Chapter 34
“Merry Christmas, Mr. Benbow.” Mrs. Cray’s cheery voice greeted Emm when he answered the telephone. He was feeling more melancholy than merry. Arvil would have turned fifty today.
Mrs. Cray clucked sympathetically before nattering on. “I’m heading to my sister’s later, but beforehand I’ll fortify myself with mulled wine.” From her chatty tone, Emm guessed she’d already started. “Given Jorgie’s penchant for flaunting tradition, I always prepare myself for the unexpected. Last year she served hot dogs with toasted marshmallows for dinner, then made us fish for our presents in a tub filled with caramel corn. What that silliness had to do with Christmas is beyond me.” Mrs. Cray laughed and asked about Emm’s holiday plans.
“The family is getting together at Bruna’s. It’s been an annual tradition since the year after the last Benbow child left home, but this will be my first time joining them.”
Mrs. Cray caught her breath. Or maybe she hiccupped. “Goodness. Why haven’t you gone before today? What did you do instead?”
“Told them I wasn’t up to it, down with a cold or stomach virus. Something like that. After a couple of years, the children didn’t ask me again. They’d come by one at a time to see me over the next few days, bring a tin of cookies, a new pair of socks, a muffler. At some point, they even stopped doing that.” Emm had been truthful when he said he wasn’t up to seeing them all, but not because he’d caught a bug. It was easier to be alone than to try to make conversation or remember the names of their growing families. He was ready for company now, but still nervous about spending a whole day, not only with his children, but also their children and grandchildren. According to Darold’s family tree, there were twenty-eight of them, not counting Erissa’s daughter. “We’d be more than thirty with Arvil, Helma, and the children they’d have had.”
In a sober tone, Mrs. Cray advised Emm to stop counting. “Even the ambitious Mr. Carnegie said to be grateful for what you have instead of regretting what you don’t.”
“You’re absolutely right,” Emm said. “I have seven living children and that makes me a lucky man.” He hesitated. “But aren’t I allowed to wish that Izora was there to see them all?”
“Of course, you are. Holidays can’t help being tinged with sadness for those who are no longer with us. I miss Robert terribly at this time of year. Maybe because we didn’t have children, we created our own grown-up rituals.” She sighed, and sniffled. “Listening to Handel’s Messiah and taking a twilight walk in the snow.”
“It’s too bad you and your sister didn’t create a special ritual to follow every year.”
Mrs. Cray laughed. “That’s not Jorgie’s style. She isn’t the sentimental type.” Emm heard her take a sip of wine. “On the other hand, if you can begin a new tradition by spending Christmas with your family, I see no reason my sister and I can’t start one too. A game of charades to guess what presents we bought for each other? That would be right up her alley.”
“It’s never too late to change. Or begin,” said Emm.
“Dale Carnegie couldn’t have said it better.”
Emm accepted the compliment, but he wasn’t starting a new tradition. He was joining an established one. Alas, one that Izora would never be part of. If only she’d lived to see her children grow up and become parents themselves. Even his mother, imperfect as he’d come to realize she was, had genuinely enjoyed and been proud of the grandchildren he and his siblings had given her.
“Would you like me to take you to the cemetery tomorrow so you can wish Izora a Merry Christmas?” asked Mrs. Cray. “Arvil too?”
“Yes, thank you. And Helma.”
“Who?”
“I’ll explain tomorrow. It’s been a while since we’ve talked.”
“We also need to talk about what happens come the first of January, whether you’ll live with your children or move into Kingsbridge. They’re down to one opening. You only have six days to decide before they give it to the person at the top of the waiting list.” They arranged for her to pick up Emm the next morning at Darold’s house, where he planned to spend the night. That way, she wouldn’t have to drive out to Zona’s. Mrs. Cray told him to dress warmly.
“You sound like my daughter. Are you sure I can’t live with you?” Living with a social worker who helped elderly clients might be just as good as a nurse who took care of old people.
“Didn’t you just agree to appreciate the children you have instead of wishing for another?”
Emm despaired of ever being able to do so. Then he reminded himself, it was never too late. “Someday I’ll be content with my piece of cake and stop making the same greedy mistake.”
***
Zona dropped Emm off at Bruna’s and said she’d come back later. Like Mrs. Cray, she intended to fortify herself before facing her sister. Unlike Mrs. Cray, she wouldn’t sip wine. Instead, she would snuggle with Riley. Zona drove to Bruna’s grim-faced, knocked on the door, and left as soon as Emm crossed the threshold. Bruna stared at her retreating back. Emm’s eyes swiveled from one to the other. The sisters hadn’t even wished each other a Merry Christmas.
The apartment was hot and already felt crowded, even though Emm was the first to arrive. Looking at the extra chairs and presents, his stomach clenched picturing the upcoming crush when the seats were filled with grown-ups and children, keyed up, were running around. Waves of heat, bearing the aromas of gingerbread and turkey, wafted in from the kitchen. One end of the living room was dominated by a huge tree filled with handmade ornaments: a lumpy Santa with a cotton-ball beard, a dozen tin foil stars, a baby Jesus swaddled in a pale blue doll blanket. If any of these trinkets dated to when his own children were growing up, Emm didn’t recognize them. Presumably, most were made by the next two generations of Benbow offspring.
Bruna cleared a space for Emm in the armchair where he used to sit and offered him tea or hot cider. Her easy movements and calm voice led him to conclude she was more relaxed about the upcoming party than he was, and possibly less nervous around him than vice versa. Either her anger had dissipated in the nine months since he’d moved out or holiday spirits had brightened her mood. He gladly accepted the hospitality without trying to decipher how she really felt.
As Emm sipped his cider, Bruna carried food to the portable trays she’d set up around the living room, then knelt at a coffee table to wrap presents. She explained that the adults had long ago stopped giving gifts to one another, there were simply too many of them, but no one stinted on toys for the children. Emm estimated that Bruna had bought two dozen presents for her eight great nieces and nephews. She was halfway finished wrapping them when a timer jangled in the kitchen. Exasperated, she threw down the paper and tape and struggled to her feet.
Emm reached out. “Hand them to me. I’ll wrap them.”
“Really, Father, I can take care if it myself.” Bruna tucked in the gray hairs escaping from her bun. Her calm demeanor was frayed, and the old edge had returned to her voice.
“Please, let me help. My hands are nimble even if my legs aren’t.” He flexed his fingers.
“Well, all right. But be careful when you put the presents under the tree.” She looked at the extra tables and chairs scattered about the room. “It’s a bit of a minefield in here.”
“I can take care of myself, too,” said Emm. He carefully measured and cut the wrapping paper, feeling as competent as the old days when he did home repairs, then carefully labeled each gift in large block letters. He checked his copy of the family tree so he could connect each child’s name to his or her parents, and their parents in turn back to his own children. To his surprise, he knew who most of them were before he looked. Did that prove his memory was still sharp or, as he’d once read in the paper, did people remember the things that were important to them? If the latter, at what point in the past year had this new interest in the Benbow family emerged?
Emm steered his walker to the tree with one hand while carrying the smaller presents with the other. The biggest box, however, he’d have to hold with both hands. Recalling his unassisted trip down the hallway at Zona’s, Emm left his walker behind and moved slowly across the room, carrying the present in front of him. He tripped over something he didn’t see—a table leg, a throw rug—just as Bruna raced in and caught his elbow. He waited for an irritated “I-told-you-so” look, but her eyes mirrored only concern. She steadied him, put the package under the tree, and led him back to his chair.
Emm was still shaking when he sat down. His mind returned to the day last spring when he’d fallen and there was no one around to help, or even to find him, for two days. He’d lain in his own excrement, betrayed by his body, as helpless as a newborn. Despite his fantasies of someday returning to the old place, he knew beyond a doubt that he’d never be able to live there alone again. As he watched his daughter navigate easily around the room, filling plates and hanging decorations, Emm made a painful decision. “Bruna, I’m going to leave the house to you.”
Bruna stood still, a plate of cookies in one hand and a sprig of mistletoe in the other. Her eyes narrowed. “Why?”
“So, you’ll have enough space for everyone, not just on the holidays, but for the weekly family gatherings and the children’s playtimes and sleepovers.”
“You’d really let me do what I wanted with the house? Sign over all the papers? Not keep holding onto the strings?” Emm nodded. Bruna scowled. “You should have done something with the place years ago. It needs a lot of fixing up. I don’t have the money to pay for repairs.”
Emm said she didn’t have to do it all at once. The house was structurally sound. He’d give her a check each month, from his pension, while the work was being done. If he continued to feel better, he might even try some of the easier repair jobs himself. Maybe get some of her siblings, or their adult children, to lend a hand. A sort of family project.
“Suppose the others see your giving the house to me as playing favorites? Won’t they be resentful?” The memory of Arvil hung in the cinnamon-scented air.
“I don’t think so,” said Emm. “You’ve taken care of them your whole life. I should think they’d be happy for you and, in a way, for themselves. This way, they can still get together at the old place, and from now on, the rest of their families can too.”
“That would be nice.” Bruna took a deep breath. “Of course, you’re welcome to come too, Father. As often as you like.”
Emm liked that idea, although getting there would be complicated if he lived with Zona.
Bruna sat on the arm of his chair and enfolded Emm in an awkward hug. “It’s a grand gift, more than I’d ever dream of asking Santa for. Thank you.” The words sounded sincere, yet Emm couldn’t swear to his daughter’s gratitude. The truth was that she would never trust him, and he would never be able to read her. All the same, he’d made the right decision. The house would stay in the Benbow family for a third generation, and possibly one or two to follow. The inheritance wasn’t as big as Mr. Millar’s, but it would keep Emm’s family together, not tear them apart.
***
Half an hour later, Cleon’s family arrived in a caravan. Emm thought his son had lost more hair and gained more weight since last spring, but he was wearing a bulky reindeer sweater, probably a present from his wife Betty, so it was hard to tell. While they stowed their coats, Emm glanced at the family tree. Cleon’s two sons had each had a son and a daughter. One of the grandchildren was Jonah, the boy who’d bombarded Emm with questions the night he’d slept over at Bruna’s.
The child now presented himself to Emm and studied him. “You’re Great Gramps. I had a birthday. I’m six.” He held up the correct number of fingers; Emm congratulated him. “I can read J-O-N-A-H.” He pointed to the gifts with his name on them. Then, finished with his declarations, the child returned to asking questions. Today he wanted to know what was inside the boxes.
“I don’t know,” said Emm, “and if I did, I wouldn’t tell. It’s supposed to be a surprise.” Jonah’s face fell. “Why don’t you guess?” suggested Emm. Jonah perked up immediately. “Did I get a bicycle?” Emm asked if any of the packages were the right size. Jonah admitted they weren’t big enough. “Try shaking one, gently,” Emm offered. Jonah picked up the smallest box and held it to his ear as he slowly moved it back and forth. “Hot wheels!” he shouted. “I bet it’s hot wheels.”
Jonah put the present back under the tree, grabbed a handful of gingerbread cookies and candy canes, and ran off to play with his cousins. Emm hoped the child was right, or that there was at least something inside the box that he really wanted. He remembered the excitement of Christmas morning when he was a child, tiptoeing down to the living room of the house where Bruna would soon live and the whole family would gather a year from now. He closed his eyes and wished that he would be there with them too. That was the present he really wanted.
Bruna brought him more cider and asked if he needed anything else. Emm was content to just sit and watch. Cleon and his sons, Mark and Paul, talked hockey. The Montreal Canadiens were favored to win their twentieth Stanley Cup, but Cleon was rooting for Toronto. Mark and Paul said he should resign himself to losing, as usual, at which point Cleon popped a second beer.
Emm remembered the days when not getting what he’d set his heart on made him turn to alcohol too. His drinking was sporadic, though, and dwindled as the Derby was left farther behind. Cleon’s drinking was steady, seemed to be increasing, and was spurred by anger at something being taken away—the glory of an athlete, the respect due a father—rather than something he’d never gotten in the first place. Emm hoped his son would make peace with his demons. It was too bad that Betty put up with it; she was the only one who could get Cleon to stop. On the other hand, he loved her for accepting him as he was, and her disapproval might destroy him for good.
Just then Bruna emerged from the kitchen, frowning, with Betty on her heels. Betty kissed the top of Cleon’s head and carried his empty bottle to the kitchen. She soon came back out and straightened the presents under the tree. Then she walked around the small tables laden with food, squared the edges of the napkins, and scooped crumbs into her palm.
“Leave it be,” Bruna snapped at Betty. “It’s only going to get messier when everyone else gets here. I want people to relax and have a good time. I’ll clean up tomorrow.”
Cleon put down his beer and stood behind Betty, who held the fistful of crumbs to her chest. The room grew quiet. Suddenly, Emm felt like the only grown-up in the room. He coughed. “The way my mother did it was to clean up right after a party so she wouldn’t have to face a mess the next morning. I’m sure Betty would be happy to stay after the others leave and help out then.”
Betty nodded and lowered her fist to her side.
Emm jabbed his walker. “I would stay and help if I could, but I’d probably trip and make a bigger mess than all the children combined. Right, Bruna?”
His daughter nodded too, although her back remained rigid.
Emm faced Jonah, his sister, and their cousins. “Great Gramps would help BUT he’d land right on his BUTT. Oops!” He covered his mouth. The children looked toward their parents for permission to giggle. They nodded and laughed as well. Then everyone resumed what they’d been doing.
Betty, blinking back tears, balled up the crumbs in a napkin and brought Emm a plate of cookies. She slipped a coaster under his mug. Then, avoiding the kitchen, she sat by the tree and read to her granddaughters. Emm wasn’t sure why he’d defended her. Her constant cleaning drove him crazy too. Perhaps, he was sympathetic because he still felt the sting of Bruna’s anger.
Just as Bruna had never gotten over the sting of his anger when she was a little girl.
Cleon finished his third beer and raised it to his father in thanks. Then he rose and clapped his hands. “Jonah, Melissa, Eric, Kelly. Time to go outside and build a snow fort.” Kelly and Melissa said they wanted to stay inside and keep reading with Betty. Jonah whined that it was too cold. Only Eric went to the bedroom to get his coat.
“Bring Jonah’s too,” Cleon called after him, before turning to Jonah. “Don’t be a crybaby. You’re a big boy now and big boys aren’t afraid of a little cold.” He threw the coat at his grandson.
Jonah let it fall and walked over to Emm, his eyes silently imploring Great Gramps to stand up for him too. It seemed as though Emm was going to play referee the entire day. For a minute, he envied Zona, resting at home with Riley. Dogs were easier than children.
In a voice as calm and neutral as he could muster, Emm told Cleon, “Even big boys like me would rather stay inside sometimes. Maybe Jonah will go out later when the rest of his cousins get here.” He looked at Jonah, who stared at the floor, ungiving. “Meanwhile, Jonah’s learning his letters. I asked him to read me a book. Shall we do that now?” The child went to get one.
Cleon spluttered. “I only meant that he needed fresh air and exercise. It’s ...”
“Healthy,” Emm finished the thought. His son looked lost. Disrespected by his children; disobeyed by his grandchildren. He didn’t need further punishment. Emm spoke gently, “You’re right, though, about taking care of ourselves. Frankly, I could use more fresh air and exercise too.” He’d said the words to help Cleon save face, but they really were true. Emm had an idea that could help them both. “Suppose you made up an exercise plan for your old man and took me out every week? You’d be doing me a big favor.”
“You mean drive all the way out to Zona’s house?”
Emm hadn’t thought this through. “Well, wherever I decide to live.”
Cleon looked skeptical. “That old age home might not even allow me to do it.”
“I’m sure they’re happy whenever family members take the residents out.” Emm certainly hoped so. “Although you might have to sign a waiver saying you’d be responsible if anything happened to me while I was in your care.”
Now Cleon looked alarmed. “Let’s see where you end up, Dad. Then we’ll talk about it.”
Jonah came back with Hop on Pop. It wasn’t clear whether he’d chosen the book because he could “read” it by heart or remembered Emm making up rhymes at Bruna’s last spring. Those verses had gone over the children’s heads. By contrast, Dr. Seuss’s vocabulary was simple at the same time that his stories were delightfully convoluted. Fun for every generation. Emm vowed to copy him and do a better job next time. Give more thought to what the little ones needed. Maybe Cleon would copy Emm and do a better job with his grandchildren in the future too.
The irony of setting an example for Cleon wasn’t lost on Emm, but today, to his chagrin, he’d seen how much of himself was in his son. Hearing no for an answer could turn them both into bullies. Emm had second thoughts about his exercise plan. Someday Cleon might bully Emm if he could no longer do what his son thought was good for him. In fact, the less Cleon took care of his own health, the more he might impose an unreasonable regimen on Emm. Like the childless Mr. Millar, urging others to have big families when he’d failed to marry and have even one child himself. Emm’s bile rose as he thought of the misery that miserable man had caused him.
“You look tired, Father. Would you like to take a nap before the others get here?” Bruna hugged Jonah and sent him off for another candy cane. She helped Emm to the bedroom where he used to sleep and removed the coats from the lower bunk. “I’ll put these in my room. Have a good rest. You’ll need it.”
Emm was glad to take a break from his family, knowing that sixteen more would arrive that afternoon. When Bruna moved into the old house, she’d have enough space to give him a bedroom of his own there. But did he want that? Emm looked at the upper bunk where Jonah had slept last spring and knew the answer immediately. No. It wouldn’t provide enough of a retreat, and besides, running away in your own home wasn’t a solution. Wherever he ended up, it would have to be a place that Emm wanted to live in, not one he was anxious to escape from.