The lobby Christmas decorations nearly blew a fuse, and a large group’s tour of the wildlife refuge needed quick scramble fixes thanks to a minibus breakdown, and also, I couldn’t find the pink sweater I’d planned to wear to church.
I went anyway. I definitely didn’t think about taking a kayak and launching off that nice calm beach behind the regional airport where Karl and I had stargazed. Or about calling Cole to demand we buddy rewatch a few episodes of Our Flag Means Death. Or about zipping down to Corpus to take Aunt Maxima to brunch.
Nope.
I put on my blue sweater, and arrived at the parish hall in plenty of time to grab my chorister’s robes and bell ringer’s gloves and one of the roses Karl had gathered for everyone to wear. I stuck it in my hair, clipped over my orange streak. I smiled at him as I took my place for the processional. His return look tried to pin me in place, which was foolish of him because Matt the Grace was already leading the low bells towards the sanctuary.
Karl’s pursed lips made him a touch stern and I nearly broke into a bit of a swoon. Instead, I glanced down to check my bells were oriented correctly and slid into place between the other Graces. After that, we were just musician and conductor. I didn’t seek messages in his posture or expression between pieces. He didn’t deviate from any of the work of the service, moving between the handbells and the vocalists and the piano with his usual sharp, observant skill. He was always where he needed to be, not rushing, and it struck me how deliberate that was. He built the music part of worship in a way that he carried all the moving parts with him. And balanced them effectively with the content of the service, so it all built into something robust and satisfying.
And, given that we were on the third Sunday of Advent, full of joy.
Instead of studying him any more than necessary, I looked out to the congregation. This close to Christmas, the pews teemed with faces. Most, of course, I didn’t know. I wasn’t trying to pick out Karl’s family, though one guy over on the left looked a hell of a lot like my memory of Karl when I first knew him.
Funny how he was such a different person now. More filled out. More solid. Like he possessed a special amount of gravitational pull. It wasn’t just that his jaw was squarer, or his crow’s feet, or arms that definitely had been scrawnier back in his early twenties. Karl possessed a self-confidence that didn’t blare to the rafters, but shone there anyway. And an edge to his posture, a determination. I saw it sometimes in the way he could make me laugh, but sometimes just in the way he could look at me and make the world feel crowded with possibilities.
With dreams.
Dreams that were vital to him.
I glanced over at my parents, and was grinning before I fully grasped that they were sitting next to my sister Emmeline. She was our baby, the last Dunway still in college, and I’d thought she’d be on campus until later in the week. Her head was down—likely reading her phone in her lap—but as Karl moved to us to signal Joy to the World, Dad nudged her shoulder and she looked up. I got a mouthed ‘hi’ from her as she removed her earbuds to pay attention to our music.
After that, I had to start watching Karl’s hands again. They commanded us all, deftly ensuring the peal rang twice through before adding the choir voices, then inviting the whole congregation to sing out.
I wasn’t surprised that it was all more than Emmeline, with her auditory processing disorder, wanted to encounter. While the music resounded, and most everyone in St. Luke’s swayed and smiled, she slipped out.
When it was all over, and I’d collected my jacket and purse, I found her just where I’d suspected: tucked in the little gazebo between the courtyard and the parish house. “Emmers!”
She squeezed me tight. “Gogo!”
“Why didn’t you text me you’d be here? I thought you had finals still?”
“All I’ve got left are two essays, and I decided I’d rather work on them from home.” She hooked our arms together. “So, surprise, I’m back until January. Now you don’t have to be the only child the elders rope into hanging Christmas lights.”
I kissed her cheek. “Bless you. You should hear Uncle Bill’s plans for the holiday party. He thinks Mama and Dad should hire a party tent and a dance floor. Like, with a stage and everything. Not for the yard—he wants to block off the street and invite the neighbors.”
“But we’re still the ones cooking all the food?”
“Logistics were never his strength. I pointed that out, and he said Jeannie could probably figure it all out for us.”
Emmeline snorted. Our second sister ate logistics for breakfast, lunch, and midnight snack. Or maybe it was her rocker husband’s apple pie at midnight, but only cause she’d already eaten all the logistics. Only problem was, Jeannie and Brendan were on tour and not due to Rockport until the day before the annual Dunway December party. “I’m so glad I get to be the one to share this scheme in the sibling chat.”
“Oh, that’s not all,” I told her. “Go talk to Bill and Sam. They decided we should add glitter to the equation.”
“What now?”
“They want an ornament-decorating table. In the house.” I was ready to give her the convoluted rundown of how they’d proposed the idea, but Karl came up behind Emmeline, his eyes burning with some feeling sharper than the sternness from before services.
“Margo.”
I reached to rest my hand on his forearm. “Karl, this is Emmeline. She’s back for Christmas break early. Emmers, it’s Karl Moore.”
My sister’s gaze tracked all the nonverbal cues of the situation and came to rest on me with an expression that told me she’d rescue me if I needed it. She was polite with Karl, who for his part put on his ‘I work here’ mask. But he took my hand and cradled it in his own like a gift. As always, the heat of his palm radiated into me, and I read in it a message of banked impatience. But tolerance, too.
Emmeline slipped away to, she said, talk down Sam and Uncle Bill, leaving me and Karl alone.
“I thought—are you coming to meet my family?”
“I didn’t know Em would be here this week. I wanted to find out what’s up, and I told you before it’s not easy for her to have conversations in crowds.”
He nodded, but he was still wearing the choir director mask. “Will you come now? Or is that not going to happen?”
I glanced at the group blatantly observing us, which included his young look-alike, in case I was unsure of their identity. I tugged at the cuff of my blue sweater, suddenly determined to see for myself if this judgmental handful of Karl’s relatives failed to value him. “Of course.”
The look he gave me then broke through any reserve he might have been trying to maintain.
I wasn’t going to tuck myself in to his life in the long term, but before I left, I could damn sure point out to the Moore family the many facets of Karl worth their notice.