The Christmas Table

by Donna VanLiere

“Well, let me poke around. If I find him, I’ll let you know ASAP.”

  “That’s great, Robert! Thanks. What can we do for you for helping us?”

  “Name the baby after me,” Robert says, walking toward his office. Travis laughs, but as he starts the leaf blower again, he looks at Robert’s back as he walks away, wondering if he was serious.

  NINETEEN

  October 1972

  Joan sits in one of the chairs in the chemo room at the cancer clinic as the chemo drips through the IV line and into her arm. There are two other chairs inside this room; the chair next to her is empty, but the one near the door is taken. A young man around twenty or so sits in the chair, and a woman who Joan believes is his mother sits next to him; her hand is on his arm, and Joan thinks of her own mom at home with Gigi and Christopher.

  Joan’s father brought her to the clinic today so John would not miss another day of work. On her insistence, her dad has gone to find a bowl of soup in the cafeteria for her. If they don’t have broccoli cheese—and she knows the cafeteria will not—she has instructed him where a nearby café that makes it is located. She has sent her father on a scavenger hunt of sorts because he is never able to hide his concern, and Joan knows it is best if she receives the chemo alone. As the cancer killer drips through the IV, Joan whispers again, “Today’s the day. I may not see it, but God is at work.” Her mind wanders ahead to Halloween, and she wonders if she’ll be up for walking Gigi and Christopher around the neighborhood. Her mom found a lion costume a couple of months ago at a sale for Christopher, complete with a golden, bushy mane to frame his face. Gigi has said she wants to be Big Bird from Sesame Street, but Joan questions whether she can make the costume. She closes her eyes to rest and seems to be drifting toward sleep when she hears “Today’s the day. God is working. I just know it.”

  Joan flashes her eyes open and looks at the mother and her son, but they aren’t in conversation. The young man’s eyes are closed, and the mother is reading. “Did you say something?” Joan asks, keeping her voice low.

  The woman, who looks to be in her late forties, with short blond hair and a stout figure, turns to see Joan. “I’m so sorry,” she says, whispering. “I didn’t mean to say it out loud.”

  Joan lifts her head from the back of the chair, wanting to come out of it altogether. “What did you say?” Her voice is earnest, almost pleading.

  The woman looks at her son and gets up from her chair, stepping gingerly to Joan and whispers, “I said, today’s the day.”

  “You did say it!” Joan puts a hand to her head and looks at the chair next to her. “Could you sit down?” The woman does and Joan gropes for words. “Why did you say that?”

  The woman shrugs, her eyes lighting up as she talks. “Bruce was diagnosed with cancer two months ago. For some reason, on the day he was diagnosed, I said, ‘Today’s the day. God is working.’”

  Joan looks at her, puzzled. “What did you mean by that?”

  “I knew that we could be scared to death and start wringing our hands or we could pound our stake firmly into the ground and believe that God is at work, not tomorrow or the next day, but today, right now.”

  Joan feels tears begin to swell and she shakes her head to keep them from falling. “My husband has been saying those same words to me.” The woman’s eyes open wide as she listens. “And now you. The same words! Isn’t that strange?”

  The woman smiles. “Do you think it’s coincidence?”

  Joan looks into the woman’s blue eyes; they aren’t condescending but are full of kindness. “Part of me thinks that it is, but another part wonders.”

  “Wonders what?”

  Joan looks up at the ceiling and back at the woman. “If God is trying to get my attention? I thought that if He did that it’d be something bigger like a meteor shower, not something like a sentence my husband is saying. Or the word ‘wind’ in a recipe!” The woman looks confused. “You had to be there.” The woman laughs, understanding exactly what Joan is saying. “I’m not much of a believer.” Joan stops, clarifying. “I mean, I believe in God, that’s pretty much where it ends.”

  The woman puts her hand on Joan’s arm. “Belief has to start somewhere. Your beginning is cancer. My beginning was my college fiancé dumping me our senior year. One of the best things that ever happened to me.”

  Joan’s eyes fill with fear and she fights the urge to cry. “How can cancer be the best thing? What if…”

  The woman nods, looking at her son. “I’ve gone through all the what-ifs. I know what could happen. My husband and I have talked about all of them. But what if the what-ifs don’t happen?” Her eyes are sincere as she looks at Joan. “What if there is something greater than all of our what-ifs? What if God heals Bruce? What if He heals you? What if today is the day?”

  The woman smiles and Joan feels tears in her eyes again. What if?

  October 2012

  Gloria, Miriam, and Lauren carry sections of a baby crib up the stairs and into the first bedroom on the right. Travis and Andrea follow, carrying a small white chest of drawers. Gloria spotted the crib, complete with mattress, pads, sheets, and chest of drawers at a garage sale and called Lauren right away. She insisted that she and Marshall buy the items for the baby’s room. “You’re going to have a baby shower anyway, so consider these your first and probably best gifts!” Gloria said.

  Travis works at putting the crib together as the women place the chest of drawers against the wall, next to the door. Miriam looks around the small room. “You’re going to need a chair or rocking chair of some sort there in the corner.”

  Lauren looks at the empty space. “You think?”

  “If you breast-feed in the middle of the night,” Andrea says, “a chair is nice in the baby’s room.” She looks around the room. “I remember Bill and I doing this like it was yesterday.”

  “Me, too,” Gloria says. “The days were long, but the years were short.” Miriam and Andrea nod in agreement, smiling at Lauren.

  “That just means there will be days that will feel like they’ll never end, but they do,” Andrea says. “And it feels like the years fly by, and they do.”

  “Oh, to be a young mother again,” Miriam says, pulling the crib sheets from the bag to be washed.

  “Would you do it again, Miriam?” Lauren asks.

  “She’s too old to do it again,” Gloria says.

  “Says Grandma Moses,” Miriam replies. “I’d do some things differently, and I can leave all those things in the hands of you and Travis, to do right what I got wrong.”

  “We’re just thrilled to be grandmas again,” Gloria says.

  “She will be Grandma,” Miriam says. “I will be Noni M.”

  Gloria scoffs. “How is it that even your grandma name annoys me?”

  Lauren waves her hand at them to stop and positions Andrea next to them, in the middle of the room. “Say cheese,” she says, holding up her phone to take a picture.

  “Noni M!” Gloria says, making all of them laugh. She claps her hands together and says, “There are some miscellaneous pictures for the wall and a few baby toys I found at the sale in my car.”

  “Gloria, you didn’t say—” Lauren begins.

  “I couldn’t resist,” Gloria says. “They were inexpensive and cute and if you don’t want them, there are plenty of parents at Glory’s Place who can use them.” Miriam and Andrea go with her to the car as Travis’s cell phone rings. He notices it is Robert Layton’s number.

  “Hi, Robert!”

  “Please tell Lauren that farmer Bud lives thirty miles from here.”

  Travis looks at Lauren and smiles.

  TWENTY

  October 1972

  John uses a table saw to cut a new table leg to replace the one he miscut a couple of weeks ago. Although he has moved his finish date, at this rate, he worries that he will not have the table completed for Christmas. Fear pushes against his heart, and he wonders if Joan will be here at Christmas. He presses his fingers into his eyes
in an effort to drive away the thought. “Today’s the day,” he says, his voice catching. Joan is getting thinner, and fatigue grips her many more times a day. “You’re doing things I can’t see,” he whispers. He finishes the cut and stops the saw, putting his head down, too tired or too distracted to continue. “You’re doing things I can’t see,” he whispers again, his lip beginning to quiver. He grips the workbench. “I believe.” He closes his eyes against the tears. “But there’s part of me that doesn’t. Help me believe.”

  The door to his shop opens and John straightens, wiping his face before he turns around, and when he does, he laughs out loud. Christopher is wearing an adorable fluffy lion costume, and Gigi is smiling ear to ear in what looks like a hooded, velvety yellow rug with two eyes and a yellow cone nose pointing straight out.

  “Grandma and Mommy finished my costume!” Gigi says. Joan smiles, looking at the kids.

  “Where’s Gigi?” John asks Joan.

  “Daddy! Here!” Gigi says, laughing.

  John looks shocked. “Here? I thought you were Big Bird!” He stands back. “Let me take a better look.” He nods. “Yep, now I see that you are my Gigi, but when you came in…”

  “I tricked you,” Gigi says, pleased.

  “Not just me. Every house you go to will be tricked!” He looks at Joan. “Great job!”

  She picks up Christopher and says, “Roar for Daddy.” The little boy opens his mouth and makes a noise that sounds more like a duck than a lion.

  John laughs, poking Christopher in the belly. “So, tomorrow night, right?” he says, looking at Gigi.

  She bounces her head up and down. “What will you and Mommy be?” Gigi asks.

  “I’m going to go as a heat and A/C repairman,” John says.

  Gigi shakes her head. “That’s your job! Your costume has to be pretend.”

  “If you ask any of my customers, many of them will say that I pretend to be a repairman.” Joan laughs out loud and kisses Christopher’s face.

  Gigi looks up at Joan. “What about you, Mommy?”

  “Um, I’m thinking I could borrow a gown from the hospital and go as a patient.”

  Gigi shakes her head. “No, Mommy. We see you as that all the time. You need to have a pretend costume.”

  Joan’s face straightens at the words and she sets Christopher down. “That’s how they see me,” she says, looking at John. “As a patient. Somebody sick.” She looks down at Gigi, who is trying to keep Christopher from taking off his lion hood.

  “You are a patient, Joan. That’s all she means.”

  “I don’t want her to remember me as being sick and puny,” she whispers hotly.

  “Nobody said puny,” John says.

  “I said puny! Sick, puny, and whiny. I don’t want any of it,” Joan snaps.

  Gigi and Christopher pop up their heads to look at Joan. “What’s wrong, Mommy?” Gigi asks.

  “Nothing’s wrong,” Joan says. “I’m just working on some costume ideas.”

  October 2012

  Lauren and Travis spend time in the kitchen making a three-cheese egg casserole. She leans over, reading the recipe card on the counter: Absolutely one of our favorites! Saturday mornings were made for this. “When Grandma got so sick that winter, you helped me make this for her and Gramps several times. How many meals did we take to them that winter? This dish always made Grandma smile. I hope it still makes you and your family smile, baby girl.

  Lauren puts eggs, milk, and sugar into a bowl and mixes them while Travis grates a cup of Monterey Jack cheese and cubes two ounces of cream cheese. “What if we don’t find Bud?” she asks, reaching for the cottage cheese in the refrigerator. “Or what if we do find him and he has no idea who the cards belong to?”

  Travis melts butter in the microwave. “If we’re honest, it’s a long shot.” He picks up the recipe card. “Unless he recognizes the handwriting or has an exceptional memory of a customer who told him that they used his milk to make homemade yogurt, I’d say the chances of tracking down the owner of the cards are slim to none.” He looks at her and knows he’s disappointed her. “But anything’s possible, right?”

  Lauren adds the three cheeses and butter to the egg mixture, plus a half cup of flour and a teaspoon of baking powder. She mixes everything together and pours it into a three-quart baking dish, then opens the oven door, holding her belly as she does. When she straightens, her hand is still on her stomach, and she gasps. “The baby’s kicking again!” She reaches for Travis’s hand and puts it on the spot, making him smile.

  “Feisty,” he says, looking at her. “Just like his mom … or her mom!” He keeps his hand over the spot, and the baby kicks again, making him smile. “At least she doesn’t give up like her dad.”

  Lauren puts her hand on top of his. “You’re not giving up. You’re being practical. And you’re right. It is a long shot that Bud will know anything.”

  He pulls her to him, wrapping his arms around her. “But there is a slight chance. We’re Mabreys, and we believe a slight chance is better than no chance at all!”

  “Really?” Lauren says, looking at him.

  He nods. “After all, there was a slight chance that you’d learn to cook and look what has happened!” She pulls away from him, grabs a dish towel from the counter, and swats him. “I love you,” he says. “I think you’re amazing.” The words make her blush. She didn’t hear words of praise growing up. Someday she hopes to receive a compliment without feeling awkward, but she knows that until then, Travis will continue to praise her. He bends over and looks at the casserole inside the oven. “I think this is going to be amazing!”

  She walks to the table and picks up the recipe card, reading from it. “This dish always made Grandma smile. I hope it still makes you and your family smile, baby girl.” She looks at him. “It’s already made you smile.” She taps the table. “It’s kind of cool to think that whoever wrote these recipes probably served them on this table.”

  “And you can pass the recipes and the table on to our child.” He stops for a moment. “A copy of the recipes. Not our copy of the recipes. Let’s not let that happen again.”

  TWENTY-ONE

  October 1972

  John, Joan, Gigi, and Christopher sit at the table, finishing their dinner of beef stroganoff with noodles. The anticipation of the evening is about to make Gigi explode, and she wiggles in her seat. “When can I put on my costume?”

  Joan laughs. “For the twentieth time, after you have warm food in your stomach. You can’t just put candy in your belly.”

  “Yes, I could!” Gigi says in all seriousness, making John chuckle.

  “I know you could,” Joan says. “But I don’t want you to get sick. I want you to have warm food in your stomach.” Gigi begins to eat quickly, and Joan opens her mouth to stop her but gives up. Halloween comes around only once a year.

  “So, you put warm food in your belly,” Gigi says, “and then put your costume on.”

  “I’ve got it ready!” Joan says.

  “You do?” John asks. “What is it?”

  Joan smiles. “You’ll see. I have one for you, too.”

  “Yay!” Gigi says, shoving another bite into her mouth before scrambling away from the table.

  Christopher leans over his high chair, wanting down. “Okay, I give up,” Joan says. “Are you full?” He nods. “Are you really full or do you just want to go get your costume on with Gigi?”

  “Gigi,” he says, looking for his sister.

  Joan takes the bib from around his neck and lifts him from the high chair. “All right, let me hear your roar.” Christopher opens his mouth like a baby bird and roars, sounding like a duck again and making Joan and John laugh together. She takes him to his bedroom and he quickly uses his tiny hands to remove his pants, sitting on the floor to finish kicking them off. Once his costume is on, Joan says, “Come on, big boy, let’s go back to the kitchen.” Christopher toddles after her and she leaves him with John, who’s finishing his meal. Christophe
r reaches to get up on his lap in order to take a few more bites. Gigi bounds into the kitchen with her arms open wide, pieces of yellow cloth dangling down like bird feathers.

  “Look at you!” John says.

  “Let’s go!” Gigi says, reaching for a plastic pumpkin bucket on the counter to collect candy.

  “Wait for me!” Joan yells from the hallway. Minutes later, energetic music can be heard from the hallway as Joan enters the kitchen, holding the cassette player on top of one shoulder. She’s wearing long, red satin shorts over white tights, a white T-shirt with the word CHAMP emblazoned across the front, boxing gloves, and a blue satin robe. She turns around so John can read what’s on the back of it.

  “Wrecking Ball,” he says, pointing to the words for Gigi. And beneath those words he reads, “Champion 1972.”

  “You’re a fighter!” Gigi squeals, thrilled with her mom’s costume.

  Joan throws John a shirt. “And I have Daddy’s costume.”

  John holds the red shirt up and reads the word written in black paint across the back: “Trainer.”

  “This is the towel for over your shoulder,” Joan says, throwing him a small, white towel. “No good trainer would get close to a ring without a towel.”

  John takes off his work shirt and pulls the other one over his head, tucks it into his pants, and throws the towel over his shoulder. “All right! Let me see what you’ve got. Show me some jabs.” Joan jabs at the air. “Head punch.” She punches higher at an imaginary boxer. “High kicks,” John barks.

  Joan is about to do it but stops. “Kicking isn’t legal. I’m a fair fighter.”

  “Not against your opponent,” he says, smiling. “We need to kick its butt.” He kisses her forehead, and Gigi grabs one of his hands.

  “Come on! Let’s go!”

  “What about the mess?” Joan asks, looking at the table.

  “I’ll clean it later,” John says, opening the garage door. “We’ve got a fight to get to!”

  October 2012

  When Lauren finishes her shift at Clauson’s, she walks around the store, taking pictures of coworkers in their costumes. The store manager asked if she’d take several for the store’s website and social media pages. In the floral department she snaps a picture of herself and Janie, who decided to dress as Dorothy to Lauren’s Scarecrow from The Wizard of Oz. All Lauren needed was a hat, a stringy wig, and a big, ragged shirt and baggy pants to put over her pregnant belly to be the perfect scarecrow. At the front of the store, Ben is dressed as Gandalf from The Lord of the Rings and took the time to make pumpkin-shaped notes to put in the bags of customers who come through his line. Margie and Noel in the pharmacy are a princess and Luke Skywalker, and Greg and Tyson are an astronaut and Dracula in the meat department. She takes their picture together and is headed to the bakery when she sees Robert and Kate Layton dressed as a king and queen. “Robert! Or should I say, ‘Your Highness.’” She curtsies to Kate. “Your Majesty.”