by Edwin Dasso
“Well, now it will be legitimate.” Jill raised her glass again. “To Dido. Who treated me with respect and sought my opinion, even when I was a kid. Thank you!”
Laughter rang out and cheers for Dido, who pretended not to enjoy the attention, but was touched, later whispering to Estelle, “Gus’s brat of a daughter remembered to acknowledge the attention I gave her.”
Next, Andy stood up. Jill could see they were in for a long evening of toasts, some that were heartfelt like Andy’s tribute to his parents’ devotion, helping him raise his boys, and to Gus for everything he’d done for them. Jill noticed the sidelong glances, not especially pleasant ones, Aunt Anna gave to Nicole. Then on to Peter, who’d recently recovered from a heart attack, thanking his wife and daughters for their support; he hoped their experiences in Greektown were worth the effort it took to get there.
Finally, it was Gus’s turn. He stood up and faced the group from his position at the end of the table. “Thank you for welcoming Estelle,” he said, knowing they hadn’t but determined to pretend everything was okay like he always had about everything else. He’d gladly relinquish his responsibility as family leader to her, because he never wanted the job in the first place. She’d be the one to enforce honesty, respect for members of the family and honor to those who were gone, but it would be at a price. Jill felt the general feeling of betrayal the rest of them must be feeling, but she was afraid she would pay the greatest cost, because she had the most to lose.
“As Jill pointed out, Estelle and Dido have been good neighbors for as long as I can remember. Not much will change except we’ll share our lives.” He made a point of looking right at his daughter for this, and Jill squirmed in her chair. “You are still welcome here as I’ve always welcomed you.”
His pronouncement had just the opposite effect. Why did he use the word welcome in front of everyone? She’d never felt welcomed because it was her home. Why would you need to feel welcomed by your own flesh and blood, in your own home? Heartsick, all she wanted to do was go back to her apartment alone and go to sleep. Maria must have noticed because she would put into acceptable words the unacceptable feelings Jill had.
“I’m sure Jill doesn’t feel like she needs an invitation to come here,” Maria said. “I’m going to keep coming whether I’m welcomed or not.”
Chuckling rang out. Jill couldn’t tell if her father appreciated it, and she wasn’t sure she cared. Why the hell would he tell her just a few days earlier that she’d be the first to know if he was going to get married? And why did she have to hear it from Estelle? She felt childish and ungrateful, pushing herself away from the table again, her emotions on a roller coaster.
“I’m going to help my aunt serve dessert,” she said to Mark.
He didn’t think it was wise for Jill to be up on her feet, but could see how distressed she was over the engagement announcement so didn’t say anything.
She looked down at him. “Do you play poker?”
“Yes,” he answered, frowning. “Why?”
“The men play after dinner. Watch your wallet.” She winked at him with her yellow eye, wincing when the muscle movement caused pain. Maria didn’t mention the announcement when she came into the kitchen, instead directing her to cut a cake a certain way or to dish up pie or how to arrange baklava on a platter.
“We can set up a dessert buffet on the table, let people take what they want,” she instructed.
“I want one of each,” Jill said.
“Go for it,” Maria said. “You can afford it. By the way, your new guy is a hunk.”
Jill looked out into the dining room at Mark, who’d turned in his chair, talking to Paula. Roger had come back to resume the conversation after running to Albert and Nana Wong for safety.
Jill snickered. “Thanks, Aunt. I wonder what Paula is talking about now? I should have warned Mark not to divulge his secrets.”
Maria looked at her and giggled. “And what secrets might that be?”
“Gosh, I have no idea,” Jill confessed. “I barely know the guy. You can see my face isn’t in the best condition to start a relationship.”
“You’re beautiful under any circumstances,” Maria said.
Jill hugged her with her free arm, the other holding a pie server. “You are, too,” Jill said. She felt badly for her aunt; even with a husband, grown children and grandchildren, she was in Greektown for a major holiday alone. How bad did a relationship have to be that even Christmas wasn’t a time to be together? She looked in the dining room, at Big Andy and Anna talking earnestly, and Peter with his arm slung around his wife, Joan, watching her face while she talked. Only two happy marriages out of a roomful of marriages.
“Where’s Aunt Liz?” Jill asked. Uncle John was his usual miserable self while the activity swirled around him.
“He says they’re splitting up,” Maria whispered. “You heard Paula’s comments. She’s right; my brother is acting like a child.”
“Ugh, sorry to hear that,” Jill said. “Seems like after all of those years together, it would be worth saving, no matter how awful it was.”
Maria frowned, thinking about her own predicament. How much longer could she and Jim go on tolerating the intolerable?
“It takes a lot of courage to end a marriage, especially one that old. If my sister-in-law can no longer stand being ignored by her husband, then she should end it. I’m all for it.”
Jill looked at Maria. “Was that it? Was he ignoring her?”
“That’s what it sounds like. I don’t speak to the English girls unless I absolutely have to, so I haven’t heard Liz’s side of the story. I just tried to reason with John, and it was like talking to a mute. What the hell have I missed? My own brother, mentally ill, and I chose to avoid facing it all these years. Nicky thinks he might be a danger to himself, that’s why he’s staying with him at the summerhouse. Did you know that’s where they’re living?”
Jill slowly shook her head. Why was so much drama occurring late in life for her family? She decided to question her aunt.
“What do you make of all of this flux when people are supposed to be enjoying life, moving to warmer climates, traveling, playing with their grandchildren? Why choose now to end a marriage, or to come out of the closet, or to have an affair?”
Maria stopped washing a cake pan and glared at Jill. “Who’s coming out of the closet?”
Jill stammered, not meaning to add conjecture to fact. “Don’t pay any attention to me. I’m under the influence of narcotics.”
Maria put the pan down and grabbed her arm. “Did you hear something? Because my Jim has said it all along. It’s John, right? John’s a homosexual. I just knew it.” She put her head in her hands and moaned.
Jill turned her head, trying not to smirk at the dramatic outburst. “Aunt Maria, just because we suspect something about someone doesn’t make it so. It’s not a big deal! He might not even realize it. You read about it all the time, especially in older people raised in a different time.” Jill thought about what it would mean for a man John’s age to accept that he was not what he’d struggled to be, what he purported to be, all of his life.
“So you’re saying he isn’t aware of it.” She stopped and looked at Jill, her expression unreadable. “Because my parents would have embraced him no matter what. If he’s hiding, it’s not because of them. Sexuality was only an issue in our family if it was abused. Our parents pushed us to be the best we were capable of being. Not what society thought we should be.”
Jill thought of Uncle Nick but didn’t say anything. She thought of her brother, put in an institution as an infant because her grandparents couldn’t face his problems. Thoughts drifting back to her mother; it was clear now that Nick—with his smashing good looks larger than life, his state cop uniform and intimidating personality—must have been hard to resist for those women he sought out, manipulation of the vulnerable an easy conquest. Her mother, a woman who’d led a sheltered life with doting parents, bowled over by Nick and will
ing to betray her husband, a man she’d known since elementary school. She must have been an easy target. How much of it was her being unable to say no to the allure of Nick?
“Nick would be a tough act to follow for a gentle person like John,” Jill said. “His machismo, his commanding presence and self-confidence, it would be a compelling reason to ignore any unfamiliar messages your body might be trying to give you.”
Maria snickered. “No offense, but that sounds like a line of bullshit.”
Jill smiled at her. “What difference does it make? If he doesn’t want to be married anymore, it’s his business. Aunt Liz is still young enough to find happiness with someone else.”
Maria pulled a tissue out of a popup box. “I hope you’re right. What about Paula? What’s that all about? She’s staying with my brother while he sees other women? And still acting like a buffoon at family dinners.”
Jill shook her head again. “Got me. She’s lucky I didn’t pop her in the mouth tonight. She doesn’t have much self-respect. Anyway, is Nick going to stay at the lake with John? Maybe she’ll come to her senses while he’s gone.”
“I wish they’d go back to their own homes. The summerhouse is still in mourning,” Maria replied sadly.
The conversation was getting to Jill. She couldn’t judge Paula for staying with Nick; Jill had stayed with former boyfriend Alex long after the relationship should have ended. He made just enough effort to maintain its viability. How did they know what happened between Paula and Nick behind closed doors?
“What happened with the state trooper?” Maria asked.
“Yeah, what happened is right. It’s just fizzled out,” she answered, sure the truth about his involvement with Cynthia Caldwell would go public soon enough. Maria read the Grand Rapids papers and watched the news stations.
Taking a deep breath, Jill winced. “My busted rib is smarting. I think I’ll take the tray of baklava in and try not to eat the whole thing myself.”
Concerned, Maria took the tray from Jill. “You go sit. I’ll do this.”
Jill sought out Mark, relieved it was after eleven and almost time to start for church. She longed to go home, take a hot shower and get into bed. Their Christmas Day wouldn’t start at dawn as it did for many families with children. The gifts Santa left for the boys would wait until after breakfast, a huge meal including meats, casseroles and more pastries, while Danny and Greg stared longingly at the piles of wrapped boxes that had appeared under the tree overnight.
“You about ready for church?” she said.
Mark stood up and put his arm around Jill’s shoulders. She was quickly getting used to his touch. Alex and Fred were both lanky, their arms long and thin. Mark was a body builder, and she leaned into his gargantuan arm draped across her back. Stifling laughter, the vision of his muscular body, nude, like a da Vinci drawing, stirred new desire in her that moved like a satin ribbon around her chest, skirting the busted rib and wrapping her legs with its silkiness before it disappeared, leaving a long trail of goose bumps in its path. Hmmmmm, she thought, enjoying intense chemistry for a man she barely knew. And right before church, too. She shook her head to clear her thoughts, letting out a giggle.
“You okay?” he asked softly.
She nodded, looking up at him. Not meaning to send him any messages, she obviously had failed, and he tried not to read more into her look. But his desire for her increased as he pulled her close.
“Am I that transparent?” she whispered.
“Thank God,” he said. “I feel the same way.”
She held on to his arm and smiled as much as her mouth would allow. “Do you mind if we go ahead of the others? I need a breather.”
He took her coat off the coat rack and helped her with it. Wrapping a scarf around her neck and battered face, she pulled a knit hat over her head. It was freezing out, no time for vanity. “I hope you don’t mind the hat,” she said. “God won’t care.”
“You look adorable,” Mark replied, laughing.
“Yeah, right. We’re leaving for church, everyone,” she shouted. A chorus of voices answering as they walked out of the apartment confirmed the family would be bringing up the rear.
Mark led the way, artic air blasting in their faces when he opened the door at the bottom of the stairwell. Jill looked at the lights flashing on the casino, the elaborate Christmas decorations hanging from the streetlights, and the lavish displays at neighboring stores. She tried not to dwell on what had happened to her, the fear of being attacked, the physical pain. A little sob escaped her lips.
“What is it?” Mark said, stopping and taking her in his arms. He looked into her eyes. “You must be exhausted.”
“That’s really all it is,” she answered. “I’ll be okay. I’m looking forward to the service.”
They didn’t talk as they resumed the walk toward the church, the spire coming into view beyond the casino. On the shallow church lawn under a massive gothic stained-glass window, the crèche stood in a copse of cedar trees. She remembered the same figures set within the familiar wood structure every December since she was a small child: the plaster Mary and Joseph kneeling beside the wooden manger; Mary not more than a teenager, Joseph an older man with gray painted hair in his beard. The delicate baby Jesus, naked, lying in the straw, looked vulnerable. A combination of both desert and barnyard animals—sheep, cow and donkey, and a faux camel—surrounded the shed. For reasons known only to the universe, tonight they carried a special meaning for Jill, and she caught her breath when they came upon it. The light streaming from the stained glass cast a soft glow over the scene.
“Baby Jesus is cold,” Mark observed softly.
“I was thinking the same thing,” Jill said. She reached up and unwound the scarf from around her neck. “It’s ridiculous, but it’ll make me feel better.” They looked around to make sure there were no observers as Mark picked up the plaster baby and Jill clumsily wrapped it in her cashmere scarf. He noted that she was not comfortable handling the statue.
“Picked up a lot of babies lately?” he asked softly.
“Never,” she said, laughing. “I don’t think I’ve held a baby since I was four when my cousin Andy was born.” They stood before the manger scene in silence, Jill reaching for his hand.
“Feel better now?” he asked.
“As absurd as it sounds, I do.”
He let go of her hand and put his arm around her shoulder again, pulling her close. “I’ve never been to a Greek Church before.”
“You don’t have to do anything,” Jill replied.
He followed her, the doors open to the candlelit chapel. Jill could see that the light that shown down upon the manger scene had come from a large candelabrum set with tiers of tea lights.
“I hope those are electric,” Mark whispered.
“They’re not,” Jill replied. “That entire wheel lowers to the ground, and a very patient person lights each candle.”
They observed men in vestments: deacons and lay preachers coming in to pray before carrying out their duties that evening. Other worshipers began to arrive, filing in the open doors, some kneeling before a triptych six feet tall depicting the holy family again.
“Lots of gold here,” Mark whispered, looking around.
“Gold leaf,” Jill corrected. “Those are icons from the old country. Aren’t they beautiful?”
“Why icons instead of statuary?”
“Early Christians met in caves. Art was easier to haul around than statues.” The history lesson was interrupted; the family had arrived, Estelle and Gus sliding down the pew next to Jill.
Soon, they heard chanting as the priest walked up to the pulpit, prepared to read from the Book of Luke. “And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger.”
Mark leaned over and whispered, “A cashmere scarf?”
Jill put her hand up to cover her face and giggled.
Estelle leaned forward, frowning, and put her finger to her
lip. “Shush, you two.”
Jill closed her eyes and listened to the words written by the apostle Luke of the birth of Christ. Her faith beaten down, the priest uttered simple words that would well up in her heart. The lights dimmed as choir members rose from their seats in the loft. The church didn’t have an organ so they sang a capella. The soloist, a contralto, started singing, “What child is this, who laid to rest, on Mary's lap is sleeping?”
Jill had to fight back tears. What is wrong with me? The rich, beautiful voice rang out, vibrating something within Jill’s chest. The final words of the hymn, “The baby, the son of Mary,” echoed in her head. The baby. The baby. The baby.
Together they stood and sang and sat and stood and sat. “Are you okay?” Mark whispered, and she nodded her head. It was stupid to think she could suffer an attack, shoot a human being almost to death, and have a normal Christmas Eve. What a dope. Finally, it was over.
“I want to go home,” she said.
“Okay,” Mark replied. “I’ll bring the car around.”
“You don’t get it. They’ll try to get us to come back. The men play poker all night, and the women drink ouzo and tell stories. It’s not a pretty sight.”
He motioned for her to stay put. Mark went to Gus as he was talking to friends and neighbors.
“I’m going to get your daughter home, Mr. Zannos. She’s beat.”
Gus looked over at Jill and waved to her. So that’s it, she thought, shocked. My papa, saved being inconvenienced by my busted rib. He sure is a slippery guy. He’s not even going to come over to see if I’m all right. Something had shifted between Gus and Jill during dinner. She was no longer his one and only. What did I expect?
Feeling like a querulous child with little self-control, this was not the woman Jill wanted Mark to see. At her worst, she decided to try to act the role of a normal woman until she could make her way to bed. She’d be Jill, the unemotional detective. Her resolve lasted until they got back to her apartment.
“You don’t need to come up,” Jill said, choking on her own words. “It’s been a rough day for both of us.”