He watched the flag.
She watched him.
He stood erect and respectful, raising such a turmoil within her that it felt as if the drums were beating deep in her breast.
The color guard passed and Christopher replaced his hat, leaned over to say something to a small child in the crowd. He laughed, touched the child’s head, then straightened, glancing down the street while the band came on, their brass blaring.
As if he sensed himself being studied, he turned and looked over his left shoulder in Lee’s direction. Their gazes collided. Neither of them smiled, but he began coming toward her with the same unruffled pace at which he’d approached the boys who’d thrown the pumpkin.
Flustered, she turned her attention to the band, watched their ranks passing by as even as cornrows. The march ended and the drum section took up a street beat— throom, thr-thr throom! —tenors and bass drums answering the snares with such booming vigor it battered the eardrums.
Then Christopher was before her and she could no longer keep herself from looking up at his smooth-shaven face. His mouth moved. He must have said hello, though the drums covered it up. She said the word, too, though it was lost in the reverberations around them. Their attraction for each other and denial of it were in the forefront of their encounter, coloring it with polite distancing while the entire city of Anoka and her sister looked on. Finally he realized how long he’d focused on Lee, and touched his hatbrim in a polite hello to Sylvia and Pat Galsworthy. A boy on a BMX bike was doing wheelies, threatening to wipe out the rear corner of the band. “Gotta go,” he said, and escaped under the guise of duty.
Against her will, Lee’s eyes followed him as he motioned the boy over closer to the curb, then answered a greeting from someone in the crowd with whom he stood talking, Christopher with one foot on the street, one on the curb.
Further contingents of the parade passed by—the grand marshal, kids in costume, the Shriners on their purring Harleys, more kids in costume.
Lee pretended to watch the movement in the street, but all the while she kept Christopher in her peripheral vision. He visited with people. He touched kids on their heads. He caught some candy thrown by a clown and gave it to one of them. He plucked up his radio and put it to his mouth, scowled westward up the street, then turned purposefully and headed back toward his car. Passing Lee, he gave her only a glance, and then he was gone.
The parade kept coming—endless kids in costume, the Forest Lake band, the Hopkins band, a float holding the school cooks from Coon Rapids Senior High, more floats, more bands, the football team on a flatbed truck and the cheerleaders waving pompons, the royalty from the Miss Anoka Pageant—but long before the big red city fire trucks rolled by with their air horns deafening, signaling the parade’s end, it had ended for Lee Reston.
10
SHE didn’t call him about Thanksgiving. On November eighteenth her parents got back into town and Peg called right away. She wanted Lee to make the pumpkin pies and was planning on twenty-three for the holiday meal. She said, “Chris is coming, isn’t he?”
“I’m not sure. I think he has to work.”
Peg said, “Oh, what a shame.”
Lee hung up, burdened by an enormous load of guilt.
On the Tuesday before Thanksgiving, Peg and Orrin Hillier were at the Red Owl store shopping for their Thanksgiving turkey when Peg turned into the frozen-food aisle and nearly collided with Christopher, just off duty, still dressed in his blues and shopping for his supper.
“Christopher! Well, for goodness sake, it’s you!”
“Hello, Mrs. Hillier.”
She gave him a hug, which he returned, holding his frozen chicken divan away from her back. He and Orrin shook hands. They stood and talked awhile, about Orrin and Peg’s trip to New England, the stupendous fall colors they’d seen and the covered bridges of Vermont. They praised the architectural splendors of Charleston and the fine golf courses of Myrtle Beach.
Then Peg said, “I was so sorry to hear you couldn’t make it to our house for Thanksgiving dinner.”
Unsure of what was going on, Christopher covered his surprise well. “I’m sorry to miss it, too. You know how a bachelor loves home cooking.”
“I was hoping you’d get the holiday off, but Lee said you have to work.”
Out of nowhere he blurted the truth. “Not until three.”
“Not until three! Why, then, it’s settled. We eat at one and you’ll be there.”
He smiled. “Thanks, Mrs. Hillier. In that case, I will.”
“The mulled cider will be hot at eleven, so come early.”
“Your family is so good about including me. I just can’t thank you enough.”
Peg Hillier looked pleased and patted his shoulder. “Nonsense,” she said. “You’re like one of the family yourself.” As proof, he received a grandmotherly hug of farewell.
ONthe day before Thanksgiving, Lee arranged an elegant centerpiece for Rodney to deliver to her parents’ home. It was a lavish mixture of apricot ranunculus, kalanchoes and an abundance of sprayed pomegranates, all tied together with dark trailing ivy and wired bicolored grosgrain ribbon. She put it in a low, gleaming oval of polished brass and signed the card Happy Thanksgiving and welcome home. Love, Sylvia and Lee. All the while Lee worked on it she was recalling last Thanksgiving when the family had gathered at her house and Greg had still been alive. How many months since he’d died? Five, yet on given days she was still assaulted by anguish at the realization that he was gone forever. She supposed it was natural that holidays would be the worst. Lee put the last twist on the wired ribbon and was standing back assessing the arrangement when Sylvia came over to the arranging table and said reverently, “Wow.” They stood for a moment admiring the color, balance and texture of the creation.
“It’s a masterpiece.” Sylvia draped a wrist over Lee’s shoulder. “I wish I could arrange something like that just once in my life.”
Lee put her arm around Sylvia’s waist. “And I wish I was better at the business side of business. It’s why we work together so well, isn’t it?”
“Mom’s going to love it.”
“Mm.”
To Sylvia, Lee seemed unusually quiet and subdued. “Something wrong?”
Lee only stared at the flowers.
“You thinking of Greg?” Lee got tears in her eyes and Sylvia gripped her shoulder, pulled her over and put her temple against her sister’s.
“It’s just that it’s Thanksgiving . . . the first one without him. We’re supposed to give thanks for all our blessings, but I’m not feeling especially blessed right now.”
“I know,” Sylvia whispered. “I know.”
They stood awhile, staring at the flowers, which had paled in importance. In a quiet, lost voice, Lee admitted, “I’ve been so lonely, Sylvia.”
“Oh, honey,” Sylvia said sadly.
Lee blinked, scraped the tears off her cheeks and shook herself. “Oh, shoot, I don’t know what’s the matter with me! I do have plenty to be thankful for, and lots of it is right here at this minute.” She gave Sylvia a hug. “Thanks, sis. I feel better now. Just getting it off my chest makes me feel better.”
That night at home, Lee tallied up other blessings for which she should be grateful. It snowed that night, a light, fluffy blanket of white. Janice came home from college, Joey stayed home, and the three of them had a lot of fun making four pumpkin pies and an artichoke casserole together.
They awakened on Thanksgiving morning to a pearl-gray sky and a world garbed in ermine. The snow had stopped falling and no wind blew. Still in her nightclothes, Lee looked out the window and said, “Yesss!”
They dressed in their finery, went to church, and from there straight out to the Hillier home.
Peg and Orrin lived several miles north of Anoka beside the Rum River on four very pricey acres covered with red oaks. The trees looked rich beyond description in their new dressing of white. Contrasted against the snow, the black, knurled branches create
d a stark, stunning tableau like a pen-and-ink drawing. The driveway was long and curved, wending between the oaks on its way to a sprawling, single-level house of salmon-colored brick that had once been featured in a photo layout in Better Homes and Gardens. Both inside and out, the place radiated class and good taste. When the house was being custom-built, Peg Hillier had personally chosen every fixture and feature, working not only with the builder, but also with a Minneapolis decorator whose clientele list included officers of the 3M corporation, doctors from the Mayo Clinic and members of the Minnesota Orchestra.
When Lee and the kids arrived, Peg came to answer the door herself, still an impeccably groomed woman in spite of the faint roundness at her middle. “Darlings. Happy Thanksgiving.” They all exchanged kisses and hugs, juggling pies and a casserole dish while Orrin came to take their coats and offer hugs, too.
Peg said, “We’re having drinks in the study so go right on in.”
Lee said, “I had to stop and pick up the ice cream on the way and the carton was a mess. I’ve got to wash my sticky hands, then I’ll be right with you.”
In the bathroom a clover-leaf-shaped whirlpool tub was surrounded by carefully placed pots of leafless corkscrew sticks and immense baskets of black and white towels. While Lee washed and dried her hands she heard Sylvia’s laugh and a rustle of voices raised in greeting. She opened a drawer , found her mother’s brush and ran it through her hair. The doorbell rang. Someone else arrived and voices blended, then faded off toward the study. Sylvia’s little granddaughter, Marnie, came running down the hall and into the bathroom, her patent-leather shoes slapping against the tile.
“Hi, Auntie Lee,” she said.
“Hi, Marnie!”
“I got a new dress!” It was frosted with lace and ruffled as a tutu.
“Ooo, is it ever pretty!”
“Mommy said to blow my nose.” She went up on tiptoe but couldn’t reach the tissue box on the vanity counter. Lee helped her and the child chattered all the while . . . about her new white tights and how her mom had brought along her snow pants and boots today so she and her brothers could go out and play in the snow later.
Lee snapped off the light and the two of them left the bathroom together.
“Want to go see the flowers?” Lee asked.
The child nodded and offered her hand.
They cut across one end of the entry hall where a great-aunt and uncle were arriving, and moved on toward the rear of the house where the side-by-side dining room and living room looked out over a view that was the house’s greatest asset. Roosting high over the river, the building’s entire eastern exposure was made of glass, and the view beyond it was splendid today with the water still tumbling between the white wooded banks where squirrels and blue jays added a touch that no decorator, whatever her credits, could have provided.
The tables—two of them butted—were spread in unabashed resplendence, stretching across the archway and spanning both rooms, which were carpeted in palest taupe and decorated with a lot of white upholstery on straight-lined functional furniture. The tables were spread with white damask and set with Bavarian bone china chosen by the decorator to complement the traditional decor.
If there was one thing Peg prided herself on, it was good taste.
Marnie was dancing around, holding one foot up behind her, touching the backs of chairs, too young to be impressed by the lavish layout of finery that glittered and shone before the long, bright windows.
Lee checked the flowers: they looked truly worthy of a Peg Hillier table setting. She wandered along, passing several place settings, noting that her mother had paid her usual attention to every detail. Who but Peg Hillier used place cards anymore?
“Did you make those flowers?” Marnie asked, still dancing on one foot.
“Yes, I did.”
“They’re pretty.”
“Thank you.”
Marnie scampered off. Lee took one last look at the flowers and turned toward the sound of happy chatter coming from the study. It was a large room at the front of the house with a brass-screened . replace where a festive fire burned. Relatives sat on the brown leather sofas or stood in groups chatting with the usual exuberance of arrival time. Peg stood beside a skirted round table ladling hot cider into a crystal cup, adding a cinnamon stick and handing it to . . .
Christopher Lallek!
Lee felt her face go red and her chest constrict.
He took the cup and napkin, smiled and thanked Peg, then put it to his mouth to sip while turning toward Janice, who was talking and smiling up at him, already holding a cup of her own.
She said something and he laughed, then drank again. Over the rim of his cup he saw Lee for the first time, standing stricken in the doorway. Of the two, he managed far more poise than she. No one would have guessed there was the slightest strain between them as he lowered the cup—smile intact—and said to Janice, “Oh, there’s your mother.”
Lee moved into the room toward him—what else could she do?
Janice turned and said, excitedly, “Mom, why didn’t you tell me Christopher was coming?”
“I thought he had to work.”
“Not until three, it turned out,” he said, then leaned to kiss her cheek. “Happy Thanksgiving, Mrs. Reston. I’m glad I could make it after all.”
“So am I,” she responded, finding that deep in her heart it was true. Lord, how she’d missed him. They had parted at her request, but she’d come to believe that request—prompted by forces other than what she felt for him—was one of the most misguided of her life. She had said to him once that she was not a lonely woman, then yesterday to Sylvia she’d said just the opposite. Her loneliness had begun, she realized now, since he had come into her life and then been exiled from it.
He was dressed in gray wool trousers, white shirt, blue floral tie and a finely knit shawl collar sweater of navy blue. He was well proportioned, fit, trim, and wore clothing well. So rarely had she seen him in anything other than his uniform or jeans. Shorts in the summer, of course, but his clothing today lent him a new aspect that brought to Lee feelings she hadn’t experienced since Bill was alive.
It was sexual attraction, pure and simple. And for the first time, she admitted it.
She watched him with her family. Every person in the room knew him. Everyone liked him. But what, exactly, would their reaction be if she started dating him? Really dating him.
Janice looked radiant. She stood beside him, looking up, adoring, offering small talk that often made him laugh. Once she touched his arm; it was only briefly, but Lee understood what kind of feelings women put into touches like that. It was flirtation of the subtlest kind. Studying the two of them as they stood talking, Lee admitted to herself what a beautiful couple they made. He, at thirty, so healthy and well groomed. She, at twenty-three, with her dark wavy hair and perfect skin; not a wrinkle beside her mouth or eyes; in the full flush of youth. Lord in heaven, Lee didn’t understand this. How could such a bizarre attraction have happened? Why herself? Why not Janice, who was so much more suitable?
Peg called from the kitchen that she needed help, and Orrin rounded up a few of the women to fill wineglasses and carry bowls. He himself went along to carve the turkey and dig the stuffing from inside the bird.
As Lee circled the table with the wine decanter, she noted what she’d missed earlier: Christopher’s place card at a chair between her own and Janice’s.
Without asking, she went to the refrigerator, found some cranberry juice and filled his glass with that.
The placement of guests began amid far less than the usual shuffling and shifting, due to Peg’s carefully calligraphic place cards. Christopher found himself between the two Reston women and politely seated them both, pulling out their chairs before taking his own.
Orrin said, “Let’s all join hands now for a prayer .”
Around the table everyone formed a ring. Lee took Joey’s hand, on her left, and Christopher’s, on her right. His hand was smooth and w
arm. She was momentarily conscious of her own being rough and dry from too many prickly flower stems and too many dunkings in chlorine water. She was more conscious of a current flowing between them during the warm, firm contact of flesh that seemed to link more than their hands.
Orrin bowed his head.
“Dear Lord, on this day of Thanksgiving we give special thanks for everyone around this table, for their health and prosperity and happiness. We thank you for the bounty you’ve given us, and ask that you watch over us all in the year to come. We also ask that you look after Greg, who’s missing from this table this year, but is there with you . . .” Lee felt Christopher’s fingers tighten on her own and returned the pressure. “. . . and that you help each of us accept his absence and not question your reason for taking him. Give special strength to Lee, Janice and Joey in the year ahead. Until we gather again next year at this time . . . thank you, Lord, for everything.”
Few at the table lifted their heads immediately after the prayer. Neither did Christopher release Lee’s hand but held it under the tablecloth a moment longer and looked over at the tears in her downturned eyes.
“I’m glad to be here,” he whispered, giving her hand an extra squeeze before finally releasing it.
Oh, that meal. That beautiful, awful, high-tension meal, with Christopher so close she could smell the wool of his sweater, and touch his sleeve, and watch his hands moving over the silverware, all the while pretending none of it meant anything out of the ordinary. The family probably attributed her unusual quiet to Orrin’s prayer, though everyone recovered from it nicely and began chattering.
Family Blessings Page 22
