Every happening, great or small, is a parable whereby God speaks
to us, and the art of life is to get the message.
—Malcolm Muggeridge
“Gwen!” I shouted out my door. “Did you reschedule the Alberto Diaz conference?” I waited for her to answer before impatiently getting up from my desk to look for her. When I saw her empty chair, I remembered that I’d let her leave three hours ago. It was Christmas Eve, and she had relatives to pick up at the airport. I sighed, looking at my watch.
“Seven o’clock,” I said aloud to the empty office. I looked at my desk and groaned at the stack of files that had been sitting there since morning. I shoved a couple of the more important ones into my briefcase. I’d meant to knock off at five because I still hadn’t done any Christmas shopping. Sometimes when I worked, I was in the habit of concentrating so hard that I occasionally failed to notice the passage of time.
After flipping off the office lights, I locked the door and rushed down the hall for the elevators. Aggravated, I pushed the button and wrestled with my coat as I stepped inside the doors. I rode to the ground floor alone, stewing in my thoughts. “This is just great,” I grumbled. “Where can I find a store open so late on Christmas Eve?”
Just two days earlier I had driven to my mother’s after work. Since Kate had asked me to leave, my life felt as if it was spinning out of control, and I had no idea of how to get it back on track. Mom was always a good sounding board. I pulled up in front of her house, but all the lights were off inside. Of course they were. It was 10:45. How could I ever expect to get my life back on track when I couldn’t even leave the office at a decent hour? I sat in my car and marveled at my mother’s house, twinkling with white lights, the Nativity shining brilliantly. She and my father had made our home a magical place to live. Birthdays were magical. Thanksgiving and Easter and Christmas were all magical. I used to joke with Kate that I believed in the Tooth Fairy till I was twenty-one because I never caught my mother sliding a quarter under my pillow. Mom and Dad wanted our home to be the most exciting place on earth for Hugh and me. Not a place of bickering, bitterness, and strife. They wanted to create magical memories, and they did. I leaned on the steering wheel and stared at the house. What magical memories would my girls remember of me? I shook my head and drove home, wondering how I could ever get the magic back.
Now I jumped into the Mercedes and wound my way through the brightly lit streets, heading downtown. Store windows sparkled with brilliant lights and decorations, but they were all closed. It was, no surprise, snowing again—large fat flakes filled the air. The streets were nearly empty, and I felt like the only person in the world who wasn’t already home with his family. Even the tinkling of bells had stopped, as the Salvation Army ringers had already turned in their bright red pots for the night.
As I’d hoped, Wilson’s department store was open. I’d tried to make a list at lunch, but I didn’t know what anybody wanted.
I rushed, shouldering my way past other last-minute shoppers, to the toy department, where I found a large selection of Barbie dolls. Was Lily too young for Barbies? Was Hannah too old? How could you go wrong with a Barbie doll? I threw one in the shopping cart, trusting that Kate would be able to tell me which one of my daughters would like it more. In the electronics department, I picked up a Walkman for Hannah, who, I figured, had to be about the right age to be discovering music, though who knew what kind of music she might like? In women’s apparel I found a red cashmere sweater for my mother, then remembered that she already had a red sweater. I moaned and threw the sweater back on the pile without folding it, then picked it up again, thinking Kate might like it. A year ago I’d bought her a diamond necklace that cost me nearly five thousand dollars, because she’d been complaining that I didn’t make her feel important, and I wanted to show her how much I cared. It hadn’t changed a thing between us. I wasn’t going to make the same mistake this year. I threw the sweater back down. I heard so many voices in my head. One said, “How could she?” One said, “What took her so long?” Another said, “If it’s over, put it behind you as quickly as you can and move on—don’t sit around moping.” Yet another said, “But you love her, and she loves you—why isn’t that enough?” Maybe separating would do us good, give us space to see clearly again. Maybe, I thought, she’d even miss me and come to her senses.
As I made my way through the store, I observed a little boy running through the aisles, touching every item on racks and shelves, much to the chagrin of the nearby store clerks. He ran straight into me as I was holding up a knit scarf for my mother. “Sorry, sir,” he said breathlessly without looking up. I shook my head. I despised parents who let their children run unsupervised through stores. The little boy continued sifting through racks of clothing, moving around the circular stands, pulling out blouses, shirts, and jackets. I watched him. A rack toppled forward as he brushed it from behind. I looked around again for the kid’s parents.
“Please watch what you’re doing,” I scolded the child, irritated.
Feeling aggravated and exhausted, I had thrown a few more items into the basket when I passed the little boy again, now nervously bounding into the women’s-shoes department. I watched as the anxious boy touched or picked up nearly every boot, pump, and loafer in the department. Then a pair of shoes seemed to catch his eye on an overcrowded sales rack. He picked up the pair and, for a moment, he was still. The shoes were shiny silver, aglow with red, blue, and green rhinestones and shimmering sequins. The boy tucked them under his arm and hurried in the direction of the register. “Just my luck,” I thought as I made my way to the checkout line, my shopping done, taking my place behind him. The boy fidgeted, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, as the cashier took forever to ring out the customers ahead of us. Again, I glanced sideways to see if the child’s parents were nearby.
As the boy swung the glittery shoes, I finally had to smile. The child obviously didn’t want his mother to see him buy the shoes for her. He began to pace.
I looked down at the items in my basket and wondered when was the last time I had anxiously raced around a department store looking for the perfect gift for someone.
When my brother and I were young, our arms would ache from shaking every last cent out of our piggy banks. We’d stuff our pockets until they bulged with the heavy coins and walk excitedly to the local five-and-dime. Rummaging through trays of pins, we would earnestly look for the one with the biggest fake diamonds for our mother, and then we’d run to the men’s aisle for the adventure of finding the ideal Christmas tie for our father. One year we skipped getting him a tie and got him a three-foot-long shoehorn instead, one he wouldn’t have to bend over to use. It used to be so exciting, Hugh and myself scurrying, stumbling, and fumbling through the store, nearly bursting from the thought of Mom and Dad opening their presents on Christmas Day.
The little boy moved forward and placed the shoes down for the cashier to scan the price—$14.25. The child dug into the pockets of his worn jeans and pulled out a small crumpled wad of bills and scattered change. The cashier straightened out the mess of currency.
“There’s only $4.60 here, son,” he said.
“How much are the shoes?” the child inquired, concerned.
“They’re $14.25,” the cashier replied. “You’ll need to get some more money from your mom or dad.”
Visibly upset, the boy asked, “Can I bring the rest of the money tomorrow?”
The cashier smiled and shook his head no, scooping up the change.
Tears pooled in the child’s eyes.
He turned around and said, “Sir, I need to buy those shoes for my mother,” his voice shaking. I was startled to see that the child was talking to me. I felt the hairs stand up on the back of my neck. “She’s not been feeling very good, and when we were eating dinner my dad said that Mama might leave to see Jesus tonight.”
I stood unmoving, holding the basket.
I didn’t know what to say.
“I want her to look beautiful when she meets Jesus,” he said, his eyes beseeching me.
Why is he asking me? I thought. Do I look like an easy target—the rich man with money to throw around? I instantly felt annoyed. Was this some sort of con, parents sending their children out to take advantage of people’s emotions at Christmas? Yet, why did the child tell the cashier he’d bring the rest of the money tomorrow?
I didn’t know what to say or how to react. All I knew was it was suddenly more than I could take. This kid was no scam artist, somehow I knew that. I looked into his wide eyes and something happened to me in that moment. A pair of shoes to meet Jesus in. This child is losing his mother.
Without thinking or saying a word, I pulled out my wallet and handed the cashier a fifty-dollar bill to pay the remainder of the cost of the shoes.
The little boy lifted onto his tiptoes and watched as the last of the money was distributed into the drawer. Eagerly, he grabbed the package, then turned and stopped for a moment, looking at me again.
“Thank you,” was all he said.
I watched as the child ran out the door and disappeared into the streets.
“Are you ready, sir?” the cashier asked. I didn’t hear what he was saying. “Sir?” he asked again. “Are you ready to cash out?”
I looked at the items in my basket and shook my head.
“No,” I answered. “I think I need to start over.”
I left the full basket on the cashier’s counter and slowly walked out the front doors. I put the Mercedes into gear and drove through the streets of town to Adams Hill, where, through the heavily falling snow, I could see Kate’s bedroom light on upstairs.
The whole drive home I didn’t know what I would say or how to say it. I just knew that I had to get there. I had to get the magic back. Suddenly, my life depended on it. Kate was right. My family wasn’t leaving me, I’d left them. When did that happen? How did I get so lost? Home. The word all at once felt new. What had once been a place of emptiness was now one of joy, a place of refuge from life’s unpredictable sorrow. A place of hope. I was going home at last.
I couldn’t help it. I knew it was late, but the minute I entered the door I shouted, “Kate! Kate!”
Kate ran down the stairs, heatedly shushing me not to wake the girls, who were already in bed. Without saying a word, I guided Kate onto the sofa and knelt in front of her.
“What is wrong with you?” she asked.
“Listen to me,” I began slowly. “I didn’t get you or the girls anything for Christmas.”
“I didn’t expect you to get me anything,” she answered hotly, throwing my hands from her shoulders. “But I thought you’d at least want to get your own children something.” She attempted to push herself off the sofa and away from me, but I pressed her firmly back into the cushions.
“What are you doing, Robert?” she demanded, her cheeks flushed.
“Kate, I’m begging you. I don’t really know what to say, but I need you to listen to me.” She yanked her arms from me, crossing them in front of her.
“What?” she snapped.
I gathered my thoughts and began slowly.
“I didn’t buy anything because I didn’t know what to buy.” She set her chin and stared at me, but she was listening, and that’s all I wanted. “I didn’t know what to buy because I don’t know any of you,” I continued. “I have let all of you slip away from me, to the point of where you’re actually strangers now.” Kate sat unmoved by my words or emotions.
“What?” she asked, bewildered.
I rose and sat square in front of her on the coffee table.
“Kate,” I pleaded. “I went to the store. I went there to buy things for you and Mom and the girls. I was even in line to cash out when it hit me….” I wasn’t sure how to put any of my feelings into words. Kate arched her eyebrows for me to continue. “You all are the greatest gifts in the world,” I said, selecting my words carefully, “but I don’t treat you like a gift. I don’t treat the girls like gifts.”
She shifted uncomfortably, not sure how she should react to what I was saying.
“The greatest possible gift I could give to you or the girls would be myself,” I went on. “I need to give you the respect and love you deserve, and I need to give the girls time and attention and piggyback rides and trips to the zoo and amusement parks and I don’t know what else,” I said, clasping my head in my hands. “I need to give them a dad. They’ve had a provider,” I continued. “They’ve had some guy in the house who they’ve told people was their father, but they’ve never had a dad. I want to be with them, not just in the same room with them. I want to be with them and share in everything that makes them happy. I want to be there when they fail. I want us to be there,” I said, looking at her. I peered into Kate’s eyes, looking for the smallest glint of hope or acceptance. She was understandably skeptical—we’d logged a lot of years of hurt and anger together.
“Kate,” I said, then stopped. “I don’t know how you feel.” I leaned on my knees and rubbed my hands together, thinking. “I don’t know if you’re really ready for us to end because…because I don’t think I am.”
“Why the sudden change of heart?” she asked, her tone still doubtful.
“I don’t know, Kate,” I replied, shaking my head. “All I know is it’s Christmas.” She looked at me, confused. “It’s Christmas, Kate, and I realized that nobody could give me a greater gift than that of my family.”
She shook her head and looked away. I gently took hold of her arms and turned her toward me. She looked anxiously into my eyes.
“Nothing matters to me, Kate,” I said, slightly squeezing her arms in my grip. “Nothing. The job, the cars, the house. None of it. The only thing that matters to me is you and Hannah and Lily because…” I stopped, concerned that she would never believe me, but I knew I had to say it. “Because I love all of you.” I stopped to watch her face. Her expression was one of puzzled wonderment. It was the same look she used to give me when we were dating, when I’d say something that she thought was crazy. It was the exact same look, and I was warmed by the fact that I recognized it.
“I do, Kate,” I whispered. “I love you and I don’t want to lose you.”
Kate searched my eyes. What was in them tonight? Hope? Forgiveness? Peace? I released my hold and she fell back into the sofa, still watching me. I wasn’t burying myself in the mail or running away from her to go to the office but, instead, I felt filled to the very brim with some sort of joy. Joy. I wasn’t anxious or restless or upset about anything. I was truly calm and serene, in an inexplicably strange, peaceful way. I hadn’t been calm and serene in years.
She crossed her legs and asked slowly, “What happened to you tonight?”
“It’s a long story,” I said, smiling, and then we talked into the night.
Maggie’s breathing was labored, but she was coherent. Sylvia prepared to switch the IV bag, but Maggie lifted her hand weakly to stop her. Sylvia had hooked up a new bag that morning, yet throughout the day it had slowly drained empty, and she needed to replace it with a full bag that would take Maggie through the evening.
“Maggie,” Sylvia whispered, “this will help with your pain.”
“No,” Maggie mouthed.
“It’s okay, Sylvia,” Jack said. “She wants to watch the kids unwrap their presents. She knows she won’t be able to if you give her that.”
Sylvia stroked Maggie’s cheek and straightened the scarf on her head.
“All right, baby doll,” she comforted. “I’m going to leave this right here,” she added, hooking the bag on the pole beside Maggie’s bed. “If you want some medicine, just have somebody open up the drip, all right?” Maggie nodded and Sylvia smiled, squeezing her arm. “You just yell if you need me,” she said to Jack, slipping to Rachel’s room, where she would work on a needlepoint stocking or read when she wanted to give Jack and Maggie as much uninterrupted time as she could. She had been with them ten to twelve hours a day for the last two weeks, going home some time in the evening. Sylvia held the needlework in her hands and rested her head against the wall. She would be finishing up her shift in another thirty minutes, leaving the Andrews family to spend Christmas Eve alone.
Normally, Jack and Maggie would retrieve presents from the attic once Nathan had gone to bed, but this year Jack suggested they unwrap their gifts on Christmas Eve instead of waiting for Christmas morning. He and Evelyn had wrapped what few presents they had for the children and placed them under the tree days ago.
Evelyn went into the bathroom and brought out some blush, eye shadow, powder, and lipstick to Maggie’s bedside. When Maggie was no longer strong enough to put on her own makeup, Evelyn did it for her. Evelyn gently freshened the colors she had applied that morning—a soft taupe to Maggie’s eyelids, dusty mauve to her sunken cheeks, and rosewood to her lips. She finished by dusting Maggie’s face with some fresh powder, then held up a mirror for Maggie to see herself.
“Thanks, Mom,” she whispered feebly.
Nathan tiptoed in through the backdoor and into his room, unnoticed. After dinner he had told his father he needed to run to a neighbor’s house down the street. Jack assumed Nathan and his little friend had made gifts for everyone and didn’t question him any further. After a few minutes, Nathan carefully opened his bedroom door and tiptoed down the hall and into the living room, depositing the gift under the tree.
Jack had tried to get ready for this evening, hoping it would never come. As hard as he prayed, he just wasn’t ready for this to be his last Christmas with Maggie. He sat by her bed earlier in the day and watched her sleep. How could she be so sick and still be so beautiful? How could he ever wake up in a house without her in it? He watched as she drew in small, shallow breaths. The look in Sylvia’s eyes told him it wouldn’t be long, that she’d started to let go. Two days ago Sylvia sat Jack down and talked to him about helping Maggie go—letting her know that it was okay, that she didn’t have to hold on anymore.
Maggie woke to the same eyes she’d fallen in love with nearly twelve years earlier. “I love you,” she whispered. There weren’t enough hours in the day for them to say those words, but they said them as often as they could.
“I love you, Maggie,” Jack answered softly. “I always have and I always will.”
She smiled and moved her fingers toward him.
He stood up, holding the fragile hand in his and kissed her lightly.
“That broken down Ford Escort was the greatest thing that ever happened to me,” he said slowly. Her eyes twinkled. How fortunate she was to have had someone who loved her so completely for so long. They talked about her mother and the kids and about taking care of her flowers in the spring. Jack talked about everything he could think of, rambling and groping for words as Maggie nodded and smiled. He caressed her face and held her hand, repeatedly saying “I love you” until she fell back to sleep, listening to his voice.
For dinner, Evelyn warmed up some turkey someone from church had dropped off, complete with gravy and stuffing and cranberry sauce. After the dinner dishes were set aside, Jack started pulling the few presents from under the tree and handed one to Nathan to unwrap. Rachel sat on Evelyn’s lap, squirming and clapping her hands.
“Hurry up and hand this child a present before she bursts,” Evelyn laughed. Maggie smiled as Rachel tightly squeezed the stuffed Pooh bear with the big, fat, soft tummy. Nathan’s eyes lit up when he saw the new Matchbox cars he’d been wanting.
“I’m taking these to show-and-tell,” he cried.
Jack winked at Maggie and held her hand as Rachel screamed, “Oh my! Oh my!” when she unwrapped a pink baby doll whose eyes actually moved. Nathan beamed with excitement at the package of ten different colored markers he held in his hands.
Evelyn unwrapped a beautiful purple and black scarf to go with her winter coat that Nathan and Rachel picked out themselves.
“It’s so warm and toasty,” she said, kissing her grandchildren.
Bending over, Evelyn pulled out a skinny box and handed it to Jack.
“We weren’t supposed to exchange gifts,” he said, feeling terribly sorry that there wasn’t one under the tree for her.
“I know,” Evelyn replied. “It’s just something I thought you might like,” she said, smiling at Maggie.
He opened it and pulled out a framed crayon drawing of a little girl with big circles of red on her cheeks and hair that flipped up at the ends. She was wearing a blue dress with big yellow flowers on it and holding a red balloon. Her arms were long and straight and both feet turned in the same direction, one clearly bigger than the other. Beside her stood a puffy white dog with a smile on its face, its four legs long and spider-like, all of them facing the same direction. By the dog’s paws in big, red letters, the drawing was signed Maggie. Jack smiled broadly and thanked Evelyn, holding up the artwork for Maggie to see.
“She was in kindergarten when she drew that,” Evelyn explained. “I found it in my things a while ago and told Maggie I’d get it framed for you.”
Jack held the picture and imagined Maggie drawing it, wishing he could have seen her as a little girl rummaging through her crayons strewn all around her and carefully selecting the perfect one to color in the flowers or the right shade of blue for the dress. He clutched the drawing and leaned over to kiss Maggie.
“I’ll hang it right next to the da Vinci,” he said, holding her hand.
Nathan anxiously waited for his mother to open his present, the anticipation giving him butterflies. He scurried under the tree and pulled out a small box. There were only two more presents under the tree—he’d counted. Jack stood by Maggie and gently tore into the wrapping paper for her. It was a small jewelry box. Jack lifted the lid. In the center of the blue velvet padding was a delicate gold locket with a rose etched into the front of it. Jack opened the locket to reveal a picture of Rachel laughing at the camera in her red Christmas dress on one side and Nathan sitting on the front porch when all the flowers were in bloom on the other side.
“Oh,” Maggie said, smiling.
“I know you’ve always wanted one of these with pictures of the kids,” Jack said, putting it around her neck.
“This,” Evelyn explained holding a present in her hand, “is something else she has always wanted.”
Maggie looked at her mother quizzically as Evelyn softly tore the tissue wrapping paper around the gift. Evelyn lifted the lid to reveal her crimson satin wrap, the one Maggie had always adored. Evelyn had received it as a present from her own mother and had worn it draped over her shoulders in her wedding picture. She was wearing a skirt, a soft blouse, a corsage, a hat, and the beautiful wrap. Maggie’s eyes lit up.
“She has always had her eye on this,” Evelyn teased, draping it around Maggie’s shoulders. “Thank you,” Maggie mouthed. Evelyn kissed her forehead and fussed with the wrap till it was tied elegantly in front.
Nathan crawled under the tree again. It was finally time for his present. Reaching toward the back, he pulled out the haphazardly wrapped package he’d shoved under the tree just minutes earlier. He placed the package on his mother’s lap, and Evelyn and Jack exchanged glances as Nathan helped his mother tear the wrapping. Together they ripped into the plain brown paper. Nathan eagerly helped his mother lift the lid off the box. Nathan reached in and pulled out the sparkly shoes for his mother. Her eyes gleamed as she held the shoes on her chest, admiring them. Nathan hurried excitedly to the foot of the bed, uncovering Maggie’s legs, triumphantly slipping the shoes onto his mother’s feet.
“They’re the prettiest shoes they had,” he told her.
“They’re so beautiful,” she whispered, smiling at her proud son.
We arrived at my mother’s house early Christmas Day. “Merry Christmas!” Mom yelled as she flung open the door. The air was filled with aromas of roast turkey, mulled cider, pecan pie, evergreen, and aged oak logs burning in the fireplace. Hannah and Lily ran screaming into their grandmother’s arms, falling over each other to get to their presents under the tree.
“Merry Christmas, Mom!” Kate laughed as Hannah frantically dragged her to the tree.
“Merry Christmas, Mom,” I said leaning in to kiss her. I was eager to tell her about what had happened last night.
“Come on!” Lily shouted as she threw herself against my legs.
“Okay, okay,” I relented. “Let’s get things started here.”
Lily banged her tiny hands together as I handed her a present that she swore was bigger than anything she’d ever seen. Hannah gasped when a beautiful gold box with gold lace ribbon was given to her. I passed out the gifts until everyone had their very own pile in front of them—sweaters, earrings, cookware, and books for Kate; baby dolls, coloring books, clothes, and more baby dolls for Lily; then a beautiful grown-up necklace for Hannah, along with games, elegant paper dolls and the latest Barbie accessories. Kate had shopped weeks earlier for Mom. She unwrapped a gorgeous brooch with the birthstones of all her grandchildren embedded in a circle of gold.
“I have always wanted one of these!” she shouted. “I’m going to wear it everywhere,” she exclaimed, proudly pinning it to her sweater. The new pin would also fit nicely on the lapel of her brand-new periwinkle blazer and red silk blouse. “Oh, how beautiful,” she cried, squeezing Lily’s cheeks. “What a fashionable granny I’ll be.”
I set aside my new aftershave, books, socks, and underwear. Why, after so many years, did my mother insist on buying me underwear?
“I assumed you were running low on boxers,” she teased, to the infectious giggles of her granddaughters.
“I was, Mother. Thank you,” I said, grinning, ripping into the last present from my pile. I tore back the paper and ran my thumbnail across the tape holding the small box shut. Lifting the lid, I carefully opened the edges of the tissue paper and looked at Mother in surprise. I pulled out the Dunhill Billiard and held it up, reading the card she had slipped into the box. “No regrets,” it stated simply.
“What’s that?” Kate asked, surprised.
“This,” I said, pushing the end of the pipe proudly into my mouth with the flare of a British statesman, “is a reminder.”
Mom was bent over, opening the oven door, when I snuck up on her.
“Mom,” I said anxiously.
Startled, she snapped upright, slamming the door with a bang. “Don’t scare me, Robert,” she scolded.
“I didn’t mean to,” I said, ushering her to the kitchen table.
“I didn’t check on my turkey,” she claimed, spinning on her heels.
“Wait,” I urged. “Sit down.” She sat. “Mom, last night Kate and I talked till four-thirty in the morning.”
“About what?” she exclaimed. “My word, you must be exhausted.”
“I am,” I said, rubbing my temples. “I’m dog tired. I could throw up, I’m so tired.”
“Well, don’t stand over me!” she shouted, laughing.
I sat down, my eyes flashing.
“Mom, the most incredible thing happened last night.” She sat forward, listening. “It was like an epiphany, like a lightning bolt hit me or something. I was shopping for all of you when I decided not to get anybody anything. Oh, by the way—Kate bought you the brooch and stuff,” I offered as an aside. “I didn’t know anything about it.”
“Thanks a lot,” she roared.
“Really long story short—we’re going to try to work it out.”
She banged on the table, “I knew she still loved you.”
“I think she does,” I said shyly. “And I know I love her.”
“Well, go,” she commanded, shooing me toward the door. “Go, go, go! Go play with your girls on Christmas. I’ll keep things going in here and will be out in a minute.” She playfully shoved me out the door and moved to the oven.
“Thank you, Lord!” I could hear her whoop from the living room. I heard the oven door creak open and then the metallic swish of a carving knife being sharpened against steel. “Thank you,” echoed from the kitchen, amid the clamoring of pots and pans. “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!”