A Letter in Limbo
By Felicia Ferguson
Author's Note: This story is one that's been tickling my muse ever since I first watched For Christmas and started piecing together Shane's backstory. BUT, it also contains major, plot revealing, and potentially disappointing spoilers for SSD: For Christmas.
If you have not seen this movie, DO NOT READ this now. Lol. Instead, savor the joy and surprise of For Christmas and the amazing talents of Martha Williamson's writing team first, then come back for a little playtime alternate point of view with me. Now, that being said, if you have seen For Christmas, then scroll down and enjoy.
As always, I own none of the SSD characters. Those belong to the magnificent mind of Martha Williamson. And, I would love to hear your thoughts.
Jordan stood on the sidewalk in front of 707 Terracoma Place simply watching. Ten days remained on the advent calendar, and all appeared ready for another perfect Christmas. A pine wreath and garland draped over the entry door, and a tree lit with white lights and topped with an angel filled the bay window. A homey blend of handmade, store bought, and passed down ornaments hung in charming collections from the live branches. Presents wrapped in red and green paper and nestled underneath it were piled atop each other ready to be torn into on Christmas Day.
But Jordan knew it would not be a perfect Christmas this year. If it were, he wouldn't have been sent.
He'd been told little of what would happen when he'd accepted the assignment. But he did know he was early. It was his way, though. He liked to scout and surveil, wanting to know the beginning so he could savor the happy ending.
The front door opened, spilling light onto the darkened porch, and a man with a suitcase stepped out.
"Daddy—" a plaintive voice echoed from the interior, but the closing door cut off all further words.
The man scrubbed his forehead, then descended the steps. Silence followed him, deafening in its finality, heartrending in its devastation. He passed Jordan without a second glance, though Jordan was unconcerned. The man was not his focus. A blond head peeked through the window, gaze tracking his departure through a downpour of tears.
Jordan's lips flickered in a small, sad smile. There she was.
Shane McInerney.
Shane left her window view and sat under the tree, staring at the presents. Her fingers toyed with the ornaments and ribbons, touching them as if expecting them to disappear at any moment too. After a while, she stood, found paper and crayons, and began to draw.
Jordan nodded.
His assignment had begun.
Two weeks later, Jordan again stood in front of 707 Terracoma Place the letter his charge had written tucked in the breast pocket of his coat. He was ready with an answer. He glanced in the window and found the tree gone from the living room. The door opened revealing Shane bundled in a coat and boots. Breath misting in the frigid January air, she sat on the steps simply watching the road.
A car's engine rumbled down the street. She stood up, then on her tip toes, peering, hoping, waiting. The car moved closer. She lifted a hand as if to wave. Then dropped it as the car passed by. She sank to the step and buried her face in her knees, her cries deepening to sobs.
Jordan sighed and walked away.
Not yet.
Two years later, Jordan watched Shane pull a stack of letters from the mailbox. She flipped through them, then paused as she reached a card. She read the address, looked up to the sky blinking rapidly, then sighed. She slid her index finger under the flap and ripped through the adhesive. Once freed, she pulled out the card, her lips flattening into a thin line. She took in a deep breath, then opened it.
Jordan saw the greeting. Happy Birthday, daughter.
She bit her lip and seemed to force herself to read the words written inside. Then, shaking her head, she pulled the twenty-dollar bill from the flap, tucked it in her pocket, and tore up the card.
Jordan grimaced.
Still not ready.
Ten years later, Jordan stood in a hospital hallway watching the now adult Shane. Her chin trembling and tears dripping down her cheeks, she stared into an empty room and tugged at her pendant. "Why didn't I ignore her last night?"
She tossed a heated glare toward the nurse's station and shook her head. "Now, there's no chance."
Jordan stepped toward her, fingers pulling at the letter in his breast pocket. Perhaps this was the moment—when the parting was final—when she would need the answer the most. Perhaps now, she would be ready to hear it.
Squaring her shoulders, her eyes narrowed. A decision was made, and a vow was spoken. "Never again."
Her words, laden with guilt and shame and soaked with tears, stopped him. There would be no reaching her today.
The Master was patient, so he could be too.
He would wait.
Fifteen years later, Jordan watched as Shane waited in line for coffee. She stood silent, pensive, as if something weighed heavily on her heart. After so many attempts to deliver the answer she sought, could this be the day?
Her eyes dropped to her purse and she tugged an envelope from the pocket. She sighed as if already knowing the contents and yet bracing herself against them, then slid her finger under the sealed flap and removed the card. Her lips turned up for the briefest moment and her eyes softened.
Jordan read the front.
For my daughter.
Just as she had years ago, Shane read it and removed the twenty-dollar bill.
But this time, she swallowed hard, hope flickering in her eyes, and tucked it back in the envelope, returning it to her purse with a misty smile. When she reached the front of the line, he heard her order. "Three Aspen skinny vanilla lattés and one steamboat Americano." Her lips lifted as she placed the twenty on the counter.
Perhaps she was now ready?
But he had to be sure. Jordan followed her as she carried the tray of coffees into the post office building and through a pair of double doors emblazoned with the letters DLO. She pushed through them fully confident in the rightness of her presence within their confines.
A man wearing a suit jumped to his feet from behind one of the desks both surprised and pleased by her sudden and cheerful entrance.
Jordan blinked, then studied the man more closely.
Oliver O'Toole? The boy from the beach? The Master certainly is full of surprises.
He watched as Shane and Oliver spoke of work and twenty-dollar bills. But, the glow in their eyes and the slight smiles on their lips hinted that another conversation was spoken beneath the words. Jordan's brow lifted in consideration.
As the quartet clinked coffee cups, delighted satisfaction radiated from Shane's gaze—quite a change from the girl and woman Jordan had watched over the years. He smiled.
Not today.
But definitely soon.
Six months later, Jordan stood completely dry in the pouring rain outside a hospital as he watched Shane and Oliver. Oliver stood at the mailbox, soaking wet and holding a card, pondering, praying.
Shane waited behind him, completely dry, thanks only to the umbrella clenched in her hand. She watched, heart breaking open with love and empathy for Oliver as he mailed the card—an act which seemed to frighten them both and possibly for the same reason.
Jordan knew Shane was finally ready.
But still he delayed.
Christmas is almost here.
Jordan watched Shane wrap presents with her coworkers as he counted down the seconds until the end of the Fifty-Seventh Annual Dear Santa Project. He was glad he had waited. She had come full circle.
But here amongst her colleagues, fresh off the push to finish and swapping gift-giving stories, the time to deliver her answer still wasn't right. Perhaps the Postal Ball would be the perfect opportunity. One on one, her in his arms, he could gently probe her past, touching her history with the lightest of words, edging into the promise of hope he had waited decades to deliver.
And so, Jordan asked her to dance.
Yet, later, as they swayed and he probed, she stiffened. Guard up, she pushed back, deferred, and deflected. Perhaps he had been wrong. Maybe the timing wasn't right.
But then Oliver cut in.
Her bristle turned to amusement in a blink. With a mocking smirk and a few eye rolls, she poked at his jealousy, marveling in its absurdity. Until he bent her over his arm. Her smile erased and her words silenced, an awareness fell over her. As he lifted her out of the masterful dip, their eyes again held a conversation only they could hear.
And Jordan knew.
It was the right time.
But he was the wrong messenger.
Jordan watched Oliver as they moved chess pieces and sipped Yoo-Hoo, gently probing Oliver's own past. But unlike with Shane, Jordan relied on pauses rather than words, inviting Oliver to fill the silence. And with words bitten off like bark slashed from a tree, Oliver released his history, speaking of his absent wife and Christmases past and present.
And Jordan wondered at the Master's plan.
Could Oliver need the letter's answer as much as Shane?
Was it possible he had not one but two unfinished Christmas assignments?
With a toast to the ghost of Christmas past, Jordan nodded and pulled the letter from his breast pocket. It was time to begin.
Jordan stood in another hospital hallway, but this time he watched Shane with Oliver. She'd run from him after reading her childhood letter. Bristled at his talk of delays, miracles, disappointments, and answers. And was horrified when he ripped her sleeve in trying to stay her flight.
Was he mistaken? Was it still not the right time? And was Oliver not the right person?
But a word stopped him, stopped her.
Shane!
Oliver called her by name, by Shane, halting her escape and silencing her protests. As he spoke of happy families and perfect love, she listened and Jordan smiled.
The answer was delivered. Right on time. And Shane embraced it, embraced Oliver, accepting the hope the Master offered for her past and their future.
Jordan stood in the DLO. He turned and surveyed every detail. Candles glowed, garlands were draped, stockings were embroidered. The beautiful, little, twisted evergreen stood, roots wrapped around the rock, ready to be decorated once again. Only one thing was missing. Clicks reverberated off the cinderblock hallway just beyond the DLO doors. Perfect timing.
Of course.
The doors swung open, and Oliver stepped inside. Emotions flitted across his face as he absorbed the scene. Surprise. Confusion. Amazement. Finding the card tucked in the branches, Oliver read it, then reached for the starfish and touched the branches, glee and joy ousting his grief and sorrow.
Jordan watched as Oliver decorated the tree with jewelry and cummerbunds and berries, savoring his charge's childlike delight. The doors opened again, and Jordan smiled. Now, his assignments were finished—a happy ending for both.
And it was time for him to go home for Christmas.