The Twelve Gifts of Christmas

by Rita Clay Estrada

  His hands tightened, almost crushing the book. She knew what buttons to push, damn her. As much as he protested against the thought, his younger years had been filled with the idea of finding just the right woman for him, having a dozen children and living happily ever after. He was going to be the best parent, always there when his children needed him or his advice. He was going to be the best husband, helping with all those chores that kept a household running. He was going to be his wife’s best friend, making sure she would never want for a confidant or lover. He would give his all.

  This small paperback brought all those old dreams back as well as all the sadness of knowing it would never be. And looking at the book, he felt the regrets he’d felt back then, when he still clung naively to his stupid, marital dreams.

  Like a zombie, he went into the living room and reached for the portable phone. His fingers jabbed at the numbers, then he waited impatiently for her to answer. But when she did, he almost lost his voice.

  “No more, Carly.”

  “What’s wrong, Pete?” Instead of being sarcastic, her tone was filled with concern. “Are you all right?”

  “Stop the gifts.”

  “It’s Christmas, Pete. I hope you’ll find the season a little more bearable this way.”

  “No. Don’t give me anything more. You can’t afford it, and neither can I.”

  The silence on the line said more than either of them could put into words. “Use them in good health, if not with someone special, then by yourself,” she finally said softly. “Be good to yourself. Merry Christmas.” Then Carly gently replaced the receiver.

  Pete never made it to his pile of paperwork that evening. Instead, he drank down three scotch-and-waters and muttered every trite expression he could think of that pertained to women. But when night came, he stretched out on the couch and began thumbing through the stupid book, reading the entire first half. By the time he went to bed, he knew the answer. Finding love was something that everyone seemed to want, but it was never easy. According to the statistics in that book, half the people never found a partner they could commit to for life because they were never willing to take a chance on loving without being loved in return.

  It was going to be a rough night for him.

  * * *

  THE FOLLOWING NIGHT Pete slept at his office. It had been an emotionally rough week and he deserved a little uninterrupted sleep. His feelings could do with a rest.

  But the next day a snowstorm was coming in from the west, so it wasn’t a hard decision to go home. He was sick of work, sick of politics, and definitely sick of his social calendar. He wanted to hide away and not talk to a living soul for a long time. He wanted to eat and sleep and curse when he wanted to. If the storm lasted three or four days, it would be all right with him.

  As he left the garage and entered the breezeway, he noticed Karen stomping her way back toward her house. Before he could stop to think out his decision, he called to her.

  “Karen!”

  Wrapped up like baked potato in winter clothing, she turned around tentatively. In her mittened hands she held a tinfoil bundle. “I’m supposed to give you this, but you weren’t home.”

  “I just drove up,” he said, opening the door to the breezeway and letting her in.

  They walked to the kitchen door, then she stopped and carefully wiped her feet before stepping onto the tile floor.

  “I didn’t know if you were coming, so I didn’t want to leave this in case those nasty mice found it.”

  Pete knew he wasn’t following something. “Mice?”

  “That nasty Tommy Richmond has a hundred of them. He thinks that just ‘cause they’re white, they’re okay to scare people with.”

  Pete knew the Richmonds lived just a few houses down from her aunts’ home. “If you pet them, he’d stop teasing you.”

  The little girl looked up at him with surprise in her green eyes—green eyes that looked just like her mother’s. “That’s what my dad says.”

  Pete tried hard not to grin. “Your dad and I know what makes little boys tick. What does your mother say?”

  Karen carefully placed her bundle on the table. “Mom says his dad should teach him some manners and his mom should tell him how to treat a young lady.”

  “That sounds about right.”

  “But I won’t let Mom talk to him yet, cause I want to play T-ball next year and his dad is the coach.”

  “Tommy won’t keep you from the team, Karen.”

  “He sure would,” she stated defiantly. “He sure would.”

  “When do they sign up?”

  “Right before Easter, Mom says. I can’t wait.”

  “Do you think you’ll be good?”

  “Oh, yes.” Her head bobbed rapidly up and down. “I’ll be terrific!”

  He couldn’t help the chuckle that burst out. Nothing like knowing your talents. At least she didn’t take offense.

  “I’ll go now, but Mom says Merry Christmas,” she said, pronouncing the last word carefully. “Me, too, Mr. Cade. It must be awful to be an orphan. There’s nobody to buy you gifts and you’re too old for Santa to give you more than one present.”

  “It’s a shame, isn’t it?”

  “I know. I’m sorry.” She was so earnest. Karen’s eyes watered as if she were going to cry, and it hit Pete in his heart like nothing else had. “I told God to be extra good to you.”

  He reached out and patted her shoulder, comforting her. Her childlike concern was earnest and sweet. Like her mother’s. “I’m okay. I promise.”

  She blinked several times. “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Okay, then. I’ll tell Mom to stop worrying about you, too, Mr. Cade.”

  “Thank you,” he said softly. “And you can call me Pete.” But by the time the last word was out, Karen was gone from the kitchen. With a wave, she was out the breezeway and on her way home.

  “See you!” she called over her shoulder as she disappeared into the fat flakes that forewarned of the storm. “On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me.” Her young voice carried across the snow.

  Pete glanced up at the sky and decided to stock up on wood for the fireplace. He made several trips to the woodpile, bringing logs into the breezeway so he wouldn’t have far to go for a fire later that evening.

  Suddenly Karen’s song echoed in his mind. He stopped. Of course! Carly was giving him her personal rendition of “The Twelve Days of Christmas”! It would all end on—he counted the gifts given so far—on Christmas Eve.

  He walked inside and unwrapped the foil package the little girl had delivered. Piled high inside were rich Toll House cookies and fresh, warm, chocolate brownies. The note on top read: “Take with a glass of milk and call us Christmas Morning.”

  Still holding the note, he bit into a cookie. Delicious. Damn. Taking her suggestion, he poured himself a glass of milk and sat down at the table to begin the systematic devouring of a plate of goodies.

  Always being out and entertaining in the best restaurants never gave him the thrill home cooking did. This was just a small example of what he missed.

  She was right. Milk was perfect with this treat. Still clenching her note in his hand, Pete ate the whole plateful.

  * * *

  WHEN HE AWOKE THE NEXT morning, the countryside was a winter wonderland. The tree limbs were decorated with crystal icicles and the bushes were draped in a mantle of snow. Everywhere was the peaceful serenity of a place untouched by man’s footsteps.

  As he padded into the breakfast area for a cup of coffee, he saw a note attached to the window. It didn’t take a moment to realize that Carly had made another trip. He stared at it for a long time before stepping outside in the freezing weather to pull it off.

  Below the note was a shallow basket filled with pinecones. A rose, green and cream plaid ribbon decorated the handle. The note read, “Get rid of your frustrations the easy way. Chuck one of these into the fireplace and watch beautiful col
ors spring to life. Enjoy, and Merry Christmas.”

  Was she shoving this whole season down his throat until he hated everything about it?

  Stupid! his mind cried out. She’s trying to make you appreciate the wonder of Christmas.

  But I don’t want to know the wonderful things about Christmas if I can’t have my children with me! he fumed back.

  Your children are in California. Nothing will change that. Does that mean you should be miserable the rest of your life?

  Yes, dammit!

  Then you can stay miserable!

  Fine!

  His anger got him through the rest of the day. The storm wasn’t as bad as the weather forecasters had feared and the state did its job of clearing the streets quickly which enabled him to attend an open house an old friend was having that afternoon. Their home was brightly decorated with hundreds of garlands, wreaths, angels, and two Christmas trees. Ornaments, candles and arrangements proclaiming the season were everywhere. His friend, a government official, had a marriage and family Pete envied. It was evident that his friend had a near-perfect home life.

  Pamela, the svelte blonde he occasionally dated, was there. She was as nice, sweet, attentive and sexy as ever. He was cold, disgruntled and on edge, but he invited her over to his house the following night anyway. There were only a few nights left of this season; he might as well be occupied through them.

  Even in this crowd, it was the loneliest evening he’d ever spent.

  * * *

  THE NEXT MORNING, as he stepped out the door to his car, he found a package hanging like an ornament from his breezeway door. He yanked it down and stared at it. It was a compact disk of all the classic Christmas songs by great old artists, including Mel Tormé singing “The Christmas Song.”

  He slapped it against his leg and stared out at the backyard. The bare trees made it possible to see Carly’s house. He spied the park bench that stood about halfway, partially hidden by an evergreen bush. Memories flooded him, especially of the first time he saw her—in a mound of leaves, looking like the angel she was.

  Why couldn’t they have gone on the way they were? Why did Carly have to want more from their relationship? Why wasn’t what he offered enough for her?

  He felt an immense pain well up inside him. It was too hurtful to describe, too intense to brush off, too complicated to understand.

  Forcing himself to go about his normal business, he got into his car and drove to work. Just out of curiosity, though, he played the CD in his car.

  He’d get through this season if it was the last thing he did. And, feeling the way he did right now, it damn well might be.

  He couldn’t stand much more....

  * * *

  CARLY BUNDLED KAREN UP and followed her aunts out the door.

  The freezing night air enveloped them as they joined the church choir group and marched to the first house to sing Christmas carols. She knew they would eventually wind up in front of Pete’s home, and she wasn’t looking forward to it.

  At the beginning of the gift-giving frenzy, she’d only wanted to let him know she loved him and that it was still all right for them to be friends. She’d wanted to enjoy any part of him he might want to share. After all, they lived just a little ways apart, belonged to the same church, knew the same neighbors and even bought gas at the same service station. They were bound to meet each other again.

  Besides, it saddened her that he felt so much resentment for a season that was meant to be joyous and celebratory. Giving love to others without recompense was what the season was about, and she wanted him to realize and enjoy that fact.

  But of all the gifts she could have given him, she would have wanted to be able to arrange for his children to be here. She understood his loneliness. If Ken had taken Karen away from her, she would have withered and died inside. Holidays were when she needed her daughter’s presence the most. Karen was the reason for the festivities.

  Right after the divorce, Karen had been her incentive for getting out of bed in the morning. She’d been the purpose behind a smile during the evening meal and the laughter as they watched some silly sitcom together.

  But now, the last two days before Christmas, with only two more gifts to deliver to Pete, she felt the futility of it all. He didn’t want her gifts, he didn’t want her. In fact, she probably did him more harm than good.

  “Oh little town of Bethlehem...” they began singing, and Carly joined in, opening the songbook at the proper place.

  Just as they ended the carol, a light dusting of snow filled the sky and dropped on their heads like diamonds from the heavens.

  By the time an hour had passed and they were ringing Pete’s doorbell, the fairy dusting had turned to fat flakes of snow that landed and stuck on everything.

  When his door opened Carly caught her breath. He stood in the large entryway, illuminated by the golden light overhead, a smile slashing dimples in his cheeks as he listened to them break into another Christmas song.

  Her heart pounded in her chest as she went forward and very carefully set a small bottle of homemade liquor on the top step. Her gaze locked with his and for just a moment she couldn’t move, couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. He’d caught her with her love for him shining in her eyes and glowing on her face. He’d caught her as surely as the moon rose and the tides ebbed.

  His own look was just as intense and just as desperate. His gaze spoke silently of the love they might have shared—the feelings of contentment, of fulfilled dreams, of living happily ever after.

  Then a figure joined his in the doorway and he seemed to mentally disconnect himself, stepping back and becoming an impersonal neighbor again. As the carol continued, Carly stared at the blonde woman at Pete’s side. She was the same one he’d been with when she’d had her blind date with Terrence. They were together again. If she thought she’d felt pain before, she was wrong. Anguish seared through her like a red-hot knife, severing nerve ends.

  From the beginning, Carly had tried to squelch any hopes, but apparently she’d harbored some she didn’t know she had. There was no other explanation for the hurt she felt now. She had brought this punishment on herself.

  She barely finished the song.

  Luckily it was time for Karen to get home to bed. As she and Karen cut between houses and through the woods, she tried to hide the tears that were running down her cheeks.

  Karen rattled on about the things happening in her life and Carly tried to pay attention, but all thoughts were focused on the scene at Pete’s door. She’d read his brief look all wrong. She’d interpreted what she’d wanted to see instead of the reality of the situation.

  It was good that she’d seen him with Pamela, she told herself. It was the one thing that could make her understand there would be no going back. He didn’t want her love. The message had been harshly delivered, but at least he was honest about it. It was over. He’d told her that before. And she had agreed.

  But it hurt so much!

  “Tommy’s dad said I could be the first girl on their T-ball team, Mom,” Karen said, as she tried to skip through thick snow. “Isn’t that neat? He said that Pete spoke to him about sponsoring the team, too, and that we’d all get new uniforms!”

  Carly stopped and stared down at her daughter. Her voice could barely function but she managed. “What did you say?”

  Karen told her mother again. Then she pulled Carly toward the house. “I’m cold, Mommy. Let’s get some hot chocolate. You promised.”

  “Yes, baby,” she responded absently, her mind whirling. “Why would Pete do something like that?”

  “I dunno.”

  “You should call him Mr. Cade, honey. It’s not polite to call a grown-up by his first name.”

  “I know, but he tole me to!” the little girl stated with exasperation.

  “When?”

  “When I took him the brownies.”

  Why would he try to become familiar with a little girl who reminded him of everything he’d lost? Carly
couldn’t come up with an answer. It was just something else he’d done that she couldn’t find a reason for.

  Karen was finished with that topic and moved on to what Santa was bringing her for Christmas. Her list was never ending.

  Carly got her daughter ready for bed and then talked to the aunts for a little while when they returned from the church. By ten that night she was dressed in an old Bugs Bunny T-shirt and standing at her darkened bedroom window. The clear but chilly night scene looked like something on a postcard.

  Somewhere out there, Pete was probably in bed with a blonde who wouldn’t demand love. Who wouldn’t ask for her child to be loved. Who wouldn’t...

  Carly turned away from the window and slipped into bed. It didn’t matter who he was with. It wasn’t Pamela’s fault Pete didn’t love Carly. It wasn’t even Carly’s fault. Or Pete’s. It just was.

  But that reasoning didn’t stop the overwhelming sorrow she felt deep in her soul, or the tears that wet her pillow.

  * * *

  CHRISTMAS EVE WAS AS beautiful a day as could have been ordered. The snow was crisp and clean, the air clear, the sun shining brightly.

  Carly woke and went through the motions of the day for her daughter’s sake. If anyone noticed her occasionally less-than-enthusiastic behavior or her subdued smiles, nothing was said. For that she was grateful.

  But all day a single question nagged at her mind, and it concerned Pete. Should she give him the last gift? She’d worked on it for days. It was meant to be the culmination of her efforts to help him accept Christmas. For all she knew, though, the blond woman could have decorated the interior of his house from top to bottom, making her small effort a joke.

  Or...

  She made up her mind. She got dressed for cold weather, then stepped into the garage. In the corner was a live three-foot spruce tree in a nursery container she’d painted in bright Christmas colors. Tiny white lights and bows of rose, cream and forest green decorated the branches. At the top was a plastic star covered in tin foil. Carly, her aunts and Karen had all signed their first names on it with indelible ink. On the back was even Hank Aaron’s paw print.