He nodded. What I was thinking went without saying in our line of work.
“There are so many people who would love to take care of this baby.”
“I’m sure somebody will,” Roy said. I knew what he meant. Bridget would see a lengthy jail sentence this time for selling drugs and Mia would be placed in a foster home and then probably up for adoption. The waitress handed me the warm bottle and I stuck it back in Mia’s mouth. She stopped screaming.
“She’s loud but she’s cute,” the waitress said. “Your mommy’s not going to let you starve,” she said, talking to Mia. I didn’t say anything. There was no point in explaining the situation.
Roy watched the waitress leave to fill our drink order. “Now, why did she think you were Mia’s mother but she didn’t think I was her dad?”
“Look at us, Roy,” I said, patting Mia’s back. “She knows a young chick like me would never marry an old rooster like you.”
He stared at me. “There’s another reason you’re good for social work! You’re so gentle and kind. You’re what we like to call the inspiring sort.”
I laughed. I always knew which buttons to push to aggravate Roy. The waitress brought the potatoes and a spoon and I held Mia in my lap to feed her.
“I’m sorry, Mia,” I said. “I’m so sorry that you were scared.” She had no idea what I was saying but was so excited to have food that she bounced up and down in my arms as I fed her each bite. Roy and I watched her eat for several minutes.
“I’m always amazed at how sweet they are,” Roy said. “You’d think they’d be bitter but they somehow always manage to laugh.” Roy tickled Mia’s leg and she pulled it away from him, giggling.
“Year after year I keep thinking that things will change, but they don’t.”
Roy threw his arms in the air. “You keep thinking what will change? People? You think everybody’s going to wake up one day and do the right thing? That they’ll suddenly take care of their children or stop selling drugs? Things like that are never going to change as long as there are people on this planet.”
I put the bottle in Mia’s mouth. “Does your tummy feel better now, Mia?” I asked, setting her onto the table. “Huh? Does your tummy feel better?” I’m not sure what I said but she laughed at me. “Was that funny?” She flapped her arms and squealed. “If you think that’s funny you should see me when I’m really on,” I said, picking her up. “I can bring the house down.” She laughed again and tried to put the bottle back into her mouth. I motioned for the waitress to bring more milk. Roy filled the bottle and handed it to me. I guided it into Mia’s mouth and she went heavy in my arms, content to rest there for the remainder of the day.
“See, I told you your mommy wouldn’t let you starve,” the waitress said, squeezing Mia’s leg as we stood to leave. I thanked the waitress and wrapped the blanket around Mia as we left the restaurant.
We drove to Guy and Sandra Michaels’ house and left Mia with Sandra. I went back to the office to file my report. At the end of the day I could hear everyone talking about their Christmas plans. I kept working, hoping they would leave me out of all the “Are you staying in town or going away for Christmas” conversations, and they did. Throughout the years the office staff knew to leave me alone. Everyone, that is, except Roy.
“Is Mark working on Christmas, Patti?”
I sighed. I knew I couldn’t escape it. Roy had asked me to spend Christmas with his family for the last three years but each time I declined.
“I don’t know.”
He knew I was lying. Mark had worked the last two Christmases. Why would this one be any different?
“When you find out, let me know. Barbara’s coming over. All the kids and grandkids, too. Everybody would love to see you. Barbara’s bringing over a huge bird. We’ll have plenty of food to go around.”
I gathered my things and handed Roy a small gift I had wrapped for him, a leather journal with his name engraved on it.
“I didn’t get you anything,” he said, sounding more frustrated than grateful.
“I don’t need anything,” I said, putting on my coat. I hugged Roy good-bye before he had a chance to open the gift. “Have a great Christmas.” I headed for the elevator doors so I could make a quick getaway. I drove home, entered our empty house alone, closed the door, and tried to imagine how anyone could look forward to the holidays.
TWO
Hope never abandons you; you abandon it.
—George Weinberg
I’d been home less than thirty minutes. I barely had time to change my clothes and sort through the mail when the phone rang. I looked at my watch—six o’clock. Right on time. I never actually had to call my mother because she would always call me before I got the chance to get to the phone. “Hello.”
“How was your day, Patti?”
“It was great!” I always told her my days were great.
“What are you eating tonight?”
“I haven’t even opened the fridge to see what’s in there,” I said.
“Then come on over. I’ve got chicken in the oven and there’s too much here for just the two of us.” My mother married Lester Allen when I was fourteen. He was a member of the church that had been so kind to us, never married, and worked as a construction supervisor. When he and my mother began sitting together at church I didn’t think anything of it; but when he started to join us for Sunday lunch at our house I became suspicious and confused. Lester was stocky with a round face and glasses and his pants were always about an inch too short. I never imagined that my mother would find him attractive; I didn’t. But after they began dating I knew why my mother liked Lester. He was good to her. He was helpful and kind and could always make her laugh. He respected her and that respect carried over to Richard and me. Looking back, I don’t know why he would want to marry a woman with one teenager and another teen in the making; I think most men would run away from that sort of commitment, but Lester was different. He never tried to swoop in and pretend he was our father; he knew he wasn’t but he quickly became a father to us, doing everything a dad did and what our own father never had. Richard loved Lester from the beginning. I never realized it, although I’m sure my mother did, but Richard was desperate for a man in his life. Shortly after Les and Mom married, we went to the courthouse and Lester adopted us. Soon after, Richard began calling him Dad. I thought it would sound strange to call Lester that but when I tried it at sixteen it felt comfortable and safe. He’d been Dad ever since.
Although I was tired I drove to Mom and Dad’s house. I hadn’t spent much time with them lately and I knew my absence was concerning them. After the meal I stood to clear the plates. “Does Mark get in tonight?” Mom asked. She knew he didn’t; she just wanted to bring him up to see how he was doing.
“Tomorrow morning,” I said.
“Poor guy. He must be so tired after those overnight flights.”
“He’s used to them,” I said.
Mom pushed all the scraps down the garbage disposal and turned it on. “I found him a back massager today for Christmas,” she said, talking over the grinding of the disposal. “It’s got a long handle so he can get to his lower back.” She used a spatula and held it over her shoulder and down her back to demonstrate. “Do you think he’ll like that?”
I loaded dishes into the dishwasher. “He’ll love it.” There was no point in telling her again that she didn’t have to get us anything; actually that we would prefer that she didn’t. Regardless of what happened, she thought of Mark as a son and wasn’t about to let Christmas roll around without wrapping presents for him.
Mom liked Mark the moment I brought him home from college for Thanksgiving vacation. She had never come out and said anything about the other boys I had dated but I always knew when she didn’t like one of them. “Is he watching cartoons?” she asked one Saturday morning, looking into the living room at my boyfriend who had taken food out of the kitchen and was eating cornflakes on the sofa.
“Yes,” I said
, hoping she wouldn’t say anything else.
“I didn’t realize eighteen-year-old men watched cartoons.” That’s all she had to say.
And on a separate occasion she looked at her watch when another boyfriend visited. “It’s already eight-thirty. I’d start the pancakes but I don’t know how much longer he’ll sleep.” When he walked into the kitchen at nine-fifteen with messy hair, a ratty T-shirt and boxer shorts, I saw the look on her face and hoped she wouldn’t say anything. She didn’t.
“Ambition never hurt anyone,” she’d tell me over and over. “You’ll never find a bum with ambition.” That was my mother’s favorite word when I was dating: “bum.” “Don’t marry a bum,” she’d say. I knew she thought my biological father was a bum but she never said it, at least not to me. “Bums are a dime a dozen. They’re easy to find. But there are some good men out there, too. They might be harder to find but they’re out there.”
Mark was different. He wasn’t a bum. He called my mom and dad “Mr. and Mrs. Allen,” he awoke early and always made his bed, he never took food out of the kitchen, and he was “ambitious.” My mother loved seeing that in young people. When Mark opened the car door for me I could see my mother’s face light up. Mark knew what he wanted to do with his life and Mom could tell that he wanted me as part of that life. She knew he loved me.
I met him in the middle of my sophomore year. I was standing in line behind him in the cafeteria when he turned to grab a glass. His hand knocked my tray to the floor and spaghetti sauce splattered us both. “I am so sorry,” he said, brushing aside goopy, wet spaghetti noodles that hung from my brown suede purse. I looked at him and blushed. He was on the football team; I’d seen him play but had never spoken to him.
“It’s no big deal,” I said, pressing a wad of napkins against my skirt. He was busy wiping the bright red sauce off the floor. When he stood to throw away the mess of napkins in his hand he looked at me for the first time and stopped. He had dark blond hair, brown eyes, and the sweetest smile. He held his gaze and I looked at the floor, wondering why I couldn’t have been wearing something cuter.
“I’m an idiot,” he said. “I’m really sorry.” He grabbed another tray and tried to hand it to me. “Let me help you.”
“No, no. I’ll just go clean up and then try again … when it’s safer to come back.” I hoped with everything that was in me that he would say he’d wait for me so we could eat together.
“Can I wait for you?” he asked. He wasn’t cocky. He wasn’t so sure of himself that he knew I’d want to eat with him but actually questioned whether I would want to eat with him.
I felt my heart jump, and nodded.
Mark got his pilot’s license when he was seventeen. During the summers he worked for a small air cargo service, first in the warehouse, then the office, and finally flying deliveries for them. When he graduated he planned to move out of state and work for a commercial airline. Mark was a year ahead of me in college and the thought of being separated a year didn’t appeal to either one of us so when he graduated we married. My mother would have preferred that I finish college and I assured her that I would once Mark and I were settled. But I got pregnant quicker than we anticipated. Eleven months after we married I gave birth to Sean and a month later I received my degree. Sean looked like me but had his dad’s disposition. I could take him anywhere and he was content, unlike me. I was always looking for something to do. I soon discovered that once Sean was born I had plenty to do!
It’s funny how excited you are when you learn you’re going to have a baby but then dread so many things that come with that new life: things like the first steps, because you realize you won’t have as much cuddle time now that the baby has discovered he has legs; the day he wants to dress himself because he’s “a big boy now”; the time he stops calling the Fairy Godmother “Mary Godmother”; the day he realizes there’s a “th” on the word “think” and he no longer says, “I fink so”; the day he boards the bus for kindergarten, or the day the finger paintings of blobs that he swears is a rainbow or lion or mommy and daddy come down off the refrigerator door. While parents share joy with their child in these events, there’s a little piece of their heart that aches. Someone once told me that when you become a parent you wear your heart on your sleeve for the next eighteen years of your life.
“Oh, that’s ridiculous,” my mother said when I shared it with her. “You don’t wear your heart on your sleeve for the next eighteen years … you wear it there for the rest of your life.”
When Sean was fourteen months old Mark was offered a job with another air cargo airline closer to our parents. My mother was ecstatic when she discovered we would be living, as she would say, “twenty minutes from her front door.” We tried to get pregnant when Sean was two but after two unsuccessful years we knew there was a problem. As Sean got older and closer to kindergarten it seemed that we weren’t meant to have any other children. I went to work when Sean started school, but I never got pregnant again, although we never closed that door. “It’s okay,” Mark said. “This is our family and I’m happy.”
For years we did have a happy household, though there was stress. The airline Mark worked for went bankrupt, leaving thousands of employees without jobs, Mark’s mother was diagnosed with breast cancer and went through years of treatments, and Mark and I could always find reason to argue over finances (he could always buy on impulse but I had to mull things over before buying a new car or piece of stereo equipment). Once while riding in his car seat Sean listened as Mark and I got into a heated argument over money. “Mommy. Daddy. Be friends,” he said, trying to pull himself toward us. He was two and a half years old and full of wisdom.
When Sean ran through the front door after his first day of kindergarten, he said, “I’m never leaving you, Mommy. I’m staying with you forever.”
“But what will you do when you marry a beautiful girl?”
“Live here,” he said.
“But she’ll need you to help take care of your house and she’ll want you to live there because she loves you.”
“But I’ll love you,” he said. “Always, always, always.”
I kept my great-grandfather’s pocket watch on display in our bedroom. It hung from a hook on the tarnished brass holder he had given my grandfather when he passed it down to him. When I wasn’t looking, Sean would open the drawers of the dresser and climb up to the watch, slipping it into his pocket. “This watch is very special to Mommy,” I’d say, taking it out of his hands. “We need to take good care of it.”
He’d nod and pretend to listen but days later I’d find him in his room playing with the watch.
“You can have this when you’re older,” I’d say. “My great-grandmother gave it to my great-grandfather one year when they were very young. Then he gave it to my grandfather when he grew up, and he gave it to your grandmother, and Grandma gave it to me. So you’re the next one who’s going to get to take care of it.” That story never appealed to Sean’s young mind so I finally moved the watch to the den and set it high on the bookshelf far from his reach.
When Sean was older we always opened our home to his friends because we’d much rather have them in our home rather than send Sean to a home where we didn’t know anything about the parents. Like all teenagers, he and his friends could be rambunctious. They were wrestling in the den one afternoon when Sean was slammed into the bookshelf. My great-grandfather’s pocket watch crashed to the floor and Sean’s knee fell on top of it, crushing it beyond repair. I was distraught over his carelessness and lack of respect.
“I’m sorry, Mom. I’ll buy you another one,” he said.
“Don’t be flippant, Sean,” I said in front of his friends. “You can’t replace a family heirloom and the memories attached to it.” I picked up the broken pieces of the watch and looked over my shoulder. “Your friends need to go home right now and don’t plan to do anything with them for the next month.”
Looking back, I know I was too harsh on him but at the t
ime I was sad over the loss yet also angry and my emotions got in the way. I kept the shattered watch in a box for the longest time hoping an expert watch repairman would be able to help, but as I’d suspected, the watch was ruined. I eventually threw everything away and Sean repeated again that he would replace it someday. “It doesn’t matter,” I said, kissing him months later. “It’s just a thing.”
For his senior prom, Mark and I took pictures of Sean and his date in our backyard. He looked so handsome in his black tux and she was adorable in a foam green shimmering dress. We walked them to the car and watched as Sean let her in the passenger side. He walked by us and leaned in to me. “Always,” he whispered, making me cry.
Those days seemed so far away now. It was then, when we were young and everything was new that we were all happy. But life gets in the way, circumstances change, and despite our hope that it will never happen to us, happiness fades.
I washed the last pan and rinsed it, setting it in the dish drainer for my mother to dry. “Thanks for dinner, Mom. I better head home.”
Mom took the pan and dried it, placing it inside the cabinet beneath the stove. “Have you and Mark heard about the live Nativity they’re doing out at Longworth Farm? They’ve got food and caroling and they’re even giving sleigh rides.”
“I think I read about that in the paper,” I said, putting on my coat.
“Les and I are going to go one night. Why don’t the two of you come with us?”
“I might be able to go but I’m not sure if Mark’s going to be around.”
She wrung the dish towel between her hands. “It’d be nice if both of you could go,” Dad said.
I was quiet. I didn’t want to get into this conversation with them again. I moved toward my purse.
“Patti, there are so many counselors who could help,” Mom said.
The Christmas Hope Page 3
