by Lynn Bulock
Mike wanted to tell her she didn’t have very high standards. Christmas Day, or any other day, ought to be made up of better moments than just parking on the couch with the baby and a pot of tea. Then he took a minute to review what he knew about Lori.
She was the only adult in charge at her place. And place was being nice. There was no leather sofa in that mobile home, no crackling fire across the room and certainly no one to make her a pot of tea. So maybe he better keep his mouth shut and boil water.
Lori looked around the family room of the Martins’ house. She had never seen so much comfort in one place in her life. The furniture was plush upholstery or burnished leather. The fireplace took up nearly one wall in brick and stone, flanked by wood bookcases that held more books than she’d ever owned. Maybe more than she’d checked out of libraries in a lifetime.
So this was how the other half lived. Gary had always phrased things that way, and Lori had never taken it in until now. This kind of luxury, which her hosts took totally for granted, was what Gary had meant. It was what he wanted to provide for them, even if he went about it in a warped manner.
Gary had always been working and scheming so that they could see how the other half lived. But she had been happy with the way they were living. Especially for that brief time early on when Gary was still in school and she had dropped out to work to bring in money. She would have kept at it, too, even after Tyler was born. Surely between the two of them they could have worked out a schedule. By then she was the assistant manager at the Kwik Stop and she could have taken the undesirable night hours herself for more money. But Gary wouldn’t hear of it.
No wife of his was going to work, not with a new baby. He would quit school and be the breadwinner. Unfortunately the jobs he was qualified for with only two years of a four-year science degree didn’t pay as well as her job at the Kwik Stop.
How different would life be for all of them right now if she could have convinced him that God really fulfilled all their needs? Was she really such a mutant for believing in those promises? Everyone around her seemed to think so. Gary certainly had. And look where it had led him.
Trusting himself to provide for his family without any help from God, Gary Harper was dead before he turned twenty-eight. He’d done time in jail for using that half a chemistry degree to make illegal drugs. And never once during the time he was alive did he really get to see how the other half lived.
It was so sad. Lori looked around the room again. Her tea would get cold if she mused much longer about this. And Mike had gone to a lot of trouble. He’d found one of his mom’s good teapots—Lori was sure there was more than one in a house like this. The one on the table beside her was heavy English stoneware in a Christmasy green. A matching mug sat beside it. Nothing was chipped or dented here.
Lori felt like shaking her head. If this was what Gary had been after, he shouldn’t have bothered. The Martins had a beautiful home. Fine furniture was everywhere, and even the dog was decorated for Christmas. But somehow there was an emptiness that made Lori miss the trailer.
As the afternoon progressed, she grew even more uncomfortable. Mike’s mom was serving an excellent dinner off more matching china and silver than Lori had ever seen outside a department store. There was even Christmas-print cloth napkins, which Tyler had to be instructed on using. He’d never seen a napkin that didn’t come in a paper package of three hundred.
But there was so much missing. Dinner wasn’t over yet, and she could already feel the tension building in her. Tyler was going to pipe up with a comment any minute that would dampen the lovely atmosphere, and there wasn’t anything she could do to stop him.
“Hey, guy, you ready for dessert?” Here it came. Mike’s innocent question was going to set off the firestorm. Lori looked at him, trying to warn him of what might be coming, but no such luck. He was looking at Tyler, who was a sight.
“Sure. It’s Christmas. My favorite.” Tyler was grinning so wide, he looked like a jack-o’-lantern. Where he was going to put dessert after that much turkey and ham and green-bean casserole was a mystery.
“Mine, too.” Lori tried again to catch Mike’s eye, warn him somehow that he and Tyler weren’t on the same track. Before she could do that, Mikayla woke up and it was time to take her in the other room for her own dinner.
“Need any help?” Lori could tell the words were a reflex for Mike. He was used to helping women around this house.
“No, I think I’m on my own for this one.” Lori tried to hide a grin at his blush.
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“I could use a big glass of water.” Lori remembered this part from Tyler’s first few months. She needed to get into the habit of drinking something every time Mikayla nursed.
“Sure.” Mike was up in a flash. He settled the tumbler of water at her elbow as she got comfortable leaning on the arm of the leather sofa in the family room. Carrie’s fluffy receiving blanket made a nice tent for the baby. “This still looks like magic to me.”
“Not magic. Maybe a little miracle. But one that sure happens for a lot of people.”
“I guess.” Mike looked across the long room into the kitchen where his mother was working on a dessert tray. “What was baby feeding like nearly thirty years ago? This must be a familiar picture.”
Gloria looked startled. “Heavens. I didn’t ever… I mean, you…”
“Nursing wasn’t too fashionable for a while, Michael. Even the doctors didn’t push it much,” Lori said. Gloria gave her a grateful look, as if she’d saved her from something. It was puzzling. The whole exchange made Lori wonder, but the thought was there and gone so fast, she lost it.
“Definitely.” If Lori knew her hostess better, she would say that was relief in the older woman’s voice. “Everybody bottle fed. Mostly that lovely soy formula. I remember my friend Helen saying she never did get the spit-up stains out of her favorite chair.”
“Charming.” Mike headed back to the table. “I’m so glad I asked.”
Lori could hear Mike and Tyler help clear the table, with lots of clanging and rattling in their help. Mike didn’t seem much more gentle with his mom’s good china than Tyler.
Coward that she was, she urged them not to wait for her for dessert. Maybe Tyler would keep quiet if he didn’t have her to make faces at.
Then Gloria brought her delicately arranged tray to the table. Here it came. “Oh. Cookies.” Tyler’s voice sounded flat, even to Lori.
“Sure. What did you expect?” Mike sounded puzzled. Even without seeing him Lori knew his broad forehead was wrinkling.
“Birthday cake. And ice cream.” Tyler’s scornful tone told everyone listening that any idiot knew that.
“Isn’t that for your birthday, Tyler?” Gloria’s voice was gentle but confused. Lori wanted to blurt something out to stop Tyler from his reply. He was much too young to know that his innocent beliefs might hurt someone else’s feelings, or make them uncomfortable. And after all that Mike and his mother had done for them already, challenging their beliefs was the last thing Lori wanted.
“Yeah, that’s for my birthday. It’s the only other time we have it. Then on Christmas we have birthday cake and ice cream again, for Jesus. I guess having cookies means we’re not going to sing ‘Happy Birthday,’ either. I like telling Jesus happy birthday.”
The table was silent. Then Lori could hear Gloria stifle a giggle. “Birthday cake for the baby Jesus. Now why didn’t I ever think of that?”
There were footsteps on the polished parquet, then a soft smack. Without even looking around the corner, Lori knew Tyler’s reaction to being kissed. He had to be rubbing whatever portion of his head or face had gotten Gloria’s lipstick kiss. “I can’t whip up a cake on this short notice, Tyler. But there’s chocolate ice cream in the kitchen freezer. And we can definitely sing ‘Happy Birthday.’ Now come and help me scoop, okay?”
“Okay!” The thump of Tyler’s tennis shoes hitting the floor was followed by him racing across the room.<
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“Walk in the house,” Lori called out as loudly as she dared without waking Mikayla. The baby was back to sleep, satisfied and full now. And it was Lori who felt foolish.
Tyler hadn’t embarrassed anybody. Like always, he trusted God in his childlike way, and said what was on his mind. So now he was getting his chocolate ice cream and they would all sing “Happy Birthday.”
Maybe how the other half lived wasn’t so different after all. Lori settled her daughter back in the infant seat. Chocolate ice cream sounded pretty good. And Gloria looked like a good substitute for the doting grandmother she’d always wished Tyler could have. And then there was Mike, already working his way into her heart in so many ways. “Thank you. And happy birthday,” she whispered. It was a quick prayer, but a heartfelt one.
Chapter Six
Okay, what did they do now? Mike stared into the fire wondering how to handle having strangers spend the tail end of Christmas Day. This was one time when he wished his mom hadn’t converted to gas logs. He had nothing to stir around, and no reason to go outside for wood.
How did they all stay comfortable? Tyler’s “birthday party” had kept things going for a while. But now the fire was dying, it was getting dark outside and the dishes were done. Christmas Day had just about run out of steam.
Tyler was stretched out on the couch with Dogg’s big head on one knee. Maybe he could take the two of them for a walk, if the kid had a coat. It would burn off some excess energy.
Mike looked at Lori, sitting in the chair where she had nursed Mikayla earlier. She was asleep sitting up. It had to have been a rough day for her. This was the first Christmas without her husband, and her first full day of being the mother of two. He couldn’t even imagine how much pressure that put on a little thing like her.
The baby was sleeping in her infant seat. She was so tiny. Definitely getting better looking as the day passed. Time was making her look less red and squashy. She was still awful pink. But that nose was getting some shape, was maybe going to be pug like her mom’s. What color were her eyes? Or did all newborn babies have kind of bluish eyes like kittens? It was a good question, one he had no answer to.
He wasn’t going to wake Lori up to ask her. The nap would be over soon enough anyway. Naps always were, even on Christmas. Mike moved in his chair and Dogg perked up in response. His big brush tail thumped the floor, hoping for some more attention. He was getting plenty from Tyler, but there was always hope in his canine heart for more.
Mike knew how he felt. There had been plenty of times in his life where he felt the same way. Were other people satisfied with the attention they got? Was that feeling of yearning for that mental pat on the head something unique to him and Dogg? Surely not.
As he thought, Mike watched Dogg. His ears perked up even more, and he slipped from under Tyler’s hand, heading to the front hall. When he got about halfway to the door, the bell rang.
Mike got up to answer it before the noise of barking and company in the hall could wake up everyone. Carrie stood in the doorway with a paper bag in her hands and a troubled expression.
“Hey. What’s up?” Something was wrong. Carrie wasn’t that serious unless she was on a call, normally.
She came in and Mike closed the door, shutting out the cold air behind her. Dogg pushed his pointed nose into the underside of her arm, and she let go of the paper bag with one hand to pet him.
“I’m not sure. Help me out with something. Maybe I’m just remembering wrong.”
This sounded strange. Carrie was usually the detail person. “Go ahead.”
“Yesterday when we were at Lori’s trailer, I know you didn’t have much time to look around. But how would you describe the place?”
Mike tilted his head back, thinking. “Neat. Clean. Nothing much new, but pretty tidy, especially with a kid living there.”
“Okay. That’s what I thought, too. Somebody tossed the place since we’ve been there.”
Great. So much for Christmas winding down quietly. “Anything missing? I don’t remember much worth taking in there.”
“Me, neither. But what was there had been looked through. Drawers dumped on the bed and floor, even in the kid’s room. Kitchen cabinets all open and stuff shoved around. Whoever did it was quick. There wasn’t a lot of vandalism.”
“That’s a plus. It means it probably wasn’t teenagers out to impress each other.”
Carrie nodded. “Nothing broken, no spray paint tagging on the walls. But Lori definitely had company. I hate to be the one to tell her. I mean, doesn’t she have enough to deal with already?”
“You’d think.” She’d handle this in stride, like everything else. Probably even find some good news in it, like she had everything else. He’d never met anybody else who spent as much time looking for miracles.
Of course she seemed to find them every time, so who was the oddball? Maybe if he looked for more of them, they’d pop up in his life. Right. And maybe Dogg would grow antlers. “Come on back and we’ll tell her. She’s going to have to go out there to see if anything’s missing.”
“I know. That’s the part I hate, dragging her over there like this. But I won’t feel comfortable unless we make a police report.” Carrie grimaced. “They’re going to love being called out today, too. It’s just my lucky day all around.”
“Don’t say that in front of Lori. She’ll find a reason why it really is.”
“Say what in front of me?” Lori’s pale blond head rose out of the chair, and she passed the back of one hand across her face in a gesture that nearly broke Mike’s heart in its simplicity and innocence.
“That it’s Carrie’s lucky day. And before you start agreeing, let her tell you why it isn’t.” Her eyes widened and she sat back in the chair. Mike felt like he’d slapped a puppy, given her reaction, but he wasn’t in the mood for any chipper stuff right now. This was serious business for once, and needed to be attended to in a serious way. Then why did he feel so bad? Merry Christmas to all, for sure.
Lori looked at the outside of the trailer. This had been home for over a year. Had it always looked this awful? Somehow she didn’t remember it being that banged up or dingy. Maybe just being away from it for a couple of days gave her a new perspective. If so, it wasn’t a particularly attractive one.
The concrete block steps up to the door looked less sturdy than usual. How had she gotten up and down those things the last few weeks? God only knew. Thank heavens she’d had His help and protection. Who knows what would have happened if the robbers, or whoever, had broken in while she and Tyler were there.
“Was the door locked when you got here?” Lori asked. Carrie put her hand on the smooth metal.
She shrugged. “I’m not sure. It took me a while fiddling with the key to get the door to open. But you said it stuck, so I couldn’t tell whether I was locking and then unlocking it, or what.”
“I always had trouble with that myself. Gary said it didn’t matter because we didn’t have anything worth stealing. I was more concerned about Tyler getting out at night and going for some big adventure.” She shivered at the thought.
Mike was there beside her, a large, steadying arm around her. It felt so good. “You sure you’re up to this? Let me at least take the baby.” He shifted Mikayla and the infant seat from Lori’s hand without disturbing the blanket or the sleeping baby under it. In his hands it looked like such a tiny parcel.
Lori didn’t complain. The baby and the seat were heavy, and she knew Mike would be careful with her precious cargo. Already she trusted him, probably more than she should. Still, there were so many things that told her that he had a good heart. “I have to be. Nobody else could tell you if there’s something missing.” She pushed off his concern and went into the mobile home. At least the lamp in the living room wasn’t broken, and the bulb still worked when she turned the switch.
After standing in the dim light taking everything in, Lori almost wished she hadn’t turned on the lamp. Anybody seeing the living room or the
kitchen would think she was a terrible housekeeper.
Nothing was in its place. Couch cushions sagged onto the floor. What few magazines had been on the rickety coffee table were torn and scattered. The stacked plastic crates in the corner that held her books and Tyler’s toys were in a jumbled heap.
“The kitchen isn’t as bad as it could be.” Carrie sounded hopeful. It was good of her to try and cheer her up. Lori tried to manage a weak smile. She could feel her lip trembling. Wonderful. Now was not the time to cry. If she’d kept it together during the rest of this crazy, awful day surely she could do it now.
“Let’s go see.” Her voice sounded firmer than she expected. Thanks, Lord, for small favors. In the end, weren’t they the kind that mattered most? Those little gifts and blessings that kept you going from moment to moment? And there had been so many of those today and yesterday. Maybe this would be another one somehow.
Hey, God could do anything. Surely the same Being who gave away His only son could be trusted to smooth out her pitiful little problems. Lori took a deep breath and went into the kitchen.
Carrie was right. It could have been worse. None of the dishes were broken, and the few staples on hand had been searched, but not doused with paint or syrup or anything awful. Of course there was precious little to douse in the first place, and the dishes were that hard stuff that was supposed to resist elephants sitting on it. With a five-year-old helping with dishes, that was the only kind that lasted anyway.
“There’s nothing missing that I can see in either room.” The secondhand TV, a thirteen-inch that just barely pulled in cartoons for Tyler on good days, looked untouched. The boom-box-style radio that she carted from room to room to play his few tapes and listen to the two radio stations she could pull in was still on the kitchen countertop. The tape compartment gaped open, but she might have left it that way herself in the haste to lie down when she went into labor.
Yesterday? Surely that was a lifetime ago. Lori wondered at the changes in thirty-six hours. “Let’s look in the bedrooms. Maybe I can do that sitting down.”
