“That’s pretty much what I do. I go to Molly’s house for a big party on Christmas Eve,” Betty said.
“I have to work that night. No parties for me.” His tone was serious and made her laugh. “What do you do on Christmas Day? You don’t spend the day alone, do you?” He seemed concerned about that and, for a moment, she thought he would ask her to come with him to the Pipers’ house.
“Actually, this year I have something very special planned for Christmas Day. My son, Brian, is coming. He’s going to stay with me a few days, which is a real treat. It’s been almost a year since I’ve seen him, and that was a very short visit.”
“Where does he live?” Nathan asked with interest.
“In Chicago. He’s an attorney. I really wished he had settled closer but that’s where he went to school and one of his professors recommended him to a big firm. He seems happy there. That’s the most important thing.”
“Very true,” Nathan agreed. “Sounds like he’s in his early twenties?”
“Twenty-six. It’s hard for me to believe he’s a grown man, even though he’s just gotten engaged. I haven’t met his fiancée yet, but her family lives around here so they’ve both come back for Christmas and he’s going to introduce us.”
Nathan’s blue eyes grew wide. “That’s exciting. Congratulations!”
“Thanks, I guess. I’m excited to meet her and to see him, of course. I’m a little nervous, too,” she admitted.
“That’s only natural. You’ve been living apart from him since he went to college? Even if you call and e-mail a lot, it’s not quite the same. Sounds as if he has his own life now.”
“Yes, that’s part of it. But we didn’t have an ideal relationship after my divorce,” she confided. Betty paused, wondering if she should disclose these private matters to him. Was it asking too much of him to hear her out? Would her story burden—or worse—bore him?
But Nathan seemed interested and concerned. He leaned forward and gave her his full attention. “Was Brian angry about the divorce?” he asked.
Betty nodded. “He was just eleven or so. On the brink of his teenage years. A bad time for the family to split up . . . but is there ever a good time?” She shook her head. “Ted and I tried to make it easier for him. I think Brian always knew we both loved him very much. At first, he lived with me and stayed at his father’s house on weekends. But eventually, he asked if he could live there. His father had remarried and had a new baby. Brian’s stepmother, Linda, was always home, a full-time wife and Super-Mom.” Betty rolled her eyes. “Which I definitely was not. I was running a business, trying to support him and save for his college.”
“Understandably,” Nathan said. “We all have to make choices. I’m sure you were just trying to do your best—what you thought was best for him.”
“Yes, I was.” She sighed, surprised that she was relating this story and so easily. She didn’t talk about this side of her relationship with her son much, and few people, even close friends, knew her true feelings or regrets. But somehow it was easy to tell Nathan. She met his gaze—not judging, simply listening and understanding. She felt she could trust him and more than that, she wanted to tell him. She wanted him to know this private part of her, the one she kept hidden from the rest of the world.
“It was hard to know the right thing to do. I’ve always second-guessed myself,” she admitted. “I agreed to let him live there. But it hurt. It hurt a lot. I got to see him weeknights and every other weekend. I still wonder if I did the right thing—or whether Brian was just testing me, to see how much I cared. I sometimes think I should have refused to let him go. It was almost like admitting I wasn’t a very good mother,” she said finally.
Nathan gazed at her with a gentle smile. “You put your son’s happiness above your own. You believed that choice would make him happy and be best for him. I’d say that obviously makes you a good mother.”
Betty tried to smile a little, too. “I’ve tried to think of it that way. I’m just never sure if I’m rationalizing and fooling myself. But it’s true. It hurt me to let him go like that. I missed him like crazy. I always wanted him back home with me. We’ve never really talked about it, though I was thinking that we should when he comes this time.”
“And anticipating that confrontation has got you worried?”
Betty nodded. “I’d say so. Then I get mad at myself, because I really just want to enjoy seeing him. I mean, it’s Christmas.”
“I understand. But isn’t it ironic how the holidays bring up all this stuff we’ve buried? Like a big wave, dragging up a load of seaweed and tossing it out on the beach. Christmas is a good time to sort this stuff out. Christmas is a time for looking back with love and forgiveness in our hearts, and looking forward with hope,” he told her. “Your son is a grown man now. He understands things differently. If he’s anything like his mother, I think you can have a good talk with him and feel even closer afterward. It will take some effort, but it will be worth it, Betty.”
She nodded, feeling too emotional to speak. “Thanks for listening. And thanks for the wise advice,” she said finally. “I like what you just said about Christmas. Is that a quote from a book or something?”
“From an article. . . . One that isn’t entirely written yet. But my deadline’s getting closer and so is Christmas,” he confessed with a laugh. “So it’s got to get done pretty soon.”
Betty knew she should have guessed. “It sounds good. I can’t wait to read it.”
“Maybe I’ll give you a preview. You can give me a critique.”
Betty was honored that he thought so well of her opinion. “I’d be happy to read it, though I doubt I’ll find any shortcomings,” she said. “I thoroughly enjoyed the articles you showed me the other night at your house.”
She suddenly recalled the essay she had found about losing a child. She wanted to ask him about his past, too. Especially about that piece, which seemed to be drawn from personal experience. Now she wondered if that’s what it was really about. She had glanced at it so quickly. Maybe she’d been mistaken. Maybe she had just assumed he always wrote autobiographical pieces, but perhaps he had just taken someone else’s story and used that point of view to make it more powerful?
She couldn’t know for sure without asking, and it didn’t seem like the right time.
After the dinner was cleared, Nathan paid the check and they headed outside again. They lingered in front of the restaurant, talking about what to do next with all the toys. They decided it was most efficient to bring all the gifts to the church. The sexton, Carl Tulley, had cleaned out a closet for them just the day before, so the bounty could be stored there and wrapped before the party on Sunday. Their schedules were different, though. Betty knew she wouldn’t see Nathan when she stopped at the church in the morning.
“Reverend Ben and Carl Tulley will help you,” Nathan told her. “I’ll call the Reverend tonight and give him a heads-up.”
Nathan walked her to her car. She felt as if their talk over dinner had drawn them closer, but she also felt self-conscious around him, too. She had revealed a lot about herself tonight. She usually wasn’t like that. Not this early in any relationship. But something about Nathan made it easy to confide these things. He was an exceptionally good listener.
“Thanks again for dinner. And for listening to me about my son.”
“No need to thank me.” It was so dark, she could barely see the expression on his face. But his eyes were bright and gently shining down at her. He rested his hands on her shoulders in a reassuring touch. “Don’t worry. I think it’s going to be fine.”
Then he hugged her good-bye again, holding her just a little closer and tighter, she thought. And maybe a few moments longer than the last time? He pressed his cheek—and maybe even his lips in a soft kiss—against her hair. Or was she just imagining that? Betty wasn’t sure once he finally let go.
All the way home, she wondered about it.
LUCY WASN’T SURE HOW SHE HAD MANAGED TO
WORK AT THE DINER ALL weekend and again on Monday until after the lunch rush, then drive up to Southport for her shift at the hospital. But somehow, to help Zoey, she did. In her own thoughts, though, she sometimes heard an echo of Charlie’s questions: Why are you so interested in this kid, Lucy? Why do you feel you need to go out of your way so much to help a total stranger?
Lucy wasn’t sure entirely. At first, it had seemed the right thing to do and she’d been touched by the child’s plight. Once she had gotten to know her, she could see that the girl had so much good in her, so much potential. And it would all go to waste if someone didn’t step in and help her. And of course, she cared about Zoey now. Her feelings were involved, which somehow made the matter more complicated and simpler at the same time.
During her break on Monday night she mulled over this question. It wasn’t really late, and it seemed a good time to check in with Rita Schuman, even though Lucy had to call the social worker at home. Lucy had promised to tell Rita how Zoey was doing at her new job.
“I’m just calling to let you know how Zoey is doing with the waitressing,” Lucy said when Rita picked up. “She started on Saturday, so today was her third full day working.”
“And how’s it going? Does she like it?” Rita asked.
“She didn’t seem to at first. She got a very surly customer right at the start, and I thought she was going to walk out,” Lucy confessed. “But we got over that hump and it’s been pretty smooth sailing since. I don’t think she’s crazy about the profession, but she does like the tips. And she hasn’t complained at all.”
“That’s good, very good.” Rita sounded pleased and a bit surprised, too. “Waitressing is hard work. But without a high school diploma, her job choices are very limited.”
“I’ve talked to her about that,” Lucy replied. “In fact, we talked a little about Zoey going back to school and trying that special program you mentioned. She didn’t say she would do it. Far from it, actually. But she agreed to let me ask you about it and get the information for her.”
“I’d be happy to drop that off and answer any questions,” Rita said. “I think that’s real progress, Lucy. She’s been very turned off to any effort in that direction. She seems to be doing very well with you, and in a short time, too.”
“Thanks,” Lucy said. “I’ve really enjoyed having her stay with us. How is the placement search going?” Lucy tried to keep her tone light, but she heard a note of anxiety seep through. She really wanted Zoey to stay through Christmas. It wasn’t even two weeks away.
“I’m still looking, though I haven’t found anything yet,” Rita reported.
“How quickly would Zoey need to leave if you did find a home for her?”
“Fairly quickly.”
The answer made Lucy’s heart sink. “I was wondering if you could just stop looking for a while,” she said honestly. “I mean, just until after Christmas. It would be nice if Zoey could spend the holiday with us.”
“I’m sure that would be a good experience for her, though there are always pluses and minuses. It might be easier for everyone if I found a permanent placement tomorrow. The longer Zoey stays with you, the harder it will be for her to go,” the social worker said. “But I’m sure you’ve considered that.”
“Yes . . . I have,” Lucy replied quietly. She did think of that question from time to time, but the answer always came back the same: Do your best right now and deal with the future when you get there.
“As for her staying on through Christmas, I can’t make any promises. I have to keep looking for a placement.” Rita paused. “Unless you and your husband apply as foster parents. Is that what you’re thinking about?”
“No . . . we’re not thinking about that.” The answer was painful for Lucy. “Temporary guardianship is all we can do.”
“That’s fine. I was just wondering,” Rita replied.
Lucy noticed that her break was almost over, and she quickly wrapped up the call. She was left with an odd feeling after the phone conversation, her mind circling the question about taking Zoey in permanently. No, they were not thinking of doing that, was an accurate answer. But still, not entirely true.
Sometimes she did fantasize about keeping Zoey with them and how that would be. But that was just daydreaming. She knew Charlie would never agree, so she didn’t even bother bringing it up. And that was nothing she needed to confide to the social worker, who probably had already guessed the situation.
LUCY WAS BACK TO HER DAY SCHEDULE ON TUESDAY. SHE CAME HOME around five and started dinner. It was one of the few nights this week they were all eating together, and she needed everyone to stick around for a few minutes afterward, and she didn’t want any arguments about homework or important TV shows.
When the time came however, of course there were a few.
“Is this going to take very long? I have a lot of homework.” C.J. stood in the kitchen doorway, ready to bolt.
“Not long at all. Just take your seat again, please. The sooner we get started, the sooner we’ll be done,” Lucy told her oldest son.
They had just finished dinner. Charlie and Jamie were still at the table, and Zoey was helping her clear the dishes.
“Reverend Ben dropped off the pages for the Advent candle-lighting ceremony today,” Lucy explained. “I know we have nearly a week to prepare, but we do need to practice our parts. And honestly, I don’t know when we’ll all be together like this again before Sunday. So here’s the reading.” She took the pages down from the kitchen bulletin board, where she had pinned them up for safekeeping.
“Reverend Ben said that we each need to take a part. He marked them with numbers, but we’d better put our names down next to the lines, then read it out loud and see how it sounds.”
“I’ll get a pen,” Jamie said helpfully. He jumped up and checked the kitchen drawer where Lucy stashed pens, pencils, and other odds and ends.
“Guess I’ll head upstairs,” Zoey said.
“You need to stay,” Lucy told her. “Aren’t you going to read with us on Sunday?”
Zoey looked surprised. “Do I have to? I mean, I’ve never even been to your church. I thought this was just for . . . for you guys.”
Before Lucy could answer, Charlie jumped in. “Of course you don’t. This is for the family. And there’s only four parts, so there’s no lines for you,” he pointed out quickly. He glanced at Lucy with a challenging look.
“Um, right. No problem,” Zoey said, standing up again. “I didn’t want to do it anyway. I hate getting up in front of people.”
Lucy heard the tight, trembling tone in her voice, and she was so angry at Charlie she could hardly speak. She reached out again and gently touched Zoey’s arm. “No, you stay. Just sit right here. We’ll figure this out,” she insisted.
She looked straight at Charlie. How could he have embarrassed Zoey like that and hurt her feelings? Didn’t he have any heart at all? Didn’t he have any common sense? The girl needed to feel included now, not rejected by them. Lucy hung on to her temper, knowing that if she blew up at her husband now, in front of Zoey, it would embarrass her even more.
C.J. let out a long, frustrated breath and squirmed in his chair. “She can have my lines. I don’t care. I’ll just hang out and light the matches or something.”
Lucy glanced at him. He barely spoke to Zoey, but she figured that was mostly due to adolescent self-consciousness, not because he didn’t like her. This offer was a small but meaningful gesture for him, she thought.
C.J. looked at Zoey. “We can split it up. I don’t like to read in front of a whole bunch of people either. I know it’s church and all, but . . . I think it’s sort of dumb.”
Lucy’s eyes widened but she didn’t scold him. He had reached out to Zoey and touched some common ground. Now Zoey could see that everyone felt a little anxious being in the spotlight; it wasn’t just her. Maybe that would put her a bit more at ease.
Jamie had returned to the table with a pencil and now took the sheets from Lucy�
��s hand and looked them over. “There are plenty of lines for five people,” he said a few moments later. “Let’s just split it up this way.” He started writing on the pages before anyone could object. “D for Dad, M for Mom, J for me, C for C.J., and Z for Zoey. . . .” He quickly marked the pages then counted. “It’s pretty even, I think. Though, I ended up with an extra line.”
“You deserve it for that brainstorm, honey.” Lucy took the sheets and checked his solution. “Perfect,” she announced. “We each have our lines, and the three kids will each light a candle. Is that okay with you, Charlie?”
He sat at the head of the table, his arms crossed over his chest. “Seems you have it all worked out. What does it matter what I say?”
Lucy ignored him and rushed ahead. “Okay, let’s pass the pages around and take turns reading our parts out loud. Just one time.”
Charlie went first. He read his lines, then Lucy read, followed by the boys. Zoey was last. Lucy could see that she was nervous when C.J. handed her the pages, even though it was only the family listening to her.
She read her verse in a shaky, hesitant voice, speaking too quickly and much too softly. When she hit a word that was difficult to pronounce, she stammered and got annoyed at herself.
She tossed the paper down. “I can’t do this. . . . It’s okay. You don’t need me there.”
“Yes, we do need you. We want you to do it with us,” Lucy insisted. She checked the word that Zoey stumbled on. “That word is a weird one, ‘un-beknownst. ’ It’s old-fashioned. You don’t pronounce the k,” she added quietly.
Zoey nodded and reread the last part of her verse—a tiny bit smoother on the second try.
“Much better,” Lucy said.
“Don’t worry, we have time to practice,” Jamie told her. “I have some weird words in my part, too.”
“Are we done now?” C.J. asked. “I have to study.”
Lucy nodded. “Yes, we’re all finished. You go on up.”
“I’m finished, too,” Charlie said in an angry tone. He got up and stalked toward the family room. Lucy had a feeling she hadn’t heard the end of this argument.
On Christmas Eve Page 18
