Comfort and Joy

by Judith Arnold

  Evidently, Eileen Becker’s ex-husband had always been in charge of hanging the wreath. But since Robin wasn’t supposed to know about Ms. Becker’s divorce, she couldn’t offer her condolences. “Do you need any help?” she said instead.

  “No.” Ms. Becker forced a smile. “I’ve got to learn how to do these things for myself.” She tapped the nail into her door, banged a couple of times on it, and then turned back to Robin. “Are you here to see me?”

  “Actually, I’m—uh—I’m here to see Jesse Lawson.”

  Digesting this bit of news, Ms. Becker eyed her neighbor’s front door curiously. “Legal business? I swear, he does more work at home than at his office.”

  “It’s personal,” Robin admitted, adding, “We’re friends.”

  “You are?” Ms. Becker grinned broadly. “I didn’t know that! I wonder why he didn’t say anything that night he dropped by the school.”

  Because we weren’t friends then, Robin answered silently.

  “He’s such a sweetheart,” Ms. Becker said. “I have never in my life known anybody so generous. The fact is, if I started to have trouble with this wreath, I would have asked him to help me. He’s always lending everybody around here a hand. Anything that needs doing, he always volunteers.”

  Robin wasn’t sure whether or not she was surprised. Jesse was helpful; his willingness to watch Philip yesterday while she shopped was probably something he would have done for anyone. On the other hand, he did have a streak of stubbornness, and an equally wide streak of cynicism. Not the sort of character traits Robin associated with sweethearts.

  She wondered whether Ms. Becker expected her to share her opinion of Jesse. But, without waiting for Robin to speak, the teacher once again busied herself with her hammer, pounding the nail into the door and then hanging the wreath on it. “There,” she announced, taking a step back and beaming at her achievement. “Looks good, doesn’t it?”

  “It looks wonderful,” Robin assured her.

  Ms. Becker opened her door. “Say hi to Philip for me,” she said before vanishing into her house.

  Well, that hadn’t gone badly. Friendly, impersonal, and Ms. Becker hadn’t made any remarks about how weird Philip was. Robin smiled as she climbed the steps to Jesse’s front door and rang the bell.

  When he answered, he already had on his jacket. “Good morning,” he greeted her. Then his gaze circled the porch and the sidewalk beyond. “Where’s Philip?”

  “Hiding in the car,” Robin reported. “Eileen Becker was out here when we drove up, and he didn’t want to talk to her.”

  “Ah.” Jesse glanced at the now empty porch adjacent to his own and then at the station wagon parked beside his tiny red rental car in the lot. Finally his eyes returned to Robin. He ran his index finger down her cheek to the underside of her chin, then tilted her face up and bent to kiss her.

  His lips felt delicious on hers, so warm and tender and inviting that she had to muster all her willpower not to give herself over to his kiss as she had a few nights ago. She allowed her mouth to revel in the feel of his for only a moment, then pulled away.

  “Okay,” Jesse whispered, clearly needing no explanation why this kiss had to end before it had even gotten started. “Let’s go.”

  Maybe he needed no explanation, Robin thought as they walked together along the walk to the stairs. But she would have liked one. She wanted to know what was going on between them, what he thought of her, what he expected of her. She wanted to know whether Jesse considered them more than friends—and, if so, exactly how much more. She wanted to know why he was so interested in joining her and Philip when they went to pick out their tree.

  Those questions would have to wait. She and Jesse arrived at the station wagon, and Philip straightened up from his crouch. “Hey, Jesse, we’re getting our tree!” he hooted as soon as Jesse opened the door.

  “That’s right.”

  “Did you get your tree yet?” Philip asked Jesse as Robin started the engine.

  “I’m not going to have one,” he replied.

  Robin braced herself, wondering about how Jesse would react to the Philip’s questions. She knew there would be questions. She’d been way too nosy and insensitive asking Jesse about his negative views of Christmas, and Philip was a lot nosier and more insensitive than she was.

  He didn’t disappoint her. “How come you aren’t going to have a tree?” he asked.

  Robin shot Jesse a quick glance, but he ignored her, twisting to look at Philip. “Not everybody gets trees, Phil,” he said.

  “Why not?”

  “Some people celebrate Christmas, and some people don’t.”

  “Yeah, I know, like kids who are Jewish and Muslim and stuff,” Philip said. “But you celebrate Christmas, don’t you? Santa gave you a candy cane yesterday. If you don’t celebrate Christmas, why did you take his candy cane?”

  Jesse eyed Robin. “I bet you didn’t realize taking that candy cane made you a marked man,” she murmured.

  He laughed. “Maybe I just happen to have a sweet tooth.” He twisted to view Philip, seated behind him. “It takes all kinds,” he told the boy. “Some people believe that having a Christmas tree is great, and some people don’t.”

  “How come you don’t?” Philip persisted.

  “I think...” Jesse paused, apparently shaping his words with care. “I think that the people who really want trees ought to have them. And that’s why you’re going to have one.”

  “Don’t you like Christmas trees?”

  “I’m going to like yours,” Jesse promised. “I bet your tree is going to be the best one in the whole world.”

  That seemed to satisfy Philip, who smiled and settled in his seat. Robin cast Jesse another glance, this one filled with awe. She was impressed that he’d managed to parry all of Philip’s questions without lying, and without spouting any anti-Christmas sentiments. Yet Jesse didn’t appear smug about how well he’d fielded Philip’s questions. Nor did he seem uncomfortable. His smile reflected his pleasure at the bright sunshine, the crisp blue winter sky, and—she hoped—the company he was in. Nothing more.

  She drove to the same tree vendor she patronized every year. Buying a tree at the farm stand on the Post Road was a tradition, and the trees there were usually fresh, healthy and reasonably priced. Philip was the first out of the car. By the time Robin and Jesse climbed out, the boy had vanished between the tagged rows of cut pine trees. “Have you ever done this before?” Robin asked Jesse, her eyes sparkling with a mixture of humor and concern.

  “Not in ages,” he conceded. “When I was very young, we lived in Northern California, in the foothills of the Sierras, and we used to cut our own trees. But once we moved to Los Angeles, an evergreen would have been as out of place as a blizzard. Everyone had artificial trees down there. My parents had a silver one.”

  Robin wrinkled her nose. Fake silver Christmas trees would probably sour the whole holiday for her, too.

  Philip ran to them, breathless. “Come on, Mom! I found the perfect one!” He grabbed Robin’s hand and dragged her between two rows of cut trees to the biggest, fullest tree on the lot. Robin didn’t even bother to check the price. “It’s too tall,” she said. “We’d have to saw it in half to fit it into the living room.”

  “We could cut a hole in the ceiling,” Philip suggested.

  “No, we couldn’t.” She guided her son back to a stand of smaller trees. “Pick one out from here,” she advised him. “These aren’t too tall.”

  “They’re puny,” Philip complained, even though they weren’t.

  “We go through this every year,” Robin muttered to Jesse. “He always swears that the one we picked is puny until we get it home and untie it.”

  Jesse came to the rescue. “Check this one out, Phil,” he suggested. “It’s nice and full all around.”

  “It’s puny,” Philip sulked, although he held Jesse in enough esteem to give the tree a reluctant inspection.

  Robin lifted the tag. Sixty d
ollars. “We’ll take it,” she told the man running the tree stand.

  Once the limbs were tied, Jesse insisted on helping the man carry it to the car. “Don’t!” Robin tried to stop him. “Your wrist—”

  Fending off her concern with a grin and a wave, he hoisted up the trunk with his right hand, using his injured left one to balance it. His wrist was still taped, and the bruise on his cheek was still visible. Yet he carried the heavier end of the tree and assisted the man in sliding it into the back of the station wagon.

  He was just as insisted on carrying the tree into the house once they’d driven home with it. Robin had already spread a waterproof cloth on the floor in the corner of the living room to protect the carpet, and she had hauled the tree-stand out of one of the Christmas boxes in the den. Philip eagerly played the boss-man as the two adults set up the tree, commanding Robin to tilt the trunk slightly forward, slightly to the left, slightly back again, while Jesse tightened the screws around the base. Once they were all in agreement that the tree was perfectly vertical, they untied the limbs.

  “Wow!” Philip whooped, darting to the den. “Let’s get the decorations.”

  “Not now, Phil.” Robin extended her arm and snagged him before he could get across the living room. “We’ve got to let the branches settle for a day before we start hanging things on them.” In truth, her main worry was not the branches but Jesse. After yesterday’s trip to the mall and this morning’s purchase of the tree, he might be dangerously close to overdosing on the holiday.

  To her astonishment, he pulled off his jacket, tossed it onto a chair and gave the tree a thorough inspection. “I think you could decorate it now,” he remarked. “The branches can settle with the decorations on them.”

  Robin eyed him speculatively. If he didn’t intend to help hang the decorations, then why had he removed his jacket? And why was he trailing Philip into the den to fetch the boxes? I’m going to like yours, he had said when Philip had grilled him about why he wasn’t going to have his own tree. I bet it’s going to be the best tree in the whole world. Perhaps, she thought as she hung the strewn jackets in the coat closet, decorating a tree didn’t necessarily offend an atheist’s sensibilities, as long as it was someone else’s tree.

  Jesse emerged from the den with a carton cradled in his arms and Philip at his heels, as energetic as a puppy. Jesse set the carton down near the tree with a thud and straightened up. “You sure have enough stuff in those boxes,” he muttered, his dark eyes twinkling with amusement. “You could open your own store.”

  “I’ve already got a store,” she reminded him, crossing to the box and pulling back the flaps. “There’s only one more box with tree ornaments, besides this one. The other boxes are filled with things for the rest of the house. We won’t be unpacking those today.”

  Philip knelt by the box and began lifting items from it. “Remember this little rocking horse, Mom?” he shouted, displaying the wooden ornament for her. “Remember this felt Santa?”

  Ignoring him, Robin studied Jesse. She gazed into his eyes; their powerful radiance offered her no hint of his thoughts. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” she reminded him.

  “I know that,” he said. Then he gave her a reassuring grin, squatted down next to Philip, and helped him to unload the decorations.

  It took the three of them nearly two hours to adorn the tree. There were strings of lights, garlands of tinsel, mirror-shiny balls, and all the individual ornaments, each with a story attached to it. Philip took it upon himself to fill Jesse in on their significance. “This star, it came from Woodleigh’s,” he announced. “Mom’s boss gave it to her. This little stocking, my Grandma Greer sewed it. The snowman came from the Calloways. Jeff Calloway’s my very best friend, Jesse. See this little teddy bear? I got this when I was a baby. I don’t remember it, I was too young, but Mommy does.” He turned to his mother for the story behind the teddy bear.

  She smiled apologetically at Jesse. “One of Ray’s colleagues at Yale gave it to Phil,” she told him. “I’m sure this can’t be as interesting to you as it is to Phil.”

  Jesse laughed. “I’m hanging on his every word. How about this bell, Phil?” he asked, dangling another ornament in front of Philip’s eyes.

  “That’s the ‘Jingle Bell,’“ Philip informed him. “Shake it, Jesse—it really rings. Mom found it in the street, a few days after Christmas one year, and she polished it and tied the ribbon through it so we could hang it from the tree. It fell off Santa’s sleigh, right?”

  “That was my guess.” Robin offered Jesse another sheepish smile. She refused to feel guilty about using a conveniently placed prop to prove to her son that Santa existed.

  If Jesse disapproved of her feeding Philip lies about St. Nick, he didn’t show it. He shook the bell, producing a gentle tinkling sound, and smiled back at Robin.

  By one thirty, the tree was hung with every item from the cartons. Philip and Jesse stood back to assess the result of their labor while Robin plugged in the lights. This year’s tree looked essentially the same as last year’s, but the moment the chains of bulbs lit up, Robin viewed the tree as something unique, a symbol of both continuity and newness. Every year it was like this: the lighting of the tree instilled a feeling of rebirth deep within her, a blossoming in her soul, softly glowing and magical. If only Jesse could feel it, too, if only he could allow himself to know the wonder of it...

  “I’m starving,” Philip declared, shattering her brief reverie. “Can we have lunch, Mom?”

  “Lunch. Of course.” Forcing herself back to reality, she marched into the kitchen, followed by Philip and Jesse, who thoughtfully deposited the empty cartons in the den on his way.

  “Peanut butter,” Philip requested, flopping onto a chair. “Cut the sandwich in triangles, okay?”

  “How about a ‘please’?” Robin reminded him as she pulled a jar of peanut butter and a loaf of bread from the refrigerator.

  “Please,” Philip said obediently.

  Smearing the peanut butter onto the bread, Robin glanced at Jesse. “Would you like lunch, too?”

  “I’d like dinner,” he answered, leaning against the counter next to where she was working. “Just you and me. Tonight.”

  Jesse’s decision to ask Robin for another date in front of Philip struck her as indiscreet, but it was too late for her to silence him. The boy at the table immediately piped up. “Yeah, Jesse—you owe her one, after standing her up Friday night. She was real sore about that.”

  “Philip!” Robin’s cheeks burned with embarrassment.

  Jesse indulged in a low, warm laugh. “She couldn’t have been as sore as I was,” he said before turning to Robin. “How about it, Robin? Dinner tonight?”

  Robin set down the knife and faced him. “You obviously don’t know the first thing about babysitters,” she scolded, her pleasure at his invitation tempering her discomfort about having this conversation in front of Philip. “They have to be booked days in advance. Weeks, sometimes. I’ll never be able to find anybody on such short notice.”

  “It can’t hurt to try,” Jesse noted, lifting the receiver from the wall phone and handing it to her, then delivering Philip his sandwich.

  “Go ahead, Mom,” Philip urged her. “Try Mrs. O’Leary.”

  Two against one, her son’s voice echoed inside her. You lose. Grinning at the ease with which Philip and Jesse teamed up against her, she pushed the speed-dial for Kate O’Leary’s number. “Well, Jesse,” she said a few minutes later, after bidding Kate goodbye, “if you don’t already believe in miracles, you’d better start.”

  “Mrs. O’Leary’s available?” he asked.

  “Not exactly. She was planning to have a friend over for an evening of canasta and gossip, as she put it. But when I told her she could bring her friend along, she said she’d come. That means you’ve got to be twice as well-behaved tonight, Phil,” she concluded, shooting her son a warning look.

  “Canasta,” he groaned, curling his li
p. “Mrs. O’Leary once tried to teach me that game. It’s really boring.”

  “She’ll be playing canasta in the kitchen with Mrs. Lindblad,” Robin explained. “And you’ll be watching television in the den. Until eight thirty, and then straight to bed. Do we understand each other?”

  “Yeah,” Philip said before slugging down a drink of milk. “I’m not allowed to call that stupid game boring in front of Mrs. O’Leary.”

  “You got it.” She pivoted to Jesse. “Satisfied?”

  “I will be, tonight,” he said. “Is seven o’clock all right?”

  Robin nodded. “Do you want me to drive?”

  Jesse shook his head. His eyes glittered mysteriously as they met hers. In what way would he be satisfied tonight? she wondered. Had he found the activities of the past two days unsatisfying? Would a dinner date be enough to satisfy him?

  Much as it troubled her to admit it, she hoped that dinner wouldn’t be enough. She wanted more than a meal from Jesse. And the way he was looking at her, the way his eyes seemed to overpower her and his mouth curved into that dazzling smile of his, conveyed that he wanted more from her, too.

  ***

  THIS TIME, he came. Promptly at seven o’clock, he arrived at her front door, dressed in a sweater, wool slacks, a tweed blazer and cashmere scarf. He was treated to the vision Robin had planned for him on Friday night: the gray dress—which, she decided after lengthy deliberation, didn’t make her appear too pale or flat-chested—the carefully made-up eyes, the curled ends of her glistening blond hair. His reaction convinced Robin that her efforts had been worth it. “You look fantastic,” he said as he entered the house.

  Philip had already eaten dinner, and he and Kate were negotiating over dessert while Mrs. Lindblad stood by, peeking around the bend in the hallway to spy on Jesse and Robin. Feeling the need to settle the dispute between Kate and Philip before she left, Robin detoured to the kitchen and pronounced judgment: “One slice of apple pie, Phil, and you’ve got to eat it in the kitchen. It’s too messy for the den. Be good, and don’t forget to brush your teeth before bed.”