by Barbara Lohr
Her stomach wouldn’t allow oatmeal. The coffee had been more than enough. Elbows on the kitchen counter, she played Angie’s message multiple times. Her ears strained to pick up meaning in the girl’s words or the inflection of her voice.
Crazy making. And she did not need more crazy right now.
Grabbing her briefcase, she headed out to her car. Her boots crunched on the packed snow and she sucked in a frigid breath that did nothing to warm her heart. She’d learned to deal with disappointment by approaching it head on. Didn’t matter how they buffered the news, it still hurt. Over the years, she’d heard it all.
Always another chance.
Maybe next time.
God has something else for you in mind.
Caught in traffic on the Eisenhower, Amanda was tempted to keep driving. Go right downtown and spend the day looking at the Christmas lights, not ride herd on her students. Store windows would be full of Santa’s workshop, smiling elves and trains that tooted as they rounded the track.
Sometimes being responsible sucked. She exited the Eisenhower and headed toward school. At least she was armed with the book.
That morning students slunk into her classroom, dragging their heels. They didn’t want to be here and neither did she. Good kids, they were rough around the edges and most weren’t college bound. For some, Christmas might just be another day. On the near west side of Chicago where she taught, parents were often out of work. Many homes were anchored by a single mother or grandmother barely making ends meet with government aid. The bell rang and class began.
“I have a surprise for you today.” She dragged over the stool and perched. Then she opened the book.
“Oh, man. A book? That is so lame,” Tyrone Gilby groaned. The others seemed to agree.
“Shut up.” Clarice whipped around from her front row seat and gave them the eye. “It’s a story, you dumbass. I like to listen to stories.”
They settled down. She turned to page one.
The Best Christmas Pageant Ever had been one of Amanda’s favorite Christmas stories growing up. The reading level was grade school, which was just about right for most of this group. If anyone recognized the cover, no one said anything.
Amanda began, spinning the story of a family of children far worse than anything her own students could dream up. The class fell silent. Then they laughed. Tyrone lounged back, hands behind his head. “Man, do you believe this? This family’s bad. Worse than mine.”
Amanda let him grandstand. Helped stretch the book until the end of class. They had a few minutes for discussion.
“Those kids were bad ass,” Tyrone said, eyes glowing. “My kind of peeps.”
“What did they know? They doing the best they can.” Clarice tossed her dark braids.
“You gonna bring another story tomorrow and read to us again?” Westin asked from the back.
“You bet.” She had a copy of The Charlie Brown Christmas somewhere.
The bell rang.
“See you tomorrow,” Amanda called out as they filed from the room. One more day. Sissy Hendricks was going to take over her class during the maternity leave. Amanda already had everything ready, her lesson plan book in the top drawer. For just a second, things seemed right with the world. The doubts lurking in the corners of her mind lifted. Maybe she’s just jumped to conclusions about Angie’s call.
Clarice approached her desk. “Got a present for you, Miss Amanda. For your baby.” She pulled a wrapped present from her book bag. “Can’t wait ‘til tomorrow.”
“Oh, Clarice, that’s so sweet. You shouldn’t have.” These kids needed every penny.
“Aren’t you gonna open it?” She bobbed on her toes.
The green tissue rustled as Amanda unwrapped the blue booties made from a thick yarn.
“My grandma made ‘em,” Clarice said proudly. “She took an old hat and ripped out all the yarn.”
“They’re beautiful. Thank you and please thank your grandmother for me.” She would bring in a thank you note with her tomorrow. This handmade gift seemed more precious than any box she’d opened the day before.
“Glad you like them. See you tomorrow.” Blushing, Clarice backed toward the door.
Opening her side closet, Amanda tucked the booties into her purse. She was really going to miss her classes. Maybe tomorrow she’d bring cookies.
The next two classes had heard word of the story and came into the room ready to listen. The morning passed quickly. During her lunch hour, Amanda phoned McKenna.
“Connor’s already gotten a hold of me,” McKenna said.
So he was worried after all.
“Give me a little while to find out what’s happening okay?” her sister-in-law continued. “I’m trying to contact Cindy, to see if she’s had any contact with Angie.” A social worker at the hospital, Cindy Warren had been a tremendous help with the adoption.
“Fine. Sorry we’re pestering you like this.”
“Not a problem.”
Amanda put her phone away and took a seat at the circular table in the teachers lounge. Rita Gerencher, one of the other English teachers, looked up from the papers she was grading. “Everything okay?”
“Sure. Just cannot wait until break.” A plate of Christmas donuts sat in the center of the table, red and green jimmies on the frosting. Weird that she didn’t even feel like taking one.
Rita wasn’t having that problem. She picked out a donut, broke it into sections, and began to nibble. “If only they’d give us the whole two weeks off.”
“It’s all about the snow days. The winters have been so bad the last couple of years. The school year already drags into June. Administration doesn’t want to add two more days just so we can have a two week vacation.”
Rita dusted the jimmies from her fingers. “Must be so exciting to look forward to having your baby.”
“I can hardly believe it.” Amanda delivered the line people wanted to hear. The teachers had given her a huge shower in early December at Rita’s house. Clothes galore, a humidifier and a wireless baby monitor had all come from her co-workers.
Why did the gifts make her so nervous? Maybe they seemed to tempt fate. Amanda was glad when the bell rang. “See you later, Rita.” She was off, her sensible brown loafers making a beeline for room 207 where she could engage her class and put a halt to the worries spinning in her mind like over-dry laundry. Connor sent a text saying he’d called Angie but she didn’t pick up. Amanda slammed into her classroom that smelled of chalk and old books and took her seat on the stool.
The last two classes of the day passed pretty quickly. Her throat felt scratchy from all the reading. Tonight, she’d have to see if she could find a video recording of Charlie Brown’s Christmas. They must have a copy somewhere. When they were first married, they watched it together. Midway through sixth period, Amanda took a peek at her phone to see if McKenna had called. Only a message from her parents popped up, saying they’d arrived. In between sixth and seventh periods, she called home.
“The Kirkpatrick residence.”
Her mother’s careful enunciation made Amanda smile. “Mom, it’s me. Did you and Dad get settled?”
“Certainly did, dear. Snug as a bug in your little guestroom. And, oh my. We took a peek at the baby’s room. Isn’t it beautiful?” Her mother’s voice vibrated with excitement. “Now what about dinner? Do you want me to run out with your dad and pick something up?”
“No, I can get it on the way home. How would a roasted hen be with some coleslaw?” The last thing Amanda wanted was her parents negotiating Harlem Avenue in the huge Lincoln Connor had dubbed “the boat.” The snow had started again and the temperature was below zero, so roads would be icy.
“Can’t wait to see you, sweetheart.”
“Is Dad doing all right?” Amanda pictured him pacing from the kitchen into the living room and back, grumbling about the weather.
“Just dandy. I sent him outside to shovel.”
Her heart clutched. ”Are you sur
e that’s a good idea?” Five years earlier, her father had open heart surgery. Since then, her parents both seemed intent on proving how healthy he was.
“Well, you know your father when he gets something in his head. Can’t have you or Connor slipping on that walkway, sweetheart.”
“Okay, well, I’ll be home soon.”
When the last bell rang, Amanda was already packed up. After the last student left the room, she turned off the lights and darted for the parking lot. Traffic was snarled by the time she got on the Eisenhower to drive west toward Oak Park. She was beginning to wish she’d taken the side streets, although they’d only gotten her into trouble on Saturday. Trying to see through the swish of her windshield wipers, Amanda jumped when the phone rang. McKenna’s name popped up and Amanda skidded into the right hand lane, fumbling for her phone.
“Are you on the highway?”
Amanda’s sigh was pure exasperation. “You sound just like your brother. Did you find anything out about Angie?”
“Not yet. The holidays always slow things down. I’m sure that something just came up and she’ll get ahold of you. She probably didn’t want to drive to meet you in this weather.”
“Connor called her but she didn’t answer.” Amanda swallowed hard, fighting the anxiety banding her chest. “Really, McKenna. Who in her right mind would give up a baby?”
“A girl who knows this is the best thing for her baby,” McKenna countered.
The panic percolating in Amanda’s mind eased. After ending the call, she punched on the car radio. Christmas music streamed into the car, and she hummed along.
When she got off the highway, she stopped at Dominic’s and picked up two of Cornish hens along with some coleslaw. “God Rest You Merry Gentlemen” played overhead while she wheeled her cart over to the produce department for some tomatoes. On her way to the register, she grabbed a box of Christmas cookies. Wasn’t even four o’clock but the checkout lines stretched past the magazine displays. Twenty minutes later, she crept along Harlem Avenue, the smell of the cooked hens filling the car and snow crunching beneath the tires.
Her father’s burgundy Lincoln looked big as a mobile home sitting in their driveway. Pulling up behind him, she got out and grabbed the groceries from the back seat. The walk etched through the accumulated snowfall made her smile. When she pushed open the door, the piney smell of the Christmas tree welcomed her. “Anybody home?”
In the living room her folks were watching “Judge Judy” on TV. Jumping up, her mother hurried toward her, a bright smile gleaming from her Sarasota tan. She enclosed Amanda in a tight hug. “Here you are! We were getting worried, weren’t we, Bill?”
“Oh, Donna. You never have to worry about Amanda.” Her father lumbered toward her. He was not a hugging man but Amanda grabbed him anyway. The Old Spice made her smile. Some things never changed. His red plaid flannel shirt smelled like mothballs. Probably not his Florida dress code. “Good to see you, Amanda.”
“You too, Dad. Sorry you had to drive so far,” she whispered. Not only was her father frugal, her mother had a thing about planes. Scared her to death. Amanda stomped the snow from her boots. “The roads are terrible. You finding everything okay?”
“Well, of course we are. Snug as a bug, that’s what. Here, let me take those.” Her mother reached for Amanda’s grocery bags and bustled off to the kitchen, voice trailing behind her. “I was just saying, I wonder where Amanda is. Wasn’t I, Bill?”
“Yes, I believe you were.” Her dad returned to Connor’s favorite chair.
By the time Amanda hung her coat up in the closet, her mother was back, scrutinizing her as only a mother could. “You look so pale and tired. Now take those boots off. You don’t want to bring any snow and salt all over these beautiful hardwood floors.”
Sometimes her mother could make Amanda feel like she was ten again. Connor had refinished the floors himself when they bought the house five years ago. She kicked off her boots while her mother fooled with the crèche set, repositioning Mary and Joseph closer to the empty crib.
“I’m so glad you have the crèche set out, Amanda. Don’t you think it makes the house look, well, more homey?”
“Sure does, Mom.” She sank onto the sofa. Her father remained involved with the TV while her mom fussed with the nativity scene. When her mother moved to Florida, she’d given Amanda and Connor the crèche set that had been in their home for decades. Now it sat up on of the leaded glass bookcases that flanked the fireplace. Taking her mother’s lead, Amanda always spread a white sheet over piles of books to give the impression of hills surrounding Bethlehem. Central, of course, were Mary and Joseph hovering over the empty crib while angels and the Wise Men gathered.
“Is it all right that I turned on the tree lights?” her father asked.
“Of course.” Christmas had always been her father’s favorite time of year. Although he watched every penny, the lights had always blazed bright on their Christmas tree, all twelve strings of them. Her mother always joked about it. “Bill turns off the lights when he leaves a room, but not those tree lights.”
Her mother clicked the TV off and settled on the sofa next to Amanda. “That’s enough of the TV. Now, I want you to tell us all about your baby shower yesterday. We did take a little peek at those presents in the nursery. My, oh, my.”
For fifteen minutes or so, Amanda described the brunch and answered her mother’s questions while her father tried to look interested. Sometimes she thought he depended on the TV just to escape from her mother’s nervous chatter. He watched the news a lot, the same grim stories again and again. Used to make her nuts when she was growing up. She’d escape to her room to read.
Dusk was falling, and Amanda got up. “Are you two hungry?”
“I’m always hungry. Connor be home soon?” Her dad always enjoyed talking sports with his son-in-law.
“You won’t probably see him until tomorrow. He pulled one of those twenty-four hour shifts.”
“Hardly seems safe,” her father grumbled.
“That’s the job, Dad. Besides, the guys like it. Gives them more time with their families.” Her voice wavered on the last word, and she sucked in a deep calming breath before adding, “Should we eat in the kitchen?”
Her mother was already on her way. “Of course. The dining room is just for guests. We’re family, after all.”
As she took down the plates, Amanda cast a glance at the answering machine. No blinking light. No message from Angie. She reached for the tomatoes and grabbed the chopping board and a knife. While her father watched sports news on the small kitchen TV, her mother filled her in on what was happening in Sarasota. When Amanda reached the end of the tomatoes, she started on the chickens. The meat fell away in big chunks. She was hacking not slicing, eyes flitting obsessively to the phone machine.
“I admit, I did do some shopping myself for the baby,” her mother was saying.
“Some!” Her father guffawed, a low, easy rumble. “Damn trunk was jam-packed with baby clothes and who knows what else.”
Her mother shot him one of her looks. “We put all the packages upstairs, Amanda. You can take back what you don’t need. The receipts are right there.”
“That is so sweet of you. Really, it is. I still don’t get why you didn’t tell us you were coming.” Amanda slipped the platters of chicken and tomatoes onto the circular kitchen table. Reaching into the cupboard, she found a blue serving bowl and filled it with coleslaw. “We thought you’d forgotten.”
Her mother grabbed some silverware and continued setting the table. “We wanted to surprise you, sweetheart. It seemed like a good idea at the time. I’m so sorry. Guess you just never know about the weather.”
“This snow is exactly why we live in Sarasota.” Her father pulled out a chair and sat down while her mother filled the water glasses.
“Certainly you knew we’d come.” Her mother shot her a puzzled look and took a place at the table. “It’s not every day your daughter has a baby.”
The platters were being passed around. She had their full attention and just couldn’t listen to this talk about the baby all through dinner. Amanda didn’t want them to be crushed if this didn’t turn out the way they all hoped. “You know, there’s always a chance that the mother might decide at the last minute not to give up her baby.”
She hated to see their faces drain. “I mean, it could happen. That’s all I’m saying.”
Her father set the plate of chicken down with a loud thud. “I told you, Donna. How can you trust a stranger when it comes to a baby? Amanda and Connor didn’t know anything about this girl. Now she’s going to disappoint you, Amanda. I just hate to see that.” His face had turned an alarming shade of red.
Maybe this had been a bad idea. “Angie is young, that’s all. Sometimes girls don’t know what they want until the baby comes. Connor and I have to be prepared for anything. I don’t want you to be disappointed.” Connor would probably be furious at what she was saying. She sat back, the spools of the chair biting into her back.
“You can’t count your chickens until they hatch.” Her mother picked up her fork. “Isn’t that just the truth? But never trouble trouble ‘til trouble troubles you. That’s what I say. Everything might turn out just fine. This chicken is getting cold.”
“Guess we won’t know for a while.” How she wished Connor were here. He always lightened the atmosphere with his sly jokes. Connor would talk about team line-ups with her dad and flatter her mother with his attention. He was a natural. Amanda became very busy cutting her chicken into tiny bites even though she had no appetite. They ate the rest of the meal in silence.
“You mind if I snap on the news?” her father asked when they were all finished and the dishes were in the sink. Outside a wind had kicked up, a mournful sound.
“Sure. Why not.”
Anything to distract them. Her poor mother was fussing with her hair, a nervous habit. Now, why had Amanda mentioned Angie?
Her mind raced as she filled the dishwasher. But the word “fire” always caught her attention. She turned to see flames tearing at the dusky sky in the news clip. Grabbing the remote, Her father turned up the volume. “A five-alarm fire has engulfed an apartment building in Berwyn,” the announcer said. “Firemen from surrounding areas rushed to fight the fire.”
