The Christmas Lamp by Lori Copeland Page B

building had been a food company met her eyes. Coffee grinders, huge barrels that had once held coffee beans, counters, light fixtures. The faint smell of coffee lingered here too.
    “This junk was part of the deal,” he explained. “Nobody’s ever wanted to move it, so it’s stayed over the years.” He paused, his eyes searching the dimly lit space. “The Christmas decorations should be over here somewhere,” he said, leading the way through a maze of piled boxes. After a bit of searching, they struck gold. They located a section marked “Christmas.” Standing back, Jake shook his head. “I haven’t touched this stuff in years. It might take a while to find the lamp.”
    “You’re looking for a lamp?”
    “A very special lamp.”
    His prediction was accurate, as it took a lot of digging to locate the item, but the search produced priceless memories for him. He held up an ornament he’d made in first grade. “Did I mention that I’m an artist?”
    The dried glue and sequined angel made Roni laugh.
    He frowned. “You’re laughing at Picasso-quality work?”
    She bit her lip to stop the laughter. “It’s very ornate.”
    One box after the other exposed ornaments, tinsel, lights, and half-melted candles. Finally Jake hit pay dirt.
    “Wait. I think I’ve found it.”
    She scooted closer. “Open it. I can hardly wait to see what we’ve been looking for.”
    His expression softened when he lifted the ornate porcelain base and held it up for inspection. “It’s exactly as I remember.”
    Roni examined the exquisite pattern. “It’s so very lovely. Was it your mother’s?”
    “No, Grandma took it out of her front window on the night of the car accident. She never put it up again. A few years ago she sent it to me, but I stored it away.”
    Handing it back, Roni smiled. “It’s very unique, like your grandmother.”

    Cold sunlight backlit the treetops early the next morning when Jake drove back to Springfield. He grabbed a cup of gas-station coffee and headed for the hospital. A quick call when he got up assured him that Grandma had spent a comfortable night. Sleep had eluded him. He’d tossed and turned, trying to figure out why Christmas no longer held the meaning it once had. Sure, without Mom, Dad, and Jill, nothing was ever the same. But life had gone on.
    The family wasn’t a stranger to trouble. The year Mom fell and broke her arm, she’d been in a cast all summer. Dad had run the household. The year Grandpa died cleaning out a hedgerow had put a pall over the family. For years Jake had heard his parents talk about how bad things had been when Dad had gone without work for a year and a half after Jake was born.
    Half an hour later, the Acura wheeled into the hospital parking lot. Jake walked towards the entrance, balancing a flower vase and a cardboard box. Frost glistened off the sidewalks.
    The fourth-floor corridor was quiet. It was early; the morning shift was just coming on duty. Nurses finished their charts, and the rattle of breakfast carts broke the sleepy silence. When Jake stepped into Mary’s room he saw that she was still sleeping. The nurse rose, lifting her finger to her lips. He stepped back into the hallway and the nurse followed. “Mr. Brisco. I didn’t expect to see you this early.”
    “I forgot something that Grandma needed.”
    “She’s resting peacefully. I’ll take whatever you’ve brought and give it to her when she wakes.”
    “Thanks, but I want to deliver it myself. I won’t disturb her, I promise.”
    Moving back into the hospital room, Jake eased to the window where he quietly lifted the blind enough to set the bouquet of roses on the shelf. Then carefully, he set the box on the floor and removed the hurricane lamp and plugged it in. Soft light encompassed his grandmother’s sleeping form.
    Stepping back, he drank in the familiar sight. He’d forgotten how pretty and comforting the lamp was. Perhaps, as Grandma had reminded him, there were other