The Little Drummer Girl

Part 8

Just like before, I soon found myself heading toward the church, drawn by the galaxy of lights and Christmas stars. I leaned my bike against the shed and slipped inside the church, expecting to find it empty since the last Mass had already ended.

But it wasn’t empty. A familiar, ponytailed head rose above the pews near the Nativity, watching the little parol as it spun gently above the Baby Jesus. “John?” I called hesitantly.

He turned, and the shadows in his eyes shook me out of my own misery. Something in my face must have alerted him, too, as concern replaced the pensiveness I’d seen. “Zoey? What’re you doing here?”

“I should ask you the same thing.” I slid into the pew beside him and looked up at Gabe’s parol. I’d come here before to study the little paper star for my illustrations, but now all I wanted was to soak up the air of serenity that surrounded it and the infant Savior who was smiling up at it.

A comfortable silence settled between us. After a while, John began to speak: “I finished the layout earlier, and I had a sudden urge to come here. Did you know, I never even noticed this little guy at first? But now that I know he’s here, I can’t believe I’ve ever not noticed him.”

I smiled faintly. “Yeah. It was the same for me. He’s not flashy, but he’s got…presence.”

“You never asked me why I came to this town.” He slid me a glance before turning back to gaze at the parol. “I was searching for something, only I didn’t know what it was. Doesn’t that sound crazy? All my life, I never felt as if I fit in anywhere. I was always fighting, always resisting…always wanting something more, even though I already had everything. My mom and step-dad assumed that after I graduated from high school I’d calm down. I’d go straight to college like everyone else, earn a degree, get a job, settle down. But I felt like I was squeezing myself into a hole that was completely the wrong shape and size for me. It drove me crazy—it drove my folks crazy—but I just knew there was someplace else I had to be.”

I reached up and touched his scar with my fingertip. “Is this part of the reason you couldn’t stay where you were?” I asked softly.

He took my hand and wrapped his fingers securely around mine, settling our hands between us. “Yeah,” he admitted. “But it wasn’t just that.”

“So why did you come here, to our town? It can’t just be because you’ve got relatives here.”

He glanced at me again and smiled. “Hey, don’t knock the pull factor of having cousins like Camille.” We shared a laugh at that, then he sighed. “My first week here, I asked myself that all the time. But now that I’ve seen this little guy—” he nodded toward the parol “—now that I know his story, I think…I understand now why I’ve been led here. And for that, Zoey, I owe you,” he added solemnly, giving my hand a squeeze.

I looked down at our hands, wondering if I had the guts to ask him if I played even a tiny part in changing his mind about our town. But then he said, “Now tell me what’s wrong, and this time, don’t just run off without answering.”

I sighed inwardly as the moment slipped away. “What makes you think anything is wrong?”

He raised his eyebrow. “Zoey, right now, you’ve got the same look on your face that I saw the first two times I met you. Listen, it’s okay if you don’t want to talk about. But I want you to know that, if you do need to talk, I’m right here. No matter what, I’ll always be here.”

No, you won’t. You’ll be gone in two weeks. Still, I found myself telling him everything. This situation is oddly familiar, I thought to myself, recalling my outpouring to Sister Beth a week ago. Was there something about this particular Nativity that sparked confessions? I eyed the little parol suspiciously, then wondered if the angel on its front had just winked at me.