One Week In December

by Holly Chamberlin

  Dinner was at seven that evening. The Rowans gathered at the big table, complete now since the arrival of Olivia and James. Becca had little appetite, but to excuse herself from dinner would be disastrous for her plan. She wanted to catch her family off guard. She wanted them to feel as bad as she felt. So she sat at the table and pretended that all was well.

  Julie came to the table, carrying a massive platter on which sat a large roast surrounded by sliced potatoes, carrots, and parsnips.

  “Ah, the perfect roast beef!” David rubbed his hands in a gesture of appreciation and anticipation.

  Nora brought in a large bowl of mashed potatoes; Becca spied several large squares of butter melting on top. Red meat, slabs of butter. She was sure she’d have cholesterol poisoning, if there were such a thing, by the time she got back to Boston. She’d call her trainer first thing in the morning and schedule a few additional sessions with him. And she’d go on a strict diet of low-fat foods for a few weeks. The last thing she wanted was to have to rely on medication to manage a situation a little self-control and willpower could handle.

  “May I have the gravy?” Olivia asked.

  Julie passed a large, silver-plated gravy boat to her daughter. Olivia stared at the object, then looked at her mother, puzzled. “I don’t remember this gravy boat. Whose was it? Where did it come from?”

  “You know, I don’t quite remember,” Julie said. “I haven’t used it in ages. It might have belonged to my mother’s sister, Agnes. Or maybe it was her aunt Clara’s. No—”

  “How can you not know for sure?” Olivia demanded. “Didn’t you make a note when it came to you? Mom, I’ve told you it’s irresponsible not to keep records of the family heirlooms. Do you even remember when you got it?”

  “Well,” Julie said, unruffled, “I’m not sure I’d call it an heirloom, Liv. I certainly don’t think it’s worth any money.”

  Rain shrugged. “I wouldn’t buy it. I think it’s kind of ugly.”

  “God, Mom,” Olivia went on, “it’s not about the money, it’s about the sentimental value. It’s about honoring all the people who’ve used that gravy boat down through the years. It’s about family and the meals they’ve shared.”

  Under his breath David said, “The Chronicles of the Gravy Boat, coming soon to a theatre near you.” Becca forced herself not to smile.

  “Well, I’m sorry, dear, but I just don’t remember where it came from.”

  Olivia flushed. Becca hoped her sister wasn’t going to have a stroke at the dinner table. Her rabid interest in a tarnished piece of junk didn’t seem like a sign of good health and well-being. Becca could understand getting riled up about politics or religion. But to have a heart attack over antiques seemed a complete waste of time.

  “It’s only a gravy boat, Liv,” David said aloud. “Not the crown jewels.”

  James put his hand gently on Olivia’s arm, as if to calm or comfort her, but she shook it off.

  Steve had been silent during this heated exchange. Well, heated on Olivia’s side. His wife had remained unperturbed. It was Steve’s policy not to get involved in disputes between his wife and their children. Julie knew how to handle herself. He felt he’d only be in the way.

  Nora now changed the subject. She was talking about an ordinance that had passed in the summer, something having to do with the garbage dump. And about a new restaurant that had opened in the next town over, a classic diner type of place. Her friend Emily had gone there with her daughter and had told Nora they served the best chicken salad sandwich in the state. Or maybe it was tuna salad. Nora laughed and admitted that her short-term memory wasn’t what it used to be.

  Becca only half listened. She was trying to “act normal,” but the enormity of what she needed to discuss with her family weighed heavily on her. She picked at her food, strangely repulsed by the sight of it, and realized she had already drunk a bit too much wine. Casually, she slid her wineglass out of easy reach.

  Finally, the interminable dinner was over. Naomi went off to coax the twins to bed; she was back within half an hour with the news that a day playing in the snow had knocked the boys right out.

  Becca listened with relief as Rain announced that she and Lily were going upstairs to watch a DVD. She didn’t care if Lily missed the family meeting she was about to call, but she had been concerned about getting—and keeping—Rain safely away.

  “What are you going to watch?” Naomi asked.

  “Juno,” Rain replied.

  And if that wasn’t a coincidence, Becca thought, then what was?

  David raised his eyebrows. “Again? How many times have you seen that movie?”

  “Three. This will be the fourth. Come on, Lily.”

  The two young women went upstairs to Lily’s room. When she was sure they were out of earshot—she heard a bedroom door slam—Becca seized her moment.

  “I’d like to talk to everyone,” she blurted.

  Julie added a final dirty plate to the stack at the end of the table. “Is anything the matter, honey?” she asked.

  Yes. Everything. “No, nothing’s the matter. I just need to talk to everyone about something very important.”

  Becca saw her father blanch. Good, she thought. He should be afraid. He should be made to acknowledge the pain that he caused.

  “Can it wait until I clean up a bit?” Julie asked, lifting the empty bowl that had once been full of mashed potatoes.

  “No. I’d prefer to do it now. In the living room.”

  Julie put the bowl back on the dining room table.

  “Well, then,” Nora said briskly, “let’s get to it.”

  10

  “So,” Becca concluded, “the sooner I tell her that I’m her birth mother, the better things will be.” Becca sat with her back straight, hands firmly planted on her knees. There. She had said it. She had announced her intentions.

  The Rowans were in the living room, Nora in her favorite armchair and the others ranged around on the couch and in various chairs. Becca had moved hers a bit apart from the others in an unconscious gesture of avoidance, or maybe even of fear.

  Her brother, predictably, was the first to speak. “Excuse me,” he said, loudly and with a rough laugh, “but I don’t see it that way at all!”

  Becca was ready for her opponent, which was how she viewed every member of the family in that room. “I’m sorry,” she said, “that you don’t agree with me. But I’ve given this a lot of thought, David.”

  “I don’t think you have,” he retorted. “This is crazy.”

  Olivia’s expression was cold and hard. “You’re out of your mind, Becca.”

  Julie frowned at her oldest child, then she turned to Becca. “Becca, dear, we agreed that when Rain turns twenty-one we’d discuss whether or not to tell her the truth about her birth. We agreed to talk about her level of emotional and mental maturity. We agreed to assess the risks. But not before then. Certainly, not when she’s only sixteen. She’s still so young.”

  “Sixteen is not so young, Mom,” Becca argued. “Not these days. The popular culture in which kids are raised today—”

  David cut her off. “Why are you doing this?” he demanded. “Are you sick or something? No, seriously, are you dying? Is this your crazy dying wish? Because if it is, I need the name of your shrink right away.”

  “Of course I’m not dying. I’m perfectly fine. I’m in excellent health, physical and mental. I’m in perfect condition to take care of my child.”

  Finally, her father spoke. “But as your mother said, we had an agreement.” To Becca, he sounded utterly bewildered. Well, she would attempt to make things perfectly clear.

  “Not a legally binding agreement,” she pointed out. “And we all know that even insignificant things like rules and regulations and promises can always be ignored when necessary.” Becca looked pointedly at her father. “Right, Dad? You were the chief architect of the plan to pass off Rain as David and Naomi’s daughter. You know all about breaking things. And you know all
about lying.”

  Steve didn’t answer. Maybe he couldn’t. His wife took his hand.

  “Becca,” Nora murmured, “that’s unfair.”

  “Is it? Look, I want to be more to Rain than her aunt. I deserve to be more to her.”

  David shot to his feet. Becca couldn’t help but flinch. “I’m not sure you deserve anything other than a good thrashing. I’m totally shocked that you would even consider disrupting Rain’s life in such a—in such a brutal way. Your own daughter.”

  “David,” Naomi murmured.

  He sat down again heavily, reluctantly.

  “The only reason you’re all so upset is that you just want to maintain the status quo,” Becca argued, somewhat lamely, even to her ears. “You don’t want things to change. You want the world to continue to see us as a perfectly happy family.”

  “A perfectly screwed-up family.” Olivia’s words were almost inaudible, but the bitterness in her voice was loud and clear.

  Becca looked to James. His expression was pained. “James, you haven’t said anything. What do you think about my telling Rain now the truth about her birth?”

  Olivia shot him a warning look—nobody could miss it—and James dutifully responded.

  “Becca,” he said, “to be fair, I wasn’t involved in the decision all those years ago. I’ve no right to get involved now. I hadn’t even met Olivia when—when Rain was born.”

  “But you were brought into the conspiracy—”

  “Conspiracy?” David barked.

  “Still,” James argued, “I don’t feel that I have a right to voice an opinion.”

  Well, Becca thought, so much for my brother-in-law’s support. Not that she had expected much independent thinking from James. Olivia had him pretty well in hand.

  “Look,” she said, “I told you all, I’ve thought this through very carefully and—”

  “Again, I don’t think that you have,” David interrupted. “I don’t know what brought on this—this insanity—but it stops right here. Right now. You are not going to tell my daughter—”

  “She’s my daughter.”

  “You are not going to tell Rain anything.”

  “You’re not the boss of this family, David.” Becca looked at each of her family in turn. It took some effort to do so. She was painfully aware that her cheeks were flushed. “The truth is,” she said, “that I’d like everyone’s consent to tell Rain the truth soon, but I don’t need it.”

  “I was afraid this would happen someday.” Naomi’s voice was thin. Becca was alarmed. Her sister-in-law looked terribly pale. Becca hoped that she wouldn’t faint. Naomi lying on the floor in a heap would not help her cause. “Things have been too good,” Naomi said. “Life has been too kind. I knew it would never last. I’ve been scared of some—some disaster like this ever since . . .”

  “Ever since you took my daughter away from me.” Becca hadn’t meant to sound so rough, but the words were out. If Naomi fainted, well, then so be it.

  There was a plea for understanding in her sister-in-law’s eyes—a plea for real communication. “Becca, you know that’s not what really happened! Why are you distorting the truth like this? What have we done to you to deserve this now?”

  “What did I do to deserve my family ganging up against me?” Becca retorted.

  “Ganging . . .” Again, David shot to his feet. “What the hell does that mean!”

  Julie stood now as well. “Enough,” she commanded. “We’ll resume this conversation tomorrow, when we’ve all had some time to calm down and to think clearly.”

  As far as Becca was concerned, no further discussion was necessary, but she nodded her agreement. Emotions were riding too high at the moment for any hope of success.

  “Becca.” Julie looked closely at her daughter. “Promise me, promise us all that you won’t say anything to Rain until the family has talked again. Promise.”

  “Of course. I promise.”

  “How can we trust her promise? She’s already decided to break one vow. Her word means nothing!”

  “David!” Steve’s tone was unusual enough to command the attention he intended it to. “Enough, now. You’re not making this any easier.”

  Chastened for the moment, David took Naomi’s arm and they left the room without another word. Olivia and James followed; James offered a quiet “good night” to those remaining.

  Becca suddenly felt horribly exposed, alone with her parents and grandmother, the authority figures of the Rowan family. Annoyed by her own lack of courage, she mumbled something that she thought was “thanks” and fled.

  Well, Becca thought as she left the living room, aware of the accusing eyes behind her, this is certainly not turning out to be a Hallmark Channel Christmas.

  11

  “I think she’s crazy. She should be on medication.” Olivia snapped shut her vanity case—which contained little other than a jar of Pond’s cold cream, moisturizer, and lip balm—with more force than was strictly necessary.

  James sighed. Olivia was in one of her less charitable moods. Again. “I think,” he said, “that she’s very lonely.”

  “She should see a psychiatrist. She’s unstable. I always knew it.”

  “Let’s try to be fair about this. Let’s try not to judge.”

  “Are you taking her side?” Olivia stood with her fists on her hips, a caricature of the stern wife.

  “Of course not. No. I just—” James reached for a bottle of aspirin. He felt a headache coming on. Lately, he had been getting headaches almost every day. His doctor had told him to address the stress factors in his life. But James didn’t quite know how to go about addressing the stress caused by his marriage.

  “She’s always wanted to be the focus of everybody’s attention. When she was a kid, she was always performing, she was always the dramatic one. And then getting pregnant at sixteen by some, some bum. If that isn’t the ultimate ‘look at me!’ I don’t know what is.”

  “I’m sure she didn’t get pregnant on purpose,” James said carefully, thinking that the ultimate “look at me!” would have been a bid for suicide.

  “Of course she says it wasn’t on purpose, but I never really believed her. Besides, you weren’t there. How would you know what she was like?”

  James didn’t answer. There wasn’t much he said these days that Olivia actually seemed to hear.

  Still, he was an optimistic man at heart. After a few minutes, during which Olivia had seemed to calm down, he said, “I couldn’t help but think that all the talk tonight about motherhood and parental rights and all . . . Well, I hope it didn’t upset you too much.”

  Olivia turned from the dresser, holding a cotton nightgown, and looked at him blankly. “Of course it didn’t upset me. Why should it?”

  “Well—” he began, but she cut him off.

  “Oh, I forget to mention earlier that before we left the office, I got a call from that pain in the ass Toby Stapleton. I swear he’s the most annoying client we’ve ever had. Can’t you do something about him, James? I’ve really had enough of the man.”

  “I’ll call him the first thing we’re home.”

  James had wanted to put aside work concerns at least for a few days. He badly felt the need for some peace of mind and had hoped—maybe vainly—that a few days away from the business might, just might, be good for him. For Olivia. For their marriage. He was beginning to feel at his wit’s end.

  “I thought,” he said, trying to ignore a flash of pain between his eyes, “that tomorrow afternoon we could go to the annual Quilt Show at the Baptist church. I saw the brochure in the kitchen.”

  Olivia looked at him without expression. And then she said, “No, I don’t think so.”

  “I thought you liked the show. We had a good time there last year.”

  “I did like it. But I don’t want to go this year. You know, you can go on your own.”

  There was no nastiness in Olivia’s tone. There was no emotion or affect at all. She was simply making a sug
gestion. Yes, James could go to the Quilt Show on his own. Being on his own was becoming more and more familiar to him. In fact, he was becoming an expert on being on his own. He was becoming an expert at being alone.

  When the lights were out and both had settled in bed, James leaned over to kiss his wife’s cheek, something he did every night and every morning upon waking.

  “I love you, Liv,” he whispered.

  “I’ve got so much to do tomorrow. Do you know there’s an entire wardrobe in the attic I haven’t inventoried yet?”

  It was too dark for James to see that Olivia was looking intently at the ceiling, as if seeing through it and into the attic, the repository of her dreams.

  12

  Down the hall in the Lupine Room, David and Naomi were preparing for bed.

  David tossed his flannel shirt onto the floor by the painted wood dresser. The women in his life had always picked up after him. “Mom told me that Becca’s been avoiding the rest of the family for a year now. I should have known something was up.”

  “But you didn’t, and neither did I, I’m afraid.” Naomi retrieved the shirt and hung it in the room’s tiny closet. “I mean, she has seemed pretty tightly wound lately, but I just assumed work was weighing on her. And I thought that she hadn’t seen the others because her schedule was so crazy. You know how dedicated she is to her job.”

  David hadn’t really heard his wife. He was thinking back to when Becca was a little girl. He saw her at the age of about eight, showing up at school wearing full makeup and a pair of their mother’s clip-on earrings. How she’d made it out of the house in that condition David never knew. And instead of sending her to the principal’s office, Becca’s teacher had just laughed. He remembered the time when she’d climbed up onto the roof of the garage on a dare, and then how she’d made it down unharmed, and was puzzled by her parents’ anger and concern. She’d always been lucky. Until she had made that one big mistake.

  “She was a wild kid,” he said. “I shouldn’t be surprised she’s pulling this stunt.”

  “What she was like as a child has nothing to do with who she is now and you know that,” Naomi argued reasonably. “Ever since she graduated from high school, she’s done nothing wrong or wild. In fact, it seems to me her life has been pretty dull. She’s done everything the right way, exactly by the book. Which is why this decision of hers puzzles me so much. It’s so out of character.”