Page 88 of Bright Lights, Big Christmas
The whimsical story of a spunky little vintage camper who leaves her tiny mountain town for an exciting adventure in the big city. A camper named Spammy.
Her tea grew cold and the minutes flew by as she filled the pages of the book with her story and illustrations.
When she looked up from the easel she glanced at her phone and realized that three hours had passed. Night had fallen, and it was time to check on Heinz.
She heated up the soup Mrs. Lee had sent, pouring it into a thick china mug, and placed it on a tray, along with a glass of water and the medicine the pediatrician had prescribed.
Heinz was sitting up in bed, yawning. He scowled when he saw her. “Don’t tell me you’re still here.”
“Afraid so,” she said, resting the tray on his lap. She pointed to the soup. “Mrs. Lee at the Red Dragon sent that over for you. She says you’re to eat every last drop.”
He took a sip and grimaced. “Gaaaah. Terrible.”
“It smells okay to me. What’s it taste like?”
“Ginger. Garlic. Fish paste. Something fetid and stagnant. Fermented ditch water.” He took another sip and shuddered.
“My grandma would say if it don’t kill you it’s sure to cure you.” Kerry handed him his antibiotics. “Drink it down and then take these.”
Heinz dutifully finished the soup and swallowed his meds, placing the empty mug on the tray.
“I do feel slightly better,” he admitted. “So I suppose I should thank you for that.”
“It’s my pleasure,” Kerry said. “You really had us all very worried when you disappeared like that. Austin was beside himself. We were ready to post Wanted posters with your picture on them all over the West Village.”
Heinz reached for his glasses from the nightstand, put them on, adjusted them, and gazed at her. “I don’t quite understand why you would choose to stay here and play nursemaid to a virtual stranger, when you could be home, celebrating Christmas with your family.”
His question gave her pause. “We’re not strangers,” she said. “We’re friends. You, me, Austin, Patrick, Murphy, and Claudia. What’s that saying? Friends are the family you choose? I guess we’ve chosen you. Whether you like it or not.”
He fiddled with his glasses again and took a sip of water. “Friendship is not something that comes easily to me. I’m not used to being taken care of,” he said matter-of-factly. “As you can tell by all this…” He gestured around at the room and the apartment beyond. “I’ve been alone for a very long time. By choice.”
Kerry chose her next question carefully. “But you weren’t alwaysalone, right?” She glanced at the nightstand and noticed that Heinz had placed the framed photograph upright again.
“No.” The way he said it told Kerry the topic was closed. For now.
“I hope you don’t mind, but I thought, as long as I was invading your home, I might as well trespass on your studio. I’m afraid I borrowed some of your art supplies. It’s an amazing space. I really got inspired, working there.”
He shrugged. “I’m not really in a position to stop you now, am I?”
“Is it all right? That I used your studio?”
“It’s fine,” he said, waving his hand in dismissal. “Tell me what you’re working on.”
“Better yet, I’ll show you.”
Heinz studied the first page of the story. He tapped the sketch of the happy camper, with its smiley bumper and porthole windows, pressed his lips together, and nodded. He turned the pages slowly, reading the text aloud.
Kerry squirmed self-consciously as she heard him murmuring the words she’d dashed off in a sort of hypnotic frenzy of creativity, and she had to force herself not to flee from the room, and the stinging criticism she was sure Heinz would direct her way.
When he’d read through all the pages, he turned back to the beginning and went more slowly over each page. “Bring me a pencil,” he told Kerry. “And an eraser.”
She did as requested, and he spent another thirty minutes jotting notes in the tiniest block print, on each page. It was torture, sitting by silently and watching him dissect her work.
Finally, he handed the sketchbook back to her, along with the pencil and the eraser.
“Well?” She was holding her breath, waiting for the worst.
“This is actually quite good.”
