Need a refill, hon?”
Gulliver Gantry was staring into his empty cup, oblivious to the waitress waiting patiently with coffee pot in hand. A lifelong bachelor, Gulliver was usually more gregarious, but on holidays like this one, Christmas Eve, he was a darker shade of melancholy. His only solace: being among people and enjoying a slice of pie at the local diner.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I was lost there for a bit. Thinking of my sister.”
“Your sister?” the waitress asked as she refilled his cup.
Gulliver took his phone, swiped twice and turned it so the waitress could see.
“Her name was Mary.”
“Was?” the waitress said, as she looked closely at the photograph of a young girl. “She’s beautiful.”
“Inside and out,” Gulliver replied. “I lost her 25 years ago today.”
The server’s smile fell away, “I’m so sorry.”
A moment passed when she said, “You look familiar.”
“Shaggy Tail Rescue,” he answered.
Gulliver managed the town’s only animal shelter, a job he’d inherited from his father. The family business was taking care of animals that no one wanted.
“That’s it! I got a dog there once,” she said. “A special young lady took care of me. She had… um… what I mean is…”
“Down syndrome,” he said, finishing her thought. “Yes. That’s Mary.”
“I’m sorry how that came out.”
“Don’t be,” Gulliver said, “It’s what made her special.”
Gulliver went on about how his sister helped with the shelter and went through life with an endless joy others envied.
“But the most amazing thing Mary did was on this night,” he said. “Christmas Eve.”
The waitress, without thinking, took a seat at the table, leaning in so as not to miss a single word.
“Tell me.”
Gulliver explained that on Christmas Eve, long after everyone had gone home, Mary would return to the animal shelter just before midnight and stand in front of the cages reading “’Twas the Night Before Christmas” out loud to her “esteemed guests.”
“I asked her once if I could tag along, and she told me this was her present to her furry friends.”
The waitress asked him why Mary did this, year after year, and he replied, “I’ve debated that question and always arrive at the same answer. She didn’t want them to feel alone at Christmas.”
Gulliver pulled a napkin out from under his cup and dabbed a tear away from his eye.
A man in the kitchen called and the waitress stood up, saying she had to go.
“Before I do,” she asked. “What do you want for Christmas?”
Gulliver answered, “Just to know Mary’s OK.”
The waitress tore his check in half, kissed him on the cheek and said, “I hope Santa brings it to you.”
That night, Gulliver dreamt that Mary returned to the shelter to read to her beloved animals once more. The animals’ eyes wide, ears back, hanging on every word.
Christmas morning, Gulliver woke to a fresh blanket of snow. He went to the shelter to give the pups and kittens breakfast and found something odd. In front of the cages was a small puddle of water. It was almost as if someone had been there, book in hand, the snow on their shoes melting away as they read.
Gulliver scratched his head, then took a fresh Christmas wreath to the cemetery to lay at Mary’s grave. It was there that the holiday’s true magic appeared. As far as the eye could see, fresh, smooth, undisturbed snow covered the landscape. As he kneeled before Mary’s stone, he saw them. Tiny paw prints in the shape of a heart surrounding her grave like an embrace.
