“Guess what we got for Christmas, all the way from Florida,” I announced as I popped open the car trunk. Inside was a box of beautiful oranges with a brilliant sun on the wrapper.
Dad climbed down the ladder, letting the string of Christmas lights dangle from the roofline, and swore under his breath. “Doesn’t he know we have all the oranges we need in California? He’d know that if he ever bothered to visit.”
My brother, Charles, was the prodigal son, and Dad never forgave his ramblings, especially the fact that we hadn’t been able to reach him for Mom’s funeral.
“It’s the thought that counts, Dad. He’s trying to keep in touch.” I looked at the return address. “At least we know he’s still in Plant City.”
He made a sour face. “Still single’s my guess.”
“So am I. Now will you please quit being grumpy and carry the box into the kitchen?”
Dad hoisted the box from the trunk and deposited it on the kitchen counter. Then he returned to the ladder, mumbling his displeasure about his only son.
I picked out an orange from the box and peeled it. The orange was ripe and juicy, and its skin peeled easily away. I wondered if Charles was happy and whether he’d ever been able to shake off the years of father-son dysfunction. Did he miss us, especially at this time of year?
Christmas was three weeks away. Winnie had been fitted for an angel costume and had to be driven to practice several times a week, but I never stayed to watch. My favorite oldies radio station was playing Christmas songs twenty-four hours a day, so I switched to smooth jazz where they weren’t quite so recognizable. A giant tree lit up the old town square, decorations dangled from the streetlights, and the local cement company had decorated its building with enough Christmas lights to short out the whole Sacramento region. I considered taking a detour to avoid it all, but resigned myself to endure it for the girls’ sakes. It was time for me to get used to the holiday.
We had come through Thanksgiving pretty much unscathed, but Christmas was a potential minefield. This was the second Christmas since we’d lost Ginger, and I was determined to keep it together for the family’s sake. This year, there would be a tree.
Andie came out to the kitchen and asked my advice about what to get her grandparents for Christmas. I had a brilliant idea—one that would allow me to spend some quality time alone with her.
“Winnie’s spending the night at Brittany’s. Go get your money, and we’ll do a little Christmas shopping.”
I waited to see if she recoiled from the idea, but instead, she smiled. I tossed her an orange to eat in the car, and she ran to get her money.
After hours of shopping, she finally decided on a wall clock with large numbers. I couldn’t shake the suspicion that had begun with the Baby Ruth in Walgreens, and found myself casually watching her while we shopped. She never gave me any reason to doubt her honesty. Nevertheless, I didn’t completely relax until we left the store.
We stopped at a crowded burger joint for lunch, the retro kind that played Elvis and the Beach Boys. They had added “White Christmas” and “Jingle Bell Rock” to the jukebox’s lineup. After the waitress took our orders and an awkward silence descended, I realized how few private conversations we’d really had.
I asked Andie what she thought of our little storefront congregation.
She shrugged. “It’s different from my church in Pine Run. The singing and stuff.”
“But I bet the message is the same. Did you follow the sermon?”
She dunked a french fry in catsup and twirled it into a pattern. “Yeah, but I don’t believe some of it.”
“You don’t?” I sprinkled too much salt on my fries. “What is it that you don’t believe?”
“How God always answers prayers. What about people that die? Somebody probably prayed for them. It doesn’t always work.”
Wow. I wiped my mouth with a napkin and paused to gather my thoughts.
“We all die eventually, Andie. It’s part of life. Of course, that’s no consolation when it’s someone you love, or when it happens unexpectedly. It doesn’t seem fair.” I took a bite of french fry, then pointed it at the ceiling. “Believe me, it’s something I intend to ask God about when I see Him.”
She was quiet after that, and I wondered if I’d done any good or had just raised more questions. On our way home she asked me, “Are you mad at God?”
I thought for a moment and decided on honesty. “Yes. Sometimes.”
“You still talk to Him, even when you’re mad?”
“Yes, I do.” I glanced over at her. She stared out the window into the December grayness. “What about you?”
She shrugged without breaking her gaze. “I think my heart-shape is plugged.”
Winnie brought the mail to the dinner table one night, and one card stood out from the rest. It smelled heavenly, which could only mean one thing.
“Here’s your Christmas card from Ruby, Dad.” I tossed it across to his plate, none too gently.
He pulled out his glasses and positioned them on his nose. Then he examined the return address and used his dinner knife to slit open the envelope. Inside was an ornate card with a glamour photo tucked inside. His lips moved as he read it silently.
“She’s shameless, Dad. Throwing herself at you like this every year.”
Her card had the power to turn me into a jealous daughter. I didn’t know which was worse, the thought of Dad leaving us for Ruby, or the thought of sharing a kitchen with her here.
He closed the card, then opened and studied it again. “Shameless.”
Winnie grabbed the glamour photo and passed it around. “Grandpa’s got a girlfriend. She was our Grandma’s best friend, and she sends him a card every year.”
He dipped his head down to look over the top of his glasses at Winnie. “Why do I need another girlfriend? Got one right here.” He reached over and tickled Winnie until she screamed.
Andie sat very still, watching and looking faintly expectant. He must have seen her out of the corner of his eye, because he reached over to his right and tickled her until she doubled over with laughter.
Laughter. It was beautiful, unfettered. I felt tears sting my eyes. And for some odd reason, I had to give myself permission to enjoy it.
Then I noticed Deja. Watching stony-faced. Needy. This poor girl who desperately needed a father’s love and would never know it.
She pushed off from the table and threw down her napkin. “I’m done.”
The others stopped abruptly and looked up in surprise. I briefly locked eyes with Dad, whose initial irritation softened when he read my unspoken words. We watched her retreating back, and with the mood broken, we went back to eating in silence.
My fear was that, to Dad, Deja was becoming more like my brother with each new problem. Charles had never amounted to much in high school. He’d barely graduated. Dad didn’t know how to deal with the disappointment he felt, so he shut down. Just stopped communicating with him. Disapproval was all Charles ever got from Dad after that, and he finally left.
I couldn’t allow that to happen to Deja, even if I erred on the side of leniency. I knew, deep down, that Dad wouldn’t want it either.
Deja had made some bad choices. Sometimes she made me so mad that I almost forgot how to love her. But silence and disapproval would never create a bridge between us.
I asked the girls to clear the table, and I went to her room. She was putting her clothes in her drawer, and I came up behind her. When she turned around, I grabbed her in a bear hug and wouldn’t let go.
“Gosh, Mom, stop!” She squirmed, but not very hard.
“I haven’t hugged you today.” I playfully rocked her from side to side, just like she was five again.
“What do you want? Stop!”
“I’m not letting go. I love you.”
Her squirming quieted. She stood there with her arms at her sides, not hugging back, but allowing me to love her.
She endured it for a while, then finally said, “Okay, Mom,” but there was no bite to it.
“Not until you say it.”
She sagged in my grasp. “Say what?”
“You know,” I said, gently rocking her side to side. “I … love … you. Go on.”
“Love you back,” she said in tones only audible to a mother’s acute hearing.
I kissed her a big sloppy one on the cheek and released her. She backhanded it from her cheek, but I wasn’t offended.
“Sunday, after church, you and I will go Christmas shopping. You need some jeans.”
She looked suspicious. “After church, as in you’ll come back and pick me up?”
“Come on, Deja, church isn’t that bad. You know what it’s like.”
“When’s it over? I’ll be ready when you guys get home.”
I put my hands on my hips and considered fighting, but one battle a day was enough. Besides, I didn’t want to lose the small piece of ground I’d just won. “Okay, this time you can stay home. But the next Sunday, you go.”
She shrugged, not committing.
But on Sunday, Deja woke up with cramps. I suggested rescheduling our shopping trip, but she wanted to go anyway. I prayed through the whole church service that she would feel better and that we’d make some progress.
I couldn’t help scanning the crowd for Julian, but he wasn’t there.
When I brought the girls back home from church to help Dad with the tree lot, Deja was ready to go. When I’d told him how important this time was with Deja, he’d asked his friend Ty to help him at the lot. I kissed Dad’s cheek, and he wordlessly patted my shoulder.
“You two have fun,” he said.
Deja and I drove to the mall and scouted out a parking space. Santa was holding court in the center of the mall, and happy little Christmas elves in short pants kept order with unruly parents and tired kids.
Deja kept two steps ahead of me. I followed her around the mall, feeling like I was walking on eggshells. We went into her favorite store, which got more bizarre the farther in you went. Most parents hovered around the front where the Rainbow Brite T-shirts and fuzzy purses were stacked, and avoided the far corners with the skulls and studded paraphernalia.
Nothing fit there, thank heavens, so we went to the candy store for truffles and butterscotch lollipops. Chocolate fixes everything, especially at that time of the month. We did finally locate a single pair of jeans Deja was happy with. I sighed at the price and pulled out my checkbook. Well, if Russell wasn’t going to spend time with her, he could buy her fifty-dollar jeans. On the way out of the mall, we wandered into the bookstore. I bought a mocha and settled in a comfortable chair at the attached cafe while Deja listened to music.
Unexpected memories awaited me. The first time I drove to the mall after Ginger died, it had been so long since I’d driven on the freeway that I pulled off at the very first exit, shaking like a teenager who’d failed a driving test. I managed to get back home, and Dad stopped what he was doing and drove us to the mall himself. I ended up hiding out in a chair at this very same bookstore waiting for him and the girls to come and find me. After being home for years with Ginger, I’d been overwhelmed by seeing so many people in the same place. And here I was trying to help Deja move past the pain in a different way.
When Deja found me, she had a CD she wanted me to spring for. I agreed to buy it, but insisted that she wait until Christmas morning to open it and to act surprised when she did.
All in all, I’d say the day was a success, although once back in the family fish tank, Deja fell back into her old swim pattern. I went down to the tree lot and relieved Ty, so he could go home to his family.
Falling into bed that night, I felt encouraged. I hadn’t come unglued at all the Christmas frenzy at the mall. I’d seen a glimpse of what God could do when you were willing to be vulnerable and reach out to someone. I didn’t expect Deja to have a miracle turnaround. But for now, she knew that I loved her. Even with all the poor choices she’d made, I still loved her, and she knew it.
Just before school was out for Christmas break, I asked Dad to bring a tree up to the house and dig out the tree stand from the garage. I wasn’t sure how I’d feel seeing Ginger’s ornaments again, but I had to try. Dad set the tree in the stand and struggled to get it to stop wobbling. That tree could have been me facing the holidays. Luckily, we both stayed on our feet, so to speak.
Ironically, the worst thing that I thought could possibly happen turned out to beokay after all: The girls broke one of Ginger’s baby ornaments when they were decorating the tree, and I weathered it. I initially became unglued, of course, but once it was over, I experienced a curious sense of relief. Something irreplaceable had broken, and I was sad, but I still had memories that couldn’t be broken. At least, that’s what I told Winnie, who bore the blame for the accident.
At the start of Christmas break, we sent Andie off with Christmas gifts to spend the holidays with her grandparents. I wanted to hug her, but I just wasn’t sure she was ready for it yet and didn’t want to push her.
I baked so much over the holidays that I gave away goodies at the tree lot for free. I wondered, if I ever did open a bakery, what would my therapy be then, and would it take away my need to bake altogether?
The children’s nativity was performed at church on the Sunday night before Christmas, and Dad went with me. Winnie was disappointed that Andie missed it, but she did a great job and flawlessly delivered her one line. She looked adorable in her blonde ringlets and garland halo. I could hardly watch, imagining my little Ginger singing before the throne with the angels. I hovered at the back in case I needed a quick exit.
After the last carol we joined everyone for cookies and punch, where I met other parents whose children were in the play. I recognized a familiar dark head and disarming smile coming my way, and smiled in spite of myself.
“I thought those were your caramel delights,” Julian said. He held the hand of a little girl with dark hair wearing a shepherd’s costume. “Have you taken my advice yet?”
I felt myself blushing. “Well, you know, with the holidays there hasn’t been much time.”
The little girl looked up at him, licking her fingers, and said, “Mommy said I have to take off my costume now.”
“Okay, kiddo,” he said. “Off you go.” The child ran off toward a beautiful young woman who smiled at Julian and took the child’s hand.
My smile faded.
Dot never mentioned if he was married or had a family that day at the Harvest Fair. Maybe she didn’t know. But why else would he have been at the fair that day, unless he was supporting his child’s school? I didn’t really think he was there in an official capacity.
Suddenly I felt like a fool. A stupid, foolish woman who’d fallen for a guy because he’d praised her cooking. All the attention I’d received from him must either have been misunderstood, or something I didn’t want to be part of.
People moved around us and in between us and greeted us. We stood awkwardly, and when the conversation became one-sided, Julian stopped speaking altogether. The child ran back a few minutes later to the cookie table.
“Uncle Julian, Mommy says we have to go. You promised we could look at Christmas lights.”
Uncle Julian? My gaze dropped to the carpet at my feet so he couldn’t read my embarrassment.
“Hold on,” he said to her. “I didn’t introduce you to Mrs. Winslow.”
I looked up to see the child standing in front of him, his hands resting on her shoulders.
“I’d like to introduce my niece, Sarah. Sarah, this is Mrs. Winslow. She made those wonderful caramel delights.”
I smiled sheepishly and asked if she knew Winnie. She said Winnie had helped her pin her dish towel on her head. Then Julian told her to scoot and tell her mother that he’d be along. He leaned in toward me slightly and said, “Merry Christmas, Mrs. Winslow.”
By choice I worked the last shift on Christmas Eve. Maybe I’m a bad mother, but I had to keep busy. I got home at six o’clock. We ate. I don’t remember what. Watched a Christmas special on TV. Deja made hot chocolate. Carried Win to bed at eleven. Baked coffee cake at midnight. Took a sleep aid at 2:00 a.m.
Christmas morning, five o’clock, Winnie climbed in bed with me and begged me to get up. We opened gifts. So groggy, I could hardly focus. Dad made strong coffee to go with the coffee cake. Fell asleep on the couch amidst the wrapping paper and ribbons. Meant to call Andie, but forgot. The sun went down, and I exhaled.