Upstaged

by Aaron Paul Lazar

  Reverend Hardina lit a short candle from the tall, white Christmas candle on the altar, and in turn lit the candles of the parishioners at his left and right. Each person lit the candle of the person standing next to him. The room lights were turned off, and the circle of light began to stretch around in two, flickering semicircles. Finally, the circle was complete. Lillian played the first note of “Silent Night” to get us started, and then rose to join the circle as we sang a cappella. Siegfried lit her candle and we both made room for her in the circle.

  The strains of the beautiful hymn undulated through the church, rising to its old tin ceiling. Our voices combined in harmony. Siegfried sang in German, in his strong and agreeable tenor voice. We exchanged smiles. My mind flew back in time, remembering Christmas when Siegfried, Elsbeth and I had been children in this very same church, standing in this very same circle, and singing this very same hymn.

  I was moved simultaneously through mountains of joy and valleys of sorrow, cherishing those I loved, and at the same time, dreadfully missing those who were gone.

  I thought of my dear Elsbeth, so fiery and brooding, and pictured her floating above us, content that I found someone to love in her absence. I envisioned my mother, Gloria LeGarde, the apple-pie-baking, PTA-attending lady who was taken from us ten years earlier. I imagined her standing beside me, singing in her sweet soprano voice, and remembered the peppermint Lifesavers that she doled out to me in this very church when I was Johnny’s age.

  Colorful visions of my grandparents rushed before me. I recalled Christmases past in the snow-bound cabins in Maine. A sense of their loving presence suffused the air in the sanctuary.

  Lastly, I thought of my father, André LeGarde. My father, who displayed such fine examples of tolerance, patience, and love during his life before it ended two years ago. My father, who would rather be reading a Rex Stout novel by the fire or fishing for perch in his rowboat than attending a social event.

  I pictured our last fishing trip on the placid lake. The bass were biting when dusk settled over the water. Although I missed him daily, I took comfort in the fact that someday we would meet again.

  A deep sigh escaped me, and I stopped singing. The churning fusion of joy and melancholy rose in one emotional surge and threatened to break through. My throat tightened .

  Camille sensed my mood, shifted Celeste to one arm, and reached down to squeeze my hand when we reached the last verse. I began to sing again, guessing that Camille was thinking of Shelby and her own father as I read the sadness in her dark eyes. I squeezed back.

  We sang the last verse twice, to make the magic last. When it was finally over, the room lights were turned up low. Everyone blew out their candles and began to shake hands and embrace. Making our way slowly to the vestibule, we finally bundled up the children, buttoned our coats, and piled into the cars for the drive home.

  Chapter Eighty-Five

  I parked the minivan in front of the barn and helped unbuckle the children from their car seats. The white lights we’d strung around the spruce trees and along the porch glistened under a new coat of fresh snow. The Christmas tree in the great room sparkled through the window. Marion and Celeste had fallen asleep, in spite of Johnny’s constant chatter all the way home about Santa and baby Jesus.

  Siegfried carried Johnny, Freddie took Celeste, and I lifted Marion into my arms. We hurried through the cold night air toward the house.

  Halfway to the porch, Siegfried stopped and looked up to the sky. He pointed north, where glittering stars filled the heavens. “What is up there?”

  Johnny’s head swiveled up. “What?” His eyes scanned the horizon.

  Siegfried whispered loud enough for us to hear. “Something flew over. I think it was reindeer.”

  Johnny stared at the sky, his eyes sparkling. Clear, cold air puffed from his lips. “Santa!” he squealed. “Santa’s up der!”

  “Ja . He comes soon, Johnny. He comes soon.” Siegfried’s grin was contagious.

  “Let’s get these babies in the house,” laughed Freddie, holding Celeste closer and hurrying toward the porch, “so they can get to bed and Santa can slide down the chimney.”

  Siegfried’s golden retriever, Sheba, had been invited in for the holiday from her usual place in the carriage house. Max and Boris greeted us inside the kitchen door, barking and jumping on us. The rest of the caravan arrived in moments. Mrs. Pierce and her sister Eloise, Adam, Joe, and Maddy stamped their feet and rubbed their hands from the cold, chattering and stowing their coats in the mudroom .

  Oscar skillfully maneuvered Millie’s wheelchair through the snow and up the ramp into the kitchen. He leaned over to help her out of her coat. Snow glistened in the long white lock of hair that had fallen over his forehead. He removed her coat and gloves with care and covered her legs with a blue plaid blanket.

  “Thank you, Daddy.” Her eyes sparkled at the love of her life.

  “You’re quite welcome, Lady. It’s my pleasure, don’t-you-know?”

  Oscar wheeled the chair into the great room and the crowd migrated with him toward the fireplace. Adam got the fire going again, causing sparks to fly up the chimney. The tree stood in the corner of the room, draped with colored lights and hand-blown glass ornaments passed down from Siegfried’s family. The red glass Santas dominated. Crafted from thin, translucent glass, the rounded little men boasted frosted, sugary sparkles. At the top of the tree perched a crystal angel, whose wings flowed backward in a delicate, lacy fabric, protecting the tree below as she blessed the home. My paternal grandmother, Odette LeGarde, had given her to us.

  The aroma of cloves and cinnamon mingled with the scent of pine from the tree. Mrs. Pierce served mulled apple cider and sugar cookies, and I took my place at the piano.

  I opened the well-worn Fireside Book of Folksongs and turned to the section with the Christmas carols. We decided to sing favorites that hadn’t been squeezed into the church service that evening. We sang “Hark the Herald Angels Sing,” a shortened version of “The Twelve Days of Christmas,” “Joy to the World,” and “Angels We Have Heard on High.”

  Johnny sat beside me, his eyes alight with excitement. Freddie discreetly nursed Marion under a blanket. I closed the book and played from memory. We sang “Rudolph, The Red Nosed Reindeer” and “Santa Claus is Coming to Town.” Johnny sat up straight and sang some of the verses along with us, his head bobbing from side to side .

  When we finished, Freddie and Siegfried carried the twins upstairs. Siegfried came down shortly thereafter, after settling Marion into her crib. While we waited for Freddie to feed Celeste and put her to bed, Johnny, Siegfried, and I took turns building towers with his blocks. Within a half hour, Freddie joined us.

  She walked over and smoothed Johnny’s hair, smiling when the tower we built toppled and fell over.

  Siegfried groaned, then laughed. “Oh, well. We can build it again, Ja ?”

  “All set upstairs, honey?” I asked.

  She nodded and looked at her watch. The next feeding would be in three or four hours.

  “They’re both asleep, but it’s getting late. We’d better have you read the Christmas story now and then get a little someone to bed.” She nodded toward her son who had begun to build another tower with Siegfried.

  “Good idea.” I walked to the mantle and flipped the switch on the baby monitor.

  Johnny followed and we settled into the leather armchair by the fire. Adam placed another log on the fire. Maddy and Camille sat together on the couch next to Oscar, who perched beside Millie’s chair. Joe pulled up a couple of side chairs so that everyone would have a seat, and when Freddie and Siegfried had joined us, I began to read the traditional Christmas story.

  ‘Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house

  Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse—”

  “Do the micees get Christmas presents, Opa?” Johnny squirmed on my lap.

  “Sure they do. If they were good little mice.” I continued as
he lay back on my chest and smiled up at me.

  “The stockings were hung by the chimney with care

  In hopes that Saint Nicholas soon would be there. ”

  My grandson suddenly sat up straight on my lap and flopped onto his stomach with his head resting on the padded arm of the chair. He wiggled his legs until he became comfortable. I rubbed his back in slow circles and continued with the story.

  “When, what to my wondering eyes should appear

  But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer

  With a little old driver, so lively and quick

  I knew in a moment it must be Saint Nick.

  And more rapid than eagles his reindeer all came

  As he shouted, ‘On Dasher’ and each reindeer's name.

  And so up to the housetop the reindeer soon flew

  With the sleigh full of toys and Saint Nicholas, too.”

  Without warning, my grandson blew raspberries against the arm of the leather chair. The sound was loud and rhythmic, and remarkably like an inappropriate-to-the-moment bodily function.

  I looked down at him and burst out laughing. Everyone roared with laughter, guffawing as they wiped their eyes and held onto each other’s shoulders.

  “Den he comes down da chimbly and gives us presents, right Opa?”

  I wiped my eyes. “Right, little man, right you are. Want me to finish the story?”

  He turned around in my lap, eyeing the fireplace worriedly.

  I knew he was concerned about Santa’s descent. “Don’t worry, sport. The fireplace will be cool when Santa comes. I’ll make sure of it, okay?”

  He nodded with relief, and then leaned back against me.

  “More rapid than eagles his coursers they came

  And he whistled and shouted and called them by nam e

  ‘Now, Dasher! now, Dancer, now Prancer and Vixen’

  So up to the housetop the coursers they flew

  With the sleigh full of toys and Saint Nicholas, too.”

  Camille’s cell phone trilled from her handbag. She slid the phone from her purse with an apology, and walked toward the kitchen. “Hello?” The quizzical expression on her face froze, quickly transforming into a mask of concern.

  “Okay,” she said. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Dropping her phone into her purse, she stumbled to the kitchen table.

  I kissed Johnny goodnight, handing him into Freddie’s waiting arms. She headed up the stairs with him leaning heavily on her shoulders.

  I found Camille standing in the kitchen looking dazed.

  “Who was it?” I asked.

  “Um, it was Amelia, from Woodruff. The doctors need to see me. Right away.”

  “What for, honey? What’s going on?”

  “She wouldn’t say.”

  I looked at the kitchen clock. It was 10:40 P.M. “Get your coat. I’m driving.”

  Chapter Eighty-Six

  W ithin three minutes we were underway, headed for the village of Lakeville. We wound through dark country roads and the heater quickly warmed the car. I unzipped my parka and loosened my scarf, glancing sideways at Camille.

  She sat beside me drumming her fingers on the armrest, her face drawn and her eyes closed. After a few unsuccessful attempts, I gave up trying to talk with her and let her wrestle with her fears in silence.

  We reached the facility in fifteen minutes. I drove into the deserted parking lot and pulled up the parking brake.

  Camille sat still for a moment, unmoving. She turned toward me, her eyes rolling in panic. “What if I need to make a decision? What if she’s taken a turn for the worse and they want to shut off her—” Abruptly, she turned away.

  I squeezed her shoulder. “Sweetheart, listen. We won’t know what’s happened until we go inside. Let’s find out, okay? We’ll deal with it together, whatever it is. I’m here for you. I love you.”

  She nodded through glistening tears, took a deep breath, and opened her door. Together, we walked up the slippery brick path. Salt had been scattered during the day, but fresh snow covered the stones. They’d begun to ice over again.

  I offered my arm to Camille. She accepted, slipping her arm through mine. Our warm breath puffed in frosty feathers and evaporated, cooling and atomizing into the cold night air.

  Blue Christmas lights hung over the hedges by the entrance. Two white wreaths with red crabapples hung on the double glass doors. I opened the door for Camille, and she stared at me, fear etched on her face. After a second’s hesitation, she went inside.

  Her fingers trembled against my arm when we approached the desk. Amelia looked up and flashed a small smile of recognition, then glanced at her computer screen. She wore a fur-trimmed Santa hat and a green woolen dress with a red corsage pinned above her shoulder.

  I tried to read her expression when she tapped at the keyboard, but it was veiled.

  “The doctors are waiting for you in Shelby’s room,” she said quickly, avoiding our eyes.

  Her reaction alarmed me. Normally so garrulous and open, Amelia had barely looked at us. She was hiding something.

  Camille and I walked down the long, clean corridor. My boots squeaked on the marble floor tiles. In spite of the cool air in the hallway, beads of sweat broke out on my brow.

  Camille gripped my arm tighter. My heartbeat quickened. Our steps slowed when we reached Suite 201.

  Two doctors bent their heads together over a chart in the far corner by the window. Nurse Regina leaned over Shelby, blocking our view of her face. A second, unfamiliar nurse unplugged a monitoring machine and placed it squarely onto a rolling cart.

  On a wall shelf, lights on a white and gold ceramic Christmas tree winked off and on. One of the garlands we’d hung had come undone. It blew back and forth in the breeze from the heating vent.

  The hospital administrator stood in the corner, clipboard in hand. I looked back and confirmed the nightmarish vision.

  The hospital administrator stood in the corner, on Christmas Eve, an hour before midnight.

  My heart fell to my feet. Camille’s grip on my arm tightened. In slow motion, I watched the nurse as she unplugged more machinery. The doctors turned and looked at us, their faces unreadable. Camille started to collapse against me when Regina faced us, speaking softly and in neutral tones. It reminded me eerily of the mannerisms of a funeral director.

  “Ms. Coté. We’re so glad you’re here. ”

  Regina backed away from the bed. Camille straightened, regaining her balance. We moved closer to Shelby. The girl lay absolutely still. Her long, slim body was covered in a crisp, white sheet neatly tucked in either side of the bed. Her arms lay outside the covers, straight to her sides. Camille leaned forward and rested her hand on Shelby’s thin arm where the I.V. shunt had been removed. A tan, fabric Band-Aid covered the puncture.

  “Shelby!” Camille cried. She sobbed and fell forward.

  Shelby's dark eyelashes fluttered open.

  My jaw dropped.

  Camille sucked in a huge, gasping breath, and then cried out, “Shelby!”

  The girl looked up at her mother with confusion on her delicate face. Unable to speak, she mouthed the word Mommy and stretched out her thin arms.

  Camille fell into her arms. She embraced her child and smothered her pale cheeks in kisses, murmuring her name over and over again.

  Dizzy with joy, I collapsed onto a chair by the bed. I watched in a daze and tasted salty moisture on my lips.

  Mother and daughter remained locked in each other’s arms, and Camille’s shoulder’s shook softly.

  The doctors and nurses rolled away the equipment that had been connected to the child and backed out of the room, in deference to the long-awaited reunion.

  Tears pricked my eyes.

  Regina leaned down and whispered in my ear. “We wanted it to be a surprise, being Christmas Eve and all—”

  I nodded, unsure of the wisdom of their tactics, but happy to forgive any such transgressions in light of the miracle that played befor
e us.

  The room grew quiet and Camille’s sobbing slowed. Finally, she sat up and reached her hand in my direction.

  I walked to the bed, taking her hand .

  Shelby looked up. Her large eyes were wide and inquiring. The question I’d pondered when she’d slept for months was finally answered. Her eyes were the same shade of cinnamon brown as her mother’s.

  Shelby looked from Camille, to me, and around the room at the Christmas decorations that Camille and I had hung. Soft snowflakes began to fall outside, shimmering and sliding against the windowpane.

  Shelby’s dark curls fell forward when she tried to lift her head from the pillow. They framed her heart-shaped face, just like her mother’s.

  Camille’s voice was taut with emotion. “Oh no, darling. Don’t try to get up yet. You’ve got to get strong again before you can do that.”

  The girl relaxed back against the pillow. She looked back at me and lifted one frail hand in my direction. I enclosed it in mine.

  “This is Gus,” Camille said. “Do you remember him? He read stories to you, and told you about his grandson, Johnny.”

  Recognition glimmered in Shelby’s eyes. I reached down and gently moved a stray lock from her face, sliding it behind one delicate ear. “Hi, Shelby. It’s nice to see you awake, sweetheart.”

  A tremulous smile appeared on the girl’s lips, whose contours followed the exact shape as Camille’s. The full lower lip, the curvy bow on the top. I studied her, amazed to see my love’s face so beautifully replicated in this angelic child.

  Her eyes fluttered, drooped, and her grip on my hand slackened. She breathed softly, evenly, her chest rising and falling in perfect rhythm.

  “We’d best let her sleep now,” Regina said.

  Camille didn’t want to let go, but stayed at her daughter’s side, stroking her hand.

  I slid one arm around her waist and waited. And waited.

  Finally, when the nurse turned down the lights, she let go and buried her face in my chest, quietly weeping again .

  I walked her out to the hallway, drying her tears with my fingers. “Merry Christmas, hon.”

  She sniffled and mumbled, “Best Christmas of my life, Gus. But I can’t go home with you. I can’t leave her now. Not now.”