“Oh, Anna,” Nicole said quickly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that. Really, I didn’t. I was just getting carried away with my stupid little mommy pity party. Please, forgive me!”
But Anna was crying now, and Nicole’s apology only made her feel worse. Why hadn’t Anna just kept her mouth shut – allowed this to pass like she usually did? Tears only made it worse.
“Please, don’t be upset,” Meredith said with worried eyes. “We’re obviously just a couple of morons, Anna. Please forgive us.”
“That’s right,” Nicole agreed. “We’re just a couple of selfish mommy morons.”
“We weren’t thinking clearly,” Meri continued. “I mean, here I am totally sleep deprived, and Nicole’s bickering twins could drive anyone nuts – surely you can understand that we’re not at our best just now.”
“It’s okay,” Anna said, standing and wishing for a tissue to blot her tears. “I think I’m just, you know, hormonal or something.” She wished she could stop crying, but it only seemed to be getting worse. And she was embarrassed to be reacting like this. She usually took this kind of thing in stride, at least on the outside.
“I’m sorry, you guys . . .” Anna grabbed her coat and her purse. “I hate to bail on you, but do you mind if I leave a little early?” She looked at the line of finished baskets. “It looks like we’re almost done anyway.”
“Please, don’t go because of what I said,” Nicole persisted. “I’m just – ” But her words were cut short by a fight between her twins, and it looked like one of them was in serious peril of being clobbered with a red plastic baseball bat.
“Go ahead and take off, Anna.” Meri waved dismissively. “We can easily finish the rest of these.” She shook her head. “But really, I am sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Anna said again. “I’m probably just overreacting.”
“Drive carefully, sis,” Meri called as Anna made her way toward the door.
Nicole paused from where she was still attempting to disengage her boys and made a feeble wave. “See you on Sunday, Anna.”
“The baskets really look good,” Anna called as she blinked back more hot tears. “We should make a lot of money at the bazaar.” Then she was outside, the cool air chilling her still-wet cheeks. She quietly closed Nicole’s front door, shutting out the noise of the three toddlers and their disenchanted mothers, and hurried to her car. But once inside, she just sat there, continuing to cry. She knew that this was about more than simply being childless. More than ever, she was feeling like such an outsider. It was as if her illness was building a wall around her, isolating her from people she loved – people who loved her. And yet, she saw no other way to handle it. At least not until after the New Year.
Besides, she thought as she started the car, it was wrong for her sister and friend to joke like that in front of her. It was selfish to complain and commiserate over something that Anna could never hope to fully understand, something she would never be able to relate to. Sure, maybe they were tired of being mommies, but even so.
To be fair, Anna suspected that if she and Michael had been able to have children, she might’ve acted similar to her sister and friend. Maybe she would’ve grumbled about those very same problems – sleepless nights, fussy teething babies, or a husband who was less than helpful. Anna was no saint, and she would’ve likely participated in her share of whining. If nothing else, she would’ve indulged in their complaint department simply to fit in.
But underneath it all, Anna felt certain that she’d still be very, very thankful for motherhood. And, she told herself as she pulled into her driveway, Nicole and Meredith were probably thankful too – at least on a good day. She felt certain that, despite their frivolous words, they wouldn’t exchange being moms for anything – not a lifetime supply of chocolate, massages, bubble baths, pedicures, or anything.
10
“Beth,” Anna said with surprise as she returned to her classroom, “you’re still here?”
The little girl nodded from where she was sitting quietly at her desk with her jacket on and her hands folded in front of her. But it was nearly four o’clock and the classroom had long since been vacated. “My grandma was supposed to pick me up,” she said. “But I think she forgot.” Beth had only been in Anna’s class for a few weeks now. There had been some undisclosed problem with her parents, and now, as Anna understood it, her paternal grandmother was taking care of her.
“Do you want me to call her for you?”
“The office lady tried already.”
“She’s not home?”
Beth shook her head, looking up with sad blue eyes. “Is it okay for me to stay here, Mrs. Jacobs?”
“Of course,” Anna said. “Maybe you’d like to help me.”
Beth brightened. “Sure. I love helping. What do you want me to do?”
Now Anna had to think quickly. “Well, it’s Friday,” she said. “That means the goldfish must be fed for the weekend. And you could check the water of the Christmas tree . . . we want to be sure that it doesn’t dry up before Monday.”
“Okay,” Beth said.
Anna thought of a few more tasks, and Beth turned out to be a good helper, but the clock was still ticking and Anna wasn’t sure what she should do about this seemingly forgotten child. “Does your grandmother have a cell phone?” Anna asked.
“Yes. But I can’t remember the number.”
“Oh.” Anna frowned. “How about other relatives? Aunts or uncles?”
“No . . .”
“How about your parents?” Now Anna suspected this wasn’t an option, but she was curious about Beth’s circumstances.
Beth just looked down at her feet and shrugged.
“Hmm . . .” Anna was ready to go home, but she couldn’t just abandon her student. “And Mrs. Scott tried all the numbers in your records.”
“It’s just my grandma’s phone number.”
“You don’t have an emergency number?”
“I don’t know.”
“Maybe we should check.” So Anna gathered up her things and Beth got her backpack, and they went to the office to discover that no one was there. In fact, it seemed that everyone except the janitor was gone now. Not that it was so unusual for this time of day, or for a Friday.
Anna knelt down to look at Beth. “Well, what do you think we should do?”
Beth shrugged and played with the zipper on her puffy pink jacket. “I dunno.”
“I could take you with me, and we could try to reach your grandmother.”
“Okay.” Beth looked up and smiled.
Still, Anna was unsure. In her eight years of teaching, she’d never taken a student home with her before, and she certainly didn’t want to be accused of kidnapping. “Let’s try your grandmother’s phone one more time first,” she said after they got into the car. Beth recited the number, and Anna used her cell phone to call. When she got an answering machine, she left a very clear and concise message, informing the woman of what she was doing and giving her phone numbers as well as her address.
“Okay,” Anna said. “That should do it.”
“Do you have kids?” Beth asked as Anna started her car.
“No. But I do have a dog.”
“What’s your dog’s name?”
“Huntley. And he happens to like kids.”
“I like dogs too.”
“Do you have a dog?”
“I used to have a dog . . . back before . . .”
“And your grandma doesn’t have a dog?”
“No. She’s allergic.”
“Oh . . .”
“Do you know about my parents?” Beth asked suddenly.
“No . . . not really.” Anna wasn’t sure whether she should encourage Beth to talk about it or not. For some reason Anna suspected it wasn’t a happy story.
“I can tell you,” Beth said.
“If you want . . .”
“My grandma doesn’t like to talk about it,” Beth said. “But I go to see a counse
lor. Her name is Julie, and she says it’s good for me to talk about it.”
“Julie sounds like a smart woman.”
“She is. I see her on Wednesdays, after school.”
“That’s good.”
“My mommy killed my dad.”
Anna felt a cold jolt going through her, but she didn’t want Beth to notice. “Really?” she said evenly.
“I wasn’t there when she did it . . . I was at school.”
“Oh . . .” Anna sneaked a peek at the calm little girl sitting next to her.
“My dad was mean to Mommy. I think that’s why she did it.”
“Uh-huh.” Anna swallowed hard.
“But Mommy is in prison now.”
“That must be hard.”
“Yeah. I miss her.”
“Do you write letters to her?”
“Yeah. Julie helps me with that. Grandma doesn’t want to talk to my mommy.”
“Your grandma is probably very sad about what happened.”
“She is.”
“I’m sure you must be very sad too.”
“Yeah. At first I cried a lot.”
Anna nodded. “I think it’s good to cry sometimes.” Then Anna told Beth a little about her own mom. “I was really sad when she died, but sometimes my dad didn’t want me to cry.”
“Like my grandma?”
“Maybe so. But now I think that it’s good to cry when you’re sad. I think God made us this way for a reason.”
“Maybe it’s because he knew we needed to get cleaned out,” Beth said.
“Yes,” Anna agreed as she parked in her driveway. “I think you’re right.”
“Is this your house?”
“It is.” Anna was glad she’d gotten that timer for the lights now.
“I like it,” Beth said. “And I like your Christmas lights.”
“Wait until you see the tree,” Anna said.
Beth had barely had time to see the tree and meet Huntley before her grandmother called. “I am so sorry,” she told Anna. “I completely forgot that I was going to pick up Beth. I left work early to go to a dentist appointment and then got distracted and totally forgot to pick her up. I thought she’d ride the school bus like usual. Then I get home and find all these messages. I just feel so terrible.”
“It’s okay,” Anna assured her. She patted Beth’s head as she spoke. “Beth is a delight to have around, and I’ve enjoyed her company.”
“Well, I’m on my way to your house right now,” Mrs. Albert said. “I so appreciate you looking out for her like this. You know, this being a parent again is taking some getting used to.”
“I’ll bet.”
“And I’m a single woman,” she continued. “It’s just little Beth and me now.”
“Well, she’s a great kid,” Anna said. “You’re blessed to have her.”
“Yes . . . that’s true.”
They said good-bye and Anna hung up. “Your grandmother is on her way,” she told Beth. “And she feels terrible for forgetting about you.”
“It’s okay,” said Beth as she petted Huntley. “It was fun coming to your house, and I like your dog.”
Anna was just about to offer Beth a snack when she heard the doorbell ring. “I’ll bet that’s your grandmother now.”
And it was, but Anna was surprised that this “grandma” didn’t look too much older than herself. Also, she had on a short skirt and knee-high boots. Not your typical grandma type.
“I am so sorry,” Mrs. Albert repeated. She knelt down and hugged Beth. “You must think that your grandmother is a complete nincompoop.”
Beth laughed. “No. You just forgot, Grandma. It’s okay. Mrs. Jacobs took really good care of me.”
“I enjoyed her company,” Anna said.
“Mrs. Jacobs doesn’t have kids,” Beth informed her grandma. “But she has a really cool dog.”
Anna smiled.
“Well, thanks again,” Mrs. Albert said. “Have a good weekend.”
“Don’t forget about the school Christmas concert tomorrow,” Anna reminded her.
“Oh, yes.” Mrs. Albert actually slapped her forehead. “I have the flyer on the refrigerator, but after today, well, who knows?”
“Well, I’ll bet you won’t forget, will you, Beth?” Anna asked.
“No way!” Beth grinned. “See ya tomorrow, Mrs. Jacobs.” Then she and her grandma trotted off toward what looked like a fairly new Mustang convertible. It seemed that Beth’s grandma was setting a new youthful standard for grandparents.
Anna closed the front door and went back to the kitchen, where Huntley looked up at her expectantly, like he wanted to know what had become of his young playmate.
“I suppose you miss Beth now,” she said. His tail thumped back and forth as if to confirm this. “Well, sorry, old boy, but we can’t keep her.”
Yet even as Anna said this, a lump formed in her throat. Of course she hadn’t expected to keep her student. But why was it that now her house felt much emptier than usual? And why was it that some people were “blessed” with children that they didn’t really want or couldn’t take care of? The idea of Beth’s mother killing her father and now doing time in prison actually made Anna’s head hurt. She didn’t want to judge them, but what about poor Beth – why should she suddenly be parentless and be raised by a grandma who forgot to pick her up from school? What else might she forget? And what about people like Anna and Michael who wanted desperately to be parents but were forced to be childless? What was fair about that?
These were not new questions. But they were some of the things she intended to ask God about someday. Maybe someday in the not too distant future too. But Anna didn’t really want to think about that right now – she wanted to pretend like she didn’t know what was going on or that her stomach hadn’t bothered her a lot today. Denial seemed to be her only protection for the time being, and she planned to wear it like a warm winter coat until January. She turned on the teakettle, but even green tea didn’t sound very appetizing. Maybe some saltines would be better. She wondered how advanced this thing really was – how long it had been since she’d experienced the first symptoms. Or what kind of prognosis she was risking by delaying treatment. Not that it had made any difference with her mother. Why would it with her?
Again, she told herself not to think about such things. Focus on Christmas instead – make memories and happy times. Celebrate each day fully. But even as she tried to do this, she could feel those all-too-familiar tears filling her eyes once again. Anna reached for a tissue, and as she blew her nose, she reminded herself of what Beth had said – how crying cleaned them out. Anna thought she should be pretty clean by now.
–––––
Somehow Anna made it through the weekend’s blur of activities and commitments without having any more emotional breakdowns. Perhaps being busy was the best defense against the blues. Oh, sure, she’d been somewhat overcome while watching her class of second graders performing their rendition of “Little Drummer Boy” for the Christmas concert – for which Beth was on time and was wearing an adorable red velvet dress. But then, Anna always got a little weepy at that particular event. And she’d been so happy that all their baskets sold at the bazaar – bringing in more than $500 for the Darfur fund – that she’d been a little teary-eyed for that too. But then so had Nicole and Meredith. Or maybe they were still feeling bad about the other night.
But by Monday, after all the busyness of the weekend, Anna realized that she really hadn’t had much quality time with Michael. And this was driven home further when he announced that, once again, he would be working late tonight.
“I miss you,” she complained as he filled his travel mug with coffee.
“I miss you too,” he said. “But trust me, this overtime thing is not going to last forever.”
“Maybe ‘forever’ is in the eyes of the beholder,” she told him.
He laughed, then leaned down to peck her on the cheek. Still, she hadn’t meant to be funny. M
ore and more she was realizing that time – each precious, one-of-a-kind day – was not a renewable resource.
11
“Anna, this is Meri. It’s Wednesday, around two o’clock, and I really, really need to talk to you. As soon as possible. Please, call me when you get this message. Really, it’s urgent.” Anna replayed the message just to make sure she’d heard it right, then hit the speed dial for Meri’s cell phone.
“What’s wrong?” she asked her sister as soon as she answered.
“Thanks for calling,” Meri said in a voice that sounded much calmer than the message she’d left. “Where are you right now?”
“In the school parking lot.” Anna unlocked her car. “Just getting into my car. But tell me, Meri, is something really wrong? Is it Dad? Or David? Or – ”
“No. Dad and David are fine. Well, as far as I know. But this isn’t about them.”
“What then?”
“It’s about me. Can you meet me at Starbucks on Fifth Street?” “Sure.”
“Okay, I’m on my way.”
Anna’s heart was still pounding hard as she started her car. What was wrong with Meri? Was it possible that she, like Anna, was experiencing the symptoms for ovarian cancer? What if they both were sick? How devastating would that be for the rest of the family?
“Please, God,” Anna pleaded as she turned onto Fifth Street. “Please, don’t let Meri be sick too. That would be too much. Please, let her be fine. Please!”
Anna parked in front, then jumped out of her car just as Meri pulled up. Anna ran over and hugged her. “Are you okay?” she demanded, stepping back to look right into her sister’s eyes.
“That depends . . .” Meri glanced away. “Come on, let’s go inside. I’ll explain.”
Anna’s stomach had been worse than usual again today, so she simply got a bottle of water, then went over to a quiet table and waited for Meri to join her with her latte.
“Please, tell me what’s wrong,” Anna said after Meri sat down. “I can’t take the suspense. Is it your health?”
“No. Well, not my physical health anyway. Some people, Todd in particular, might question the state of my mental health, though.”
The Joy of Christmas Page 22
