by Imani King
40
Shawna
When we get home, Jackson pays Lindsay double last night’s rate, giving her a Christmas Eve rate and then drives her home. I look in on Tamara, sleeping soundly with her mouth curved into an O. Soft sighs escape the baby, and her hands twitch. “I wonder what you’re dreaming about?” I ask softly, while tucking the blanket around my daughter. I hope Tamara had no memory of the traumas she had already been through in her young life.
I go into the nanny room and change into pajamas before returning to the nursery. I prop open the door and turn on the intercom as I leave for Jackson’s room.
I slip under the bed covers, having every intention of waiting up for him. The night’s events bring my lids down several times, and I find fighting off sleep to be an impossible task. I curl into a ball with my head on his pillow. I am asleep before he arrives home.
JACKSON
I step into the room and smile at the sight she presents. My heart rate accelerates when I think about Tuesday. Once we are married, she will share my bed every night and stand beside me every day. I shed my clothes and slide into the bed beside her, careful not to disturb her. After clicking off the lamp, I pull Shawna into my arms and kiss her lightly on the mouth. Within minutes, I am asleep but continues to hold her throughout the night, drawing her close.
SHAWNA
Lillian wakes us early the next morning. She seems disapproving of their sleeping arrangements, but doesn’t say anything. She holds a bright-eyed Tamara propped on her hip. “This girl wants her sleepyhead parents to wake up. It’s Christmas.”
I stretch and sit up, laughing when I see the sparkle in the older woman’s eyes. “Tamara isn’t the only one who is excited.”
“It’s been awhile since we had a baby around for Christmas,” Lillian says with a hint of defensiveness. “I’m anxious to see her reaction to the mountain of gifts.” Her mouth twists. “Although, if she’s like Jackson was at this age, she’ll like the boxes better.”
We troop downstairs to the tree overflowing with gifts. Lillian hands Tamara to me. “I’ll get the hot tea and scones ready.”
I frown when I noticed how stiffly Lillian moves, and how she leans so heavily on her cane. “I’ll do it. You just relax.” I stand up and pass Tamara to Jackson. “Stay with Daddy,” I say in a singsong voice, and then freeze. I look at Jackson, who appears stunned. Lillian’s mouth is open too. “I’m sorry. Would you rather not be called Daddy?” I can’t disguise the hurt in my voice.
He clears his throat. “Uh, no. I was just...overwhelmed.” He cuddles Tamara closer. “It was the first time, you know.”
A smile curves across my face. “Not the last,” I say softly.
“No.” Jackson pulls me down for a quick kiss. “Now, bring refreshments, Mommy. We can’t wait to tear through the packages.”
I turn and frown when I see tears in Lillian’s eyes. There is an aura of uncertainty about the older woman. I rack my brain for an explanation as I head to the kitchen to heat the kettle. While stacking scones on the tray, I realize why Lillian looks that way. She doesn’t know what her place will be in Jackson’s new family. I groan when I realize his mother is probably worried she might have to move out, or if I consider her a burden.
I have just mixed Tamara’s bottle when the kettle whistles. I take the kettle from the stove and fill the bone china teapot on the salver. Then I carry the tray back into the living room. I pour Lillian’s cup first. “Here you are, Grandma.” I nervously await Lillian’s reaction to the title.
A tear slips down Lillian’s cheek, and she dabs at it with a holly-stenciled napkin from the tray. “Thank you,” she says.
I know she is saying thank you for much more than tea. I squeeze the older woman’s arm lightly, and we share a long look before I turn my attention back to the tray. I hand Tamara’s bottle to Jackson before placing a cup of tea and a scone beside him on the small end table. I settle beside him, and we all drink our tea in the glow of the Christmas tree lights, taking a moment to appreciate what we have before ripping through the packages.
41
Shawna
As Lillian had predicted before Tamara ever unwrapped her first package—with lots of help—she preferred the boxes. She tended to ignore her presents in favor of the boxes that still had wrapping paper clinging to them. The only gift she gave attention to singing ladybug from Santa.
After we clean up the mess of wrapping paper and boxes, I watch Tamara try to manipulate the button on one of the ladybug’s feet to get it to sing again. She smile at Jackson and Lillian. “You chose a winner with that one.”
“Yeah, Mom. She loves it.”
Lillian frowna. “I didn’t pick that out. I thought you or Shawna had.”
I share a look with Jackson. “It wasn’t me. I would have thought it was too old for her, too complicated.” I lift a brow as Tamara successfully restarts the music.
Jackson shrugs. “I didn’t buy it either. Maybe it got in someone’s cart by accident.”
“You don’t suppose...” Lillian trails off, shaking her head. “No, it couldn’t be.”
“Not Santa?” I suggest with a grin.
“No. I thought maybe Brad left it for her.” She sighs. “It doesn’t seem like the sort of thing he would do though, does it?”
Jackson shrugs. “Not really, but who knows? Either way, she loves it, and that’s all that matters.”
force a smile, but my stomach twists into knots. If Brad gave the gift, what does it mean? A spur-of-the-moment act of kindness toward his child, or something more sinister? What could be sinister about a child’s toy? I sigh and try to push the thoughts away. As Jackson said, it didn’t matter who gave her the toy as long as Tamara liked it. Still, she can’t help hoping a jolly fat man in a red suit had clambered down the chimney with the toy. That far-fetched thought is preferable to any dark intentions Brad might have.
Later that morning, the mystery of the toy is solved. Jim called to wish the family a Merry Christmas.
A few minutes into the conversation, I look up from my position on the floor beside Tamara when I hear Jackson ask, “The ladybug?”
A smile creases his face a minute later. “Tell Sara she has great taste. It’s practically the only toy she pays attention to.”
Relief sweeps through me when I realize Brad hadn’t given Tamara the toy. I don’t have to worry about his motives, or his intentions. Not that I really believed Brad had given the toy. That would have been too out of character for him.
The rest of the day passes in a blur of cooking and eating. We go to an evening service at a non-denominational church in Hood River before stopping for warm apple pie at a diner in town. Tamara, in the green velvet dress Lillian picked for her, is the center of attention.
We return home and pass the evening in a game of cards, with carols playing on the stereo. By ten o’clock, everyone is worn out, and we go to bed.
I wait until eleven to slip in beside Jackson. He makes love to me slowly. Afterward, we settle in a comfortable silence. I fall asleep with a smile on my face, remembering the events of my first real Christmas.
Monday morning, Lillian wakes me at six A.M. “We have to hit the shops.”
I groan and nestle closer to Jackson, who turns over and buries his face in the pillow when his mother intrudes. “I can live without the bargains.”
“Your wedding dress,” Lillian prompts.
My heavy lids snap open, and I sit up with a yawn. “Give me a few minutes to shower and dress.”
Lillian nods with satisfaction. “Don’t forget you’re minding the baby, Jackson.”
He mutters something unintelligible, soon followed by a snore.
I shake my head. “I suppose he’ll remember if she starts crying.”
I stifle another yawn and get out of bed. “It’s not like one can ignore Tamara’s cries.”
Lillian agrees. “Thank goodness she finally got used to me.”
I leave Jackson’s room and
A few minutes later, I meet Lillian downstairs. I’m wearing comfortable slacks and a loose fleece top since I will be undressing to try on several gowns. “Baby’s still asleep,” I say around yet another yawn. “Maybe she’s taking pity on her daddy and letting him sleep in.”
“Late night?” Lillian asks dryly, handing me a banana. “Do you mind driving?”
I shake my head. “I don’t have a license. I’m sorry, Lillian.”
Lillian shrugs on her coat. “That’s okay, dear. We’ll just go a little slower since I’m stiff today.”
She follow the older woman through the house to the garage and slide into the passenger side of the Prius. Lillian gets behind the wheel and opens the door.
“I can drive,” I say, once Lillian is belted in and backing out of the garage. “I took Driver’s Ed in high school, but the family I lived with wouldn’t spring for the money for the license. When I was on my own, I never had enough money for a car, so there was no reason to get a license.” I grimace, remembering the sports car Brad bought for me as incentive to learn. I never drove it. Even early in our relationship—before he showed his violent side—accepting the car had seemed too expensive emotionally.
“You should be able to drive since you’re living out here. You never know when you might need to go to town.”
I nod. “I’m a little nervous, and I need a refresher, but I plan to get my license after Jackson and I are married.” A pleasant shiver runs up my spine as I imagine holding a legal document confirming I am Jackson’s wife. Shawna Reeves sounds wonderful to her. It is strange that I had never imagined myself as Shawna Reeves when I was with Brad. Had I realized even then that the relationship was doomed to fail?
Lillian drives cautiously along the icy interstate, deciding they could do downtown rather than the mall. Forty minutes later she parks in front of a small boutique with no name on its door. The only distinguishable characteristic is an intricate gold symbol adorning the awning.
I follow her inside, eyeing the wedding gowns on display. Their window display is in the process of being stripped of its Christmas theme. I smile when I catch sight of a flower girl dress made from red velvet. It is adorable, but too big for Tamara.
A tall, angular woman with a tag that reads Sue Ellen, comes to assist us. She wore a charcoal gray worsted suit, with a purple silk turtleneck underneath. Her eyes slide over me and seem only to seeing to see my casual appearance. She turns to Lillian. “May I help you?”
“We need a wedding dress.”
Sue Ellen nods. “Who’s the bride?”
“I am,” I say in a soft voice. Once again, I receive a dismissive look from the clerk. I pull at the pink fleece top, wishing I had worn something different. Lillian looks polished and put together in wool pants and severely cut black jacket. I doubt I will ever know how to dress and act like my mother-in-law-to-be.
“What did you have in mind?”
Lillian waves to me. “Have you thought about what you want?”
I gaze at the selections with round eyes. “I don’t know. What do you think?”
“The wedding is semi-formal,” Lillian tells the clerk instead of answering me. “I believe my son is wearing a light gray suit.”
Sue Ellen nods and leads us to a display of tea-length bridesmaid dresses, simple white gowns with little decoration, and fancy hats. “You probably won’t want a veil.”
I grimace. A veil seems too traditional to pass up.
The clerk lifts a white hat decorated with tiny white roses. “This will look good with your facial shape.”
I take the hat and try it on, wondering if they weren’t doing things in reverse. Shouldn’t the dress come first?
“Lovely,” Lillian says. “I need a dress too, and we’ll need something for an infant girl. Maybe something that matches the dress Shawna chooses.”
Sue Ellen lifts a brow. “I see. If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you the dresses many second brides opt for. Peach is a popular color.”
I swallow down my nerves and firm my mouth. “No, thank you. A white one will do fine.”
The clerk blinks before tilting her head forward obsequiously. “Of course, miss.”
I turn away from the clerk and pretend to examine one of the hats. I don’t like any of them. “I want a veil,” I say, making my voice level but firm.
“How about adding one to your hat?” Lillian suggests.
I bite my lip and finally nod. I don’t want to choose something completely inappropriate.
“Can you do that, Sue Ellen?”
“Of course.” Sue Ellen takes the hat from my head and walks to the counter. She returns with a cloth tape measure. “Now, which dress do you like?”
I don’t think I imagined the new respect in the other woman’s tone and attitude. Maybe the secret to being the right kind of wife to Jackson was to be herself, and stand up for herself? I smile at the thought before turning my attention to the dresses. After much debate, I selected three and tried them on.
The second of the bunch ended up being my favorite. The bright white silk sheath fell straight to my ankles. A white lace jacket added a touch of elegance, and covered my bare arms. A row of seed pearls sewn into rosettes lined the lapels of the jackets, giving it just the right touch for a semi-formal occasion.
“That’s the dress,” Lillian says when I step out to model it for the second time. She dabs at her eyes. “You’re so beautiful.”
I fight down my urge to cry and hurry back in the dressing room before I lose the battle. It still amazes me that the worst event in my life has given me a fresh start with a new family. Tamara and I are both lucky to have ended up with the Reeves. If Brad wasn’t part of our family, I would be completely over-the-moon ecstatic. I still worry about his intentions, and I know I won’t relax completely until I am Jackson’s wife. If Brad lets me marry his brother without causing trouble, I can believe he is truly over me. I would be free to live my life with Jackson without always looking over my shoulder, expecting his brother, Brad’s, intrusion.
42
Shawna
I woke with a pounding head and to find Jackson has already left the room. I roll over and glance at the clock, groaning to realize there are only three hours until the eleven o’clock ceremony. I am surprised Lillian hadn’t awakened me by now.
As if on cue, there is a knock at the door. Lillian pushes it open and walks to the window. She pulls back the drapes and floods the room with light. Then she gives me a pleased smile. “You’re awake. Splendid.”
I get out of bed and stretch. “Where’s Jackson?”
“Seeing to the details.”
“Isn’t that more your area, Lillian?”
Lillian shrugs. “Today, my area is preparing the bride. You slip into a hot bath, and I’ll bring up some breakfast.”
I shake my head. “There’s no need. I’ll go downstairs.”
Lillian’s lips thin. “Absolutely not. You mustn’t see Jackson before the wedding. It’s bad luck.”
My brow quirks. “I thought it was only bad luck if he saw my dress?”
“I don’t know. Let’s not risk it.”
I grin as the other woman bustles out. I decide to follow orders and head to the bathroom. When Lillian enters a few minutes later, awkwardly balancing a tray in one hand while leaning heavily on her cane, I am in Jackson’s luxurious whirlpool, letting the bubbles ease the ache in my neck that seem to be causing the headache. The sight of a poached egg on the tray turns my stomach. “I’m not hungry.”
Lillian doesn’t insist that I eat. She merely nods. “Nerves. That’s natural.”
“Were you nervous when you got married?”
Lillian nods. “Of course. I knew he was only marrying me because of the baby. I didn’t expect our marriage to be a happy one.” Her mouth twists. “But I honestly didn’t think it would end a few years later, or I wouldn’t have bothered with all the fuss.”
Despite the seriousness of the words, I grin. “‘All the fuss’?”
She nods again. “It really was a bother. My parents hated him, which was mutual. His parents didn’t think the daughter of a Greek fisherman was good enough for their only child, so we eloped to avoid opposition.”
I reach for a towel, and Lillian averts her eyes. I wrap the towel around myself, sarong-style. “Did it work?”
Lillian laughs. “Of course not. Both families were too stubborn to let the subject die. I will admit all the sparks made life interesting for a time.” She shakes her head. “Listen to me. I’m single-handedly trying to turn you against marriage. You finish up in here and slip on the robe hanging on the door. We don’t want makeup on your dress.”
After Lillian left, I dry off and slip on a robe that smells strongly of Jackson. It is thick and soft, and I rub cheek against one of the lapels. When I enter the bedroom, it is transformed. A portable beauty chair and manicure station has been put against the wall nearest the window. Three women stand next to Lillian, conferring. Tamara naps on the bed, surrounded by a mountain of pillows.
I stand there awkwardly, waiting for someone to tell me what to do. Lillian notices me first and nods to the women. The three brunettes turn around and are all so similar in appearance they must be related.
“Shawna,” Lillian says as she walks forward. “Meet Anne, Jill, and Bea Ross. They’re image consultants.” She leans forward, whispering, “Anne’s the mother.”
“Uh, hello.” I run a hand through my wet curls.
The oldest one, who could only be Anne, steps forward. “Jill, you do hair. Bea, manicure and pedicure. I will see to the makeup.” She turns to me. “Ms. Davis, please sit in the chair.”
-->
