Eight quarters. That’s what did it. It was two dollars sucked into a laundromat dryer with nothing to show for them that cracked her final effort to put on her game face. And now, as she sat on a cold bench, holding a large bag of wet laundry and waiting for the bus, a few tears burned her eyes. She blinked quickly to chase them away.

It had been six months since she moved from her small town back in Oklahoma. Her parents had worn worry on their faces like freckles; but they had bravely waved goodbye, whispering prayers – prayers for her to remember where she came from, prayers for a sense of home in a strange city – they thought she hadn’t heard. Her dad had flipped a quarter in the air and she’d caught it.

“Remember,” he’d said. “Remember even a quarter says to trust God.”

“And if a quarter knows as much,” her mom had added, “then you do, too. And whenever things get troublesome, just take a quarter’s advice.”

Only she had used her last quarter in the laundromat dryer – the dryer that didn’t work. She didn’t even have a quarter to look at. Oh, she went through the motions of bedtime prayers and thanks for food, but . . . The baby in the manger seemed very far away.

Now it was Christmas Eve. She would be missing the special stew her mother always made and cocoa and cookies as they decorated the tree. But if she thought about it too much, it would just depress her. She would ignore the day. She had rejected her parents’ offer of transportation money. Too proud, she admitted. She would take their phone call and pretend she had gone somewhere exciting. A trickle of water seeped from the laundry bag in front of her and ran down the slanted pavement.

“I haven’t seen you here before.”

She glanced over at size 13 shoes. At least 13, she thought. Her eyes moved to a wooden cane topped with an engraved solid brass cane head in the shape of a tree branch, and upward to a wrinkled, leathery face.

“Looks like you were in a hurry,” he chuckled.

“I . . .”

“Dryer on the fritz?” he tossed her the question that felt like a lifebouy.

“Yes, that’s it.” She wouldn’t admit the quarters she’d lost in it were some of the last until her next paycheck. At least she had a bus ticket.

Fumes from the bus clouded the air as they climbed the steps. It occurred to her that steps might be hard to manage with a cane, but when she turned to look, the old man seemed strong and spry.

As she stepped off the last stair at her stop, she heard a familiar voice.

“Imagine living so close,” the tall stranger marvelled. “Say – I have a washer/dryer in my unit you can use.”

She considered. Was it safe? Her wet load made her decision, and she nodded.

His apartment building was so close – only a couple of buildings from her own. But she supposed it wasn’t unusual to not have met him before.

She couldn’t have said what she’d expected, but she stepped into a surprisingly cozy home. For that’s what it was. The very air was a welcoming hug. He plugged in lights on a Christmas tree in the corner, then showed her to the dryer.

While waiting for her clothes to dry, he brought her a heavy blue bowl of beef stew along with buttered french bread, perfectly toasted. The simple meal warmed her through. It reminded her of home.

“I was going to finish decorating the tree this evening. Care to help?” he asked.

He held out an ornament with an iridescent glow. She took it and carefully hung it on a branch. It was one of a kind. Truly stunning.

As she lay in bed the next morning, the events from the previous evening played in her memory. She could almost taste the gingerbread cookies and hot cocoa the old man had brought out while they finished decorating his tree, a tree that rivaled any she’d ever seen.

The phone rang: a Christmas morning call from her parents. Was she doing okay? Had she made any friends? They still prayed every day for her to encounter some sort of family-like support when she needed it. They missed her, and had hung her special ornaments on the tree. She told them of the tall old man she’d spent Christmas Eve with, leaving her wet laundry and missing quarters out of the story.

She slipped into her newly laundered jeans and sweater. She couldn’t remember laundry smelling so fresh! Energized, she decided to hand-deliver a thank you note to her new friend. The winter sun muted the light as she stepped onto the sidewalk on her way to the old man’s apartment two buildings down. She passed the first building and – wait. She turned around. No, this was where his apartment building had been. Had been! She stared at an empty lot. Yet not completely empty. For there, a few steps in, was a pile quarters. Eight, to be exact. And snowflakes gently fell as she read, IN GOD WE TRUST.

Images: Pexels.com; cjp; Story prompt: ajp