A Walk to Remember

him I’d been walking Jamie home, and inthe curious way that teenage minds work,this new development took priority overanything that I was feeling about Jamie’sstory. “Hello, Eric. Hello, Margaret,” Jamiesaid cheerfully. “Walking her home, Landon?” I couldsee the little devil behind Eric’s smile. “Hey, Eric,” I said, wishing he’d neverseen me. “It’s a beautiful night for strolling, isn’tit?” Eric said. I think that becauseMargaret was between him and Jamie, hefelt a little bolder than he usually was inJamie’s presence. And there was no wayhe could let this opportunity pass withoutsticking it to me. Jamie looked around and smiled. “Yes,

it is.” Eric looked around, too, with thiswistful look in his eyes before taking adeep breath. I could tell he was faking it.“Boy, it really is nice out there.” Hesighed and glanced toward us as heshrugged. “I’d offer you a ride, but itwouldn’t be half as nice as actuallywalking under the stars, and I wouldn’twant you two to miss it.” He said this likehe was doing us both a favor. “Oh, we’re almost to my houseanyway,” Jamie said. “I was going to offerLandon a cup of cider. Would you like tomeet us there? We have plenty.” A cup of cider? At her house? Shehadn’t mentioned that. . . . I put my hands in my pocket, wonderingif this could get any worse.

“Oh, no . . . that’s all right. We werejust heading off to Cecil’s Diner.” “On a school night?” she askedinnocently. “Oh, we won’t be out too late,” hepromised, “but we should probably begoing. Enjoy your cider, you two.” “Thanks for stopping to say hello,”Jamie said, waving. Eric got the car rolling again, butslowly. Jamie probably thought he was asafe driver. He really wasn’t, though hewas good at getting out of trouble whenhe’d crashed into something. I rememberone time when he’d told his mother that acow had jumped out in front of the car andthat’s why the grille and fender weredamaged. “It happened so fast, Mom, thecow came out of nowhere. It just darted

out in front of me, and I couldn’t stop intime.” Now, everyone knows cows don’texactly d a r t anywhere, but his motherbelieved him. She used to be a headcheerleader, too, by the way. Once they’d pulled out of sight, Jamieturned to me and smiled. “You have nice friends, Landon.” “Sure I do.” Notice the careful way Iphrased my answer. After dropping Jamie off—no, I didn’tstay for any cider—I started back to myhouse, grumbling the whole time. By thenJamie’s story had left me completely, andI could practically hear my friendslaughing about me, all the way fromCecil’s Diner. See what happens when you’re a niceguy?

By the next morning everyone at schoolknew I was walking Jamie home, and thisstarted up a new round of speculationabout the two of us. This time it was evenworse than before. It was so bad that I hadto spend my lunch break in the library justto get away from it all. That night, the rehearsal was at thePlayhouse. It was the last one before theshow opened, and we had a lot to do.Right after school, the boys in drama classhad to load all the props in the classroominto the rented truck to take them to thePlayhouse. The only problem was thatEddie and I were the only two boys, andhe’s not exactly the most coordinatedindividual in history. We’d be walkingthrough a doorway, carrying one of theheavier items, and his Hooville body

would work against him. At every criticalmoment when I really needed his help tobalance the load, he’d stumble over somedust or an insect on the floor, and theweight of the prop would come crashingdown on my fingers, pinching them againstthe doorjamb in the most painful waypossible. “S-s-sorry,” he’d say. “D-d-did . . . th-th-that hurt?” I’d stifle the curses rising in my throatand bite out, “Just don’t do it again.” But he couldn’t stop himself fromstumbling around any more than he couldstop the rain from falling. By the timewe’d finished loading and unloadingeverything, my fingers looked like Toby’s,the roving handyman. And the worst thingwas, I didn’t even get a chance to eat

before rehearsal started. Moving the propshad taken three hours, and we didn’t finishsetting them up until a few minutes beforeeveryone else arrived to begin. Witheverything else that had happened that day,suffice it to say I was in a pretty badmood. I ran through my lines without eventhinking about them, and Miss Garberdidn’t say the word marvelous all nightlong. She had this concerned look in hereyes afterward, but Jamie simply smiledand told her not to worry, that everythingwas going to be all right. I knew Jamiewas just trying to make things better forme, but when she asked me to walk herhome, I told her no. The Playhouse was inthe middle of town, and to walk her home,I’d have to walk a good distance out of my

way. Besides, I didn’t want to be seenagain doing it. But Miss Garber hadoverheard Jamie’s request and she said,very firmly, that I’d be glad to do it. “Youtwo can talk about the play,” she said.“Maybe you can work out the kinks.” Bykinks, of course, she meant mespecifically. So once more I ended up walking Jamiehome, but she could tell I wasn’t really inthe mood to talk because I walked a littlebit in front of her, my hands in my pockets,without even really turning back to seewhether she was following. It went thisway for the first few minutes, and I hadn’tsaid a word to her. “You’re not in a very good mood, areyou?” she finally asked. “You didn’t eventry tonight.”

“You don’t miss a thing, do you?” I saidsarcastically without looking at her. “Maybe I can help,” she offered. Shesaid it kind of happily, which made meeven a little angrier. “I doubt it,” I snapped. “Maybe if you told me what was wrong—” I didn’t let her finish. “Look,” I said, stopping, turning to faceher. “I’ve just spent all day hauling crap, Ihaven’t eaten since lunch, and now I haveto trek a mile out of my way to make sureyou get home, when we both know youdon’t even need me to do it.” It was the first time I’d ever raised myvoice to her. To tell you the truth, it feltkind of good. It had been building up for along time. Jamie was too surprised to

respond, and I went on. “And the only reason I’m doing this isbecause of your father, who doesn’t evenlike me. This whole thing is dumb, and Iwish I had never agreed to do it.” “You’re just saying this because you’renervous about the play—” I cut her off with a shake of my head.Once I got on a roll, it was sometimeshard for me to stop. I could take heroptimism and cheerfulness only so long,and today wasn’t the day to push me toofar. “Don’t you get it?” I said, exasperated.“I’m not nervous about the play, I justdon’t want to be here. I don’t want to walkyou home, I don’t want my friends to keeptalking about me, and I don’t want tospend time with you. You keep acting like

we’re friends, but we’re not. We’re notanything. I just want the whole thing to beover so I can go back to my normal life.” She looked hurt by my outburst, and tobe honest, I couldn’t blame her. “I see,” was all she said. I waited forher to raise her voice at me, to defendherself, to make her case again, but shedidn’t. All she did was look toward theground. I think part of her wanted to cry,but she didn’t, and I finally stalked away,leaving her standing by her-self. Amoment later, though, I heard her startmoving, too. She was about five yardsbehind me the rest of the way to her house,and she didn’t try to talk to me again untilshe started up the walkway. I was alreadymoving down the sidewalk when I heardher voice.

“Thank you for walking me home,Landon,” she called out. I winced as soon as she said it. Evenwhen I was mean to her face and said themost spiteful things, she could find somereason to thank me. She was just that kindof girl, and I think I actually hated her forit. Or rather, I think, I hated myself.

Chapter 8The night of the play was cool and crisp,the sky absolutely clear without a hint ofclouds. We had to arrive an hour early,and I’d been feeling pretty bad all dayabout the way I’d talked to Jamie the nightbefore. She’d never been anything but niceto me, and I knew that I’d been a jerk. Isaw her in the hallways between classes,and I wanted to go up to apologize to herfor what I’d said, but she’d sort of slipback into the crowd before I got thechance.

She was already at the Playhouse by thetime I finally arrived, and I saw hertalking to Miss Garber and Hegbert, off toone side, over by the curtains. Everyone was in motion,working off nervous energy, but sheseemed strangely lethargic. She hadn’t puton her costume yet—she was supposed towear a white, flowing dress to give thatangelic appearance— and she was stillwearing the same sweater she’d worn atschool. Despite my trepidation at how shemight react, I walked up to the three ofthem. “Hey, Jamie,” I said. “Hello, Reverend. . . Miss Garber.” Jamie turned to me. “Hello, Landon,” she said quietly. Icould tell she’d been thinking about the

night before, too, because she didn’t smileat me like she always did when she sawme. I asked if I could talk to her alone, andthe two of us excused ourselves. I couldsee Hegbert and Miss Garber watching usas we took a few steps off to the side, outof hearing distance. I glanced around the stage nervously. “I’m sorry about those things I said lastnight,” I began. “I know they probably hurtyour feelings, and I was wrong to havesaid them.” She looked at me, as if wonderingwhether to believe me. “Did you mean those things you said?”she finally asked. “I was just in a bad mood, that’s all. Iget sort of wound up sometimes.” I knew Ihadn’t really answered her question.

“I see,” she said. She said it as she hadthe night before, then turned toward theempty seats in the audience. Again she hadthat sad look in her eyes. “Look,” I said, reaching for her hand, “Ipromise to make it up to you.” Don’t askme why I said it—it just seemed like theright thing to do at that moment. For the first time that night, she began tosmile. “Thank you,” she said, turning to faceme. “Jamie?” Jamie turned. “Yes, Miss Garber?” “I think we’re about ready for you.”Miss Garber was motioning with herhand. “I’ve got to go,” she said to me. “I know.”

“Break a leg?” I said. Wishing someoneluck before a play is supposed to be badluck. That’s why everyone tells you to“break a leg.” I let go of her hand. “We both will. Ipromise.” After that, we had to get ready, and wewent our separate ways. I headed towardthe men’s dressing room. The Playhousewas fairly sophisticated, considering thatit was located in Beaufort, with separatedressing rooms that made us feel as if wewere actual actors, as opposed tostudents. My costume, which was kept at thePlay-house, was already in the dressingroom. Earlier in the rehearsals we’d hadour measurements taken so that they couldbe altered, and I was getting dressed when

Eric walked in the door unannounced.Eddie was still in the dressing room,putting on his mute bum’s costume, andwhen he saw Eric he got a look of terrorin his eyes. At least once a week Ericgave him a wedgie, and Eddie kind ofhigh-tailed it out of there as fast as hecould, pulling one leg up on his costumeon the way out the door. Eric ignored himand sat on the dressing table in front of themirror. “So,” Eric said with a mischievous grinon his face, “what are you going to do?” I looked at him curiously. “What do youmean?” I asked. “About the play, stupid. You gonna flubup your lines or something?” I shook my head. “No.” “You gonna knock the props over?”

Everyone knew about the props. “I hadn’t planned on it,” I answeredstoically. “You mean you’re going to do this thingstraight up?” I nodded. Thinking otherwise hadn’teven occurred to me. He looked at me for a long time, as if hewere seeing someone he’d never seenbefore. “I guess you’re finally growing up,Landon,” he said at last. Coming fromEric, I wasn’t sure whether it wasintended as a compliment. Either way, though, I knew he was right. In the play, Tom Thornton is amazedwhen he first sees the angel, which is why

he goes around helping her as she sharesChristmas with those less fortunate. Thefirst words out of Tom’s mouth are,“You’re beautiful,” and I was supposed tosay them as if I meant them from thebottom of my heart. This was the pivotalmoment in the entire play, and it sets thetone for everything else that happensafterward. The problem, however, wasthat I still hadn’t nailed this line yet. Sure,I said the words, but they didn’t come offtoo convincingly, seeing as I probablysaid the words like anyone would whenlooking at Jamie, with the exception ofHegbert. It was the only scene where MissGarber had never said the wordmarvelous, so I was nervous about it. Ikept trying to imagine someone else as theangel so that I could get it just right, but

with all the other things I was trying toconcentrate on, it kept getting lost in theshuffle. Jamie was still in her dressing roomwhen the curtains finally opened. I didn’tsee her beforehand, but that was okay. Thefirst few scenes didn’t include her anyway—they were mainly about Tom Thorntonand his relationship with his daughter. Now, I didn’t think I’d be too nervouswhen I stepped out on stage, being that I’drehearsed so much, but it hits you rightbetween the eyes when it actuallyhappens. The Play-house was absolutelypacked, and as Miss Garber hadpredicted, they’d had to set up two extrarows of seats all the way across the back.Normally the place sat four hundred, butwith those seats there were at least

another fifty people sitting down. Inaddition, people were standing against thewalls, packed like sardines. As soon as I stepped on stage, everyonewas absolutely quiet. The crowd, Inoticed, was mainly old ladies of theblue-haired type, the kind that play bingoand drink Bloody Marys at Sunday brunch,though I could see Eric sitting with all myfriends near the back row. It wasdownright eerie, if you know what I mean,to be standing in front of them whileeveryone waited for me to say something. So I did the best I could to put it out ofmy mind as I did the first few scenes in theplay. Sally, the one-eyed wonder, wasplaying my daughter, by the way, becauseshe was sort of small, and we wentthrough our scenes just as we’d rehearsed

them. Neither of us blew our lines, thoughwe weren’t spectacular or anything. Whenwe closed the curtains for act two, we hadto quickly reset the props. This timeeveryone pitched in, and my fingersescaped unscathed because I avoidedEddie at all costs. I still hadn’t seen Jamie—I guess shewas exempt from moving props becauseher costume was made of light materialand would rip if she caught it on one ofthose nails—but I didn’t have much timeto think about her because of all we had todo. The next thing I knew, the curtain wasopening again and I was back in HegbertSullivan’s world, walking past storefrontsand looking in windows for the music boxmy daughter wants for Christmas. My backwas turned from where Jamie entered, but

I heard the crowd collectively draw abreath as soon as she appeared on stage. Ithought it was silent before, but now itwent absolutely hush still. Just then, fromthe corner of my eye and off to the side ofthe stage, I saw Hegbert’s jaw quivering. Ireadied myself to turn around, and when Idid, I finally saw what it was all about. For the first time since I’d known her,her honey-colored hair wasn’t pulled intoa tight bun. Instead it was hanging loosely,longer than I imagined, reaching belowher shoulder blades. There was a trace ofglitter in her hair, and it caught the stagelights, sparkling like a crystal halo. Setagainst her flowing white dress tailoredexactly for her, it was absolutely amazingto behold. She didn’t look like the girl I’dgrown up with or the girl I’d come

recently to know. She wore a touch ofmakeup, too—not a lot, just enough tobring out the softness of her features. Shewas smiling slightly, as if she wereholding a secret close to her heart, justlike the part called for her to do. She looked exactly like an angel. I know my jaw dropped a little, and Ijust stood there looking at her for whatseemed like a long time, shocked intosilence, until I suddenly remembered that Ihad a line I had to deliver. I took a deepbreath, then slowly let it out. “You’re beautiful,” I finally said to her,and I think everyone in the wholeauditorium, from the blue-haired ladies infront to my friends in the back row, knewthat I actually meant it. I’d nailed that line for the very first

time.

Chapter 9To say that the play was a smashingsuccess was to put it mildly. The audiencelaughed and the audience cried, which ispretty much what they were supposed todo. But because of Jamie’s presence, itreally became something special—and Ithink everyone in the cast was as shockedas I was at how well the whole thing hadcome off. They all had that same look Idid when I first saw her, and it made theplay that much more powerful when theywere performing their parts. We finished

the first performance without a hitch, andthe next evening even more peopleshowed up, if you can believe it. EvenEric came up to me afterward andcongratulated me, which after what he’dsaid to me before was somewhat of asurprise. “The two of you did good,” he saidsimply. “I’m proud of you, buddy.” While he said it, Miss Garber wascrying out, “Marvelous!” to anyone whowould listen to her or who just happenedto be walking past, repeating it over andover so much that I kept on hearing it longafter I went to bed that night. I looked forJamie after we’d pulled the curtainsclosed for the final time, and spotted heroff to the side, with her father. He hadtears in his eyes—it was the first time I’d

ever seen him cry—and Jamie went intohis arms, and they held each other for along time. He was stroking her hair andwhispering, “My angel,” to her while hereyes were closed, and even I felt myselfchoking up. The “right thing,” I realized, wasn’t sobad after all. After they finally let go of each other,Hegbert proudly motioned for her to visitwith the rest of the cast, and she got aboatload of congratulations from everyonebackstage. She knew she’d done well,though she kept on telling people shedidn’t know what all the fuss was about.She was her normal cheerful self, but withher looking so pretty, it came across in atotally different way. I stood in thebackground, letting her have her moment,

and I’ll admit there was a part of me thatfelt like old Hegbert. I couldn’t help butbe happy for her, and a little proud aswell. When she finally saw me standingoff to one side, she excused herself fromthe others and walked over, finallystopping when she was close. Looking up at me, she smiled. “Thankyou, Landon, for what you did. You mademy father very happy.” “You’re welcome,” I said, meaning it. The strange thing was, when she said it,I realized that Hegbert would be drivingher home, and for once I wished that Iwould have had the opportunity to walkher there. The following Monday was our last

week of school before Christmas break,and finals were scheduled in every class.In addition, I had to finish my applicationfor UNC, which I’d sort of been puttingoff because of all the rehearsals. I plannedon hitting the books pretty hard that week,then doing the application at night before Iwent to bed. Even so, I couldn’t help butthink about Jamie. Jamie’s transformation during the playhad been startling, to say the least, and Iassumed it had signaled a change in her. Idon’t know why I thought that way, but Idid, and so I was amazed when sheshowed up our first morning back dressedlike her usual self: brown sweater, hair ina bun, plaid skirt, and all. One look was all it took, and I couldn’thelp but feel sorry for her. She’d been

regarded as normal—even special—overthe weekend, or so it had seemed, butshe’d somehow let it slip away. Oh,people were a little nicer to her, and theones who hadn’t talked to her yet told herwhat a good job she’d done, too, but Icould tell right off that it wasn’t going tolast. Attitudes forged since childhood arehard to break, and part of me wondered ifit might even get worse for her after this.Now that people actually knew she couldlook normal, they might even becomemore heartless. I wanted to talk to her about myimpressions, I really did, but I wasplanning to do so after the week was over.Not only did I have a lot to do, but Iwanted a little time to think of the bestway to tell her. To be honest, I was still

feeling a little guilty about the things I’dsaid to her on our last walk home, and itwasn’t just because the play had turnedout great. It had more to do with the factthat in all our time together, Jamie hadnever once been anything but kind, and Iknew that I’d been wrong. I didn’t think she wanted to talk to me,either, to tell you the truth. I knew shecould see me hanging out with my friendsat lunch while she sat off in the corner,reading her Bible, but she never made amove toward us. But as I was leavingschool that day, I heard her voice behindme, asking me if I wouldn’t mind walkingher home. Even though I wasn’t ready totell her yet about my thoughts, I agreed.For old times’ sake, you see. A minute later Jamie got down to

business. “Do you remember those things yousaid on our last walk home?” she asked. Inodded, wishing she hadn’t brought it up.“You promised to make it up to me,” shesaid. For a moment I was confused. I thoughtI’d done that already with my performancein the play. Jamie went on. “Well, I’ve been thinking about whatyou could do,” she continued withoutletting me get a word in edgewise, “andthis is what I’ve come up with.” She asked if I wouldn’t mind gatheringthe pickle jars and coffee cans she’d setout in businesses all over town early inthe year. They sat on the counters, usuallynear the cash registers, so that peoplecould drop their loose change in. The

money was to go to the orphans. Jamienever wanted to ask people straight out forthe money, she wanted them to givevoluntarily. That, in her mind, was theChristian thing to do. I remembered seeing the containers inplaces like Cecil’s Diner and the CrownTheater. My friends and I used to tosspaper clips and slugs in there when thecashiers weren’t looking, since theysounded sort of like a coin being droppedinside, then we’d chuckle to ourselvesabout how we were putting somethingover on Jamie. We used to joke about howshe’d open one of her cans, expectingsomething good because of the weight, andshe’d dump it out and find nothing butslugs and paper clips. Sometimes, whenyou remember the things you used to do, it

makes you wince, and that’s exactly what Idid. Jamie saw the look on my face. “You don’t have to do it,” she said,obviously disappointed. “I was justthinking that since Christmas is coming upso quickly and I don’t have a car, it’llsimply take me too long to collect themall. . . .” “No,” I said cutting her off, “I’ll do it. Idon’t have much to do anyway.” So that’s what I did startingWednesday, even though I had tests tostudy for, even with that applicationneeding to be finished. Jamie had givenme a list of every place she’d placed acan, and I borrowed my mom’s car and

started at the far end of town the followingday. She’d put out about sixty cans in all,and I figured that it would take only a dayto collect them all. Compared to puttingthem out, it would be a piece of cake. Ithad taken Jamie almost six weeks to dobecause she’d first had to find sixty emptyjars and cans and then she could put outonly two or three a day since she didn’thave a car and could carry only so many ata time. When I started out, I felt sort offunny about being the one who picked upthe cans and jars, being that it was Jamie’sproject, but I kept telling myself that Jamiehad asked me to help. I went from business to business,collecting the cans and jars, and by end ofthe first day I realized it was going to takea little longer than I’d thought. I’d picked

up only about twenty containers or so,because I’d forgotten one simple fact oflife in Beaufort. In a small town like this,it was impossible to simply run inside andgrab the can without chatting with theproprietor or saying hello to someone elseyou might recognize. It just wasn’t done.So I’d sit there while some guy would betalking about the marlin he’d hooked lastfall, or they’d ask me how school wasgoing and mention that they needed a handunloading a few boxes in the back, ormaybe they wanted my opinion on whetherthey should move the magazine rack overto the other side of the store. Jamie, Iknew, would have been good at this, and Itried to act like I thought she would wantme to. It was her project after all. To keep things moving, I didn’t stop to

check the take in between the businesses. Ijust dumped one jar or can into the next,combining them as I went along. By theend of the first day all the change waspacked in two large jars, and I carriedthem up to my room. I saw a few billsthrough the glass—not too many— but Iwasn’t actually nervous until I emptied thecontents onto my floor and saw that thechange consisted primarily of pennies.Though there weren’t nearly as many slugsor paper clips as I’d thought there mightbe, I was still disheartened when Icounted up the money. There was $20.32.Even in 1958 that wasn’t a lot of money,especially when divided among thirtykids. I didn’t get discouraged, though.Thinking that it was a mistake, I went out

the next day, hauled a few dozen boxes,and chatted with another twentyproprietors while I collected cans andjars. The take: $23.89. The third day was even worse. Aftercounting up the money, even I couldn’tbelieve it. There was only $11.52. Thosewere from the businesses down by thewaterfront, where the tourists andteenagers like me hung out. We werereally something, I couldn’t help but think. Seeing how little had been collected inall— $55.73—made me feel awful,especially considering that the jars hadbeen out for almost a whole year and that Imyself had seen them countless times.That night I was supposed to call Jamie totell her the amount I’d collected, but I justcouldn’t do it. She’d told me how she’d

wanted something extra special this year,and this wasn’t going to do it—even Iknew that. Instead I lied to her and toldher that I wasn’t going to count the totaluntil the two of us could do it together,because it was her project, not mine. Itwas just too depressing. I promised tobring over the money the followingafternoon, after school let out. The nextday was December 21, the shortest day ofthe year. Christmas was only four daysaway. “Landon,” she said to me after countingit up, “this is a miracle!” “How much is there?” I asked. I knewexactly how much it was. “There’s almost two hundred and forty-

seven dollars here!” She was absolutelyjoyous as she looked up at me. SinceHegbert was home, I was allowed to sit inthe living room, and that’s where Jamiehad counted the money. It was stacked inneat little piles all over the floor, almostall quarters and dimes. Hegbert was in thekitchen at the table, writing his sermon,and even he turned his head when he heardthe sound of her voice. “Do you think that’s enough?” I askedinnocently. Little tears were coming down hercheeks as she looked around the room,still not believing what she was seeingright in front of her. Even after the play,she hadn’t been nearly this happy. Shelooked right at me. “It’s . . . wonderful,” she said, smiling.

There was more emotion than I’d everheard in her voice before. “Last year, Ionly collected seventy dollars.” “I’m glad it worked out better thisyear,” I said through the lump that hadformed in my throat. “If you hadn’t placedthose jars out so early in the year, youmight not have collected nearly as much.” I know I was lying, but I didn’t care.For once, it was the right thing to do. I didn’t help Jamie pick out the toys—Ifigured she’d know better what the kidswould want anyway—but she’d insistedthat I go with her to the orphanage onChristmas Eve so that I could be therewhen the children opened their gifts.“Please, Landon,” she’d said, and with

her being so excited and all, I just didn’thave the heart to turn her down. So three days later, while my father andmother were at a party at the mayor’shouse, I dressed in a houndstooth jacketand my best tie and walked to my mom’scar with Jamie’s present beneath my arm.I’d spent my last few dollars on a nicesweater because that was all I could thinkto get her. She wasn’t exactly the easiestperson to shop for. I was supposed to be at the orphanageat seven, but the bridge was up near theMore head City port, and I had to waituntil an outbound freighter slowly madeits way down the channel. As a result, Iarrived a few minutes late. The front doorwas already locked by that time, and I hadto pound on it until Mr. Jenkins finally

heard me. He fiddled through his set ofkeys until he found the right one, and amoment later he opened the door. Istepped inside, patting my arms to wardoff the chill. “Ah . . . you’re here,” he said happily.“We’ve been waiting for you. C’mon, I’lltake you to where everyone is.” He led me down the hall to the recroom, the same place I’d been before. Ipaused for just a moment to exhale deeplybefore finally heading in. It was even better than I’d imagined. In the center of the room I saw a gianttree, decorated with tinsel and coloredlights and a hundred different handmadeornaments. Beneath the tree, spread in alldirections, were wrapped gifts of everysize and shape. They were piled high, and

the children were on the floor, sittingclose together in a large semicircle. Theywere dressed in their best clothes, Iassumed—the boys wore navy blue slacksand white collared shirts, while the girlshad on navy skirts and longsleevedblouses. They all looked as if they’dcleaned up before the big event, and mostof the boys had had their hair cut. On the table beside the door, there wasa bowl of punch and platters of cookies,shaped like Christmas trees and sprinkledwith green sugar. I could see some adultssitting with the children; a few of thesmaller kids were sitting on the adults’laps, their faces rapt with attention as theylistened to “ ’Twas the Night BeforeChristmas.” I didn’t see Jamie, though, at least not

right off the bat. It was her voice that Irecognized first. She was the one readingthe story, and I finally located her. Shewas sitting on the floor in front of the treewith her legs bent beneath her. To my surprise, I saw that tonight herhair hung loosely, just as it had the night ofthe play. Instead of the old browncardigan I’d seen so many times, she waswearing a red V-neck sweater thatsomehow accentuated the color of herlight blue eyes. Even without sparkles inher hair or a long white flowing dress, thesight of her was arresting. Without evennoticing it, I’d been holding my breath,and I could see Mr. Jenkins smiling at meout of the corner of my eye. I exhaled andsmiled, trying to regain control. Jamie paused only once to look up from

the story. She noticed me standing in thedoor-way, then went back to reading to thechildren. It took her another minute or soto finish, and when she did, she stood upand smoothed her skirt, then walkedaround the children to make her waytoward me. Not knowing where shewanted me to go, I stayed where I was. By then Mr. Jenkins had slipped away. “I’m sorry we started without you,” shesaid when she finally reached me, “but thekids were just so excited.” “It’s okay,” I said, smiling, thinkinghow nice she looked. “I’m so glad you could come.” “So am I.” Jamie smiled and reached for my handto lead the way. “C’mon with me,” shesaid. “Help me hand out the gifts.”

We spent the next hour doing just that,and we watched as the children openedthem one by one. Jamie had shopped allover town, picking up a few things foreach child in the room, individual giftsthat they’d never received before. Thegifts that Jamie bought weren’t the onlyones the children received, however—both the orphanage and the people whoworked there had bought some things aswell. As paper was tossed around theroom in excited frenzy, there were squealsof delight everywhere. To me, at least, itseemed that all of the children hadreceived far more than they’d expected,and they kept thanking Jamie over andover. By the time the dust had finally settledand all the children’s gifts were opened,

the atmosphere began to calm down. Theroom was tidied up by Mr. Jenkins and awoman I’d never met, and some of thesmaller children were beginning to fallasleep beneath the tree. Some of the olderones had already gone back to their roomswith their gifts, and they’d dimmed theoverhead lights on the way out the door.The tree lights cast an ethereal glow as“Silent Night” played softly on aphonograph that had been set up in thecorner. I was still sitting on the floor nextto Jamie, who was holding a young girlwho’d fallen asleep in her lap. Because ofall the commotion, we hadn’t really had achance to talk, not that either of us hadminded. We were both gazing up at thelights on the tree, and I wondered whatJamie was thinking. If truth be told, I