Paper Angels
PRAISE FOR
Paper Angels
“Paper Angels captures the true essence of The Salvation Army Angel Tree program and the true spirit of Christmas, which is sharing and caring. I am pleased to recommend it to everyone as an inspirational story, for parents not only to share with their children but also to create a Christmas tradition for years to come.”
—Lt. Col. Charles White, Salvation Army officer and founder of the Angel Tree program
“Jimmy Wayne has used his God-given talent for songwriting to craft Paper Angels, an inspired and beautifully written timeless story that will bless and encourage you to make a difference. Like other classic tales of Christmas, this one should be read year after year as a reminder of why we celebrate and give.”
—Ron Hall, New York Times bestselling author of Same Kind of Different as Me
“Jimmy Wayne has taken the pathos, poignancy, heart, and storytelling abilities that infuse his music and translated them into a novel that will inspire all those who read it to take the first step toward making a difference.”
—Jennifer Perry, executive director, Children’s Action Network
“Two intertwined stories about family life and hard times add the hope of the Christmas holiday and make readers believe in the goodness and compassion of loving hearts. This book brings a holy moment to the reader and helps define the true meaning of ‘gift.’ This will make a great stocking stuffer.”
—Romantic Times (four stars)
“Paper Angels reveals the inner beauty of the human soul and reminds us all that it’s what we give away not what we receive that is of value and creates impact. . . . The individual characters within this novel are poignantly portrayed in such a way that you feel you are living each experience as they unfold. . . . Our lives are busy with to-do lists, dreams to follow, hurdles to overcome, and expectations to live up to. This book tenderly encourages us to slow down and treasure the special moments and people around us regardless of our circumstances. It allows us to see life through the eyes of those who at one time were us or at any point could be . . . this is an amazing read that will bring tears to your eyes.”
—Amanda Grieves, Human Resources & Social Media Manager, The Salvation Army-Nashville Area Command
“Paper Angels is a heartfelt Christmas tale about finding kindness amid consumerism, highlighting the historic Salvation Army Angel Tree Program. But it’s so much more than that too: it’s a story of brokenness and redemption, of forgiveness and second chances, of empathy and integrity and repaying evil with good. Travis Thrasher and Jimmy Wayne have crafted three-dimensional and true-to-life characters and woven their storylines together seamlessly. The result is an inspirational masterpiece set to challenge minds and move hearts.”
—Josh Olds, lifeistory.com
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Contents
Preface
Chapter 1: God Must Be a Country Music Fan
Chapter 2: A Little Turkey Somewhere
Chapter 3: Headed for Two Giant Glaciers
Chapter 4: A Dead End
Chapter 5: White-Trash Redneck
Chapter 6: Golden Ticket
Chapter 7: Another Not-So-Good Guy
Chapter 8: A Special Purpose
Chapter 9: Part of the Plan
Chapter 10: Generosity
Chapter 11: Getting Worse
Chapter 12: Bah Humbug
Chapter 13: Thin and Shredded
Chapter 14: Opportunities
Chapter 15: Chance Encounter
Chapter 16: A New Song
Chapter 17: Serenity
Chapter 18: Under the Speckled Stars
Chapter 19: Help
Chapter 20: Windows
Chapter 21: Stuck in Traffic
Chapter 22: Flawed and Broken
Chapter 23: Doug’s Bike Shop
Chapter 24: It’s Bad When
Chapter 25: A Common Bond
Chapter 26: A Tiny Fraction of Hope
Chapter 27: As Poor as I Am
Chapter 28: Opportunities
Chapter 29: The Note
Chapter 30: A Handshake
Chapter 31: Something So Cool
Chapter 32: Stripped and Left Barren
Chapter 33: Nice on a Bumper Sticker
Chapter 34: Family Portrait
Chapter 35: Better and Worse
Chapter 36: Like a Circus in There
Chapter 37: Lost Cause
Chapter 38: A Hero
Chapter 39: Silent Night
Chapter 40: The Storm
Chapter 41: The Man Inside
Chapter 42: Christmas Gift
Chapter 43: My Little One
Chapter 44: The Only Thing
Chapter 45: The Weight of the World
Chapter 46: Receiving
Chapter 47: The Sign
Chapter 48: All His Heart and All His Soul
Chapter 49: Where You’re Going
Chapter 50: Home
Chapter 51: Under the Tree
Chapter 52: Paper Angels
Chapter 53: The Shoes
Chapter 54: A Piece
Epilogue: The Following July
Acknowledgments
Author’s Note
A Conversation with Jimmy Wayne
To Bea and Russell Costner
There wouldn’t be me if there hadn’t been you.
Preface
When his mom decided it was time for them to leave and leave for good, Thomas knew they better get far away or he’d come and find them. The good thing or the bad thing, depending on how one looked at it, was that it was Christmas day and food was still cooking in the kitchen. Just another Christmas, with Mom sweating in a tiny room over a tiny stove, Thomas and Sara dreaming of the iPods or gaming equipment they could be enjoying, and Dad watching college basketball on his flat-screen television and drinking with a vengeance. This was the worst time they could possibly ever leave, and that was what made it the best.
“Thomas, I need your help,” Mom called.
He didn’t go right away, watching the game with almost as much interest as Dad. It was only when his father barked out his name that Thomas went. Dad wasn’t concerned about Mom’s needing help—he didn’t want any interruptions to his game. It would sure help them all out if the UNC Tarheels would score a little more often. Thomas got up, figuring he needed to take out the garbage or Benny, his dad’s dog.
“I want you to do something and not ask any questions, do you understand?” Mom’s voice was barely audible over the sound of the stove’s fan.
“What do you mean?”
“I want you to get your sister and go out to the car, okay?”
Right there and then he knew. Something was wrong. The way his mother looked and sounded today seemed different. The bruise above her lips was still swollen, but that wasn’t anything new. It was the look in her eyes, a look he’d never seen before.
“Where are we going?”
“Get Sara and take her to the car right now.”
He nodded. The smell of the sweet potatoes and the ham and the fresh biscuits and the macaroni pie all made his mouth water. But fear made his hunger go quiver in a corner.
Thomas wanted to ask his mother but he knew. The knowing part of him whispered for his mouth to stay shut and for his legs to start moving.
Getting Sara would be easy. In fact, doing anything now would be easy except taking Dad’s can of Coors Light away from him or turning off his game.
He was able to get his sister’s attention without a problem. She looked up when he came into the living room. She was eleven but she tried to act older. For a moment he mouthed that she needed to come, signaling for her to follow him. The game no longer interested him. All he could think about was his mother’s request.
“What do you think you’re doing?” his father asked.
Thomas hadn’t seen his father looking at him. Usually by now, about three-fourths of the way into the basketball game, he was in a semicoma that would only to be broken by another trip to the fridge.
“Every time you wave your arms Benny thinks you’re playing with him. So knock it off. Unless you’re going to take him outside for a walk.”
“Yes, sir.”
Sara didn’t need an explanation to follow into the other room. Dad’s tone was enough. Once inside the kitchen, Thomas guided her toward the back door.
“We need to go,” he said outside.
“Go where?”
“Away.”
“Where’s that? I’m hungry.” They walked quickly out the door and to the car.
The first thing Thomas thought of as he climbed into the musty-smelling Nissan was his bike.
The bike that he and Mom had finally saved up enough to buy, a used and recycled mountain bike that they’d spent a hundred and fifty bucks on. A bike that when new would have cost over a thousand. A bike that had seen better days but still had some life in it.
Maybe not much of a life after all.
Thomas thought about what to do about the bike. It was getting rusty and the paint was chipped but he still loved it. Maybe he could ride it and follow behind the car. Or maybe they could fit it in the fifteen-year-old Maxima.
They waited in the car for ten minutes. Ten whole minutes. He sat in the front seat looking at the small house with the wild shrubs growing unevenly around it and the rusted-out white truck that couldn’t fit all of them in the front seat.
“What are we doing?” Sara kept asking.
“We’re waiting for Mom.”
“Where are we going?”
“Far away.”
Mom had told them—no, she’d promised them—that they would be getting a special Christmas present today. Just the two kids. She had said she would give it to them during the day, that it was going to be a surprise, that they couldn’t mention it to Dad. This is her present, Thomas thought as he waited and worried that the next one out of the house would be the man with the glassy eyes and the tightened jaw. His hands felt sweaty as he rubbed them and tried to act like he wasn’t nervous in front of his sister.
Maybe she planned on leaving later. Maybe the fight they had when she started cooking dinner convinced her to go now.
The door opened and Thomas stopped breathing.
It was Mom.
All she carried was her purse. Maybe she had already packed a few things, but he didn’t see anything in the backseat.
How do I ask her about my bike?
As she climbed into the car, Thomas could see the fear on her face and in the way she moved. Before starting up the car, she turned to face both of them.
“You two, listen to me. We’re leaving and we’re not coming back, and I’ll explain why. But for now we have to go. Do you understand me?”
Sara began asking questions, but it was Thomas who told her to be quiet, not Mom.
He didn’t need to be told why.
He didn’t need to ask about his bike either.
The car left without hesitation.
Thomas and Sara had received the best gift ever: freedom.
The question was whether it would still be there tomorrow and the next day and the day after that.
And whether the man inside the house they were leaving would find them and reclaim them as his own.
God Must Be a Country Music Fan
The snow dancing on the sidewalk alongside the towering skyscraper reminded Kevin Morrell of better days, when he walked here with his wife celebrating a new year and a new business and a thousand new opportunities. A decade later, the snow still circled his feet and the city still searched for its pot of gold, but Kevin walked alone, knowing he was down to one single chance.
He wished Jenny was here. Something about her presence always gave him more confidence. She had been the first to tell him to take a leap of faith, to quit the corporate job and become his own boss. The look in her eyes had told him he could do that.
Kevin could use that look right now.
For a moment, before crossing the street and entering the skyscraper to find out the verdict on his next year, Kevin stopped for a moment and took a few deep breaths. He didn’t want to admit he was nervous, but every bone in his body felt it. He wanted to appear cool and collected, as if this meeting didn’t mean everything, as if keeping this retainer wasn’t a matter of making or breaking him. Kevin wanted to appear in control.
Staring up into the sky on this chilly day before Thanksgiving in New York City, Kevin knew he didn’t control anything anymore.
Twenty-five or thirty presents waited under the glittering Christmas tree in the corner of the lobby. Kevin had been staring at the gifts for some time now, wondering whether there were actual items in the wrapped boxes or if they were just for show. He thought the latter, especially since he doubted a company like Silverschone Investments got together to pick names and sip hot cocoa and play warm and fuzzy Christmas games.
Warm and fuzzy aren’t the words I’d associate with anything to do with banks or mortgages these days.
He thought it was interesting to have the Christmas tree out before Thanksgiving. Perhaps the decorating committee was on top of things this year. Or maybe they knew the company was going to go under before Christmas, so best celebrate the season as quickly as possible.
Stop with the stupid thoughts, Kev. His lower back was starting to sweat. Maybe because after sitting in this fancy leather armchair for what felt like forever, he was beginning to feel strapped into a straitjacket. Or maybe because he wasn’t used to wearing a dress shirt and a coat. This was as dressy as he got, unless someone died or got married.
Kevin Morrell was able to set the dress code at his office, and that meant business casual with a stress on the word casual. No, he didn’t want people showing up in flip-flops and looking as if they just came from the beach or were on their way to a Jimmy Buffett concert. But he also hated the corporate thing.
To try to combat the nervous energy that made him cross his legs a dozen times, Kevin took out his phone and logged onto Twitter. This was his guilty pleasure, like Jenny’s love of chocolate, which had recently been doubly intensified. After reading tweets from strangers commenting on politics and pop culture and how long it took to get out of a parking garage, Kevin decided to share what had been on his mind for the past half hour.
I’m wondering what this receptionist really does, because for half an hour I’ve seen nothing going on except Nazi-like stares.
He had thirteen more characters to spare. Awesome.
Maybe she’s following you on Twitter and she goes by GuardTheDoor911.
He deleted the stupid tweet before posting it, and then stuck his phone back into his pocket. He thought of a joke he’d heard a while ago about a man phoning a mental institution. The caller asks the receptionist to check and see if there is anybody in room 24. When the receptionist tells the man the room is empty, he says, “Good, that means I really did escape.”
Now I’m telling myself jokes. This meeting needs to happen before I start getting really loopy.
Kevin breathed in and out slowly, a technique he used whenever he was about to speak to a large group or go into an intense meeting.