The Christmas Kite. Gail Martin Gaymer

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      The clerk dipped the ice-cream scoop into the cold water and turned toward them. “And what will you have, young—” His head jerked upright. “What would he like, ma’am?” he asked, stumbling over his words.

      Her automatic defense yanked her response. “Mac, tell the young man what you’d like.”

      A light flush rose on the teen’s face.

      “One…dip of double chocolate,” Mac answered, sending the young man a spirited grin.

      The clerk grabbed a cone and dug out a scoop. He glanced at the other workers behind the counter, dipped back into the barrel, slid an extra portion of ice cream onto the cone and smiled.

      “Thank you,” Meara said, understanding his apology. “I’ll have a dip of peanut butter swirl.”

      He added an extra measure to hers, too, and with napkins wrapped around the cones, they made their way past customers to the sidewalk. She kept an eye on Mac’s cone, guarding against unsightly drips, but he licked the edge and seemed in control.

      “I saw a bakery across the street. Let’s take a look.”

      They followed the sidewalk to the end of the block and crossed the road. Passing a fast-food restaurant, she drew in the smell of oil permeating the air, followed by the rich, taunting aroma of freshly baked bread. Beside the bakery, Meara studied the pastries and breads displayed in the window.

      As she pulled open the screen door of the bakery, Mac’s strident voice bellowed in her ear.

      “Kites!” He rambled past her to the window of the shop next door.

      Meara closed the bakery door and followed Mac. Unique kites filled the storefront window, and in one corner, a small Help Wanted sign was taped to the glass. Her stomach tightened. She wanted a job…needed a job, but how could she work and care for Mac? She’d wait until school began and pray her money lasted.

      Mac pressed his nose against the window, and Meara joined him, peeking through the glass. Magnificent kites of every shape and design hung from the ceiling and clung to the walls—dragons, birds and other shapes she’d never seen before.

      Mac pulled open the screen, but before entering, he glanced at Meara. She nodded and grinned at the smear of ice cream on his mouth, then followed him inside.

      “Can I…have a kite?” he asked, marveling at the myriad of designs surrounding them.

      Kites mesmerized him, and she saw no reason not to buy him a small, inexpensive paper one. She looked around for the cheaper models. “We’ll see what they have, Mac.” He accepted her remark.

      The shop seemed empty, but a door slammed in the back. Meara looked up to see a huge kite held by a pair of stubby hands come through the storage room doorway. The person owning the hands was hidden behind the colorful paper design with the long yellow-and-red tail.

      Mac gazed with awe at the huge creation until he swung around and grabbed Meara’s arm. “The kite man.” He pointed to the doorway. An elderly face peeked around the unique kite.

      “Well, hello there.” He grinned. “I’m just bringin’ in some new stock. I’ll be with you in a minute.” Placing the kite against the wall, he turned and headed back through the doorway.

      Meara bent down to Mac’s level and whispered, “That’s not the kite man, Mac. This man is too old.”

      Mac grinned. “No, the kite.” He pointed. “That’s the…kite man’s…kite.” His head punctuated every other word.

      As Meara studied the paper-covered frame, her gaze drifted to the long tail. She could envision the yellow and red ribbons curling through the sky. “It is, Mac. You’re right. This must be where the man sells his kites.”

      “Nice, huh?” The clerk’s voice interrupted their quiet conversation. He stepped toward them. “Now, may I help you?”

      “Oh, yes,” Meara said, pulling her gaze to the storekeeper. “I’d like to get a paper kite for my son. You know, one of the little diamond-shaped ones.”

      He chuckled. “I’m afraid you’ll have to go to the shop next door. We only have the kind yer lookin’ at here. Handcrafted, they are.”

      “And expensive,” Meara added.

      “I’m afraid so. At least, lots more expensive than those little paper toys. You like kites, son?”

      Mac grinned at the man. “Yep.” His pudgy hand jutted outward. “My name’s Mac. What’s your name?”

      The clerk leaned forward and took his hand in a broad handshake. “Nice to meet you, Mac. I’m Otis Manning.” He straightened his back. “Just a couple steps next door, ma’am. They have lots of kites for this young fella.”

      Meara’s heart lifted, observing the gentleman with Mac. He didn’t gawk at the boy’s disability or treat him like a second-rate citizen. His reaction warmed her heart. “Thank you. Ready, Mac? Let’s go next door and get your kite.”

      With a broad grin, Mac took her hand and they left the shop. Outside, the smell from the bakery tempted her taste buds. But that could wait. Instead she turned in the opposite direction to buy Mac’s kite. As she passed the display window, her gaze fell again on the Help Wanted sign. She paused. This would be a nice place to work. But reality tugged at her conscience, and she moved forward. She’d already decided to wait. By that time, the shop would have all the help it needed. Too bad.

      Glancing at the sign again with longing, she gave a wave through the glass at the elderly gentleman who watched them leave.

      Skimming the newspaper for rentals, Meara nibbled on a fresh oatmeal cookie from the bakery. She chided herself for the sweets—ice cream and now a cookie.

      “You know, Mac, we can’t keep eating all these treats. We’ll both be as big as elephants.”

      Mac giggled, dropping one of the new miniature trucks to the floor, and ran to her side. “I love you, Mama.”

      “I love you, too, Mac.” She gave him a big hug. Discouraged, Meara tossed the newspaper on the small table. Most rentals were summer cottages only meant for a one- or two-week vacation. One apartment seemed too expensive and was unfurnished. Only one held promise. Maybe later they would take a ride and check it out.

      Mac wandered to the sofa and picked up the yardstick-shaped package. “Make my kite, please,” he said, handing it to Meara.

      She unrolled the flimsy tissue paper and thin dowels, and, following the instructions, constructed the kite.

      Mac hung over her shoulder, watching, his eyes wide with wonder. “Can I…make it…fly?”

      “That, we’ll have to see,” Meara said, wondering what she owned to make the tail. She looked around the room, mentally assessed her wardrobe, and finally remembered a few pieces of ragged cloth in her trunk, kept there to clean her windows or wipe up spills.

      She СКАЧАТЬ