I came in the front hall and the man was sitting halfway up the stairs, between me and my room. His face was in his hands, and he was sobbing.
It was sad, and surprising. He must have been one of Mom’s customers. Mom herself came out of her office door and saw me down here. Then she saw the man huddled on the stairs.
“Brian, pull yourself together and go home,” she called down to him. “Right now, please.”
He turned and looked up at her. “What home?” His face was wet. There were tears in his stubble.
“My son is standing right there, Brian, and he doesn’t need to see this,” Mom said. “I don’t need a parade of misery through my house.”
“Right. I’m sorry.” He climbed to his feet. “Sorry,” he said to me, and left.
What was this about? Mom turned back to her office, and pointed me inside.
Her office desk was in the big bay window. She settled into her chair and nodded me into the sofa across from it.
“Boy,” I said, “that man’s really upset about his wedding plans.”
Mom sagged in her chair. “Archer, do you think I’m a wedding planner?”
Yes. Of course I did.
“Archer, I’m not a wedding planner. I’m a marriage counselor. I majored in psychology, heaven help me.”
Oh. Okay.
“People come to me when their marriages are in trouble or . . . falling apart. We talk things over very privately, very confidentially.”
Right. My brain took a small leap. “Say, listen, Mom. Was that man on the stairs Lynette’s dad?”
Mom blinked at me. Then she sagged some more. “I can’t answer that, Archer. And don’t say anything to Lynette about—”
“Lynette knows her parents are getting a divorce. It’s why she beat up Natalie Schuster.”
“She couldn’t know,” Mom said. “They’ve been very careful.”
But I’d kept Lynette’s note. I fished it out of my pocket and handed it to Mom.
Then, speaking of misery parading through the house, the front door rattled, and Holly was home from high school.
She hit the stairs. Mom had read the note. Holly leaned in the door. “Why is a man in a Mazda crying in our driveway? And why do I even have to live in conditions like this?”
• • •
Kids know most things before their grown-ups know they know. We’re older than we look. It’s complicated. We’re older than we act. But the whole fifth grade was in for a surprise. Lynette knew first and told me on Christmas Day.
She and her mom came to our house for dinner at noon. She was going to spend that evening with her dad, wherever he was. “Now it begins,” she said. “I’m this hundred-pound Ping-Pong ball, back and forth between them. They can’t get along with each other, so they cut me in two. I’m never going to do this to a child because I’m never having children. Period. End of story.”
“How do you know you won’t have any children?”
“Because I’m never getting married.”
“How do you know that?” I said. “We’re in fifth grade. How do you know all this stuff about the future?”
“Do you think you might want to marry me?” she asked, up in my face.
“No,” I said. “Thank you.”
“Then shut up,” she said. This was the mood she was in as Christmas closed in on us.
Christmas Eve, it had just been the four of us, and Dad’s signature chili. After that he and Mom had put on some music and rolled back the living room rug to dance.
They’re not great dancers, but they don’t know this. They dip and swoop and gaze away into the Christmas tree. And it always ends with a song called “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus.”
“It’d be sad,” said Holly, watching them from behind me, “if it wasn’t so embarrassing. I’ll be going away to college. Far, far away. I won’t be coming home for holidays. I won’t Skype.”
Then the next day was a regular Christmas Day plus Lynette and her mom. Holly must have been there. I don’t remember. But she wouldn’t have been texting from the table because Grandma Magill was there. Dad and Uncle Paul got Grandpa Magill up the porch steps in his wheelchair. Grandma brought her famous candied parsnips.
I got some games, but it was an in-between Christmas. I wasn’t too interested in clothes yet. The Ralph Lauren suit’s coming, but not till next year.
The best present as usual was from Uncle Paul, earlier in December: a seat in the press box at Soldier Field for a Bears game. The Bears trounced the Dallas Cowboys 45 to 28 in wind chill at seven below. But to Bears fans it was a balmy day with a touch of spring in the air. We have to have something to believe in while the Cubs are hibernating.
• • •
On Christmas Day it was different seeing Lynette and her mother at the table. And as we know, Lynette wasn’t in a great mood. Also, she was antsy because she had a secret.
“Want to see my room?” I asked her.
“Whatever,” she said. “Is it a mess?”
“Do you want to see it or not?”
We excused ourselves from the table as Uncle Paul was setting fire to the pudding. Not our kind of dessert.
I’d made my bed. I make it every Christmas. Lynette scanned my room, not too interested. She was wearing a Christmas sweater with fir trees on it. Her fists were on her hips. “How do you like my sweater?”
I didn’t know the answer to this. “It’s . . . okay?”
“It’s a nightmare,” Lynette said, “like the rest of this Christmas.”
“Who gave it to you?” I asked.
“Santa,” Lynette said. “I could wring his neck.”
“Are you going to get around to telling your secret?” I said. “Because I’ve been thinking. If it has anything to do with your parents getting a—thinking about getting a divorce, maybe my mom can talk them out of it. She’s a marriage counselor, you know.”
“I doubt it,” Lynette said. “My mom’s changed her relationship status to ‘single’ on Facebook.”
Then she slanted a look at me, so here came the big secret. “Guess who our new teacher’s going to be now that Mrs. Forsyth’s gone home to have her baby.”
I couldn’t.
“Guess who has a teaching certificate and needs a job.”
Still I had nothing.
“My mom,” Lynette said.
“Your mom?” I dropped down on my bed.
“Not only do I have to have a second Christmas dinner tonight with my dad at an Applebee’s, but my mom’s going to be my teacher. Season’s greetings,” Lynette said. “Happy New Year.”