She nodded. “You waited a while to find out, didn’t you?”
“Yes. I tried not to think about it, but it was always in the back of my mind, you know?”
She did know. That’s how she felt about giving up her baby.
He took a deep breath. “A few months ago I noticed my thoughts and emotions were getting muddled. Then the tremors started and I knew. That’s when I went to the doctor.”
“I wonder if Hannah has it.” The horror of that thought made Beth shiver. “Are you prepared to tell her about it this weekend?”
His eyes stayed focused on the highway. “That won’t come up easily in conversation, will it? Hi, I’m dying and you might have a terminal illness, too.”
Not knowing what to say, she studied his stoic face. She propped her elbow up on the passenger door. “If it helps, I’ll be there with you when you tell her.”
He didn’t respond.
A few minutes later “White Christmas” started playing on the radio station and Beth’s spirits lifted. “I love this song.”
“Me, too. I bet they don’t have too many white Christmases in Texas.” At this point, they’d left the wintry weather behind them. Parker passed the pick-up with a gun rack in front of him. “It wouldn’t feel like Christmas for me without snow.”
“I like snow then, but the rest of the year, it’s a pain in the behind.”
He started singing the famous melody. She liked that he wasn’t too macho to sing in front of her. She joined in.
When the song finished, he blushed. “I know I’m no Bing Crosby. Ivy always reminds me of that.”
“You were fine. That’s the great thing about Christmas carols. You just sing from your heart and don’t worry about how you sound.” “Have a Holly Jolly Christmas” with banjos started playing. They hammed it up with exaggerated Southern accents.
When the song ended, she smiled. “What was Christmas like for you growing up?”
“My family is Belgian so we were visited by St. Niklaas, not Santa Claus.”
“Really?” Maybe that’s why Ivy had those pictures of Belgian castles on her phone.
“And he visited us twice—once on December fourth to find out who had been good or bad. Then on December sixth, we left out baskets with carrots for his horse on the doorstep. If we were good, he’d give us candy and toys.”
“What if you were bad?”
“Well, I always was good.” He wiggled his eyebrows at her. “But legend had it that he’d leave us sticks.”
“Interesting. So, you didn’t do anything on December twenty-fifth?”
“Sure we did. But that was strictly about Jesus’s birth. The whole month of December, though, we’d do good deeds for our neighbors. My dad and I would shovel the driveway of the widow next door. My mom would send me over there with a loaf of cougnou, which was this yummy sweet bread.”
“That’s neat.” She liked the way the skin around Parker’s eyes crinkled when he talked about his traditions. “How do you say ‘Merry Christmas’ in Belgian?”
“It matters which part of Belgium you’re from. Joyeux Noel is for those from the French part and Vrolijk Kerstfeest en een Gulekkig Nieuwjaar is the Dutch.”
“Wow. I’ll stick with Joyeux Noel.”
“To be fair, the Dutch greeting also includes happy new year.”
“Which part of the country was your family from?”
“The south. My great-grandparents immigrated to the states right after World War II. There was a whole Belgian community in Mishawaka where I grew up.” He scratched his chin. “What about you?”
“My parents didn’t encourage me to believe the Santa Claus myth, saying it detracted from the whole meaning of Christmas. That’s what’s nice about your tradition because it separates the two events.”
“I like how my parents taught me to be more thankful for family than the gifts I’d receive. The widow next door didn’t have any children of her own to visit over the holidays. My parents always pointed that out with a sad tone in their voice, like not having kids was a tragedy.”
Beth tried to swallow her regret. “It can be.”
“You’re telling me. Now that I’m staring death in the eye, all of my success in business seems futile. Who cares? I never got to see my children run down the stairs and check outside the door for St. Niklaas’s chocolates.” He shook his head. “Somehow I think seeing the joy on their faces would mean more than all the money in the world.”
Beth squirmed in her seat. She shared this painful loss with him and yet she could be blamed for it. Quiet filled the vehicle.
She was actually pleased when her cell phone rang a little while later. Even if it was her boss. “Hello, Luke.”
“Beth, today we had another meeting to discuss your decanter bottle idea.”
She shivered with excitement. “Did you tell them about the different colors? I mean, why do vitamin bottles always have to be brown?”
“They’re not going to do it.”
“What? Why not?” She hated that she hadn’t been there to fight for her idea. “All of my research showed it would appeal to the female consumer, which is the majority of our business.”
“The problem is it’s too expensive. Changing the shape of the bottle costs too much in manufacturing. Plus someone pointed out that the bottles won’t fit into the boxes for shipping as compactly. You really should’ve been here for the meeting today. You don’t sound sick.”
“It’s something. . . personal.”
“Personal. When you’re bucking for a promotion, trying to get noticed, you shouldn’t be taking days off of work. I assume you’ll be back Monday.”
She sighed. “If my flight isn’t cancelled.”
“Flight? Where the heck are you?”
She glanced out the window at the hills. “I’m not sure. Kansas maybe.”
“You’d better be here on Monday or you can kiss any chances of getting out of customer service good-bye.” He hung up the phone and she imagined him slamming it then raking feverishly in his mini-sand garden.
Parker looked at her. “I hate to break this to you, but we’re not in Kansas anymore.”
They both laughed. She’d needed that.
He glanced at her. “The truth is we never were in Kansas. Geography isn’t your strong suit, is it?”
“I guess not.”
He returned his focus to the road. “So, you’re not riding back with me?”
It almost sounded as if he wanted her company. “I wish I could, but I need to get to work.”
He made an “hmmm” sound with his throat. More quiet miles passed between them. Eventually, his eyes checked the dashboard. “I need to stop for gas.” At the next exit, he pulled in to a station. After filling up, he went inside to use the restroom.
She watched as a family of four in a station wagon left the next pump. They had a cat sitting on top of suitcases, a dachshund staring out the window and a boy and a girl laughing in the backseat. Long after they’d left her view, she continued staring into the distance. Because she’d been an only child, she’d always hoped to have at least two kids, to give them the gift of a sibling.
Parker opened up his door and handed her a triangular shaped candy bar. “You’re not going to believe what I found.” He sounded like a kid who’d happened upon a silver dollar on the sidewalk.
She looked at the yellow package and read the letters. “Toblerone. Is this Belgian chocolate?” Her mouth salivated. She’d never had Belgian chocolate.
“It’s the next best thing.” He smirked. “Swiss chocolate.” He’d bought two candy bars and unwrapped the one still in his hand. “Sometimes St. Nicklaas would leave these in our baskets along with Godiva chocolates.”
She knew she shouldn’t eat it. The morning’s waffle had already blown her diet. Why not continue the gluttony? Especially since a treat might help her deal with her nerves.
Peeling back the foil revealed a row of pyramids. One bite of the honey and nougat ruined he
r from ever enjoying a Hershey bar again. It was so good, she could write a poem about the chocolate melting on her tongue.
She’d denied herself for far too long.
# # #
“We’re not gonna make it.” As darkness fell, Beth realized they couldn’t drive to Hannah’s house before the show. She picked up her cell phone and dialed. “Mrs. Taylor, we’re running late. If you give me the address of the art museum, we can meet you there.” The woman sounded a little curt as she searched for the information. Beth hung up and turned to Parker. “How do I program this into your GPS?”
He pushed some buttons on the console. “Damn it. If I hadn’t hit that poor dog . . . .”
“Or if our flight hadn’t been cancelled because of the snow storm. Don’t beat yourself up. We’re almost there. That’s all that matters.”
“Would you mind calling the vet’s office again?”
She’d called earlier, but the dog still remained in shock. They hadn’t found his owners, either. Now she dialed again. “I’m calling about the German shepherd that got hit by a car.”
A young man answered. “Dog’s name?”
“I don’t know. We brought him in this morning and he didn’t have a tag.”
“Give me a minute. I just clean the cages. Most of the staff has gone home, but I’ll try to find someone”
She patted her thigh as she waited. “Please someone be there,” she whispered.
“Ma’am?” It was a young female voice and Beth pictured the woman with the rosy cheeks they’d met earlier.
“Yes. How is he?”
“He has a broken leg, but otherwise he’s good. His name is Skip and his owners have been located. They stopped by earlier and apparently Skip perked right up when he heard his master’s voice.”
“Thank you so much. Thank the doctor again for us.” She ended the call and turned to see Parker smiling. “Good news.”
Unfortunately, red taillights flashed in front of them. Traffic slowed to a stop.
She craned her neck to see. “Uh-oh. Looks like a car accident up ahead.”
An hour later they found the art museum and Parker parked in a lot nearby. They burst out of the vehicle and ran toward the four-story gray building. She pulled on the front door, but it was locked. They were so late!
She peered inside. Lights glowed from the ceiling, but she couldn’t see any people.
They’d missed it. They’d missed everything.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Beth pounded on the glass door with her fist.
Parker cupped his hands and looked inside. “Are you sure you have the right address?”
She took a few steps back and pointed to the metal letters spelling “Dallas Museum of Art” above the door. Behind her a fountain splashed.
Parker knocked. “Hello?”
A stout man wearing a security uniform approached. He pushed open the door. “May I help you?”
She tried to catch her breath. “We’re here for the high school art show.”
Parker chimed in. “It’s an awards ceremony.”
The man rubbed his stubbly chin. “You’re late.”
As they rushed past, she nodded. “We know.” She followed where the guard pointed and hustled across the wooden floors. Adults and children milled around in the gallery adorned with students’ artwork. Beth scanned the crowd for a familiar face. “Do you see her?”
Parker cracked his knuckles. “No.”
Then Beth spotted her. She saw her baby.
In the corner Hannah chewed on her thumbnail and looked around nervously. She wore the burgundy pantsuit Beth had picked out on-line.
The hairs on the back of Beth’s neck rose. “This is it.”
In an instant, Beth recognized Mrs. Taylor, too. With her auburn hair, she looked the same as Beth remembered except for the early signs of crow’s feet bracketing her light eyes. She stood beside Hannah, twisting her wedding band.
Signaling for Parker to follow, Beth rushed up to them and was thrown when she realized she stood a couple inches shorter than her daughter. “Hannah? I’m Beth. Bethany.” Instinctively, Beth reached forward to hug her, but Hannah stepped back. Instead, her daughter offered her a limp-wristed handshake.
Beth held her breath. Suddenly, she couldn’t find any words to say. This was the moment she’d been worried about.
She took in her daughter’s features. Dark eyelashes framed chocolate-colored eyes while shiny brown hair hung in waves over her shoulders. She was thin and still sported a bit of a summer tan. “You’re so pretty.”
Hannah’s turned-up nose and cheeks turned red. She gets that from me, Beth thought.
Parker shook both of the ladies’ hands. “We did everything we could to get here in time.”
Soft curls framed Mrs. Taylor’s forced smile. “I can’t believe you drove all of this way. What was it? A fifteen hour drive?”
“Something like that.” Beth and Parker mumbled at the same time. They looked at each other and said, “Jinx.” A giggle came from Beth and she hated how dumb it sounded. Nerves had stripped her of her confidence.
Hannah pointed across the room with a blue ribbon in her hand. “If you’re hungry, there’s a table with cookies over there.”
Even though her belly grumbled, Beth wouldn’t leave her daughter for a moment. “No thanks. Is that your award?”
Hannah seemed reluctant to show off her prize. She held up the blue ribbon that said “Best in Show.” Beth and Parker made a big fuss over congratulating her.
“It’s nothing.” Hannah dropped her hand to her side. A second later, she started chewing on her thumbnail again.
Shifting her weight, Beth wished Hannah seemed happier. “Which picture is yours?”
Hannah led them all to a row of matted but not framed photos hanging from a wire. “This is mine.” She gestured toward what looked like a red, white and blue kaleidoscope image. “I did this for Veteran’s Day. Those are photos I took of cardinal flowers, milkweed and blue-eyed grass.” She half-smiled, causing her braces to twinkle in the bright lights.
Beth studied the diamond shapes, trying to make out each flower. “That’s beautiful.” Up close it looked like nature and from a distance, it looked like a patriotic abstract.
“How original,” Parker added. “Sorry again that we missed the ceremony.”
“That’s all right.” Mrs. Taylor pushed Hannah’s bangs out of her eyes the way only a mother can.
Beth’s heart ached watching them. Lost in a daze, she thought Mrs. Taylor said something about dinner reservations.
Parker shrugged. “We didn’t eat, hoping to make better time.”
Before she knew it, they drove caravan-style to a restaurant with a crowded parking lot. Without speaking, they walked inside. Mrs. Taylor made her way through a group of people in the lobby to check-in with the reservations desk. A hostess with a pixie-cut showed them to a thick wooden table beneath a deer antler chandelier. Within minutes a waiter in black pants and a crisp white shirt brought them water glasses and offered to take their orders. The Taylors must’ve been regulars, knowing what they wanted without checking the menu. Parker and Beth followed their lead and ordered the house specialty, prime rib.
Beth folded and unfolded the cloth napkin in her lap, wondering what to say. “I love your dress, Mrs. Taylor.”
“Call me Connie. And thank you. I got it at Neiman-Marcus special for Hannah’s big night.”
Hannah rolled her eyes. “Mom always wears dresses with flowers on them.”
“There’s nothing wrong with that,” Connie said.
“It’s so old-fashioned.”
Connie fiddled with the heart-shaped locket around her neck. “Well, I like flowers.”
Beth kept watching Hannah, in awe that this nearly grown woman had once fit in the crook of her arm. When Hannah caught her staring, Beth glanced away and swallowed. “Mrs. Tay—I mean Connie, I want to thank you for inviting me here today.” Parker chimed in with similar se
ntiments.
Connie nodded. “Glad you could make it.”
Everyone took a sip of his or her drink. This was definitely awkward. Beth looked around at the mismatched china plates hanging like artwork on the dark paneled walls. The décor seemed odd to her—like a fancy log cabin. Making eye contact with Parker, she wondered if he was as uncomfortable as she was. He seemed to take the hint and kicked into small talk mode. “What grade do you teach, Connie?”
“Kindergarten.”
“I had the best kindergarten teacher, Miss Snodgrass. She’d let us sit in bean bag chairs while she read stories. Do teachers still do that?”
“Sure. Just today I read Where the Wild Things Are.”
Parker nodded. “A classic.”
Hannah’s cell phone buzzed and she read the screen. “Molly just got her acceptance letter to Texas A & M!” She continued texting under the table. It seemed kind of rude to Beth, but perhaps it was Hannah’s way of dealing with her nerves.
The adult conversation transitioned to Hannah’s college prospects and ceased when the food arrived a little while later.
The baked potato, stuffed with sour cream, butter and chives, was so big, it could’ve been their entire meal. Worried that she’d eat too much out of stress, Beth cut her steak in half. Then she imagined that one side of it was invisible. The meat was tender and juicy, but she barely noticed. She kept looking at Hannah—her peaked eyebrows, her dark eyes, her rounded chin, even her attached earlobes. This was the cocktail that her and Parker’s genes had created. Part Morris, part DuBois. What a perfect package.
After they all agreed they were full, the waiter cleared their dishes. Hannah reached into her tiny hipster purse and found a mirror so she could check her braces for food. When she seemed satisfied, she pulled out a list. “I have some things I’d like to know. Like, how old were you when you had me? Were you two in a serious relationship? Do I have any brothers or sisters?”
Beth and Parker looked at each other as if willing the other to speak.
Finally, Bethany took the lead. “I wasn’t much older than you are now. Eighteen. Parker was twenty-one. But no, we never dated seriously.”
A Weekend Getaway Page 21
