27

 

Amanda is home, sitting in front of her undecorated fireplace. Usually, the entire room is garnished with garland and two heavily ornamented trees by now. Her mourning is still evident in the house void of any Christmas decorations.

I stop here before finishing my trip to the farm, wanting to put off the inevitable meeting with my father as long as I can. My hands cramp from the all-night driving, and I could kill for a huge omelet.

She sits opposite me, a tight smile on her face.

I guess I expected more.

“So you quit college? What are you going to do now, Bobbi? There aren’t many options around here. You know that.”

I tuck my gloves inside my coat pocket. She hasn’t even asked for my jacket. “I don’t know yet. I couldn’t stay in Florida. I guess I finally figured out that golfing isn’t my answer.”

Her interest piques and I catch a spark in her eyes. “Answer to what?”

“My family.” I hunch closer, placing my elbows on my knees. Maybe if I share, she will, too. I had hoped by now she’d be more like the best friend I knew. Not this hollow imposter.

“Whatever are you talking about? Your family? You mean the thing with Robert wanting to golf? You taking his place? About time you came to your senses on that one.” She practically snorts.

I straighten. Maybe talking about me isn’t the way to go.

“So how are you feeling now?” I ask.

“Now?” Her eyes grow vacant again. “Not sure what you mean. About Christmas and the baby? Jim wants to try again, but I’m not ready. Not really. Maybe not for a long time.” Her voice finally gains emotion. “Why do I want to put myself through such pain again? For what? The doctor said it was a fluke…” She spreads her hands and then wrings them like some scene in a Shakespearean play. The air is thick with her stress, and I smell something burning in the kitchen.

“Are you cooking something in the oven because I smell something…” I wrinkle my nose, and she bolts from her place on the couch, running into the next room of the house like she’s on fire.

“My cookies.” A wail follows.

“Everything OK?”

Seconds later, Amanda returns with a tray of burnt cookies in her hand. A smile forms on her lips—the first one I’ve seen since I arrived. “I made them for you after you called. Sugar and cinnamon. Sure don’t look like much, do they?”

I meet her in the doorway. “I bet they’re good anyway.” I reach for one that isn’t as dark as the others.

“Don’t you even eat that, Bobbi. You’ll barf.” A giggle erupts from her lips.

I ignore her warning and take a bite, chew, and swallow as gracefully on burnt cookies as I can. “Try one. Really, they’re good.” I point to the one next to the empty spot.

She looks dubious but sets down the tray and scoops up a dark golden one.

She takes a nibble, a small nibble, but it’s a start. She giggles again. “I remember when you dared me to eat worms behind the garage that one summer. I threw up three times. Never told my mother, even though I wanted to.” She pats my arm through my thick coat. “Why on earth haven’t you taken that thing off yet?”

Ah. Amanda. “You haven’t asked me.”

She points to the hall closet. “Hang it up in there. Now…before I have to tell you again and you know how I hate repeating myself.”

I laugh.

Repeating herself is Amanda’s specialty.

“I can’t. I need to get home before everyone is asleep.”

“Are you sure? You can spend the night here.” She glances upstairs, and I know she’s thinking of the baby’s room.

“Naw. I want my own bed, but thanks, anyway.” I hold my arms out and she comes in for a hug.

“You’re the best friend I have. Thanks for putting up with me, and I’m so glad you’re home.” Her voice breaks.

I can’t answer because my own voice takes a leave of absence. I nod and smile as I rush to the front door. The past few weeks have been a barrel full of emotional scenes. I’m too tired tonight to cry anymore. “See you soon.” I manage to say as I escape to my car. The icy wind whips my hair as I hurry to start the engine.

Amanda stands in the window waving as I pull away. It’s a habit we both fell into when we were little. We would wave good-bye as long as we could see each other’s car. One time I had to go to the bathroom so I left my spot at the window, putting Robert there instead. He waved as I would, but Amanda called when she got home.

“That’s cheating,” she said with a pout in her voice. “I don’t have a stand-in like you do.”

A stand-in. I think of that phrase now. Robert and I have always stood in for each other whenever we could. Maybe it isn’t fair that I have him. Maybe Amanda’s mother should have had more children after her. But I do have Robert, and knowing he’s here for me means everything.

I don’t live far from Amanda, but driving from her place to mine seems like the longest miles I’ve driven during the entire trip. I round the bend to see the moon lighting up the farmhouse like a spotlight. Shadows fall from the surrounding maples, making me want to pull the car over to take in the scene.

Next, I discover blue Christmas lights blinking in the front windows and red ribbon-wrapped wreaths hanging over the windows. The decorations are the same each year. My mother spends hours transforming our home into a kind of wonderland. She has done the same this year—even with the passing of her father. The Christmas tree is lit in the front room and I can imagine wrapped gifts already piled beneath it.

I slump against the seat. How can I face my father after the way he looked at me at the airport? Part of me thinks it’s a mistake returning home. I don’t have anything here except memories—good and bad. Maybe I should have started my life over someplace else—Denver, Seattle?

I shut the car off and place my feet in the snow, crunching back to the trunk. Tonight I grab only my suitcase. The rest of my belongings can wait until tomorrow.

The house is dark except for the tree in the front room.

“Mom?” I call out and wait for an answer.

“In here. Bobbi?”

I set my luggage on the kitchen floor and make my way to the front of the house where my mother is standing with her arms spread wide. She pulls me in for a deep hug. “I’m so glad to have you home. Are you OK?”

Of course, she asks how I am. I nod and drop into the chair opposite the couch where I can tell she’s been sitting as her folded magazine is plopped against the pillow.

“Tired. Where’s Robert?”

“He went to bed early. He said he had a headache.” A faraway looks enters her eyes. Is she worried about more than Robert’s headache?

I settle across from her and kick off my cold shoes.

The tree twinkles in rhythm to a Christmas melody that the lights play over and over. A leftover decoration from my childhood. And I was right—gifts are piled below the tree. A sense of warmth fills me. Where else would I want to be at Christmas?

“Do you want tea? I can make some. You must be hungry, too. There are sugar cookies.”

“The kind with the green frosting?”

She smiles. “Let me get you a plate.” My mother leaves me alone to stare at the tree and take in the quiet of the house. Where is my father? Now that I think of it, I didn’t see his vehicle in the driveway next to my mother’s car. I glance around the room. Nor do I see his slippers or the sweater he usually wears on cold nights.

My mother hands me a plate and a mug of tea. “Here you go. Now tell me about the drive up. I tried to call you a few times, but it went right to voice mail.”

“Mom, where’s Dad?” Call me blunt, but I need answers.

She plucks at the gaudy afghan I crocheted when I was twelve—pink and white. “I was going to wait to tell you in the morning.”

“Tell me now. He’s gone again, isn’t he? Right at Christmas.” The cookie in my hand crumbles. I set the plate on the coffee table before I crush more. How could my father do this to us?

“He left yesterday. Bobbi, this time is for good. I’m not going to fool myself anymore. I know what kind of man he is”—she wipes her eyes—”and I’m not blind, even though I know you think I’ve been over the years. I wanted everything to work out, but this time…”

“So he’s a jerk. Right? He left us because I didn’t qualify, and he can’t live his life as a golf caddie. Is that it?” My tone sounds harder than I intend it to be, but I’m angry. Not so much at myself—and that surprises me—but at the man I call my father.

“He’s your father. Remember that in the coming weeks. We mutually agreed to end our marriage.”

“It’s over? For good?” Words hurt my throat. They shake and come out sounding high-pitched and that makes me angry too. I rise to my feet and cross to stand in front of the tree. What a joke. “What happens now? He moves out and we stay here?”

She shakes her head and looks down at the carpet. A Berber carpet Dad ordered installed three years ago when he decided the wood floors were too cold. I miss the dings in the wood. “We’re going to have to divide our assets.”

“Sell the house? Are you serious? This is our farm. It’s Grandpa’s farm! We can’t sell. Where would we live? You love this house.” I quickly sit by her and clasp my hands in my lap. “It isn’t fair, Mom. Tell him you won’t.”

She’s crying now. I’m so good at making people cry. “It isn’t like that. The courts will make me sell unless I can buy him out.”

“Buy him out?” So all I can do is echo her like some dumb parrot. “Do you have any money? Did Grandpa leave you anything?”

She’s crying harder now and wipes her nose on the sleeve of her sweater. “He went broke from Grandma’s illness. You know that. There’s nothing. I have nothing but my clothes. Dad bought everything else.”

My shoulders fall as I heave out a breath. Nothing. Dad can make us sell the farm so he can have his half. “Maybe he won’t. Maybe he’ll change his mind. I’ll talk to him. Make he’ll see we need this place.”

She lays her hand on my knee and faces me, her expression taut.

“You will not ask him. This is between your father and me. I know you want to help, but you can’t this time. You can’t. No one can.”

I can’t help. But I want to. Maybe Robert and I can come up with something—a way to keep this place so Mom can live here and not in some low-income high-rise. I think of the condos at the edge of town along the river, with blue balconies and clotheslines on each one. My mother can’t live there. I won’t let it happen.

“What’s Robert say? You’ve told him, haven’t you?”

“He knows. Dad told him when he left. I’m surprised your father doesn’t have a black eye with how angry your brother became at him.” A smile cracks one side of her mouth. “You would have been proud of Robert. He controlled himself well.”

The furnace kicks on. How long before I forget such familiar sounds? I fold the afghan across the cold on my legs. My eyes are heavy, even as upset as I am. “I’ll talk with him in the morning. We’ll think of something. I promise.”

“There’s nothing to think about. I’ll get a job. Now you go upstairs to bed, and I’ll shut the lights off. Tomorrow will be a better day.”

I take my mother’s advice and slip up the stairs to my room. I don’t turn the lights on because if I do, I will cry. I love my room. I don’t know how I can say good-bye.

 

****

 

My favorite time of day is when the sunlight first streaks through my window. This morning is no exception. My curtains are still open as I didn’t mess with them last night, so I have a clear view of the mountains in back of our home. The barn’s cupola glistens from melting ice and the bare branches that held my tree house twinkle in companionship.

My toes find the end of my bed and I stretch. First my arms, then my legs. Part of me wants to close my eyes into the nothingness of stupid dreams. The other part, the responsible part, knows I need to be here for my mother today and the coming days.

Tomorrow is Christmas, too. We need to come up with a plan before then, or we might as well take the tree down now.

Robert and my mother already sit at the kitchen table when I enter, scuffling in my dirty clothes.

He rises and gives me a big hug. His shirt hangs on him, making him look as though he’s ten years old again and dressing up in Dad’s work clothes. “Welcome home. I missed you.” His smile is in place but I know it’s for Mom’s sake.

She gets up and fills a cup with hot water and sets in before me with a tin of teabags.

“How did everyone sleep?” My voice rasps. I clear it and ask again.

“So you know.” Robert doesn’t have to say anything else. His gaze crosses to my mother who busies herself with her scrambled egg. It looks cold and dry, but she persists in picking at it.

“Mom told me last night. What are we going to do?”

“You’re both not going to do anything. It’ll work out.” Finally, my mother pushes her plate away and leaves the room.

Robert sighs and his shoulders slump.

“Afraid there isn’t much we can do. Dad’s made his mind up. He’s done. He’s planning to sell his business and move south. He needs the money from the sale of this farm to do it.”

“We need to find a way to save this place. It was Grandpa’s and he wanted Mom to have it, not Dad.” I cross my arms the way I do when I want my way. It used to work. Not anymore, though. I study Robert’s outfit again. He’s wearing a tie, too. “Where are you going?”

“I told Dad I’d meet him later at the office to discuss options.” His lips turn down.

“What options? What are you talking about? And since when do you dress all up to talk with Dad?”

Robert turns his head toward the backyard. He isn’t a good liar, nor can he avoid the truth well. “I’m not only meeting Dad. He has this friend who wants to meet me. This guy wants to talk with me about going to Florida, too, to play golf.”

My mouth drops open. “You’re kidding, right? You’re going to college next semester to become a preacher. Why would you even remotely consider moving south with him after what he’s done to Mom?” I don’t believe we’re having this conversation.

My brother has lost his mind sometime in the past week. I watch for signs that he’s joking—a curve of his lip, a twinkle in his eye. Nothing. I think I’m going to be sick. “You can’t save Dad. You told me that yourself. And what about your promise to help me find God’s plans for my life? Was that a lie, too?”

He stands and empties his cup into the sink. “Maybe I was wrong about going to school. Maybe I want to play golf instead.”

My glance goes to his leg. He notices and shifts his stance straighter. “You’re crazy, Robert. Do you know that? He’s made you crazy, and I won’t allow that.” My voice rises with each syllable. “Dad has destroyed our family, but he won’t get you.”

“Listen to you. You’re the one who’s nuts. I’m doing what I want—unlike someone who thinks she’s a golfer and isn’t.”

Ouch. I brace myself against my chair. How can he say that? Someone once told me that love and hate are close emotions. I get that. I get that in a huge way now as I glare at Robert.

He holds my stare for only seconds and looks away.

“I’m out of here. Tell Mom I’ll be back later.” I shove away from the table and grab my coat from the hook in the back doorway. My keys are still in the pocket, and although I haven’t brushed my teeth or changed my clothes in three days, I don’t care. I need to get space to think, and that won’t happen at home where Mom is bawling upstairs and my brother has turned into the biggest traitor on this earth.