“No,” Joe said. “I thought I’d brought the surprise guest of the day.” He winked at Rachel.
“Well, not entirely,” Jenn began, but then the doorbell rang and someone shouted, “Oh, look, it’s Gina! Gina’s here!” Jenn exited hurriedly.
Gina? thought Rachel. An old girlfriend of Joe’s? The schoolteacher he mentioned at Thanksgiving? Thoroughly confused by this time, she slanted a look at him out of the corners of her eyes. Joe, true to form, was poking around in the pots and pans on the stove and counter, acting completely unconcerned.
“Joe, you’ll have to set things straight,” she said.
“I’m having too much fun,” he said with a roguish quirk of his eyebrows. “And everyone’s much too hyper at the moment. What can be the harm of letting them think we’re an item?”
From the living room came a lot of loud talking, all of it centered around the newcomer.
“Gina, guess what happened! Carson ate a bunch of candy canes and threw up all over Jamie’s new fire engine!”
“Gina, Gina, look at my new Barbie!”
“Gina, are you going to stay for dinner?”
Gina this, Gina that, and Joe, who was sampling the orange sauce that was destined for the duckling, still didn’t seem in a hurry to join the group in the living room.
“Who’s Gina?” Rachel blurted, and then was sorry. She didn’t want to know more about the Marzinski family than she already knew, and most especially, she didn’t want to know about Joe’s girlfriends, past or present. Nor did she want to be mistaken for one, come to think of it.
Joe dropped the lid back onto the pan and licked the spoon while leaning up again the counter. “Gina’s an eighteen-year-old girl who used to live here. My parents took her in when she had no place to go. Her father died, and her mother took off, leaving her with her two older sisters, who could barely cope with their own lives, much less Gina’s. Come on, I’ll take you in to meet her.” He ran the spoon under the faucet.
Rachel reluctantly dried her hands and followed Joe into the living room. The newcomer, a pretty dark-haired, almond-eyed teenager, fashionably dressed in a red-plaid shift and sandals, was surrounded by a bevy of little bodies but looked up quickly when Joe entered the room.
The kids made way for Joe, who kissed Gina on the cheek and pulled Rachel forward. “Gina, this is Rachel. I invited her to spend the day with us. Rachel, Gina’s almost a member of the family.”
“So is Rachel,” chimed in one of the kids, and everyone laughed and smiled indulgently, which made Rachel feel even more uneasy.
Gina seemed distracted and ill at ease. Well, Rachel could identify. She felt the same. She eyed Joe, willing him to speak up about their status. He ignored her.
“Gina, honey, you look so pale,” said Jim, Joe’s father, as he took Gina’s hand.
“Just getting over the flu,” she said, punctuating the words with a negligible shrug of the shoulders. Gina pecked Jim on the cheek and tendered Mary a self-conscious hug. Her movements seemed more choreographed than spontaneous, which caught Rachel’s attention.
“All right, Gina, we’ll fix what ails you,” Jim said. “How about a little glass of wine? My father in the old country used to swear by it as a blood-building tonic.”
“Okay,” Gina said, allowing herself to be led away.
Jœ, for some reason, was frowning. Rachel was on the verge of pulling him into the nearby hallway and asking him if he was out of his mind and if he really expected her to go along with this farce about their supposed relationship, but before she could, Gracie pressed a glass of mulled cider into her hand and two of the children almost pulled the Christmas tree over onto the dining table after which the house erupted into a melee un-equaled in Rachel’s experience.
Through it all, she heard a slight whimper from the direction of the kitchen and hurried to see if Chrissy was hungry. But Joe had beaten her to the little alcove where the baby slept, and when she came around the corner, there he was, the baby in his arms.
Her heart warmed to him in that moment, though she wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was the concern in his expression, or perhaps it was catching him in a tender moment when no one else was around.
“I’m warming her bottle,” he said, and, looking over her shoulder, Rachel saw it in a pan of water.
“Joe, what’s going on here? Why don’t you just tell them the truth? That we just met last night?”
He shook his head ruefully. “You might as well know that my whole family is counting the days until I take a wife. With all these sisters I’m the only one who can pass on the family name. It’s important to them that I get married, and they’ve deliberately misunderstood because they’re so eager for it to happen. Sorry, Rachel. But it is kind of fun.” His eyes sparkled.
Rachel tried to keep her cool. “Not for me. It’s embarrassing.”
“Rachel, what can it hurt to let them think you really are my girlfriend? I mean, it sure would take the heat off me. You can’t imagine how hard these family occasions are. They’re always asking me, ‘Joey, when are you going to get married? Joey, when are you going to start a family?’” He mimicked Gracie’s high voice and Mary Cecilia’s disapproving tone almost perfectly, and Rachel started to laugh.
“No, I’m serious,” he went on. “After Christmas I’ll tell them the truth. But if I could just enjoy one holiday meal without all the flack, I’d be grateful.”
“All right, then, I’m telling them. This is ridiculous.” She swiveled to go, but he caught her arm.
“And cause a minor eruption? Mary Cecilia will get all huffy, and Lois will laugh her head off. Gracie won’t speak to me for another month, and the kids won’t comprehend. Think again, Rachel.”
His eyes were so serious that his words gave her pause. She shook away his hand. She didn’t want to add to the confusion, to spoil anyone’s holiday. But he had started this—not her. They’d be annoyed with him, not her.
But would that make her feel any better?
Ever since she’d met Jœ Marzinski, Rachel had had a sense of all kinds of boundaries being broken down. It wasn’t only Joe that bothered her, but this whole scene—the utter familiarity of being in the midst of a family again. She’d thought those days were gone forever. They were gone forever. Except now, with Joe smiling into her eyes and her body responding in a way that was ridiculous, it was easy to give in to him. Or to whatever it was that was fogging her thought processes.
“Joe? Oh, excuse me.”
It was Gina, and she was gazing at the baby in his arms with rapt attention.
“Gina, meet Chrissy, our Christmas baby,” Joe said, his tone turning jovial.
“I know. Your mom told me how you found her in the manger scene.”
“I didn’t find her, Rachel did. I’m only helping out until the HSS comes to the rescue. They’ll find a foster home for her.” He laid Chrissy back down in the crib and was removing her wet diaper as he spoke. Rachel, letting go of her thoughts for the time being, dug a clean one out of the bag she’d brought.
“You…you aren’t going to keep her?” Gina leaned against the wall. She looked exhausted, Rachel thought.
“Me? No, how could I? I’m in and out of my apartment at all hours of the day and night. No problem too big, no problem too small for Condo Crisis Control, but I have to admit that this baby has thrown a clinker in the works. Rachel, could you bring that wastebasket over here? The one next to the door?”
Before Rachel could figure out which wastebasket he meant—there were many, all overflowing with Christmas wrappings—Gìna went to get it. She planted it beside Joe and watched carefully as he finished taping the ends of the clean diaper together.
“Are you sure that’s tight enough? That it won’t fall off?”
Joe glanced up with obvious surprise. “Gina, who’s the one who taught you to diaper a baby? As I recall, when you were baby-sitting Carson, you had a need to know.”
“You taught me, Joe.” Gina’s smile was tentat
ive.
“Sure I did. I know my stuff. Don’t I, Rachel?”
Rachel brought the warmed bottle to him. “I’ll vouch for you anytime,” she told him.
Joe lifted Chrissy up and held her close to his chest. “Let’s go out on the back porch, and one of us can sit in Mom’s old rocker and feed her, away from the hubbub of the rest of the clan.”
They stepped outside, and Rachel sat down on the rocking chair. Joe handed Chrissy over to Rachel, who cuddled the baby close while introducing the bottle to her. Joe sat down on the top porch step, and Gina eased herself down beside him.
“How’s school going, Gina?” he asked.
“Great. I made straight A’s.”
“This is Gina’s first semester at Florida State. She won a scholarship,” Joe explained to Rachel.
“I wouldn’t have been able to go at all if you and your family hadn’t given me money for living expenses,” Gina said, brushing her short hair back from her face. The expression in her eyes when she looked at Joe was frankly adoring, but Rachel noticed that Gina mostly looked at the baby. She supposed that wasn’t so surprising; Chrissy was a captivating child.
“Hey, no big deal. And anyway, your sisters send you money, too.”
“Not much. Anna’s getting married to Mitch in June, and Dottie got downsized in the fall. She’s got another job with an accounting firm, but she’s catching up on past bills. She’ll have them paid off in a couple of months, she says.”
“Mmm. Well, Dottie’s a hard worker. She did a good job for me when she worked in my office one summer.”
“I was thinking that maybe I could work for you, too, Joe. Maybe this summer.”
“Sure, we can always use good help. Tell me about Anna and Mitch. Are you going to be in the wedding?”
“Both Dottie and I are. It’s in June.”
“Anna will be a gorgeous bride, just like you will be, when you find the right guy.”
Rachel caught the blush on Gina’s face. “Aw, Joe, quit it. I’m going to get my education first, then get a job, and then, and only then, will I consider finding a guy.”
“A good plan. I always said you have a lot of common sense.” Joe got up and dusted off the seat of his pants. “What do you say we toss a Frisbee? Looks like one of the kids got a new one for Christmas.”
Gina shook her head. “Not today, Joe. Please. I told you, I’m not over the flu.”
Joe snagged seven-year-old Jamie as he was dashing through the backyard, and soon they had recruited more players and had a lively game going. Two kids took turns swinging on a new Mickey Mouse swing hanging from a low branch of the banyan tree, and one quiet boy nestled in a higher branch with a book.
Gina leaned back against a porch column and watched Rachel feeding the baby. The two of them were an oasis of quiet amid the clamor of the Frisbee players on the grass and the laughter and shouts emanating from the house behind them. Rachel was grateful for the peace of the moment and glad that no one was asking her questions or studying her with barely veiled curiosity.
“She seems like a very good baby,” Gina said after a while.
“Oh, she is,” Rachel told her. She nuzzled the baby’s head.
“And you’re really going to send her to foster care?”
Rachel smiled at her. “Yes, it’s what we have to do. We’ve already reported to the HSS that I found her, we’re just waiting for someone to come and get her.”
“Would you mind if I gave her the rest of this feeding? I mean, you might want to play the Frisbee game with Joe and everybody.”
Rachel didn’t want to play Frisbee, and she was grateful to have something to do. But she found herself saying, “Why, of course, Gina, come sit in the rocker, and I’ll let you give her the rest of this bottle.”
Gina settled herself in the rocker with the baby in the crook of one arm. Chrissy wrinkled her nose and took the offered bottle. Gina began to rock, and Rachel sat on the top step and relaxed.
It was a sunny day with a light breeze wafting in from the ocean. A hedge of Turk’s cap with its bright-red furled flowers screened the Marzinski house from the one next door where someone was playing with battery-operated racing cars on the patio. Above, a light plane flew soundlessly trailing a banner. Merry Christmas, it said.
Gina was watching the Frisbee game with interest. It now involved Joe, a couple of his brothers-in-law and four small to medium-size boys. “It sure is good to be home,” she said.
Rachel nodded in agreement. “I remember my first Christmas after I went away to college. I appreciated home a lot more than I had before.”
“Yeah, so do I.” This was uttered more fervently than necessary, and Rachel intuited that Gina wanted to talk.
“Tell me about your major,” she said. “Or haven’t you decided on one yet?”
“Ever since I got my first job in retail, I thought maybe I could be a store manager for the chain where I worked, so I just declared marketing as my major. I want to get my MBA if I can.”
“With those straight A’s you earned this semester, it sounds as if you’re on your way.”
“I hope so. Trouble is, I was a math major before. I had to make a lot of schedule changes for next semester. I’m not sure I’ll get the courses I need, and I’m going to have to take some that I never planned on, so it’s kind of scary.”
Rachel noticed that all of Gina’s fingernails were bitten to the quick. She decided to offer reassurance. “I’m sure things will work out,” she said.
“It’s hard keeping my grades up, working and all. But I’m going to make it. I have to! And then I want to come back to Coquina Beach and show everyone that a DeMarcos can amount to something.” Gina’s eyes flashed, and she held the baby up to burp her, smoothing the little red dress down carefully afterward.
Gina must have noticed the question in Rachel’s eyes, and after a moment she went on talking. “You see, my mother was an alcoholic. Everyone used to laugh at her when they saw her stumbling along the sidewalk, and I got teased a lot when I was in school. I want to make up for that, you know?”
Rachel’s heart went out to the girl, because once upon a time in another life she’d heard a similar story from Nick. He said he’d always felt as if he didn’t quite measure up because his father was the town drunk. And so he’d become a college professor and married the girl of his dreams and started a family, all to show people that he could.
Suddenly Rachel didn’t want to talk about this anymore. It hurt to think about Nick, especially today.
“I think I’d better see what’s going on in the kitchen,” she said, getting up and fleeing into the house. Once inside, she went into the alcove to straighten out the sheet in the crib, which didn’t need straightening but provided a way to collect herself.
“Rachel?”
It was Megan, the one with the fake tattoo.
“Yes?”
“I thought that since you’re Uncle Joe’s girlfriend and all, you might want to see his trophies.”
“I’m not—”
“He has all kinds. Boy, was he famous when he was in high school. Come on,” Megan took her hand and pulled her past the alcove into a hall lined with doors. “This is Uncle Joe’s room. He doesn’t live here anymore, though.”
Rachel had to admit, if only to herself, that she was curious. After all, this guy had wormed his way into her life—no, not into her life, into her day—and she hardly knew anything about him.
They stopped at a room that was unremarkable in decor—plaid bedspread, curtains to match and a random assortment of battered furniture—but it immediately gave Rachel an insight into the kind of boy Joe Marzinski had been. There were pictures of Joe in a football uniform, wearing the Coquina Beach High School colors. There were trophies, both for football and for swimming, lining shelves along one wall.
Megan shrugged. “Grandma saves all this stuff. Uncle Joe keeps telling her to throw it out, but my mom and her sisters don’t want her to. They’re real proud of h
im.”
Rachel wandered over to look at the trophies.
“See the cuckoo clock?” Megan asked. “It doesn’t work. Uncle Joe says it doesn’t matter, because a stopped clock is right twice a day anyhow. He’s always saying stuff like that.” She plopped down on the bed and threw her arms around a threadbare teddy bear. “This was his, too. I used to like to sleep with it when I was a kid.”
Rachel had to smile at this. She could hardly imagine Joe as a child.
Megan sat up. “So, are you and Uncle Joe going to get married?”
“Well, I hadn’t planned on it,” Rachel said uncomfortably, unsure how to impart the information that she had no more intention of marrying Joe Marzinski than going to the moon.
“Yes, we’ve put the wedding plans on hold. For the time being.” Joe strode in and tweaked Megan’s ear. “Get going, small fry. Your mother wants you to start putting the food on the table.”
“Oh, good, it’s time to eat.” Megan bounded up from the bed and out of the room. Rachel and Joe stared at each other across the narrow expanse of the bedspread.
“You, um, were quite an athlete,” she said.
“That was a long time ago,” Joe said.
“You keep in shape.”
He made a dismissive motion. “I lead an active life. You know, Rachel, they like you.”
“I can’t imagine that they’ve passed judgment on me already. There’s too much going on. So why don’t I see what I can do to help serve dinner?”
She started to walk past him, but at that point one of the twins—Liza? Katie?—poked her head around the door and said, “Oh, you two lovebirds! Mommy says to come and sit down at the table so we can eat.”
Rachel jumped away from Joe, feeling guilty for—well, for what? Nothing had happened.
“Come along,” Joe said, taking her hand, but before they reached the dining room, Liza or Katie, whichever, stopped in the middle of the hall.
“Aren’t you going to kiss Rachel, Uncle Joe?” she said impishly.
Rachel followed the little girl’s gaze upward and realized belatedly that they were situated directly beneath the sprig of mistletoe. Before she could move, Joe grabbed her—that was the only word for it—and planted a kiss on her lips. “Oh, way cool!” squealed the twin before running to tell everyone.
Baby Christmas Page 8
