“Are you going to come in, Stevie, or do you need a minute alone?”
Stevie startled. She’d done that thing that so often got her into trouble at school: disappeared into her head. She wasn’t ignoring anyone or being “willfully disrespectful.”
She was just—doing it again. Rats!
She swallowed and tried to speak. Nothing came out. She cleared her throat and tried again. Successfully this time. “I’ll come in. Something smells really good. Thank you.”
“It’s roast chicken with veggies and mashed potatoes,” Mrs. Kirby said as if it was no big deal. “I hope you’re hungry.”
Stevie was always hungry.
Dinner surprised Stevie by not being as awkward as she feared. The food was delicious—and plentiful. Mrs. Kirby, who asked them to call her Maddie, insisted they should eat as much as they wanted—and seemed to mean it. She smiled when Stevie gobbled up seconds, then thirds, of creamy potatoes with to-die-for gravy. And when Stevie asked, “Is this gravy homemade?” Maddie gave a full-on grin. “You bet. I can teach you how to make it sometime if you want.”
Stevie did want that. She wanted that a lot—and even if it would never come to pass, it was very kind of Maddie to offer.
There was another girl at Mrs. Kirby’s too, a fifteen-year-old named Jo, who’d arrived the night before. Jo was the type of girl that Stevie found intimidating at school: well-spoken, tall and slim, and somehow polished and put together looking, even though, at a second glance, her clothes were almost as ragged as Stevie’s. She seemed nice, though—and smiled shyly at Stevie more than once, which was not how most pretty, obviously smart older girls usually reacted to her baggy jeans, gray sweatshirt, board shoe wearing self. At best, she was invisible to them. At worst—well, there was no “worst” anymore. They’d learned the hard way to leave her alone.
The rest of the evening was surprisingly comfortable too. Stevie had stayed at places where after meals, heck, during meals, people were as silent and expressionless as stones—and about as friendly. But Maddie was the same way in her home that she was at school. She had this gentle, no-pressure way of letting you talk or not, whatever you were more comfortable with, that Stevie appreciated, and that put them all at ease. And she told funny stories and asked interesting questions but didn’t try too hard.
When no one could eat another bite, Jo offered to help with the dishes, and Stevie got up too, starting to clear plates.
Maddie insisted she didn't need any help with the dishes, saying she’d take care of them later, adding lightly that maybe there would be a chore chart or something in the future.
Stevie was crestfallen. Maybe it was dumb, but she wanted to do the dishes—wanted to give back in some little way, to not just be a total freeloader. Maddie must have sensed as much because she nodded Stevie's way. “Of course, if you really want to load the dishwasher, you can, but tonight’s supposed to be a special treat. I don't want you to feel any pressure.”
Stevie knew it was stupid, but she practically jumped up from the table.
There was something very weird and nice about doing dishes while other people chatted in a friendly, homey way. Maddie outlined possible plans for the next few days, including going shopping in town for little gifts for each other. Then she suggested, almost shyly, that it was her family’s tradition—one she’d like to continue if they were game—to write letters to Santa.
Write a letter to Santa? Stevie hadn't written a letter to Santa since, well, since she was much smaller than Alissa and Hailey, put it that way.
But she felt so grateful to be in this cozy place, surrounded by greenery, twinkling lights, and not just one but two huge Christmas trees, that she couldn't help but get caught up in the excitement that Alissa and Hailey were obviously feeling.
As they were getting paper and picking pencils, Jo caught Stevie’s eye and quirked one eyebrow the tiniest bit, not rudely and not in a making fun of Maddie way, but just enough to say, “I know, right? Pretty weird!”
And it was a bit weird, yes, but it was also just one more thing to like about Maddie. That she saw the four of them, a collection of unwanted mutts, as people who should get to do something as simple and fun as write to Santa. That she would act like there might actually be a chance, any chance at all, for the four of them to have wishes that came true.
They each settled in various parts of the house to write. Stevie chose the “family room,” which, as far as Stevie could tell, was just a word you used when you had more than one “living room” and needed to distinguish between the similar spaces. Initially, the huge armchair set near a legit, 100 percent real fireplace that crackled cheerily away seemed the perfect place to jot a note. Now, however, contemplating the sheet of ivory stationery lying atop the hardcovered book she was using as a makeshift desk, Stevie wished she hadn’t just loaded the dishwasher. She should’ve scrubbed the pots and pans too. Anything would be better than staring at a blank page.
She chewed the end of her purple pencil lightly, then caught herself and stopped. She didn’t want Maddie to think she was mistreating her property.
Okay, here goes nothing, Stevie finally decided. With great resolve, she bowed her head and joined the other girls who were quietly scribbling away in various cozy spots around the big Christmas tree.
Dear Santa,
You already know who I am, but in case you've forgotten (as the jaded side of me says you obviously have), my name is Stevie Fox. I am thirteen. I am staying at Mrs. Madeline Kirby’s house for a while. She’s my guidance counselor at school and is the person who figured out my mom bailed (again). She didn’t think it was “appropriate” for me to live alone in our apartment and called social services. Not gonna lie. It kind of pissed me off, but I get she was just doing her job. Also, rent was due, and since I had (have!) no money, I would’ve gotten busted anyway.
Her husband and daughter were killed in an accident. I heard some teachers talking about it at the gossip factory, aka my school. That’s only relevant because it makes me think she knows how life can really suck and how there’s nothing you can do about it. Also, it makes me feel like things could be worse. My mom isn’t dead, after all.
Maddie (she asked us to call her that, so I’m not being disrespectful) also noticed that every foster home and group home I got stuck in sucked worse than the last one.
It’s weird that I'm looking forward to Christmas this year. I’m okay if it lets me down, but I really hope it will be nice for the other girls, especially Hailey and Alissa because they’re little.
Stevie contemplated her cramped handwriting, forced herself not to cross anything out, and flipped the page. Jo, who was also nestled in the family room, almost out of view beside the big Christmas tree, still seemed to be writing, so Stevie wrote some more, too.
Maddie said this thing at dinner about being grateful. It kind of freaked me out—that she would still be grateful after everything she’s been through. She’s a good person, and anyone who gets to stay with her long term is super lucky. I know that’s not me, and I get it, but I’ll try to follow her example anyway. I’m grateful that I'm here right now. I already know I'm going to be a really hard worker and that I’ll be able to take care of myself, but getting to stay at Maddie’s, even for a little while, is a much-needed break.
Sincerely,
Stevie Fox
P.S. Maddie says we’re supposed to ask for something. I don’t cook very much, but I think I would like to. Food is good—makes you grow and all that (though I’ll probably always be a short dwarf), but even better, it makes me feel good. And when you eat with other people, it just feels . . . good. (I’m sorry I keep using the word “good” so much. My English teacher would definitely give me marks off for not being specific, but you’re Santa and this isn’t for marks, so SUCK IT, Mr. B!!!) Anyway, back to the point. I think you've eaten enough milk and cookies in your life, that you probably have a really kick-ass cookie recipe. So yeah, I would like your favorite Christmas cookie rec
ipes. Yeah, that's right. It being Christmas, this being a wish list, I am asking for not just one cookie recipe, but all your faves. (Ha ha! I’m so greedy, hey?)
P.P.S. I totally get it if you can't share your recipes with me. No worries.
It was late when they finished their Christmas letters, so Maddie took them on a tour of the rest of the house, including their sleeping arrangements.
Even though Stevie didn't know Jo very well at all, the second-floor room Maddie chose for her seemed perfect. It looked like a study—or what she imagined a “study” to look like having only ever read about them in books. Jo looked shyly excited too, and Stevie’s stomach squeezed with happiness. It was nice when something worked out.
Then Maddie showed Alissa and Hailey their bedroom, also on the second floor. She said she thought they might enjoy rooming together more than being alone in separate rooms, and from their matching smiles and the little giggle that Hailey let out, she was right.
While the other girls washed up and brushed their teeth, Maddie pulled Stevie aside. “The room I have in mind for you is on the main floor like mine.”
Stevie had no idea what to expect and swallowed hard as she followed Maddie back downstairs, then toward a heavy oak door that opened just off the kitchen of all things.
Maddie’s hand rested on the door’s small antique knob, but she didn’t open it right away. “This room is a bit . . . unique. I think it was a pantry of some kind, but that it also did double duty as a room for kitchen help or a live-in maid or something.” Maddie laughed. “Not that I'm implying I expect or want you to be my maid. I just thought there was something, I don’t know, sort of homey or nostalgic about the room that you, with all the reading you do, might appreciate. The bed is built into the back wall, and there's a big old apple barrel beside it—over one hundred years old. It kind of amazes me. Through all the renovations and changes in owners this house has seen, no one ever got rid of. And the room still smells softly of apples, even after all these years. Plus, there’s a big built-in bureau—”
Maddie interrupted herself with a gusty inhale. “I’m talking your ear off! Just come and have a peek.”
Stevie's mind reeled. She honestly would’ve slept on a pullout in Maddie’s living room and thought herself awesomely lucky. She fully expected the “unique” room to be great because how could any space in this house not be—and yet she was still unprepared for the burst of emotions that sizzled through her when Maddie clicked on a light and Stevie followed her over the threshold. She gasped.
“Are you all right?” Genuine concern laced Maddie’s voice.
Stevie could only nod. Then she felt a smile start all the way down in her belly and spread through her body with a tingle. She understood what Maddie meant; it did look like it had probably been servants’ quarters at some time in history—but quarters designed by someone who had appreciated their servant, at least.
The entire space, from floor to walls to low ceiling, was constructed of gleaming, time-burnished wood. In the soft light of the overhead bulb, each crook, cranny, and surface glowed a warm welcome. On the far end of the room, which was ten steps away, if that, the built-in-bed—a nook really—that Maddie had mentioned, was made up with soft white linens, a poufy duvet (also in white), and three plump pillows.
Stevie turned slightly and there, just behind her, beside the door, was the built-in “bureau” Maddie referred to. Stevie was glad to have a name for it because she would’ve just called it a dresser. The mirror had gold detailing around its edges that caught the light and sparkled.
Maddie waited, expecting a comment of some kind, Stevie guessed—but she couldn’t speak. Could only gawk some more, take in yet another detail.
The two walls running between the bureau and bed were not actually “walls” at all. They were floor-to-ceiling shelves. And there was the awesome apple barrel, near the head of the bed, like the most perfect bedside table ever. Stevie closed her eyes for a minute. Yes, Maddie was right. The softest hint of summer ripened apples kissed her senses. She opened her eyes again.
“This is really where you want me to stay while I’m here?”
Maddie gave her a searching look. “Is that all right?”
Stevie’s face flamed. “All right? No, it’s perfect. So cozy and snug and . . . ” She’d been about to add safe, but that sounded so lame. “I . . . love it.”
“Me too! I could never bring myself to change it or remodel it. The only changes this room has seen since the house was built was that someone installed a light and an electrical socket, long before my husband and me—” Maddie’s voice cracked a little on the last word, and Stevie thought she knew how Maddie felt. Grief and missing a person punched extra hard sometimes, usually when you least expected it. “Anyway,” Maddie continued after a breath, “I’m especially glad now that I didn’t change it. It must’ve been meant for you all along.”
The casual comment did something funny to Stevie’s sinuses. She coughed and turned away from Maddie. As lovely a thought as that was—that something good could’ve been meant for her all along—and as much as she’d enjoyed every minute of her night here at Maddie’s house, guilt suddenly soured Stevie’s stomach. Wherever Marilyn was, she was definitely not having as nice a time—and whether she did a crap job of it or not, Marilyn was her mother. Wasn’t Stevie meant for her all along?
“Um, I’m really tired. Can I go to bed now?”
“Of course, honey.” Maddie’s head tilted as if silently adding, “Are you okay?”
Stevie pretended she didn’t notice the silent query, said thanks, and slipped back to the main entrance where her backpack and a small black garbage bag holding all her other belongings sat by her jacket and sneakers.
She had just finished brushing her teeth in the main floor’s washroom when there was a light tap on the door.
“No rush at all, but do you need anything before I go up to check on Alissa, Hailey, and Jo?”
Stevie spat into the sink. “No. I’m good. Thanks.”
After a moment, Maddie spoke again. “Okay, sweet dreams. See you in the morning.”
Stevie carefully rinsed the white ceramic basin, making sure not one speck of toothpaste lingered. She waited until she heard Maddie’s footsteps on the stairs, then slung her pack over her shoulder, scooped up the garbage bag, and eased out of the bathroom. Checking both ways, she zipped down the hall, slipped through the dining room, and found the kitchen.
Finally, she was tucked into that little room and burrowing into that crisp, clean nest of a bed. Her sinuses were still full, and her eyes were itchy and hot. She stared up at the inky blackness above her and willed away dark thoughts. Forced herself to imagine, instead, all the kinds of desserts and dishes the person who’d stayed in this room before her might have made with all those apples once stored here.
Stevie stretched in the luxurious bed, loving the smooth cotton against her bare legs and reveling in the scent of coffee wafting to her room and the soft clank of dishes from whoever was already up and puttering in the kitchen. It was one of the best parts of this bedroom, the homey feeling of being included—when she wasn’t even in the room yet!
Suddenly her eyes flashed open. It was Christmas morning! She was hit with very conflicting feelings: Excitement. Disappointment. She was thrilled the big day was here. She, Jo, Alissa, Hailey, and Maddie had been looking forward to it so much. The downside to its arrival, however, was a biggie. It meant, no doubt, that her time here would wrap up soon.
The last few days had been a lovely, surreal blur of shopping, baking, playing board games, and visiting with Maddie's mother, Claire. There were so many highlights that Stevie couldn't have picked any particular favorites. No wait, that was a lie. Three things did stand out.
The first occurred when Stevie helped Hailey decorate a sugar cookie, and Hailey had looked up at her with a big grin instead of her usual tentative smile. “I always wanted a big sister with hair like mine.”
Her comment m
ade Stevie choke on her cookie. Hailey's hair was a lovely strawberry blond, so soft and shiny and gently curly that she looked like a little angel. Stevie's mop was definitely more carrot than strawberry—but she didn't want to put her low self-esteem on this precious kid, so she just smiled. “I used to daydream about having sisters too.”
Her words made everyone go quiet for a second. Then Jo and Alissa both exclaimed, “Me too!” at the same time. The whole table laughed.
The other really special moment wasn’t a moment at all; it was a constant so wonderful it made her heart hurt even though she was happy to be a part of it. Stevie was awed by Maddie and Claire, Maddie’s mother, and couldn’t help but watch them. They were like some really funny, really heartwarming, really educational TV show or something. She didn’t have any experience with other adult daughter/mother relationships, and she didn’t know if Maddie and Claire were the norm or what, but studying them made her think. She hadn’t been enough for her mom obviously, and/or, one could argue, her mom was bad at the whole parenting thing. But in her mom’s defense, Marilyn had never had anyone like Claire around to love her either. That was what was so cool about Maddie and Claire. You could see their love for each other, even when they were teasing each other—maybe especially then. For as long as Stevie had been with Marilyn, it was always just the two of them. She couldn't help but wonder. . . . Maybe if Marilyn had someone like Claire in her life, things would have gone really differently than they had. But that was too sad for Christmas.
Christmas Sisters Page 4
