It’s that time of year again. Snow on the ground and the smell of baking cookies in the air. Once a year, for the holidays, we step away from our normal Sunday fare of World War Three scenarios and offer a simple gift to our readers.
It's time for the annual Two Navy Guys Christmas story....
Like all good stories, there's a story behind the story. (Yes, we are aware that we used the word “story” three times in the last twenty words. Maybe Santa will bring us a thesaurus for Christmas.)
The year was 2013. The Two Navy Guys were just friends then, not the dynamic writing duo we are today.
David had just made a major life change, walking away from a corporate career to become a writer. On Friday, he was negotiating million-dollar deals with some guy in China. On Monday morning, he was staring at a blank screen and talking to the dog sleeping under his desk.
In this inaugural year of writing, Mrs. David asked for a special (inexpensive) Christmas present: a David Bruns original short story. Any topic, any length, any genre, but just for her.
Write a story about anything is more difficult than it sounds, but after careful consultation with the slumbering canine, David came up with an idea.
“The Christmas Cookie” is a short story that will never be sold, but (with special permission from the original giftee) it can be shared with friends at Christmas.
It’s now a decade later, but some things are still the same. There’s still a dog snoring in David’s office. (Different dog, same position.) He’s still writing and he still loves this special request short story from very early in his career.
From the Two Navy Guys’ families to yours, we wish you all the best in this holiday season.
THE CHRISTMAS COOKIE
By David Bruns
For Christine, Christmas 2013
The first time Janie could remember tasting the cookie was when she was three years old—the same age as her daughter, Sadie. Even today, when she closed her eyes, she could still taste it: the chocolate and vanilla blending together in perfect harmony with just a hint of ginger overtones. The way the crunchy cookie skin yielding to a soft gooey center that melted on her three-year-old tongue.
The cookie was Christmas, and Christmas was the cookie.
In a strange way, Grandma Jane’s Christmas Cookie may have even set the course for her life. It certainly was a motivation behind her career choice as a baker and if she hadn’t gone to the Culinary Institute, she never would have met Tom, she never would have married him or moved to Norfolk or…
“Mama?” Sadie’s voice had a trembly, uncertain tone to it. “Why are you crying?”
Janie stood in her kitchen—still in her pajamas at two in the afternoon on December twenty-third—with this stupid cookie in her hand, crying like a…like a child. Still, she knew deep down in her gut that if she could just get this cookie right, then everything else would fall into place.
And this cookie was most definitely not right.
She threw the half-eaten cookie in the trash, wiped her eyes with the back of her hands and picked Sadie up. The girl was getting bigger but she still fit in the curve of Janie’s hip. She had Tom’s eyes, a deep, serious blue that looked up at her from beneath her blonde bangs.
“Mommy,” she asked again. “Why are you sad?”
Such a big question from a little girl. Maybe she should just unload on the kid and see what happened. Let’s count the ways, shall we? Her husband was on deployment. Again. She had decided for some now-forgotten reason that getting a puppy to go along with the three year old was a good idea. This was the first holiday season since her mother’s passing. And, on top of it all, she didn’t have the damn recipe. No, she corrected herself, Mother didn’t leave me the recipe.
But she forced a smile and kissed Sadie on the forehead. “Mommy’s not sad, Sadie. She just has a little cold.”
Sadie’s forehead wrinkled and her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “I think you miss Grandma Sadie,” she said.
Jane bit her lip and planted another kiss on Sadie’s forehead. A long one. “I think we should get dressed and take Rennie for a walk. How ‘bout that, little girl?”
“Yay!” Sadie raised her arms over her head and wriggled off Janie’s hip to the ground. Her footie pajamas slipped on the linoleum as the girl raced out of the kitchen and up the stairs. Janie crossed her arms and hugged herself for a long moment.
In Janie’s family, there were two unbreakable rules: the first girl child was named after her maternal grandmother and, at Christmas time, you made the Christmas Cookie. Janie had never heard it called anything but the Christmas Cookie, as if all other cookies at the holidays deserved a lower case spelling.
Wherever she was in the world—she and Tom had lived in Germany for a year and South Korea for two years—a package from her mother would always arrive a few days before Christmas. Besides the usual gifts for her and Tom, and eventually Sadie, the package always had a red and white striped tin tied with a deep green bow and filled with the Christmas Cookies. After the new year, the cookie tin went back to her mother to be used again the next Christmas, and Janie forgot about the cookies for another year.
After Sadie was born, Janie asked her mother to share the recipe, but all she said was, “When you’re ready, I’ll pass it on to you.”
Now it was too late.
Janie sighed as she surveyed the mixing bowls and cookies trays that littered her kitchen counters. She had been up since five this morning, making batch after batch in a futile attempt to recreate the secret formula. She had a degree from the Culinary Institute, surely she could recreate a simple cookie recipe?
Apparently not.
The most maddening thing was that she could picture the recipe in her mind: a single sheet of heavy, yellowed parchment, folded in quarters and tucked into the back of the recipe box. When her mother unfolded the page, it was almost worn through on the folded edges. Once, when Janie was nine years old and she was visiting her Grandma Jane, the old woman told her the recipe came from the Old Country. She let Janie hold the page and read her the directions line by line. She remembered how the paper had crackled between her fingers and how the spidery scrawl wandered across the smudged background, but she could not recall a single line of the recipe.
Grandma Jane passed away that year and Janie’s mother took over the annual Christmas Cookie tradition. Now Grandma Sadie was gone too, and it was up to Janie.
“Mommy!” Sadie’s indignant cry jerked her out of her reverie. “I need help!”
“On my way, Sadie,” she called. She piled a plate full of reject cookies and put it on the floor. Rennie, the black lab mutt, bounded over. “You,” she said to the dog, “make yourself useful.”
Sadie had unloaded her dresser drawers and a good portion of her closet onto her bed before selecting her outfit for the day: a pink angel dress, leopard skin print leggings and bright green boots. She had managed to put both the leggings and the dress on backwards—that was the “help” she needed.
Janie sighed. Not the Christmas outfit she had in mind, but she was too tired to argue with a three year old. She righted Sadie’s outlandish outfit and pulled on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt of her own. When they arrived back in the kitchen, Rennie had maneuvered the empty plate into a corner and was engaged in a licking frenzy that made the china rattle against the floor.
“No, Rennie!” Sadie called to him in her best command voice. “Walk time.”
The dog spun on the linoleum and bounded toward the girl. Janie wasn’t sure about the non-Lab half of his lineage. She had seen the mother, a sweet—and petite—black Lab, but she hadn’t thought to ask about the father. Whatever he was, he was tall. Almost tall enough to lick Sadie’s face without jumping.
Janie reminded herself again to sign him up for obedience lessons. At four months, he was barely housebroken and basic commands like “sit” and “down” seemed to get waylaid between his ears and his brain. But he understood “walk” perfectly well. Halfway across the kitchen floor, he launched himself at Sadie in his best doggy expression of joy. Janie saw it coming and hip-checked him to the floor.
Sadie stood over the dog and shook her finger at him. “No, Rennie! No jumping. Bad dog!”
Rennie burped at her and rolled onto his back. Janie reminded herself that she needed to get him neutered as well.
By the time they made it to the curb it was past noon. Sadie was at that age where she wanted to walk by herself, but the stroller was a nice back-up in case she tired out on the back stretch of their normal route. They went through the usual battle of Sadie insisting that she was able to handle Rennie on her own and Janie standing by to seize the leash when the dog leaped to the next new smell and dragged her daughter with him.
On the other side of the street, Mrs. Mulligan was out on her porch. She waved to them and wished them a Merry Christmas. Mr. Peterson was out adjusting the lights on his front lawn. He had another big display this year, the kind that made the local news and jammed their street with cars at dusk. They had just drawn even with the Peterson house when Rennie started to make the noise.
Humph, humph, humph. The dog’s back arched and his neck moved in time with the gagging noises.
Please, God, no. Not in front of the Peterson’s. Did I even bring a plastic bag with me?
Mr. Peterson turned toward them, his eyes narrowing. Janie could see his face getting red and he stabbed his finger at the dog.
Rennie came to a dead stop and pointed his nose at the ground. His jaw dropped and he deposited an enormous pile of half-digested cookies on the sidewalk with a sound like a wet mop smacking a tile floor.
“Ew, Mommy! Rennie threw up!” Sadie put both hands across her nose.
Janie wanted the ground to open up beneath her. Mr. Peterson, waddling his way across the yard, his face a deep crimson color, was yelling about news coverage and visitors and sanitation. Janie thought she could see flecks of foam forming on the corners of his mouth. She did her best to smile as she searched frantically in the stroller basket for a plastic bag. There! She had one!
Janie held up the white plastic shopping bag to show Mr. Peterson and stepped forward to clean up the mess.
She should have hooked Rennie’s leash onto the handle of the stroller. But, as she bent over the pile of mushy dog barf, she handed the leash to Sadie instead.
Janie didn’t actually see the accident. Afterwards, Mrs. Mulligan told her Rennie saw the Holden’s cat across the street and bolted.
The pickup truck was big and red and driving much too fast for their neighborhood. Sadie let out a scream as Rennie bolted. Janie instinctively reached behind her and latched onto one leopard print-covered leg. She held on. She felt Sadie’s body lift off the ground and lengthen as the girl tried to hold onto the leash.
Then, the leash was torn from Sadie’s hand and she fell face first onto the sidewalk.
Janie heard the sound of flesh smacking on metal, a sharp yelp from Rennie, and the deep-throated roar of a diesel engine racing off.
Then silence.
Mrs. Mulligan arrived and scooped up Sadie. Janie could tell from a quick scan and the way she cried that she was okay. She turned to the dog.
Rennie lay still on the pavement. Janie knelt next to him and had to look away. Over his right eye, a flap of skin hung loose and the white bone of his skull was visible. Rennie opened his eyes and whimpered. His tail moved in a weak wag.
Mr. Peterson was already backing his car out of the garage. He stopped the Cadillac next to them, popped open the truck and laid a blanket on the asphalt next to the dog.
“Help me get him on here,” he panted. “I’ll take you to the vet.”
Janie looked up him. The angry redness had receded from his face and tears glistened in his eyes. Carefully, they transferred Rennie to the blanket and lifted him into the backseat. As Mr. Peterson waddled around to the driver’s side, Janie stood next to the open car door.
“Go ahead, dear,” Mrs. Mulligan urged. “Sadie can stay with me this afternoon…right, Sadie?” The girl’s face was still slimy with tears, but she had stopped crying and she smiled up at her mother.
Janie jumped into the backseat and slammed the door shut behind her.
The vet reminded her of Tom. Not in his looks, but in the way he ran his hands across Rennie’s flank and probed gently at the wound on his head. He gave Rennie a mild sedative and the dog’s whimper slowed to deep, even breaths.
The vet perched his hip against the counter—another Tom trait. “Well, ma’am,” he said, with just the hint of a drawl, “you have one lucky dog here. Pretty banged up, but nothing broken. That cut on his head looks worse than it is. Scalp wounds bleed somethin’ fierce, but I can stitch that up in no time. He’ll have a pretty good scar, though.”
Janie closed her eyes and let the air escape her lungs in a rush. “Oh, thank you. How long before I can take him home?”
The vet laughed, a rich, baritone chuckle, and another Tom trait. “Gimme forty minutes or so and I’ll have him ready to go. Just be warned, he’s going to need to wear a cone on his head to stop him from scratchin’ at the stitches.” He let his hand rest on Rennie’s shoulder and let out another chuckle. “Be memorable pictures this Christmas, that’s for sure.”
Rennie made it back into their house under his own power, the white plastic cone scraping along the walls of hall as he staggered to the family room rug and collapsed. Sadie, initially concerned about the bandage that covered most of the dog’s head, giggled at the fact that her dog was wearing a “lampshade” on his head.
Mrs. Mulligan surveyed the mess in the kitchen, but said nothing. Janie shuffled a few of the dirty mixing bowls into the already full sink. “I was trying to remember a recipe my mother used to make,” she said lamely.
“Maybe I can help, dear,” Mrs. Mulligan said gently.
“No,” Janie replied, “It was just a silly thing I did when I couldn’t sleep.” She tried not to let her voice waver, but a little sob welled up in her throat anyway.
“Anyway, I’m done with that now, Mrs. M,” Janie continued. “It’s all behind me.”
The older woman squeezed her arm. “Maybe you could come over—”
Janie cut her off. “That’s very kind of you, but I think Sadie and I have had quite enough excitement for one day.”
Mrs. Mulligan nodded and gave her a sad smile. “Well, if you change your mind…” She turned to leave. “Oh, by the way, this package arrived when you were out.” She gestured at a large brown parcel on the counter.
Janie could hardly wait for Mrs. Mulligan to leave before she moved the package to the kitchen table. Sadie knelt on a chair and clapped her hands. The box was heavy and her father’s strong block lettering filled the shipping label. She slit the tape with a knife and pulled the flaps open. A sheet of paper folded in half lay on top of the crushed newspaper packing material. Janie unfolded the letter.
Dear Janie -
Your mother loved Christmas and I miss her deeply this time of year. I know she would have wanted you to have these things. I hope Tom is safe and you and Sadie are doing well.
Merry Christmas.
Love -
Dad
On any other day, Janie would have brushed off the short letter as Dad just being Dad, but not today. She felt a flush of anger rise creep up her neck—
“Oh, Mommy, look!” Sadie squealed. She burrowed underneath the balls of newspaper. She held up a green velvet dress. “It’s a Christmas princess dress!”
Janie felt the anger dissolve away. “Oh, Sadie, it’s beautiful! Let me hold it up for you…” She pressed the dress against her daughter’s shoulders. Her practiced eye took in the embroidery. The flowers on the right shoulder were different than the left. Less color, not as filled in. The dress wasn’t finished yet. Her mother must have still been working on it when she died.
Tears started in Janie’s eyes.
Sadie didn’t notice. “Oh, Mommy! Can I put it on now?” She was already pulling off her pink angel dress.
“Hold on there, little girl,” Janie said, tugging her clothes back in place. “It’s almost dinner time. If you eat all your dinner and take a bath, then you can wear the dress. We’ll take a picture of you wearing the dress and send it to Daddy. How’s that sound?”
Sadie looked at her with narrowed eyes. “What are we having for dinner?” she asked.
Janie sighed. Christmas Eve. She should make something special… she looked at the clock. Screw it. “How about mac and cheese?” she asked.
“Yay!” Sadie threw her arms over her head.
Janie dug through the newspaper and pulled out the remaining items. There was a doll-sized wrapped package for Sadie, a sweater-sized box for her and a rawhide bone for Rennie. She gave the gifts to Sadie to put under the tree and emptied the box of the remaining newspaper wadding.
She dug through another layer until her fingers hit something hollow and metal. Janie lifted a cookie tin out of the packing material. The container was more battered than she remembered, but the red and white stripe design on the side was just like she remembered. Janie’s fingers shook as she pried open the lid. Maybe…
It was empty.
Janie’s vision swam with tears as she fished two picture books from the bottom of the box and inverted the container. She was silly to get her hopes up anyway, her mother would never entrust the recipe to her father.
Sadie climbed back up on the chair and clapped her hands. “Books! Goodie!” she said, reaching for them.
Janie wiped her eyes. “Whoa, kiddo. These are old books. Mommy needs to read them to you,” She ran her hand across the cover of Twas the Night Before Christmas. She had her own copy, of course, but this was the one that her mother used to read from every Christmas Eve.
The second book was called Dear Santa, a collection of letters to Santa from children all over the world. Each page had a picture of a child from somewhere in the world and a little story about them. An envelope glued to each page had their letter to Santa inside.
Janie smiled. When she was growing up, her mother had let her keep this book on her bedside table during the holidays. Each night, they read a different Dear Santa letter. She flipped to the last page, the Christmas Eve page. For some reason, they had stopped reading the Christmas Eve letter and read Twas the Night Before Christmas instead. Funny, try as she might, Janie could not recall why. She untucked the flap on the letter.
“Mommy, can we have mac and cheese now?” Sadie asked, eyeing her new dress.
Janie smiled and closed the book. “Of course, you can!” She handed the rawhide to Sadie. “I’ll make dinner and you give this to Rennie.”
After her bath, Janie dressed Sadie in Grandma Jane’s dress. With white leggings, black patent leather shoes and a green bow in Sadie’s curly hair, she looked adorable.
A lump rose in her throat when she thought about her mother working on this dress. She must have worked on it all summer before… Janie wiped away the tears before Sadie could notice and laughed as her daughter attempted a pirouette.
The pair made their way downstairs and roused Rennie. After some coaxing, the dog got to his feet and limped to the Christmas tree for pictures. He stared balefully out of the white cone into the camera as Sadie wrapped her arms around his neck.
Janie smiled in spite of herself. Someday this will be a funny story. Just not today.
They let Rennie go back to his dog bed and they settled on the couch to read a bedtime story. Sadie knew some of the words to Twas the Night Before Christmas and she mouthed them softly as Janie read.
Janie closed the book. “Okay, then. Someone needs to get in bed before Santa comes.” She poked Sadie in the tummy and the girl giggled.
“Just one more, Mommy? Please?” Sadie pleaded, snuggling into Janie’s side. She held up Dear Santa.
Janie shook her head. “That one’s too long, honey. You need to pick a shorter one.”
“No, Mommy, this one! Please?”
“Okay,” Janie relented. “Since each page is a story, you can pick two pages for us to read tonight. And then bedtime.”
Sadie nodded her head in open-mouthed vigor. She paged through the book, studying each page carefully. She was stalling.
“C’mon, Sadie, or we won’t have time to read two pages,” Janie said sternly.
“This one,” she said, putting a pudgy finger on a picture of a boy in front of the Great Pyramids. Janie read through the background and let Sadie pull the letter from the envelope. Amir wanted a new bridle for his camel and a new cloak. At the bottom of his letter, he drew a picture of his camel that made Sadie giggle.
“One more, then it’s bedtime,” Janie said, resting her head back against the cushions. She was so tired and she wished Tom would call. Just let this day end now, she thought, before I break anything or anyone else.
“I want this one,” Sadie announced. Janie opened her eyes and focused on the page. There were no words on the page, just a picture of a snowy nighttime scene with a Christmas tree. The dark blue envelope blended in with the night sky.
It was the Christmas Eve page.
As Janie saw the page again, the reason why she couldn’t recall it came back to her. She had been reading the book and taken the Christmas Eve letter out of the envelope. When her mother called her, she left the book and the letter on her bed with her puppy in the room. By the time she got back, the letter was gone.
It took Janie until Christmas Eve to tell her mother about the lost letter. Even now, she could see the look of disapproval on her mother’s face. They never read the Christmas Eve page of Dear Santa again. That was the year they started reading Twas the Night Before Christmas.
Janie felt her eyes fill with hot tears. “I’m sorry, honey, that page doesn’t have a letter in it because once when I was a little bit older than you, I made a mistake.”
“No, Mommy, it does, too. I checked when you were asleep,” she said, pulling open the flap and drawing out the folded letter.
The square of paper was yellowed and spotted with stains. Janie’s hands trembled as she unfolded it, hearing the heavy parchment rustle as she smoothed it flat against the book. The folded edges had worn almost through the paper, leaving a white cross on the weathered surface. Janie leaned in to read the spidery ink scrawl across the top.
Christmas Cookies, it said.
The End
Copyright © 2013 by David Bruns
On his penultimate radio show, National Security This Week, JR is doing even more research for our next book, Covert Action. He interviews Dr. Jennifer Wistrand, Deputy Director of the Kennan Institute at the Wilson Center in Washington, DC, about Central Asia and the Caucasus region.
Be happy. Stay healthy. Read (or listen to) a book.
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David & JR, AKA the Two Navy Guys
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Beautiful! Thank you to Mrs. David, and you of course.
Happy holidays and Merry Christmas! 🧡🤗
My eyes are "sweating" after reading this short story. Please thank Mrs. David for allowing it to be shared at Christmas time.