The Christmas Lamp by Lori Copeland

into a chair, not wanting to interfere with Jake’s ministry.
    “Of course I’m still here. Why is the room so dark, Grandma?”
    “Why… because nobody’s opened the blinds.” The sense of humor indicated a mind and spirit still active and alert.
    “I’ll take care of that.” Jake drew the curtains and daylight illuminated the room. Stepping back to the bed, he reached for her hand. “What’s going on here? You’re not allowed to be sick.”
    She was able to achieve a feeble, but sincere, smile. “I’ll get sick if I want, Jake Brisco.”
    He reached behind him and pulled Roni up and close to the bed. “Grandma, this is Roni Elliot.”
    “Roni.” Mary reached for her hand. “The Roni you’ve spoken about.”
    Jake had told his grandmother about her? Roni glanced at him, but he was focused on the woman in the bed. “The nurses say you’re doing well.”
    “Do they?”
    “We can’t have you sick here during the holidays.”
    She offered another weak smile. “No, that won’t do at all.” She suddenly caught his hand closer, fervor burning in her eyes. “Jake …”
    “Shhh, Grandma. You’re going to be fine.”
    “Jake, I’ve failed you.”
    “You’re talking nonsense, Grandma. Now rest.”
    She laid back, her breath short. “We should never leave unspoken … the things that need to be said.”
    Jake attempted to calm her, but she pushed him away. “No. This needs to be said. When your parents and sister… were killed, I allowed my pain to shape your life. I should have taken you in, raised you, and given you a sense of true family. I was overwhelmed with … bitterness and misery, and when the holiday approached I’d draw into a shell and pray that the weeks would pass quickly … so we’d be done with hurtful reminders. I knew you never wanted to come see me, and God forgive me, I didn’t insist that your aunt bring you here. Never once did I consider the good that remained in my life.”
    Nudging a blanket aside, Jake perched on the edge of the mattress. “Don’t blame yourself. I never wanted to come. I was a kid who had better things to do, or so I thought.”
    Mary suddenly changed the subject. “Your mother hated meatloaf, did you know that? She refused to eat it as a child.”
    “I think I’ve consumed her share the past few years.”
    She patted his hand. “Do you recall the fun and laughter Christmas used to bring?”
    “Sure I do, Grandma. I couldn’t wait for Christmas Eve at your house, especially the cookies we’d bake.”
    “Such warm memories. I’d decorate every nook and cranny of the house. Your folks would come for the holiday, and your mom and I would make pies and candy.
    Those were some of the best times of my life, and your Aunt Louise deprived you of such memories. After the accident, my Christmases were so quiet; so very silent.”
    “Grandma, you’re going to be around for many more Christmases, and if you want to decorate the house this year, I’ll help.”
    Roni said softly. “I’ll help too. The nurses say you’re doing remarkably well.” She didn’t know why she felt an instant bond with this woman. Maybe it was because she reminded Roni of her Grandma Sue. Grandma used to phrase her speech in the same odd, broken pattern.
    “Wouldn’t that be lovely.” Mary’s eyes drifted shut and she laid still. Roni glanced at Jake, who bent closer to check her breathing.
    “She’s asleep,” he whispered.
    “I’m not asleep, Jake. I’m only catching my breath. I’m so tired. There’s so much I want to tell you. I should have mailed you the lamp. I should have at least done that much.”
    “You did, Grandma. Several years ago.”
    “I did? Silly me. I guess I wanted to forget it.” Mary blindly groped for his hand. “I didn’t get a chance to feed Max.”
    “I’ll stop by and feed your dog, Grandma.”
    “Give him a little extra tonight,” she whispered. “He cried when I left in … the ambulance.”

10

    Rush hour traffic packed