by Rand, Naomi;
All of them did a bang up job of feigning enthusiasm.
Sweaters.
Scarves.
More scarves, oh my.
A pair of gold stud earrings for Alma.
Then, a coffee break with homemade cake that had been drizzled with sugar frosting sweet enough to bring on a diabetic coma.
“How is it?” Alma asked. A chorus of approval answered her.
“Delicious.”
“Incredible.”
“The best!”
“No one bakes like my mom!”
Then it was back to the present presentations,
“Here’s one for Sam,” Lucy said, handing her a box.
She’d received other things. All were clearly from Alma. Perfume. Soap. An embroidered pillowcase. Sam was touched, even though Lucy had told her that whatever she got was from the gift drawer. Apparently Alma shopped and stashed these things away for just such an occasion. The idea of a mother who had a drawer like that, who was thoughtful enough to prepare in advance was, well, remarkable. Sam was sure that Alma had fed and housed every stray child her brood brought home. She clearly deserved the mug one of those two sons had given her with the inscription World’s Best Mom.
The group leaned forward expectantly.
Sam read the card aloud. “To Sam. From her Secret Santa.”
Lots of Secret Santas had come and gone, and each had a tell. In Alma’s case, a whirring of anxiety. Was it what they wanted? If not, whoever might have gotten it would certainly be ready to return it, why everyone knew that people kept the store receipts. Tom’s sheepish smile gave him away. The older boys made bad jokes. Jack’s wife giggled nervously, an Alma in the making. Mike’s wife, Phyllis, started talking about how much it had cost or where it might have been bought. “Oops,” she’d say, “Where Santa might have found it.” As for Bill and Rich’s presents, all, except the mug, wore the University of Wisconsin Badger colors.
Now, Sam used her nail to break through the tape without ripping the paper. Alma collected it in a pile. “Waste not, want not,” she’d said more than once.
“That’s just beautiful,” Alma exclaimed, admiring it before placing it aside.
It was heavier than any of the other wrapping paper. On it, bas-relief angels blew golden trumpets.
Sam dug down through the tissue, flashing on those joke presents Win had tortured her with, a big box revealing a slightly smaller one. On it went until it got down to zip, zero, done. This wasn’t a trick. It was just carefully wrapped. Inside, Sam found four tiny boxes. She removed the first. All of them craned forward, eager to see. Sam opened it to find a full mariachi band complete with bass player, horn section, and a singer crooning a festive tune underneath the twinkling lights at the Casa De Hombres.
“Oh, Lucy, it’s so cool,” Sam said, lifting it to show it off to the rest of the room. She handed it to Phyllis, who peered at the skeletons in the diorama, keeping it at arm’s length.
“My lord, what is it?” Phyllis asked.
“A Day of the Dead shadow box,” Sam said.
“A shadow box?” Phyllis passed it off to Mike.
It was the proverbial hot potato. He fingered the box cautiously, then handed it to Doris. On it went, making the rounds of the rest of the brothers, first Jack, then Rich, then Bill, and off to Tom, who handled it gingerly, then handed it to Alma.
She held it up to admire. “Why would you look at that, such detail!”
Sam opened the next. It was a boxing rink and the two opponents were locked in a clinch as a crowd of sepulchral fans cheered them on. In the far corner, the cut man was busy, his white towel sprinkled with blood.
“I don’t understand what these are supposed to be about,” Phyllis said.
“The Day of the Dead is a Mexican holiday,” Sam explained. “Like Mardi Gras except, well, it’s not just a big party, it’s the holiday where people remember their loved ones.” She paused, feeling awkward. She knew the subtext here, the missing party.
“I don’t get it,” Phyllis said. “Who would even make something this creepy?”
Sam darted a glance at Lucy. “Halloween didn’t start off as kids going around saying trick or treat,” she tried.
“I don’t know what Halloween’s got to do this.” Phyllis shivered. “I don’t get the joke, which I guess is the point. I’m just not that bright about this kind of thing. Not like Lucy here, the resident genius.”
“Now Phyllis,” Alma began.
“I bought them for Sam,” Lucy said in a completely neutral tone. “This isn’t meant to insult your intelligence, Phyllis. Everything isn’t about you.”
“Or about you either,” Phyllis retorted.
“But I really like them,” Sam said, earnestly.
The room was rife with tension. It was a shame. They’d all been so happy. Or, well, they’d seemed happy. Why wasn’t that enough? It had been enough for her.
“You don’t understand,” Sam tried. “There’s this store in Greenwich Village. We walked past and I pointed them out to Lucy.”
“Sam was the one who told me about the Day of the Dead,” Lucy told them. “And you know what, Phyllis? I think it’s a pretty good holiday to have, to take one day out of the year to talk about well, let’s say, maybe Donnie?”
“Now darling,” Tom said. “Don’t start.”
“Start what? Remembering how it used to be on Christmas? How Donnie was always the first one up? He’d beat us all downstairs. Isn’t that right? He’d make that list of whatever we thought was in the presents and keep it, then whoever guessed the closest got a special prize. Donnie made sure they were always things we wanted, like having peanut butter and jelly snuck into your lunch box when Mom went on that tuna fish salad kick, or having your homework done for you for a week. Do you remember how he did that for you with your chemistry, Mike? He got this friend of his from high school who was good at Chem to do it. No one ever knew. It was cheating, yeah, but it was only for a week. It was fun. It was always fun with him here.”
Tom shook his head.
“What, Dad? You don’t want to think about it? Is it easier for you to pretend he never existed? It’s not for me. You guys remember the first night we moved in here?” Lucy turned to her brothers, trying to get them to meet her eyes. None did. She let out a low laugh. “That’s how it is then. I see. Well I remember. It snowed and he woke us up. He made us get dressed and sneak out. We found sleds in the garage and then we went over to the hill by the High School. We were the only ones out that night, just the six of us. Everything he touched was better because of it. Tell me I’m wrong.”
Her brothers stared at the floor, at their hands, at some point far off in the distance. Tom chewed hard on his cheek. Phyllis examined her very fine manicure. Doris seemed to be praying. Only Alma turned Lucy’s way.
“Isn’t Christmas supposed to be about Jesus and how he died for our sins?” Lucy asked, her voice cracking. “Isn’t it about us remembering him? That’s what we say all the presents are for and why we spend so much money on each other, right? So we can remember his sacrifice. Well, what if Donnie was like Jesus? What if he died for our sins?”
“That’s enough, young lady,” Tom said firmly.
Lucy was shaking.
“You went to Mexico, didn’t you, Dad?” Jack interjected, loudly.
“Sure did,” Tom agreed. “Veracruz. It was pretty down there, but poor, dirt poor. These kids ran after you in the street, begging for money. It made you feel sorry for them, though how could you have helped all of them? I didn’t see the point in picking out one. That just would have made more of a problem.”
“Remember how I thought we should go there for our honeymoon?” Phyllis said.
“Then the Murrays came back and told us how sick they got,” Mike agreed. “That was the end of that idea.”
“Dad traveled everywhere,” Jack said to Sam.
“That’s the Navy for you,” Tom allowed. “Broadens the horizons.”
; Lucy was seething. They were going to go on as if she’d said nothing.
Sam couldn’t bear it. “I know it’s not any of my business—”
“It’s not your business,” Mike said firmly.
“Fuck you,” Lucy threw out.
“Lucy. We don’t use that kind of language here,” Tom said.
“Maybe we should,” she told him.
Mike cleared his throat, meaningfully. There was an awkward, lengthy silence. Doris stroked her cross. Phyllis smoothed her skirt. The boys exchanged meaningful looks.
“There’s not a day goes by I don’t think about Donnie,” Alma said quietly, into the breach. Her hands were busy, knitting an invisible shroud. “I know that we all have our own way of remembering him. I’m sure your brothers do. I know your father does. But I also know you’re right; we’re scared to talk about it. Maybe you’re also right that that’s not a good thing. We talk about the weather with each other and what movie we saw. I guess we do tiptoe around the point more than a little.”
“Now that’s just not true,” Tom said, raising his hands awkwardly, stretching them out in front of him, using them to plead his case.
“Yes it is.” Alma stood, walked to the window, and turned to look out. Sam followed her gaze and realized it was snowing, hard. “We act like it never happened. The honest truth is, I don’t know how I get through each and every day. I want to break down, but I tell myself I can’t. No one prepares you for how you feel, losing your own child. There are no rules to follow on how to act, or what to do. And there’s no end to it. No turning back or changing things round. Still, you do it in your mind, you do it awake and asleep. Sometimes I think he’s alive and think I’ve been dreaming all the rest. Then I see how wrong I am and how much I failed him.”
“Now, Alma,” Tom said soothingly. “There’s just no point in getting all worked up. It’s Christmas. We’re all here together.”
Lucy shot up. She went to her mother and put her arm around her. Alma turned toward her and sank a little into her daughter. Then she looked back at the room, at her family. Her eyes were damp. “We’re not all here together. That’s what your daughter here has been trying to say to you.”
Six. Six children. It was what Alma had said when they first met. Tom had tried to quiet her then.
“You boys were so young,” Alma said. “We were living in Okinawa and I’d made this one great friend. Mildred was black, that’s what they call it now. Even so, she turned the white boy’s heads more than once, even your dad’s, as I remember. She was what we used to call, a live wire. She and I just hit it off.
“The thing is, black stayed with black, white with white on that base. We were the exception. None of the other women knew how to talk to us, but we didn’t give two bits for what they thought. There are times in your life when you meet someone, and the two of you just click.” Alma smiled, clearly remembering her friend.
Lucy’s eyes met Sam’s.
“It’s about that trip we all took,” Alma said. “Millie and her four kids and me and my five, you were even there too Lucy, in my belly. We took a boat over to the mainland and then caught the train. It was my first real adventure without Tom. You boys were so excited. You had real bunk beds, not that any of you slept much. Every two minutes you’d pop up the shades and look out.
“Buildings were different over there; most of them squat to the ground. Off in the distance, snowcapped mountains. When we pulled into Hiroshima station, there were signs in four different languages. We dropped off our bags and walked up to the castle. They’ve rebuilt it now, but at the time they were just starting. The castle had stood there for centuries until we dropped the bomb on them.” Alma searched her sons’ faces. “Do you remember Millie at all? Do any of you remember playing with her kids?”
They shook their heads.
She nodded, knowingly. “The point is Donnie did. He asked me where that castle was a few years ago. That was how that boy was. He remembered every little detail. And I think they haunted him.” Alma smiled, weakly.
Odd how quiet it was, the sort of quiet that came when the snow fell, Sam thought, the world blanketed and softened because of it.
“No one deserves what we did to those people over in Japan; dropping those bombs out of the clear blue sky, experimenting on them like that. They were mothers and children, old people, all of them getting up to greet another day. Millie told me the Japanese thought they were leaflets. Everyone was looking up and then came the blast. I told Donnie where we’d gone and then that I was sorry if it upset him and he said, ‘Don’t ever be sorry. I’m glad you took me there. Glad I saw it.’ But was he really glad or just saying that to make me feel better? I think it worried him. I think maybe taking him there was part of what went wrong. He was so sensitive, he cared so much about everyone and everything. I know I should have done more to protect him. I go over that night all the time, thinking if only I’d said something to him or made him stay put. Why didn’t I keep him here? Why couldn’t I keep him safe?” She moaned, and Lucy was there.
Lucy was right there, saying, “Oh, Mom.” Lucy took her mother into her arms.
“ARE YOU OKAY?” Lucy asked Sam, an hour later.
They were up in her bedroom, taking a breather. After a trip to the same hill Donnie had snuck his brothers and sister out to, once, in the middle of the night. This time the parents had tagged along. They’d all come back to the house pink cheeked and half frozen, had more hot chocolate, warmed up, and greeted aunts, uncles, and cousins. Then came an early dinner of perfectly rare roast beef. Glasses were raised. Toasts rang out. Lucy and Sam helped to serve, clear, and dry. More than once, Alma and Lucy stood together, passing the plates without a word to each other, their bodies bending towards each other, a mother and daughter reunion.
“I’m fine,” Sam said. And meant it.
Lucy gripped her hand for a second. “If you hadn’t been here, I wouldn’t have been able to say anything to them about Donnie.”
Lucy’s smile was so whole hearted and sincere, it made Sam choke up.
“That’s silly, Lucy. You would have talked about it.”
Lucy shook her head. “I know myself. I seem self-confident, but when it comes to this kind of thing, I’m not. Not at all.”
“As opposed to say, kissing me in front of that boy in the bar?”
“That was funny, right? I wanted to freak him out.”
“You definitely did.” Sam paused, then added, “It sort of freaked me out too.”
“Really? You?”
“Yes, me,” Sam admitted. “I didn’t know what it meant.”
“Everything doesn’t mean something,” Lucy said.
“No?”
“I mean, some things just happen.”
Lucy was sitting next to her on the bed, cross-legged, and it came to Sam that they were both thinking about the same moment, when Lucy had brazenly pushed the gun away from her face, and they’d all taken off.
“I could have gotten us killed,” Lucy said, softly.
“But you saved us,” Sam told her. Then she took Lucy’s hand for a second, squeezed it hard, let it go.
“And you saved me.” Lucy beamed a smile at her. “What about that story Mom told. Think of her having a black friend. Think of her taking us all to Hiroshima to educate us. I never would have guessed she had it in her.”
“People surprise you.”
Just then, voices rang out from below. “Lucy? Samantha? Girls, we need you.”
Sighing, Lucy unwound herself and stood. They trooped down to form a circle round the piano with the rest. Christmas carols spun through the blessed holy night.
SHE WAS DOING it for Lucy. That was what Sam told herself, when she decided to say, “Yes,” two days later. She got into a plane with Lucy and flew south to San Juan. That night she lubricated her misgivings with sangria and woke up at three a.m. to hear groaning and squeaking through the paper-thin walls. Sam put the pillow over her head and cursed at herself.
> The next morning, early, she snuck down to the pool. The ocean was hidden from view behind a slatted metal fence, keeping the tenants safe from the riffraff.
“Does the senorita want anything?” The waiter who inquired wore a black vest and black pants over a long-sleeved white shirt topped off with a smart looking bowtie. It was eighty degrees and climbing outside. The sun was dull in the sky. Yes, she wanted something, a cup of strong coffee; sadly, she’d left her wallet upstairs.
“It’s okay,” Sam said, flashing a smile.
He turned to chat up another guest, an older woman with a mane of blow-dried blond hair whose bikini had a chain linking the top and bottom together. What kind of odd tan would that give you, Sam wondered?
Sam got out of the chair and dove into the water. The cold shocked her body into consciousness. From below, the ripples crested over her head. A child’s plastic dolphin was under the rusted ladder, lost among old gum wrappers and palm fronds. Surfacing, Sam blinked and spun round slowly, then reared back. Floating, she shut her eyes, the image of a yellow disc seared into her pupils. She was probably doing irreparable damage to her corneas. It was a crystal clear summer day here. But back in New York, it was freezing and miserable. Sam knew it was a shallow excuse, but it was a good one, too. Or at least better in the daylight, as opposed to last night, listening to what went on through the wall. She swam to the ladder and then climbed up the rungs, walked over to her chair, and collapsed into it. The sun beat down, eradicating memory and purging further regretful thought.
“Hey.” A finger jabbed her midsection. Sam’s eyes snapped open. Lucy’s tiny bikini was sculpted out of three triangular patches of jade green material. She sank into the chaise next to Sam’s. Sam had bought her Hawaiian print two-piece at a store in Appleton. The bottom covered enough of her ass for comfort and the top had under-wire that miraculously gave her cleavage. Next to Lucy, though, the effect paled.
The eager waiter appeared. “Senorita, how can I help you?”
