Even Rufus was wearing a special needlepointed holiday collar with a design of red Santa hats with tiny white pompoms on a background of deep green. Most days he lumbered around the house between dog beds, one of which was in almost every room.
“All right!” I said, draining a pound of pasta through a colander. I had prepared an early supper of spaghetti with tomato sauce and lots of grated Asiago cheese instead of Parmesan. I pulled two crusty loaves of garlic bread from the oven. “The candlelight service starts at six o’clock. I expect to see you boys for baths by four. I laid your clothes out. Do y’all hear me?”
“Yes, ma’am!”
There would be no resistance about baths. No. Not on Christmas Eve. I could have asked them to scrub the kitchen floor grout with a Q-Tip and they would have done it with a smile on their faces.
“Okay, good. Now go get your daddy and let’s eat.”
Later, in church, I caught Adam’s eye and smiled at him. We weren’t ardent churchgoers and not especially devout, but we gathered there that night and were touched by the spirit of the holiday. I found God in nature, and when I asked Adam, he said he felt the same way. The many cycles of life were always there right before your eyes. And it was just a fact of life that came from living in the Lowcountry of South Carolina. But we had started to go to church again for the first time since our college days because I really wanted our boys to have a religious foundation. And the boys were finally old enough to behave themselves throughout the service.
I felt deeply blessed to have the precious love of my husband, who worked so hard to give us such a wonderful life. Even after all these years, I still got excited when I heard his car come into the garage after work. Maybe that sounds silly, but the best part of my day was always when we were all together.
I looked down at the boys in their navy blazers and khaki pants, with their hair wet-combed into place. So innocent! Oh, I thought, this is the sweetest moment, this one, right now. It was so sweet that I had a thought of perhaps another baby. Maybe a girl would come to us?
chapter 5
adam’s merry christmas
I was on another planet, having unfortunate and inappropriate thoughts. In church, on Christmas Eve, of all places and times! I had not stopped thinking about Eve since Eliza read me excerpts of her newsletter. Thoughts of her had tormented me from the moment we said good-bye on the Isle of Palms last July all the way through Thanksgiving. Just when I was finally able to get through a day without obsessing over her, here came the Christmas card.
Earlier that afternoon, when Eliza put the boys in the bathtub, I’d hurried to the stack of holiday cards that were tumbled together in a sweetgrass basket. I found Eve’s card and brought it up to my face, inhaling deeply, hoping for a trace of her. It had no smell at all, and that was disappointing. I read the letter carefully, looking for clues about her state of mind. Was she really happy with Carl? How could she be? He could be such a competitive, arrogant asshole. But there wasn’t a hint of dissatisfaction or sarcasm in her writing that indicated anything less than a great year for them all. Was that really true?
I had always wondered, what if things had worked out differently? Could I have been happy with Eve today? Was it worth the risk of undermining and jeopardizing the stability of my family to find out? No! I told myself. Eliza was a one-in-a-million girl. She lived to make me happy in every single way. Beautifully kept home, gourmet cook, wild in the sheets! What else could I want?
I shouldn’t even be thinking about Eve! What’s the matter with me? Here I am in church! On Christmas Eve! And my wonderful little family is all around me, but what am I doing? I’m thinking about what it was like to make love to Eve to the music of Frankie Valli singing “My Eyes Adored You” in 1975. Yes, I thought, that’s what I’m doing and I don’t care. The thought police couldn’t hear me. I could think about whatever I wanted and I was still safe. I was a man possessed.
So I indulged my memories, remembering how wonderful, almost surreal it had been. When I was with Eve time was suspended. We were drawn to each other like metal filings to a magnet, one filament at a time and then all in a rush. I had been hopelessly and completely in love with her, lost in her beautiful eyes, her breathing and her heartbeat pounding against mine. I remembered it. I remembered it all. I reminded myself that a man is very lucky to ever have had a love like that, even once in his life. And her mother had ruined it. Cookie. I would never forgive her. That judgmental, small-minded bitch who found us together, called me a common laborer from a family with no distinction, and said her daughter was destined for a far grander life than I could ever offer her.
As we did whenever possible, we went to her house when Cookie wasn’t home. One day, Cookie wasn’t supposed to be home until six. We were in Eve’s bedroom, in her bed, screwing our brains out with every ounce of energy our eighteen-year-old selves could muster. Suddenly, the door opened and the screaming started. “You! Stop this at once! Leave my daughter alone! Get out of her bed! Get out of my house now or I’ll call the police! And don’t you dare ever come back here!” I fumbled around trying to gather my clothes, which were flung all over the room. I barely got my pants and shoes on as I left the house. I was still buttoning my shirt as I started my car. I could hear Eve shrieking. I wanted to go back in and rescue her, but I knew better. Cookie was a wildcard. She would have done something drastic, like claim rape. Did Cookie really think Eve was not a willing partner?
Cookie was always trading on her ancestors—someone had signed the Declaration of Independence a million years ago. She was such a prude. Such a snob. I despised Cookie and loved Eve in equal amounts. But we had been too young to fight and too afraid of Cookie.
I wondered if Cookie had even an inkling of how successful I had become. As she lived in Charleston, there was a chance she could’ve known. But would that change her opinion of me? Oh, sure, Carl was a doctor and he saved lives here and there, but he had no soul. No true passion. At least not one that I had been able to detect.
I glanced at Eliza sitting in the pew next to me and was immediately awash in guilt. She was beautiful, in her exotic way, and I loved her. I did. I loved everything about her. She had no hidden agenda, no guile. No. Eliza only wanted to be my wife, my partner, the mother of our children. And she was an absolute delight to live with. She was a reasonable woman, fair and insightful, not given to moody or bitchy behavior. Her marvelous sense of humor had carried us through so many awkward situations. Her meals had not only warmed and nourished us all but her culinary efforts had won me contracts. When a bid was in question, I brought the client home and Eliza whipped up something mind boggling that brought the client to his knees, singing her praises, begging to sign on the dotted line. There was no doubt that she was my greatest asset. Oh, God, the things she could do with a chicken. My mouth watered for her coq au vin.
I wondered then if Eliza had ever had someone in her deep past who meant to her what Eve meant to me. A first love? A regret? Things we never shared? Was there a man she thought about in a weak moment? Someone she had loved with youthful abandon? Someone who had broken her heart? Did certain music trigger memories? If there was someone like that in her past, she had never said one word about it. Not one word.
But then again, I thought, I never told her about Eve.
The pine-scented air was crisp as we left the church. It felt like a Christmas Eve should feel, a little damp and raw with the promise of something new and wonderful about to happen. It sent a rush of happiness through each one of us and we smiled for no reason other than that we were together.
By the time we arrived home the boys were fast asleep in the backseat of the car. We pulled into the garage and I lowered the door with the remote. Luckily, the boys didn’t stir. Ever so quietly, Eliza carried Luke and I carried Max to their bedroom, where we undressed them, pulling on their pajamas as their listless bodies flailed. We kissed the boys on their foreheads, turned down the light to very low, and left the room, leaving the door aj
ar.
“They ran out of steam,” I said quietly.
“They’ll be up at five, if we’re lucky,” Eliza said.
“I’m going to take Rufus outside,” I said.
“Do you want to have a glass of wine while we fix Santa?”
“Sure, but why don’t we step outside together for a moment? It’s so beautiful.”
I roused Rufus from his bed in the family room and Eliza followed me through the kitchen doors onto the patio.
“Let’s go down by the river,” I said.
“Okay, but just for a minute. What if the boys wake up? I need to be able to hear them.”
“Don’t worry. This is probably the one night of the year they won’t leave their room.”
I knew Eliza could see me smiling, even in the dark, hoping I was right. She took my outstretched hand and walked with me toward the water.
The full moon was up, high in the sky, surrounded by billions of twinkling stars. Rufus wandered off toward an ancient live oak tree, draped with long sheets of Spanish moss that moved slowly in the evening breeze like a ghost. We could smell the brackish water of the Stono River, brimming with life and death as it flowed in a southwesterly direction. Its ripples shimmered with light reflected from the night sky. We stood there, on our dock, leaning against the railing. I had my arm around her shoulder and hers was looped around my waist.
“Merry Christmas, Mr. Stanley. I sure do love you.”
“Merry Christmas to you, sweetheart. I love you too. So much. Man, we sure are lucky.”
“Sometimes I can hardly believe it.”
We stood there for a few more minutes until Rufus meandered over to us and nudged us with his snout.
“I think our old man is ready for bed,” I said.
“Yep, and I think our tree is ready for Santa.”
Soon all the toys were arranged under the tree and, weary from the day, we crawled under our own bedcovers, too tired to think of anything but sleep.
After a few minutes, I rolled over on my side and threw my arm over Eliza.
“We sure have it good, babe, don’t we?”
I thought I heard her say, “Yep. Don’t fuck it up.” I sat up and looked at her, but she was already asleep.
chapter 6
eliza and the unexpected guest
There was hardly a sliver of daylight when Luke and Max appeared at the side of our bed.
“Is she awake?” Max whispered.
“No. What time is it?” Luke whispered.
“You know I can’t tell time yet,” Max hissed.
I groaned and the boys jumped.
“It’s too early!” I said. “Go back to bed!”
They scampered from our room.
I took one leg out from underneath the comforter, opened my eyes, and stared at the ceiling. I was wide awake then and resigned to beginning my day. And I really wanted to see the boys when they saw their loot.
How many more Christmases will there be that involve Santa? I thought.
“Adam? Honey?”
There was a moan from his side of the bed.
“The boys are awake.”
“Okay, okay,” he said. “I’m up.”
We got out of bed and pulled on our robes. The floor was ice cold because the furnace didn’t cycle on until 6 a.m. Crank the cat wandered in and mewed.
“Merry Christmas, Crank,” I said. I reached down and patted her fur. “I’ll get your breakfast in a minute.”
“I’ll push up the thermostat,” Adam said. “It’s not supposed to reach fifty today.”
“Dang, it’s early.” The bedside alarm clock read 5:15. “Get the movie camera! I’ll turn on the coffeepot.” Fifty degrees, I thought. It was probably ten below in Massachusetts, where my father and brother lived.
Naturally, the coffee machine was on a timer, but that timer didn’t swing into action until six thirty. In any case, this was our division of labor.
“Right! Good idea,” Adam said. “And I’ll light a fire.”
On the way to the family room, we looked in on the boys, whose hearing was as acute as that of any prized hunting dog in the land. Sure enough, they had just hopped back into their beds and were pretending to be asleep. But their rapid breathing, flushed faces, and devilish grins betrayed them. They had probably been having a pillow fight or simply jumping on their beds, trying to hit the ceiling, which was pockmarked with traces of chocolate and only heaven knew what else.
“All right, you two little scamps, let’s go see if Santa left you anything besides a lump of coal,” Adam said, shaking his head.
Max and Luke leapt from their beds and tore around us, racing to the living room screaming with excitement. More screaming ensued. We looked at each other, shook our heads, and smiled the parental smile of resignation.
“Kids,” Adam said and turned on the movie camera.
“Ya gotta love ’em,” I said.
I clicked on the coffeepot, made hot chocolate, fed the cat, then opened the back door, giving Rufus the opportunity to sniff around the backyard. The next chance I would have to sit down would be for breakfast and then dinner, so for the moment, I curled up in the corner of the sofa and watched my boys tear open gifts.
The following hour was spent documenting our lives on film, opening box after box, drinking hot cocoa and mug after mug of coffee and trying out various presents. Christmas carols sung by the Mormon Tabernacle Choir played in the background. And a lovely fire crackled again in the fireplace, warming the room. Norman Rockwell himself could not have done a better job of staging a diorama of the Great American Family.
Santa, in his extraordinary generosity, had left remote-control cars for the boys, in addition to boxes of Legos and a bonanza of other amusements. Adam and I exchanged engraved key rings for our new cars. There were many new sweaters, bottles of inexpensive perfume and aftershave the boys bought us from the drugstore with their tiny allowance, new camera equipment for Adam that excited him, and the latest model of a food processor, which thrilled me. My father, John, had sent us a check for four hundred dollars inside of a nice card that said to buy something special for ourselves. And my brother, JJ, and his wife had done the same. I wished my father and JJ were joining us for Christmas. I loved Ted dearly and he was included in every holiday and event in our lives, as it should be. But it’s not like that with my family. They are just too far away. If I was lucky, I saw them once a year.
“That’s awfully generous,” Adam said. “I probably won’t buy a sweater.”
“Me either,” I said.
“What did we send them?”
“Steak-of-the-Month Club. Wine-of-the-Month Club. I guess the divorce courts must be having a good year,” I said, rereading the card from my brother. “Still, it sure would be nice to see them once in a while.”
“Really?” Adam said in a high voice. “Do you really think so?”
“Adam Stanley!” I laughed, knowing that my sister-in-law drove him insane. “You’re gonna make Santa turn his sleigh around and come back here and take away all your sweaters.”
“Oh, no!” Adam recoiled in mock horror. “Then I’ll definitely behave myself.”
“Momma?” Max said. “Don’t you know Aunt Tasha works Daddy’s last nerve?”
Works Daddy’s last nerve? Where had he heard that expression?
“You hush! Who told you that? Your daddy loves Aunt Tasha!”
“Little pitchers have big ears,” Luke said solemnly. He sounded like an old man.
Adam arched an eyebrow.
“Boys? Here’s your Christmas morning piece of wisdom. Families are your given tribe, and you have a duty to your given tribe to take care of them when they need help, to be respectful of them, and so on. But they are not your chosen tribe. Those are your dear friends who you love and treasure because they make your life rich with all the things that matter.”
“What tribe are we?” Max said. “Is there a tribe for your kids?”
“Well? Let’s see .
. .” Adam said, and I could see he had dug himself a rather nice hole.
“You are our precious hearts,” I said. “That’s the most special tribe of all!”
“Yay!” said Max.
“Aunt Tasha drinks like a fish,” Luke said, sucking in his cheeks over and over and making Max crack up.
“Poor Aunt Tasha. I’m sure she has her reasons,” Adam said.
“I’ve only ever seen Tasha like that once when she drank wine on an empty stomach!” I said. “Aunt Tasha does not have a problem with alcohol.” She has other issues, I thought, but not booze.
Reluctantly, I left my cozy spot, went to the kitchen, and dug around under the sink. I knew Adam thought that being married to my brother was reason enough to drink your head off. He had said so on many occasions. When it came to JJ, Adam could be the most judgmental and unforgiving person in the world. Maybe Tasha just liked to whoop it up once in a while?
And Adam believes himself to be a Christian. He believes himself to be the picture of benevolence. I thought, true Christians don’t judge.
While Adam busied himself putting batteries into the remote-control cars for the boys, I scooped up wrapping paper and ribbon.
“What time is your dad coming, sweetheart?”
“I told him three o’clock. Is that still okay?”
“Yep. It’s perfect. How’s he doing? I haven’t seen him in a while.”
Same Beach, Next Year Page 5