Santa's Big Little Helper
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Santa's Big Little Helper - Celine Chatillon
http://www.mojocastle.com/
Also By Celine Chatillon/ Cynthianna:
Heavenly Bodies
Santa’s Big Little Helper
Loving Who
Scrambled Eggs
Oh, no, not again. We must have ‘hobo magnet’ on our sign out front.
Suellen Shoupe slipped a bill in the cash drawer and turned her head toward the door. Sure enough, her head waitress was right. A short, white-haired man with shaggy beard, dirty coat, and tattered clothing gripping a multitude of beat-up shopping bags stood at the entrance.
She sighed. Whoever said managing a truck stop restaurant was easy was completely out of touch with reality. Oh, yeah, right… She had said exactly those words the day she had accepted the job, leaving behind Eddie and twelve years of miserable married bliss. No doubt about it—she was certifiably loony.
Now, now, Maria, calm down,
Suellen soothed. She shut the cash register door with her hip and flashed her biggest ’business grin’ for their customers. It’s Christmas Eve, for heaven’s sake. Have pity on the poor man. Seat him at the counter and give him some coffee and a big bowl of hot soup and a sandwich. We don’t need to have him passing out in front of the fuel pumps or get run over, like what happened to that indigent man at that stop over in Andrews last year.
Maria shot her an irritated look, grumbling under her breath, but did as she was told. Thirty minutes later, Suellen looked up from the ordering sheet she was working on to catch the somewhat toothless brightness of the vagabond’s smile.
The waitress over there said you were the one who said it was okay for me to eat here,
he began slowly. I’d like to pay you for your kindness, ma’am.
Suellen smiled back, but felt a sudden stab of guilt in her heart. She couldn’t allow someone who was so down on his luck to part with what little money he may have.
That isn’t necessary, sir. You don’t have to pay for the food. Call it an early Christmas present if you like. It’s the least we can do for a traveler on a windy day.
Thank you. Thank you kindly. I’d still like to give you something in exchange. Will you accept a small gift?
Suellen bit her lip. To refuse his gift would be an insulting gesture and rob the destitute man of his pride, and pride may be all this little man had left in the world.
She nodded. All right then, I’ll accept a small gift—just as long as it’s nothing that you really need to keep for yourself. I have more than enough, compared to many folks this Christmas.
In material possessions, yes. But in other, more important things...no.
What did you say?
Suellen blinked hard. She tried not to stare as he reached into one of his weather-beaten shopping bags and pulled out a small stringed instrument, but it was difficult. She could have sworn she saw a golden glow surrounding him as if he’d donned a halo and wings and picked up a harp.
She shook her head, and the hallucination faded. She’d been on her feet too long today—that had to be it. Is that a ukulele?
The red-cheeked man winked and began to strum. Yes, it is, sort of. A magical instrument if there ever was one.
He plucked a few out-of-tune notes from the battered Hawaiian guitar and then began to sing. From seemingly out of nowhere came a rich tenor voice filled with warmth and cheer, love and happiness and the hope for a brighter tomorrow.
The little hobo stood at the entrance of the truck stop restaurant, serenading Suellen and the few customers they had with moving Christmas carol after Christmas carol. Finally he lowered his ukulele and accepted a cup of cocoa from Maria, who self-consciously dabbed at the tears welling in the corner of her eyes.
Oh, that was lovely!
Suellen sniffed a few tears of her own away, too. You have the voice of an angel, sir.
He chuckled, his round belly jiggling under his loose-fitting red plaid shirt like a bowl of Jell-O. "Do I, now? Do you