in a while that doesn’t come from a television screen.” I said.

He stared down at his cane.

“Does it hurt to walk?” I asked gently.

“Yes, it does.” he answered quietly.  “But, the doctors told me I have to do more of it.  They want to yank out these veins and fix my legs.  But, I told them it’s not worth it.”

“Do you think it’s worth it?  Remember, I’m five hundred years old.” he said with the first smile I’d ever seen on his face.

“Yes, it’s worth it.” I told him.  “You could go for walks around the neighborhood.  Get to know your neighbors.  Give the barking dogs a bone.  Learn people’s names.  You don’t have to be all alone.  Neighbors can become friends if you smile and say hello.”

“Harumph!” he said once more before he put a dollar bill in my hand.

“Keep the change!” he said as he slammed the door once again.

He was coming around.

Two weeks later………….no one came to the door when I needed to be paid.  I didn’t hear any stomping…………I was afraid the cats had eaten Mr. Grump until I remembered he didn’t have any pets.

“Yoo Hoo!  Honey!  Mr Grumm is in the hospital for a few days.  Do you want me to pay you and he can pay me back?” said the nice lady from next door.

I walked over to her and handed her a newspaper.

“Is he in Manchester Hospital?  Getting his legs done?” I asked her.

She look surprised that I knew so much about her reclusive neighbor.  She didn’t know that I had been sweetening him up with cookies.

“Yes, he is.  Should be there for about two more days before they let him come home.” she said as she went to pay me double.

“Oh, no.  Don’t pay me for his papers.  I’m going to walk his paper up to the hospital and say hello.  I have cookies for him.  But, could I borrow your phone so I can tell my mother that I’ll be an hour late?” I asked.

I’m not a hero.  The hospital was about a five minute walk from my newspaper route.

I asked for Mr. Grumm’s room at the reception desk.  I walked into room 302 and he didn’t even look surprised to see me.

“Collecting!  42 cents, please.” I said as I put his newspaper onto his side table.  I plopped a six pack of cookies down on top of the paper.

“Nice folding job.” he said to me.  “You’re a feisty one.  Hunting me down in a hospital for 42 cents.  Well!  They told me to leave my wallet at home, Girlie!  Sorry, you’re going to have to wait a week.”

“That’s alright.  But, I do expect a big tip.  I know you are proud of being grumpy and slamming doors in papergirl’s faces.  But, you are the biggest tipper on my route.” I said with a grin.

“I tip you for the cookies, Girlie.  This newspaper is a rag.” he grunted.

“No more of my father’s  cookies for you………..until you walk at least to the end of your road with me.  Every day except Sunday.” I said.

“Harumph! We’ll see.” he said as he hid a smile behind his hand.

I turned to go.  My mother was going to be worried about me because it was truly pitch black out.  I waved and headed towards the door.

I did hear him say “Your father is a very lucky man, Darlene.” as I turned the corner.