A Cup of Kindness

Lucy Winston hadn’t planned to spend this night alone. The others assured her that it was the quietest night, with most families out at midnight Mass before they returned home for small gatherings. It was better than being on-duty Thanksgiving Day, when old family feuds spilled over and led to calls to the station. 

That was last month, and Lucy was now a full-fledged deputy in her hometown. She loved the holidays on the farm with her grandparents and aunt, but only tolerated the cold. When the old heater kicked to life with a groan, a small gust of air, infused with bits of charred dust, wafted through the space. The toasty relief was short-lived when her boss appeared.

Lucy winced as she shifted her weight to her other leg, then adjusted her stiff collar. “Do you really think I’m ready to do this on my own?”

“Trust me, it will be fine. You’ll see. Just drive real slow, enjoy the lights and then come on back around 1:00. Then, turn on the radio, and it’ll be dawn before you know it.” Sheriff Cecil lumbered to grab his dusty felt hat on a hook above the desk. 

“No one’s ever really ready for anything in life. You just show and do your best, right?” He tipped his hat. “You’ll be fine.”

“But.” Lucy pressed her splayed fingers on the peeling desk, not unlike the way she’d held up her hand during the swearing-in ceremony after her training ended. “What if there’s an emergency?”

Cecil sighed, a look of annoyance etched into his craggy features. Her coach had given her a similar glance in one of those last games. She sat at the end of the bench to avoid his steely gaze. When he put her in when the games were out of reach, Lucy felt pressured to score, even when the stakes were low and she could no longer carry her team. Though the chance for chaos she couldn’t handle on a rainy Christmas Eve was equally unlikely, Lucy felt compelled to prove her worth as a deputy. 

Spare change jangled in Cecil’s pocket. “If someone’s hurt, call the service, or scoop ‘em and skedaddle if you can, but be careful if the roads get too bad. Don’t call me unless someone’s dead.” He tipped his hat and shuffled out the door. Her teeth chattered as a blast of air settled over Lucy. 

Ten minutes later, with her shoulder holster secured under her jacket, Lucy stepped out into the night. A swirl of tiny flakes danced in the lamplight. The cruiser’s tires slapped the slick, deserted road, a solemn soundtrack for a long early winter’s night. White lights winked as she eased past the shuttered storefronts, fading streaks of gold and green on windows. Somehow, Main Street seemed smaller without the rusty pickups and clunkers that usually populated the strip during the day. 

Lucy drummed her thumbs on the steering wheel and ignored the twinge in her knee, aggravated by the damp, chilly air. On a night like this, not too long ago, she strolled the bustling streets of Rome, buffeted by crisp air, light glinted off monuments and fountains. When the doctors told Lucy she could no longer play, she strolled the plaza alone, the brace snug on her leg and her heart squeezed shut knowing that she played her last game. 

Regret and anger congealed into an intense fear. Would she be able to do this job, in this condition? How could she serve and protect anyone, when she felt older than her boss, who outweighed her by nearly a hundred pounds and couldn’t make it down the block in a brisk walk? How would she manage her arthritis as she aged, and if she couldn’t, what would her future hold? 

Lucy rubbed her trembling hands together, the heater as unreliable as the one at the station. She eased the car to a stop and noticed a vehicle on her right at the intersection. When the driver didn’t head west when the signal changed, her stomach swooped as she eased the cruiser to a stop.

She swept her light across the fresh blanket of snow on a slim patch of grass and illuminated the hood of a car, stretched upward like the mouth of a mammoth sea creature beached on a sandbar. Steam curled in the air. The acrid scent of burnt rubber wrinkled Lucy’s nose. A muscled arm tossed an object, too small to be a bottle, through the passenger side window. When Lucy dragged the light to the driver’s side, she saw a face she hadn’t expected to see, a rivulet of blood weaving a lazy path from a forehead gash down his puffy cheek.  

“What the hell, Luce? What’re you doing here?” 

Lucy shrugged. “Spending my Christmas Eve serving my community. I started a week after you, remember?” She laid a tentative hand on his shoulder, and he jerked away from the contact. ”What happened, Sam?”

“I couldn’t see the ice. I bumped my damn head, that’s all.” Lucy reached across the wheel and turned off the engine. “You want me to call for the amb—”

“Hell no, and then you’d have to write a report about what happened! Just take me back to the station. I’ll clean this up and rest there for a while.”

“What about your family? Weren’t you going out there?”

“None of your business.” Sam reached for the key, and the Jeep sputtered when he attempted to restart it. “Shit! I can’t leave this there.”

“Sam. Try again to crank it. I’ll push you back to the station and we’ll deal with it in the morning.”  

He swept his gaze up, and when their eyes met, Lucy nodded and saluted Sam. She crossed the street, and ignored Sam’s chuckles echoing behind her. 

Since they met, Sam always seemed to find what Lucy did amusing or pitiful, though she had become convinced it was the latter. Lucy’s scores on the exams were higher, but Sam’s military background helped him excel in all of the tactical aspects of their training. He was stronger, faster and braver, but everyone admired and praised her intelligence, wit and ability to relate to others.

One day, just before their graduation, Sam said, “They just want you because you’re a female. You’ll take a spot from some other worthy guy until you get married.” Lucy swallowed a lump of bitterness and smiled. “Well, I’m just here to help.” 

In the evenings, she nursed her aching knee and memorized her manual, but Lucy never considered quitting or pursuing coaching like her family and former teammates suggested. Later, when Sam and the other deputies excluded Lucy from their poker nights and tailgates in the fall, she stepped up to take their unwanted shifts on the weekends, stretched and took long walks to strengthen her joints, and made it a point to demonstrate competent, polite professionalism at all times. 

After she climbed back into the cruiser, Lucy tugged on the brace through her pant leg. The pain was always worse at night, and she hadn’t swallowed any tablets since lunch. She inhaled, and started the engine. She maneuvered behind the Jeep and nudged the cruiser’s bumper against it, before the wheels began to spin out of control. The Jeep fishtailed and skidded forward, narrowly missing the bank’s facade. Lucy’s heart pounded, and the drumming in her ears drowned Sam’s irate screams. 

“Stop, you idiot!” He slammed the door, and wobbled toward her, and Lucy loped over to catch Sam before he landed on the pavement.

She threw an arm around Sam’s narrow waist. “Don’t let me fall! Drop me and I’ll—”

Lucy pulled back and glared at Sam, her eyes blazed. “You’ll have another head injury. Maybe then you won’t drive drunk again, you moron!” 

Sam chuckled. “Never I thought you’d be the one to lose your shit.”

The snow had stopped, and they shivered against the colder air. Twinkle lights pulsed like a strobe onto the pavement, an unwelcome spotlight she wanted to dim. Sam’s cheek pressed against her hair, and the stale scent of whiskey nearly knocked her over. 

Lucy unlocked the door to the station and hauled Sam to the break room. He smiled, his face inches from hers. “It’s warmer here than I thought it might be.” 

She soaped her hands in the tiny sink. When Lucy found the first aid kit, she pointed Sam to a chair. 

“So, you’re not gonna speak to me?” He leaned forward, and Lucy rifled through the kit for gauze. With a gloved hand, she dabbed Sam’s cut with gentle swipes. When he grasped Lucy’s wrist, she wrenched her arm away, as if she’d bumped a hot stove.

“You feel it too, don’t you?” Sam’s voice rose just above a whisper, and he covered her hand with his featherlight palm. 

"You don’t even like me.” Lucy turned back to the box and lifted a butterfly strip, unpeeled the adhesive, and covered Sam’s gash. “Done. You ready to go home now?” She closed the box and dropped the trash into the wastebasket. Lucy could feel Sam’s eyes on her as she tidied the counter, and heat crawled up her neck and across her face. She took a few steps back toward the front desk when her knee buckled, and threw a hand forward to break her fall. 

Sam caught Lucy before she hit the linoleum. “Are you OK?”

She rubbed her kneecap through her pants. “It’s just the cold, I need to rest it.”

“Here.” Sam wrapped an arm around Lucy’s waist and helped her to the chair, then pulled another over and arranged her leg on it.

Lucy said, “Thanks for the help. Just give me a few minutes, and I’ll drive you back.”

   “Maybe I don’t want to go back.” Sam leaned against the counter, arms folded and long legs crossed at the ankles.

“Why not? It’s Christmas morning. I’m sure they’re all wondering where you went. Isn’t your girlfriend there?”

Sam chuckled. “Stacy left. She said no. That’s why I—”

“Oh.” Lucy leaned forward and noticed a tear stain on Sam’s cheek. 

“I’m sorry that happened.” She lowered her hand, deciding against the offer of a comforting touch.

“I’d get us some coffee, but I think the shop closed a while ago.”

“That’s what I planned to do before all this.” Lucy swung her leg off the chair. “I think there’s some instant in the cabinet.”

Sam laid a hand on her shoulder. “Stay there. I’ll get it.” 

Lucy’s eyes slipped closed. It was the first Christmas back home since her last year of college, and she felt older than her twenty-eight years. She was too weary for wishes, like the ones she made under the tree, woodsy pine laced with strings of popcorn she made with her grandmother. The thrill of waking up on a snowy morning had long been forgotten. 

When the warmth of a scratchy quilt settled on Lucy's lap, Sam looked down at her, a cracked mug in one hand and a friendly grin across his lips.

“I hope this helps.”

Lucy picked up her favorite cup, and sipped the heady sweetness of cinnamon swirled through the brew. “I wasn’t expecting that. Thanks, Sam. It’s perfect.”

He nodded. “I’m glad you like it. Thanks for all your help tonight. Even if you let ‘em know what happened, it’s fine. I deserve it.”

Lucy smiled. “Let’s just keep it between us.”