Secret Christmas Twins

by Lee Tobin McClain

  “Who?” Jason asked. “You and their dad?”

  “I should have gotten them a dog,” she said, not looking at him. “I meant, I should have.”

  The detective in him stored away that remark as relevant. And it was a good reminder, he reflected as they both scarfed down the rest of their breakfast without more talk. He couldn’t trust Erica, didn’t know what she had been to Kimmie. Getting domestic with her would only cloud his judgment. More than likely, she’d been a bad influence, dragging Kimmie down.

  Beyond that likelihood, he needed to remember that he was no good at family relationships. He was here, in part, to see if he could reset his values, and he’d vowed to himself that he wouldn’t even try to start anything with a woman until he’d improved significantly in that regard. It wasn’t fair to either him or the woman.

  * * *

  Just moments later, as Jason finished up the breakfast dishes, there was a pounding on the door. Mistletoe ran toward it, barking, as Papa came out of his room and trotted down the stairs to the entryway. Jason heard the door open and then his grandfather’s hearty greeting.

  Immediately, the noise level jumped up a notch. “Hey there, Andy! What’s this I hear about babies in the place?”

  An accompanying wail revealed that she’d brought at least one baby with her. Probably her grandson, whom she seemed to bring everywhere.

  Jason walked into the front room, where Erica was sitting on the floor with the twins. “Ruth Delacroix,” he said in answer to Erica’s questioning expression. “She’s a force of nature. Prepare yourself.”

  “Good morning, everyone!” Ruth cried as she came in, giving Jason a big hug and kiss around the baby she held on one hip. Then she spun toward Erica. “And you must be Erica. Andy was telling me about you, that you’re here for a visit with some... Oh my, aren’t they adorable!”

  “Let’s sit down,” Papa suggested, “and Jason will bring us all out some coffee. Isn’t that right?”

  “Sure.” Jason didn’t mind playing host. He was glad to see his grandfather seeming a little peppier.

  When he carried a tray with coffee cups, sugar and milk into the front room, the three babies were all on the floor, and Ruth and Erica were there with them. The pine scent from the Christmas tree was strong, and the sun sparkled bright through the windows, making the ornaments glisten. Papa had turned on the radio and Christmas music poured out.

  “Mason! Stop that!” Ruth scrambled after her toddling grandbaby with more agility than Jason could muster up, most days, even though Ruth had to have thirty years on him. “He’s a handful, ever since he started to walk.”

  Teddy, not to be outdone, started scooting toward the shiny tree, and Mikey observed with round eyes, legs straight out in front of him.

  “Like I said,” Ruth continued, “I’m down a kid, so I’d be glad to watch these little sweethearts anytime you need. A couple of my regular clients are off this week and kept their little ones at home.”

  “Thanks.” Erica was dangling a toy in front of Mikey, who reached for it. “I’m not sure quite what I’ll be doing, but knowing there’s someone who could look after the twins for a few hours is wonderful. I really appreciate you thinking of it,” she added to Papa Andy.

  “No problem, sweetheart.” Papa took a small ornament off the tree and held it out to Jason. “Remember this?”

  “The lump!” Jason laughed at the misshapen clay blob. “Haven’t seen that in years. That’s my masterpiece, right?”

  “You were pretty proud of it. Insisted on hanging it in a place of honor every Christmas, at least until you turned into an embarrassed teenager. And so here it is right now.”

  Jason smiled as Papa reminisced, egged on by Ruth and Erica. This was important, and Jason was starting to realize it was what he wanted for himself. Traditions and family, carried on from generation to generation. Just because his own parents hadn’t done a good job of making a true home for him and Kimmie, that didn’t mean he had to follow their patterns. He wanted to be more like Papa.

  He had some work to do on himself first.

  While he reflected, he’d been absently watching Erica—she was easy on the eyes, for sure—so he noticed when her expression got guarded and he tuned back into the conversation.

  “What are they, seven, eight months?” Ruth was saying. “They’re big boys.”

  “They’re fifteen months,” Erica said.

  “Oh.” Ruth frowned, and then her face cleared. “Well, Mason, here, he’s real advanced. Started walking at ten months.”

  “They have some delays.” Erica picked up Mikey and held him high, then down, high, then down, jumping him until he chortled.

  Teddy did his strange little scoot crawl in their direction. Jason noticed then that Ruth’s grandson was indeed a lot more mobile than the twins, a real pro at pushing himself to his feet and toddling around.

  “Why are they delayed?” Ruth asked. “Problems at birth?”

  “You might say that.” Erica swooped Mikey down in front of his brother, and the two laughed.

  Teddy pointed at the tree. “Da-da-da-DA-da-da,” he said, leaning forward to look at Mikey.

  “Da-da-da-da-da!” Mikey waved a hand as if to agree with what his twin brother had said.

  Teddy burst out with a short laugh, and that made Mikey laugh, too.

  “Now, isn’t that cute. Twin talk.” Ruth went off into a story about some twins she’d known who had communicated together in a mysterious language all through elementary school.

  As the women got deeper into conversation about babies, Papa gestured Jason into the kitchen. He pulled a baggie from a box and started spooning baking soda into it.

  “What are you doing?”

  “You’ll see.” He tossed the baggie onto the counter and then pulled out a couple of syringes. He grabbed a spoon from the silverware drawer.

  Jason stared. “Where’d you get that stuff and what are you doing with it?”

  “From your narco kit, and it’s just a little test. You’ll see.”

  “But you can’t... That’s not—”

  “Come on, hide in the pantry!” Papa shoved Jason toward the small room just off the kitchen. “Hey, Erica, where did you put those baby snack puffs?” he called into the front room.

  There was a little murmuring between the two women as Papa hastily stepped into the pantry and edged around Jason. “Watch for anything suspicious,” he ordered.

  Helpless to stop the plan Papa had set into motion, Jason watched as Erica came into the kitchen, opened a cupboard and pulled out some kind of baby treats. Behind her, Mistletoe sat, held up a paw and cocked his head.

  Erica laughed down at him. “It’s not treats for you, silly. It’s for the babies.” She squatted, petted the dog and then stood and reached toward the jar of dog treats on the counter. “All right, beggar, I’ll get you just one...”

  She froze. Stared at the pseudo drug supplies. Looked around the kitchen.

  Then she leaned back against the counter, hand pressed against her mouth, eyes closed.

  She drew in a breath, let it out in a big sigh and picked up the baggie between two fingers as if it were going to jump up and bite her. “Papa Andy,” she called. “Could you come in here a minute?”

  Papa nudged his way around Jason and went into the kitchen.

  “I found this.” Erica held up the bag. “What’s going on here?”

  Papa frowned, turned back toward the pantry and spoke to Jason. “She knows what it is. That’s a bad sign.”

  Jason sighed and came out into the kitchen. “Actually, most people know what that is. If she were using, she’d have hidden the stuff, not called you in to look at it.”

  Erica stared at Papa, then slowly turned to Jason. There was an expression of betrayal on her face. “
You guys were testing me?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Papa said. “And if the expert here is right, you passed with flying colors.”

  “You thought I was a drug addict?” She looked from one to the other, then flung the bag onto the counter. “And so you set this up to test me, instead of asking me outright.”

  Jason waded in to defend his grandfather. “Papa just had to be sure. No addict would answer a question about being on drugs honestly, right?”

  She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, holding her elbows.

  “And you know Kimmie well, obviously,” he stumbled on. “She’s struggled with addiction for years, as I’m sure you know, and it would make a lot of sense if you’d had a problem, too. But I’ve watched how addicts respond to drugs, and I can tell you’re clean.”

  She straightened, her jaw set. “Yes, I am,” she said, and stalked back into the front room.

  Leaving Papa to look at Jason. “Guess that wasn’t such a good idea,” he said. He turned and followed Erica back into the front room.

  And Jason just leaned back against the counter, disgusted with himself. He should have somehow stopped that from happening. Now they’d not only hurt her but lost her trust.

  * * *

  A few minutes later, Erica came back into the kitchen and glared at Jason, then at Papa, who’d followed after her. “I don’t appreciate that you tried to trick me. That you thought I was an addict.” From all the free therapists she’d seen in the course of living with her mother, she knew she ought to say next: when you mistrust me, I feel hurt.

  She did feel hurt. But she didn’t trust them any more than they trusted her, and especially not with her feelings.

  What could you expect from men, anyway?

  The thing was, Jason had been so nice to her and the twins. It had seemed like they were getting to know each other, that they might become friends. And Papa Andy... He’d seemed so warm, so welcoming.

  In reality, they’d been conspiring against her, plotting.

  “I’m sorry. It was a bad idea and we shouldn’t have done it.” Jason crossed his arms and looked at the floor.

  “We trust you now, honey,” Papa Andy said.

  “Hey, what’s going on out there?” Ruth’s merry voice broke in. “I could use a hand here!”

  The men turned toward the front room.

  As Erica followed, years of feeling unworthy came back to her, an emotional tsunami she always tried to tamp down when it arose. But it refused to stay in its usual closed mental container.

  She’d always been known as the addict’s kid. Never any pretty clothes or new toys. Regular stints of homelessness, of trying to stay clean by way of public restroom sinks. The dread of Mom getting arrested, which meant another few months in a foster home.

  Always moving somewhere unfamiliar, always the new girl in school. People didn’t like her, didn’t trust her, didn’t want to be with her.

  “Ma-ma.” Mikey batted her ankle and reached up his arms.

  Automatically she picked him up and cuddled him close, and the sensation of a warm baby in her arms grounded her. She couldn’t give in to that old, familiar sense of worthlessness.

  But she also couldn’t stay in an environment where she was being tricked and treated badly. That was toxic.

  “Hey, Ruth,” she said to the older woman, who was sitting on the couch beside Papa, trying to encourage Teddy to pull up and cruise along it. “You said you could babysit for me. How about giving me an hour right now?”

  “You’re going somewhere?”

  “That’s right. I can pay you your usual hourly rate, whatever’s fair.” Her cache of money was going down at an alarming rate, and she had to deal with that. But first things first.

  “Why, sure, honey. I don’t have anyplace I have to be until later in the afternoon.”

  “And if she has to go, I’ll look after the little guys.” Papa’s voice was soft.

  Erica spun toward Jason, who still stood in the doorway between the front room and the kitchen. “Could you show me the cabin?”

  “What?”

  She walked over to stand in front of him, out of earshot of the elders, feeling stiff as a robot. “The cabin on this property. Where Kimmie originally told me to go. I’d like to see about fixing that up.”

  “You don’t want to do that, Erica. It’s cold. It’s a mess—”

  “I can go alone if you don’t want to take me.” She turned toward Papa. “Could you give me directions to—”

  “I’ll take you!” Jason interrupted.

  After she’d made sure Ruth had what she needed for the twins, after Jason had insisted on outfitting her in boots, gloves and a warm hat, she followed him outside.

  He looked back as if he wanted to say something, but she glared at him and he faced ahead and beckoned for her to follow.

  The walking was easy when they started out toward the barn. A trail was broken like a gully, with two-foot-deep snow on either side.

  The brisk air stung her eyes and nose. Sunshine glinted on the surrounding snow, and trees extended lacy branches into the bright blue sky. Low chirps and chatters sounded from a row of evergreens, and as Jason turned from the path into fresh snow, a bright red cardinal landed on a fence post beside them, chirping a too-eee, too-eee.

  Jason moved steadily and methodically in front of her, breaking trail. Despite his doing most of the work, she stumbled and struggled her way and was soon plenty warm, panting in the chilly air.

  Impossible to maintain anger in God’s beautiful world. Her emotions settled into a resigned awareness: something about her, probably an attitude or set of mannerisms she didn’t even know she had, made people suspicious of her. If it hadn’t changed by now, it wasn’t going to. And if she was going to be alone, raising the babies, she needed to find a safe, healthy place for them to grow and thrive. And she needed to be away from painful encounters like what had happened this morning. She had to take care of herself so she could take care of the twins.

  Her foot caught in an icy lump of snow and she stumbled and pitched forward on one knee. She caught herself with her hands, didn’t sprawl full facedown, but snow pushed up the wrists of her jacket and sent its chill through her thin jeans.

  “We’re almost—” Jason turned, saw that she’d fallen and made his way back to her. “What happened? Here, give me your hand.”

  It would be silly to refuse. She grasped his glove-clad hand and he pulled her upright easily, brushing snow from her arms and then retrieving her hat.

  “You okay? Anything hurt?”

  “Fine,” she said, her breath coming out fast.

  “You’re sure?” He was looking into her eyes. Very direct. Very intense.

  She turned away and nodded. “I’m fine. Snow’s soft.”

  “We’re almost there,” he said.

  After a few more minutes slogging through the snow, Jason gestured ahead. “There it is, in all its glory.”

  Erica looked to see a weathered log cabin, small, with a steep, slanting roof and a front porch topped by a snow-covered wooden awning. One of the small front windows was boarded up, and the other needed to be, its glass clearly broken.

  Behind the cabin and on one side, pine trees, their branches heavy with snow, gave the area a deep quiet and privacy.

  “You still want to see inside? It’s pretty run-down.”

  “Yeah,” she said, breaking off into fresh snow to check out the sides of the cabin. It was run-down, but with work it could be cute.

  For just a moment she flashed back on years of living in crowded, dirty cities. She’d always dreamed of a country getaway, a place that was safe, with privacy and no one to bother her. A place of her own—not just an apartment but a whole little house.

  “Let me go in first.” Jason tes
ted the strength of the front porch boards before unlocking the door and going in.

  Not much point locking it when someone had broken the windows out, but whatever.

  “Come on in. It’s just us and the chipmunks.”

  If he thought a few critters would scare her, he was sadly mistaken. She stepped over a broken stair and into the cabin’s single room.

  She’d feared it would be dark and gloomy, but it was bright, with side windows larger than those in front. A ladder led up to what must be a loft bedroom. The wood-plank walls looked sturdy, and a sink and stove lined one wall. No refrigerator, but that was easily obtained, and in the meantime, a gallon of milk would keep just fine in the snow.

  A concrete floor showed through linoleum torn in one corner. That would have to be repaired, but for now, a thick rug would cover the ugliness. She walked to the back of the cabin and opened a door, discovering a storage area and bathroom.

  She gave Jason a brisk nod. “It’ll do. What would be the steps to getting the heat going? And I assume that once we turn on the water, the plumbing is okay?”

  “Erica, you can’t live like this. It’s primitive and it’s filthy.” As if to punctuate his words, a small mouse raced across the floor, and he gestured toward it and looked at her.

  “I grew up with an addict. I’ve lived in much dirtier places, with rats and scorpions.” She tested the ladder, found it secure and started up to peek at the loft bedroom.

  “Besides which, there’s no heat per se—there’s a wood-burning fireplace. Do you know anything at all about keeping that going so you and the kids won’t freeze to death?”

  “I’m a fast learner.”

  “You’re not going to find someone to clean it during the holidays.”

  “I can clean it myself,” she called down to him. The loft was even dirtier, if that was possible, littered with beer cans and newspapers and something that looked like a dead bird. Ugh.

  Against one wall was a stained mattress that smelled bad even in the cold. Kids or hunters—or vagrants—must have taken refuge here.

  For just a moment her courage failed as she relived dozens of dirty sleeping rooms she’d stayed in as a kid. Was she going backward in her life? Was filth and desolation her destiny?