by Nancy Thayer
“Uncle Andy,” Wink said, “could we go eat? My eyes are full and my stomach’s empty.”
Christina and Andy laughed.
“Of course we can go now,” Andy said. “I’m hungry, too.”
They had spent at least an hour looking at the trees, and Christina had been on her feet all day, so she was delighted to head over to the Brotherhood for dinner. They were settled at a table near the fire. Christina and Andy ordered bistro steak frites and local beers. Wink ordered the fried fish dinner so she could get the curly fries.
Andy allowed Wink to have ice cream for dessert—it was a special kind of day.
“How is your Christmas tree decorated?” Christina asked Wink.
Wink shrugged. “We don’t have a Christmas tree.”
“You don’t have a Christmas tree?” Christina nearly fell off her chair.
“Granddad said he never gets one.”
“Okay, but you’re here now, Wink. And your mother will be back from the city pretty soon. And, Andy, where are you spending Christmas?”
Andy smiled. “I’m not sure. I was planning to go skiing in Colorado, but I think I might want to spend Christmas here, with my sister and my niece and…my father.”
“Oh, please please please!” Wink begged, her upper lip coated with a mustache of whipped cream.
“What do you think, Christina?”
“It’s not my place to say. Christmas is a family occasion,” Christina began, but she could feel Wink’s hopeful eyes fastened on her. “So I think of course you should spend Christmas here.”
“Yay!” Wink cried. “So what’s your Christmas tree like?”
“Um,” Christina hedged a moment. Finally she admitted, “I don’t have mine up yet. I’ve been so busy with work.”
“Oh, goody!” Wink said. “We can help you decorate your tree and you can help us decorate ours.”
“Okay,” Christina agreed. “But first, do you have any ornaments?”
Wink’s face fell. “At home, Mom always had the florist decorate our tree. I’m sure Granddad doesn’t have any.”
“Wonderful!” Christina said. “What fun you’re going to have. You can buy some, and you can make some.” With a slightly mischievous smile, she said, “I’m sure your uncle Andy will enjoy stringing popcorn and cranberries.”
* * *
—
Later that evening, after Christina said goodbye to Wink and Andy, she took the flashlight out of the kitchen drawer and carried it with her up to the attic. There was a light up there, one poor lonely sixty-watt bulb with a string hanging down to turn it on and off. The attic was enormous, and packed with papers, clothes, and memorabilia of the Antonioni family.
Christina was sure there were boxes of Christmas ornaments up here, too. Her family had always come here for Christmas, and her parents had always gone wild with decorations. She hadn’t intended to put up a tree this year, her first Christmas ever alone in the house. But the thought of Wink seeing Christina’s house without a tree seemed just wrong. Maybe she would get a small tree. She sat on the attic floor and opened the first box.
Wow. Memories swirled around her like mist. Here were the ornaments she’d made with her mother every year when she was a child: red felt stuffed with cotton, cut to shape a snowman, Santa Claus, a bell, or a sled, sewn with green yarn around the edges, and embellished with glue and glitter. Christina held each one, remembering the love and the patience her mother had shown.
There were fancy store-bought ornaments, too, shiny crimson balls and porcelain snowmen, swans, and reindeer. Even the misshapen decorations Christina had made at school every year had been saved in the box.
She pulled out an oval ornament edged in stiff red lace. Turning it around, she saw that it was a picture frame, and the picture was of Christina when she was eight or nine and wore her hair in pigtails. She touched the picture and let memories sweep over her. Baking Christmas cookies with her mother. Sitting around the fire with her parents and grandparents, drinking eggnog and listening to Christmas music. Waking up on Christmas morning and allowing herself a delicious long moment of anticipation before running down the stairs to see what Santa had brought.
Of course she no longer believed in Santa, but she did believe in fate. And in true love. For a moment, she curled up, leaning her head against a cardboard box, and let herself remember the man she had thought she would marry. Jamie. He was such a good guy. She knew she could have had a pretty nice life with him. But she hadn’t loved him in the dizzy-headed, heart-pounding, head-over-heels way she wanted to love someone, so she let him slip away.
“You’ll never get married at this rate,” Christina’s mother had scolded her. “Stop being so picky.”
“Mom, I want to fall into true, deep, long-lasting love like you did with Dad.”
“Not everyone gets that,” her mother told her.
“We want to be sure you’ve got someone to take care of you,” her father said.
Those were fighting words for Christina. “I can take care of myself!” she declared.
“Oh, honey, we know that,” her mother told her. “It’s the little things we worry about. Like who will bring you aspirin when you have the flu. Or who will meet you at the ferry after you’ve gone off for a day’s shopping.”
Christina’s mother had a gift for knowing that the small, seemingly inconsequential things mattered. Maybe that was why she’d taught kindergarten. Or maybe she’d taught kindergarten because she liked dealing with what seemed to adults like the easy little matters. Tying shoelaces. Being gentle with small creatures like gerbils and hamsters. Singing at the top of your lungs, dancing in a circle, shaking all about. Laughing. Naptime, when the world settled down and you lay on your mat like a seal in the warm sand. Learning to share—not an easy lesson. The mystery of flour and water and baking soda. Honoring the seasons and all the holidays, Ramadan and Hanukkah and Passover as well as Christmas and Easter. The age-old alphabet song.
Her mother had always cared about the normal matters of the home as well. Now that she was older, Christina understood that it was a talent her mother had been born with, to focus on the present, to polish the everyday details of life, like she polished the toaster and teakettle before she left for work so that when she returned home, she found them gleaming at her like brand-new gifts.
Christina’s father had been so different. He was an active, tense man, always worried, his forehead set in wrinkles like a dry desert floor. He worried about his work, about the state of the world—not one day passed when he didn’t worry about the state of the world. When Christina made good grades, her father worried that she wasn’t socializing enough; when she spent time with friends, her father worried that her homework wasn’t getting enough attention.
Most nights, when Christina’s father came home in time for dinner, he was fretful and absentminded, but Christina’s mother could calm him down. Some nights, when he came home from work late, he would be so wound up he couldn’t eat. Christina would eat alone in the kitchen while her mother sat in the living room, letting her husband vent about the craziness of the world.
Christmas was wonderful because the family came to the island to stay with Christina’s grandparents. They were always so happy to see their granddaughter, and they were mad about Christmas—church, Santa, turkey, presents, and snow. The whole thing. It didn’t matter so much if Christina’s father spent half the time shut in another room talking on the phone to Washington.
When the family came to the island every summer to stay with Christina’s mother’s parents, Christina’s father calmed down and actually enjoyed himself, for almost two weeks. Sometimes he walked on the beach with her. Sometimes he took her into town for ice cream. Sometimes as they sat in the backyard eating dinner at the long table with her grandparents, sometimes Christina’s father would laugh. Sooner or later, he wou
ld get a phone call, or later, a fax, or later, an email, and he’d frantically pack his bag and leave for Washington.
Christina didn’t know how her mother could live with such a nervous man. But she did know, in the way children know without words, that her mother loved her husband and that he loved her. Often, when she was going through a tough time, she thought her mother loved her husband more than she loved Christina.
I won’t marry a man like my father, she’d decided. I won’t marry an important man. You miss too much of life rushing around being important.
* * *
—
With tears in her eyes, Christina forced herself back to the present. Opening the lid to a white box, she discovered a dozen paper snowflakes, each one crisp and unique. What fun she’d had the year she learned to fold a piece of white paper in half, cut in and out and carefully snip out diminutive triangles and circles, and unfold it to find an elaborate snowflake.
The cookie cutters were still in the utensil drawer. The recipes for the Christmas cookies and the gingerbread people were there, too, in a three-ring notebook. So were the scissors.
She could buy white paper from Nantucket Office Products.
Island Variety had lots of crafts material—sparkles and beads and felt…
She wondered if they still sold the artificial snow in a can that could be sprayed on a window to make a bell or a snowman or an angel.
Suddenly, she had an idea.
The next morning, she called Andy with her plan. That evening after her shop closed, she and Wink hurried to Andy’s waiting car.
Christina took the passenger seat so she could show Andy where to turn. Wink sat in the back, leaning over Christina’s shoulder.
“Seatbelt, Wink,” Andy said.
“Aww. But I can’t see as well back here.”
“This car doesn’t move until you’ve buckled your seatbelt.”
Grumbling beneath her breath, Wink fastened her seatbelt.
“Go out Orange Street till you come to the rotary, then go left,” Christina said.
“I bought a tree stand at Marine Home Center,” Andy told her.
“Great! I found ours up in the attic. And Wink”—Christina turned toward the backseat—“I found the recipe for Christmas cookies.”
“I don’t know how to cook,” Wink said quietly.
“Well, you’ll be baking, and it’s really easy, and I’ll show you how.”
“Left here?” Andy asked.
“Right. I mean, yes, take this left.”
Soon they were at Moors End Farm, wandering through a forest of evergreens of all sizes and shapes.
“Let’s get a really big one for Granddad’s house,” Wink said.
While Wink and Andy concentrated on the tall trees, Christina studied the shorter ones, especially the pines with their wonderful scent. She wanted a tree she could handle by herself, without anyone’s help, and that limited the size. But now that she was here, she knew she needed a Christmas tree in her home. An evergreen tree was a living, spiritual presence. So many nights of her life she had sat in the dark just looking at their Christmas tree with its small, glowing lights, while a deep peace floated over her. Now as she moved among the evergreens, a forgotten sense of anticipation and happiness and hope awoke in her heart. Tears came to her eyes.
She saw one medium-sized tree, an A-shaped, thickly branched tree. “Oh, you’re perfect,” she said.
“Christina!” Wink, all smiles and excitement, raced over and tugged her hand. “Christina! Look what we chose! Isn’t it tall?”
“Goodness! And isn’t it fat! You’ll need to make lots of ornaments for that tree.”
The Christmas tree guy helped Andy tie the big tree to the top of his car. Christina marked the tree she wanted.
“I’d like to pay for this now and come back later with my car,” she told the clerk.
“We’ll help you,” Andy said.
Christina jumped. She hadn’t realized he was so near.
“Oh, that won’t be necessary…”
“No, but it will be easier, and fun. We’ll pick it up tomorrow night. I’ll help you get it in the stand. And for a reward, I’ll take some of those cookies Wink’s been talking about.”
“It’s a deal,” Christina said.
The night was dark and cold as they drove back to town, but the Christmas lights around roofs and porches twinkled like stars. Main Street was breathtaking with its rows of small evergreens wrapped in lights. Andy was driving them to his father’s house—Wink had begged for Christina to help begin the decoration of their tree. Christina was reluctant. She didn’t know if grumpy Oscar Bittlesman would show his face and make a fuss because a stranger was in his house.
But she would be there because of Wink, and surely even unpleasant Oscar Bittlesman had a soft spot in his heart for his adorable granddaughter.
She didn’t need to worry. Janice Harris, the housekeeper, informed them that Mr. Bittlesman had already had his dinner and gone upstairs to his study. And of course Mrs. Lombard was in New York.
Janice held the door open while Andy and Christina brought in the enormous tree. Wink followed carrying boxes of new Christmas lights. Christina could feel Janice’s curiosity boring into her back. Janice was an island woman, widowed a few years ago, her two daughters married and living on the island. Janice’s silver-gray hair was short but shaped in a pretty puffy shag, like a chrysanthemum. Her indigo cat’s-eye glasses accentuated her blue eyes, and she always had a modest brush of blush on her cheeks and lipstick on her mouth. She was a pretty woman, trim and active, around fifty-five. Tonight she wore khaki slacks, a blue cashmere sweater, and pearl eardrops. Christina didn’t know her well, but they were friendly as passing acquaintances. Janice had lots of acquaintances and even more friends. By midnight tonight, half the town would know that Christina was dating Andy.
Unless Christina could squash the gossip.
“Janice,” she said sweetly, “did Wink tell you she’s helping me in my shop this month?”
“Oh, yes,” Janice replied. “Wink has been talking about you constantly.”
“Tomorrow after work, we’re going to bake Christmas cookies!” Wink said.
“Lucky girl,” Janice said. “Maybe you’ll bring me one?”
“Sure!”
The living room was large, with a fireplace tiled with marble and several sofas and chairs and tables and lamps and still plenty of space for the tree.
“Let’s put it in front of the window,” Christina suggested, “so people can see the lights when they drive by.”
“Good idea.”
Andy put the stand together, anchoring its three red legs firmly on the carpet. He picked up the tree and slotted it in place. Christina and Wink lay on the carpet, turning the screws that held the trunk firmly. The branches brushed their faces. Janice left the room, returning with a watering can with a long spout. She lay down between Christina and Wink.
“This tree drinks a lot of water,” Janice told Wink. “Wink, let me show you how to do it, and then you can be the official tree waterer. Okay?”
Janice slowly, carefully, positioned the watering can so that when she tipped it forward slightly, the spout poured water into the tree holder. “Now you do it, Wink. Don’t do it fast and don’t let the water come all the way to the top or it might overflow and get the carpet wet.”
Frowning in concentration, her tongue caught between her teeth, Wink gently tipped the watering can. The three of them were so quiet they could hear the water streaming out into the holder.
“Is that enough?” Wink asked Janice.
“Let me show you how to check. Dip your finger in, touch the bottom, and you’ll feel how much water is there. That’s right. Now feel your finger. It’s wet to the second knuckle. That’s perfect.”
Wink grinned. “Thank you, Mrs. Janice.” She started to sit up and knocked her head into a low branch, sending needles into her hair. “Oops.”
“You have to crawl backward,” Janice told her. “Like this.”
Christina crawled backward, too, hoping Andy wasn’t looking at her bum. This was not the most attractive position. She was glad when she was out from under the tree and could stand up.
“Well done,” Andy said.
“The next job is all yours,” Christina told him with a grin. “Stringing the lights.”
Because the lights were brand new and tucked tidily into slots in their boxes, they weren’t as irritatingly tangled as usual. Andy found an aluminum ladder in the kitchen pantry. Using that, he climbed to the top of the tree, settling the lights among the short branches. He handed them down to Christina, who wound the string around the high middle branches, then handed them to Janice, who wound them around the fat lower middle branches, and finally Wink circled the tree, placing the lights on the abundant low branches.
“It’s like the tree’s wearing a green tutu!” Wink laughed.
“I’m glad that’s done,” Andy said.
“Now we have to let it fall out,” Janice said.
“Fall out?” Wink repeated, her forehead wrinkled.
“You saw how its limbs were compressed, pushed together? The tree needs time to relax.”
“She’s right,” Christina agreed. She put her arms up, hands touching, then slowly brought her arms down to show how the limbs would fall.
“Oooh,” Wink said, repeating Christina’s movement.
“We’ll decorate the tree tomorrow night,” Janice told the little girl. Turning to Christina, she asked, “Would you like a drink? Some hot cocoa?”
“Thanks, but I’ve got to get home,” Christina said. “Tomorrow’s another busy day.”
“And after work, we’re going to bake cookies!” Wink added.
“I’ll drive Christina home,” Andy said.
