Christmas in Cactus Flats and Other Holiday Romances

by Laura Briggs

  "She'll be back," J.P. interrupted. "And I hope when she is, things work out good between the two of you." His voice was gentle beneath this firm statement; she met his eyes and caught a glimpse of warmth beneath the calm surface of his gaze.

  For a moment, she wavered in her plan to leave this place as soon as she could pack her bags. Destination unknown seemed even lonelier than being a stranger in this hamlet. Momentarily, J.P. seemed like a friend and not a stranger merely being friendly. Especially compared to the nameless hordes on the highways between here and New England.

  "Besides," he added, "you still got New Year's to go. And around here —"

  "— that's a big deal, I'm sure," she finished for him. "I guess if I'm still here, I'll find out for myself." Her hands braced themselves against her waist as she leaned against the counter, watching him stow a screwdriver in his tool box, tuck a can of grease and a rag into an opposite corner.

  "Don't make any offers to pay me," said J.P. "You know the answer's 'no' before you say anything, right?" He gave her a warning look as he snapped closed his tool box.

  "Right," she answered, although she was imagining alternatives to traditional payment. If she could bake, she could leave them a box of cookies — but her skills typically resulted in burned baked goods. Would a bottle of wine be acceptable in a place like this?

  "You want me to bring you anything?" he asked. "Got some extra smoked ribs at home, some blackened chicken, little spicy guacamole —"

  "No, I don't need anything," she said, forcing a weak smile in place. "I mean, if I run out of soup, I can visit the grocery store."

  "Here, that means the co-op," he reminded her. Hoisting his toolbox, he reached for the door handle.

  "Have a good day," he said. "Come see us if you get lonely. Ranch is only a couple miles away." The door swung closed behind him, Drew releasing a long sigh of disappointment. This wasn't the greatest way to express one's gratitude — standing tongue-tied on the subject of grocery shopping. She dumped the remaining coffee from both mugs into the sink and opened the refrigerator in search of something to fill the empty hours between lunch and dinner.

  Inside was an unfamiliar plastic container, its contents showing signs of tomato sauce and grilled meats with charcoal-black scorch marks. A loaf of homemade bread dotted with dried herbs and shaved cheeses. Drew stared at them as if they were mirages in the desert.

  She turned the knob to the trailer's front door and dashed out on the porch. Too late, since J.P.'s truck was already disappearing down the road. Too late to thank him, although he clearly hadn't expected it. Tonni's idea — no doubt worried that Drew was starving to death in isolation.

  As she re-entered the trailer, she saw J.P.'s other parting gift, the one she had missed in her haste. A tiny Christmas tree positioned in the middle of the coffee table. A miniature plastic fir, branches decorated with tiny silver and red balls, a string of twinkle lights operated by a small battery box.

  Lips twitching into a smile, Drew sank down in the recliner across from it and gazed at the miniature lights flashing among the branches. With a fierce pang she remembered the lights strung on the branches in her mother's apartment, the glint of her neighbor's decorations visible through the parted curtains. A surge of homesickness — of mourning — washed over her with a depth she hadn't felt since the moment she unlocked her mother's apartment door and saw the boxes in the living room.

  It might be wrong, but she was taking this tree with her when she left. A souvenir of her strange Christmas in this place and the unexpected warmth of her cowboy acquaintance.

  Chapter Eight

  Drew awoke to a faint rumbling noise. Opening her eyes, she saw the blankness of the comforter's white walls drawn over her head. She was faintly aware of a thud, a shuffling sound ... the sound of the squeaky door lock turning in the other room.

  Someone else was in the trailer. She froze, even as her sleepy brain processed this thought in swift speed. Not swift enough, however.

  "I've got a shotgun pointed and I'm not afraid to use it." The female voice was cold, steely, and authoritarian, turning Drew's blood to ice. For some strange reason, it also caused her to scramble up from beneath the covers.

  "Wait!" she shrieked. At the foot of the bed, a woman surveyed her with shock — not armed with a shotgun, but what appeared to be a can of hairspray.

  "You got ten minutes to get off my place or I call the sheriff!" The woman bellowed. These words caused Drew to raise her eyebrows in shock.

  "You're Arlene?" Her mouth dropped open, the comforter sliding away from her grip to reveal her pink tank top rumpled from sleep.

  "Damn straight," the woman snapped. A cloud of red hair — obviously dyed — swept back from her face in waves above the shoulders of a sequined sweat shirt. A pair of sequined stirrup pants and too-high heels, wrists strung with layers of silver bangle bracelets. Was this her mother?

  "Now, I don't know who the —" Arlene began, as she yanked open a drawer and fished around for something which Drew imagined to be a pistol, more threatening than the hairspray still trained on her face.

  "Drew," she answered, hastily. "Drew Lorman. I—I'm your daughter."

  Arlene was on the verge of retorting, when she seemed to realize the meaning of this statement. In a swift second, her face was transformed by shock, pale beneath a layer of makeup.

  "My daughter," she repeated. As Drew nodded vigorously.

  "Well, I'll be." With that, she lowered the can of hairspray.

  *****

  "I didn't mean to surprise you like this. I mean, I came to meet you and you weren't here ... so J.P. — I mean, Mr. Marsh from the restaurant — let me in." Drew's voice trembled slightly, her hands fidgeting with nervousness.

  She was sitting on the sofa now; across from her, Arlene hunched forward in the recliner, elbow resting on one of the arm's shiny upholstery spots.

  "And you came all the way here just to meet me?" Arlene sounded incredulous. Her voice was deep and husky, infused with a thick accent like smoke billowing across its surface.

  Drew shrugged. "I didn't have anything else to do this Christmas," she answered. "I just graduated from college. And my — my adoptive mother — passed away last year. After that, there was no one." Her eyes were lowered with this statement. "I don't want you to think I'm here for anything other than to meet you. I don't need money or a place to stay. Just a chance to see you in person."

  She didn't want to mention the conversation with Priscilla from a few years prior to this moment; nor the envelope she found tucked in the box of mementos. Those moments seemed too personal to share with someone who was a stranger despite their deeper connection.

  Arlene drew her breath, then released a shaky laugh. "Well, I've got to say, I never expected you to turn up like this," she said. "This is about the weirdest Christmas present I've ever received, I'll tell you that." Leaning against the back of the recliner, she let her laugh grow deeper.

  "So this is you all grown up," she said, after a moment. "And to think I nearly spent another week out on the road. Good thing I got in this morning." Drew glanced towards the window and saw a red convertible parked next to her car, its weathered top stained with mildew and lowered to reveal worn leather seats within.

  Gone were the images of a younger sibling in tow, of a careworn woman escaping from her troubles. Although there was still a distinct possibility that Arlene had been fleeing the debt collector who visited Christmas night.

  "You wanted to know somethin' about your birth, I take it?" Arlene interrupted Drew's thoughts. "You come all this way to do something besides watch an old lady smoke, I assume?" She winked with this statement as she drew a cigarette pack and lighter from her purse. "Never smoke in this place if I can help it — but if this occasion don't call for it, I don't know what."

  Drew stared at Arlene as she puffed the cigarette between her lips. Stirring, she forced herself to smile politely.

  "Of course," she answered. "That is, I w
ant to hear whatever you're willing to tell me. About the adoption." Unsure if this subject was comfortable for Arlene, who thus far exhibited no emotions on the subject.

  Arlene tapped the cigarette against an ash tray shoved beneath the side table. "Oh, I'll tell you," she said. "No trouble with that. I'm not ashamed of being alone. Anything you want to know about, you can just ask." She took another drag from the cigarette, its paper form circled by bright red lipstick.

  Just ask? Drew's mind was a blank, without anticipation of such a blunt statement on Arlene's part. She had done her best not to envision this moment, but when she had, it was a more gradual, emotional discussion of that experience, not a questions and answers section akin to a school paper interview.

  She bit her lip. "Well, it would be nice to know something about my birth father," she said. "And about you — your life, what happened afterwards." She chose her words carefully, not wanting to sound accusing. "If there are any siblings..."

  "No," laughed Arlene, faintly. "No siblings. You're the only one for both of us, as far as I know." She removed the cigarette from between her lips, letting a trail of smoke escape. "I reckon at this point it's not likely I'll be starting a family, since I'm too set in my ways, as they say."

  After a pause, she stubbed the cigarette in the ashtray. "What's say we go somewhere to eat?" she said. "There ain't nothin' here and I didn't stop to freshen up supplies, so I'm suspecting you lived off diner food since you come here." She lifted her heavy purse from the side table and rose, stretching her legs as if to ward off cramps.

  "My car or yours?" she asked. "Mine's loaded down with some bags, so I reckon yours might be better since you're unpacked. Unless you're all right with sharing your seat with some old coffee cups."

  Drew hesitated. "So ... you're all right with this? With me being here?" Her tone was cautious, overwhelmed with surprise by Arlene's reaction to this scenario. "Because you don't have to pretend. Or take me to lunch. I can go, I'll get a motel and —"

  "So long's you take the sofa, there's no problem," Arlene answered. "My back's too bad to take anything but the mattress." As she pushed open the door to the trailer and disappeared into the bright sunlight outside.

  She wasn't lying about the coffee cups, a paper mound of them visible on the passenger seat as Drew glanced inside. In her own car, she noticed Arlene's surprise at the bareness of the interior, the lack of personal ornaments dangling anywhere in comparison to the fuzzy dice and sun medallion hanging from her own rear view mirror.

  This sort of situation was usually discussed somewhere quietly between two people; but Arlene selected the most public booth in the most public spot in town: the Dry Street Barbecue.

  Some of the customers took notice of Arlene as she entered, offering her a friendly wave which she returned with equal enthusiasm. A waitress approached their table, tapping a pencil against a pad.

  "Howdy, Arlene," she said. "Missed you at the Christmas Eve's big party. Good to see you back — and you've brought a friend today, I see." She glanced at Drew, her face equally unfamiliar to the girl she was scrutinizing. Drew couldn't recall seeing her at the restaurant's Christmas Eve party. With a twinge of dismay, she realized she was disappointed that a stranger had taken J.P.'s place behind the counter today.

  "This here's my daughter," said Arlene. "Come to see me for the holidays." The waitress's eyes seemed to pop with these words.

  "No," she said, her voice betraying surprise in its shushed tones. "Well, I'll be — your daughter? Well, I never did know." She beamed at Drew. Several other customers were taking notice now.

  "You have a daughter, Arlene?" A male voice called jokingly from somewhere near the counter. "I reckoned you were too young for that."

  "You best believe it, Teddy," Arlene called back. She gave Drew a good-natured wink as she flipped open her menu.

  Drew's face was scarlet. "I would've thought..." she began, "...I didn't know you were so open about this." She remembered her tones of secrecy with J.P., keeping it quiet for Arlene's sake, never dreaming it would be tossed about as the topic of the day in the same dining room forty-eight hours later.

  "Well, there's no sense in keeping it a secret, is there?" Arlene replied. "I ain't said nothin' before, but people will wonder what you're doing here if I don't tell them. 'Sides, I don't think it'll come as much surprise to some of these folks." This last part she added without explanation, apparently without noticing the look of dismay it produced on Drew's face.

  The waitress approached with a basket of jalapeno rolls and a bottle of ketchup. "Here you go," she said, placing them on the table as she gave Drew another curious glance.

  "What'll it be?" she asked, pencil poised.

  "Um, grilled ribs is fine," said Drew, her voice somewhat meeker than usual.

  "Just bring me a burger with the works," said Arlene, closing her menu. "And make that a round of sweet teas for two please." The waitress scribbled something on her pad as she moved on.

  Sweet tea? Drew made a face before she could stop herself. Across from her, Arlene pulled a paper napkin from the dispenser and tucked it in the collar of her sweat shirt.

  "So, ask away," said Arlene. "What do you want to know about first?"

  Drew was tempted to refuse this offer and wait, except she had no guarantee of getting answers in any other place or time. Despite the uncomfortable flush creeping across her face, she pressed on.

  "My birth father," she said. "Do you know where he is?" This seemed like a good place to start; at least that's what she thought until the shuttered look appeared on Arlene's face.

  "I did," said Arlene. "He passed on awhile back. Over in Alverez." The waitress appeared with their teas, provoking a smile from Arlene's lips.

  Drew shucked her straw from its paper wrapper. "Were you close, still?" she asked. "Did he — did he ever know about me?" It took all her effort to repress a slight tremor in her voice with this question.

  "We weren't; but I kept up with him a little through friends. He weren't around when you were born, but then, I never had a problem being on my own." Arlene took a long sip from her tea glass.

  Something about this statement rankled Drew's nerves; perhaps it was the repetition of the "lone wolf" theme in Arlene's life, or the way she seemed almost proud of her independence.

  "So is that why you gave me up?" asked Drew. "Because you wanted to be alone?"

  Her tone must have sounded bitter to Arlene's ears, since a look of unhappiness flickered across her birth mother's face.

  "No," she answered, gently. "That weren't it at all. I just wanted you to have something better than being toted around by me." She dumped the contents of a paper packet of sugar into her already-sweetened beverage.

  "When I was sixteen, I ran off to the rodeo. Watched bull riders and rode in barrel races myself for a whole summer. I was always doing things like that, ever since I was old enough to know better. Both my parents had gotten plain tired of it when I was fifteen; my dad passed on in a railroad accident and my ma married herself to somebody who kept her mind off me and my doings." Arlene reached for the platter weighed down by a burger heaped with onions and peppers as the waitress lowered it before her. By comparison, Drew's ribs and fries seemed plain.

  "I ended up a few towns from here and met your father. Billy Walsh. That's how I ended up pregnant." Arlene lifted the top bun and sprinkled the contents beneath with salt. "I didn't want to stay around there, so I went off to Wyoming. That's where I came to my senses and realized that this weren't no life for a child. Not for someone blown about like a feather in the wind. So I talked to someone at a clinic about finding a couple to adopt the baby."

  "That's how you found the Lormans," said Drew. "Did you plan to keep in touch with them? They had your address. That's how I found out who you were." The memory of Priscilla's keepsake box loomed before her, the envelope buried beneath photos and cards.

  "Oh, that? That was something I gave them a few years after. When I settled down here
." Arlene took a bite out of the burger. "I bought that old red trailer intending to take it on the road until I was strapped for cash. Guess that ended the dream for a bit." She chuckled with these words.

  "Is that why you wrote them?" Drew's appetite had vanished, her fingers picking at the rib's blackened tips.

  "Your mama asked me to send it along so I could see pictures of you growing up," said Arlene. "They sent me a Christmas card every now and then with photos. Last one I saw, you were about ten or eleven, I think." She pounded ketchup from the bottle onto a pile of fries.

  "How long have you been here?" Drew asked.

  "About twelve years," sighed Arlene. "Twelve years in a few weeks or so. That's when I parked the trailer and got my job at the hospital three hours from here."

  Silence fell between them for awhile, as the feeling that this meeting was not what she hoped for secretly in her heart of hearts sank into Drew's bones. She gazed at the contents of her plate, listening to the sounds of Arlene's lips smacking in response to the burger's spices.

  "Dessert, ladies?" Two cinnamon brownies appeared on a tray placed between them. J.P. was leaning over their table, a warm smile directed at each of them.

  "Hello," said Drew, her lips twisting themselves to form a smile. Arlene reached up and patted J.P.'s cheek.

  "Hello there, young man," she said. "I think you might be even more of a heartbreaker than before I left town. Tonni'll be losing you in the near future, I'll bet." She released him as she reached for a spoon shoved deep in the brownies and cream.

  "And how 'bout you?" J.P. glanced at Drew. "Everything all right for you? Finding this town growing on you?" She sensed something in his eyes, kindness burning in their depths. And a question, perhaps, about the progress at this table.

  She smiled. "It could be worse." Her eye flickered towards Arlene's vivacious figure, the twinkle and beaming grin in between dessert bites. A cold pit sank deep in her stomach at the lack of herself in those features. Was there anything of her face, her personality, beneath the heavy makeup and dye job?