Charlie’s arm around her back squeezed and Christi leaned her head against her mother’s. Together they turned and surveyed all the decorations; the mantel was the only thing that Nora changed year after year, and all was done but hanging the Christmas stockings. The hooks waited. Charlie picked up the flat box that held the cross-stitched or quilted stockings and they each hung up their own. Nora hung hers and Gordon’s, while the kids hung the ones for Bushy and Betsy.
“Now Santa can come.” Christi smoothed the satin surfaces of her crazy-quilt stocking, with every satin or velvet piece decorated with intricate embroidery stitches, cross-stitch, daisy chain and feather. “When I get married, will you make my husband a sock to match?”
“I will.” Just please don’t be in too big a hurry. Not that Christi was dating anyone. She often said she left all the flirting up to her brother, since all the girls were after him all the time.
But Nora often wondered if Christi was a bit jealous, not that she would ask. Her daughter talked more with her father than she did with her mother. Unless, of course, it was a real female thing.
“Anyone for cocoa? The real kind? I can make it while you get ready for bed. I’ll bring the tray up.”
“And brownies?” Charlie asked.
“Fattigman?” Christi loved the traditional Norwegian goodies Nora made only at Christmastime.
“Of course, and since you’ll be getting home early tomorrow, you can help me with the sandbakles.”
Charlie groaned. Pressing the buttery dough into the small fluted tins was not his idea of fun.
“ ‘He who eats must press.’ ” Christi sang out the line her mother had often repeated since the time they were little.
Nora watched her two swap shoulder punches as they climbed the stairs. No matter how much they teased each other or argued, the bond between them ran deeper than most siblings. Gordon called it spooky; she figured it was a gift from God.
Time to make cocoa, as her family had called it. In her mind, hot chocolate came in a packet or tin. Good thing she’d picked up the miniature marshmallows. Betsy padding beside her, she returned to the kitchen to fix the tray. If only Gordon were here. Carrying the tray up the stairs was his job.
Chapter Two
Nora
He didn’t call.
Nora glared at the clock. How could six A.M. come so quickly? Taking into consideration the seven-hour time difference, Gordon should have called and left a message. No beeping on the phone equaled no message. He said he’d call. She scrubbed sleep from her eyes and stumbled into the bathroom. She stared into the mirror. Bags under the eyes—not a good sign. Her roots needed Honorio’s careful attention. The highlights he so skillfully wove made her hair look nearly the dark blond color it had been when she was Christi’s age. And she needed a haircut. Knowing his schedule, she knew the hair treatment would have to wait until after Christmas. This morning her grayish blue eyes, which so matched her daughter’s, looked bleary, underwritten with lines of resentment.
The hot shower helped to revive her somewhat, and the coffee she knew was ready downstairs, thanks to modern technology, would take her the rest of the way. Her to-do list was already on the second page. That thought flared more resentment. Nearly half the list was Gordon’s Christmas shopping, which he would arrive too late to accomplish. Again.
“You better get rolling,” she announced with a tap at each twin’s bedroom door, and continued on down the stairs, Betsy right in front of her. She let the yellow Lab out, an act of mercy, before pouring her coffee. Then she put down dog food and took her mug, Bible and journal to the drop-leaf table in the bay window. Instead of sitting on the built-in padded bench seat, she took her favorite captain’s chair, only to jump up at the yip at the door to let Betsy back in. Barking this early would not be pleasing to the new neighbors, both of whom worked swing shift.
Nora had found her current page in the journal and started to write when a movement near the refrigerator caught her eye. Betsy looked up at the same instant and emitted a strangled yelp. Sure enough, Arnold was out again and slithering for his favorite warm spot on the top of the refrigerator. Not that there wasn’t a heater on his terrarium, but the rosy boa loved to roam.
Nora had gotten over her squeamishness for all things creepy and crawly years ago. Even as a toddler, Charlie had carried in his pockets worms and crickets and whatever else moved slow enough for him to catch. Good thing they lived in Minnesota, where dangerous reptiles, spiders, and insects didn’t.
She did, however, draw the line at returning Arnold to his lair. At least when Charlie was home. Striding to the bottom of the stairs, she shouted upward, “Charlie, Arnold is on the loose. You are going to have to put a lock on that creature’s house.” She headed back to the kitchen at her son’s “Coming!” and sat down to her journal again. If she’d gotten up at her normal five thirty, she’d have had the peace she needed. Peace to replace the irritation at Gordon for not calling, for not carrying his organization skills over into his family life and for simply not being home. She re-read her verse for the day: “Come to Me, all who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest.” If that didn’t fit her pre-Christmas marathon, nothing would.
She’d heard a story once about a woman who had laid her burden at the foot of the Cross, walked away, then, feeling something missing, returned and picked it up. Nora knew that might well be her story. Laying down the burden of being angry with Gordon was easy, but the snatching back? If Jesus was indeed the Prince of Peace, He could leave some on her doorstep. Sarcasm in her devotions, that’s all she needed. She dropped her head into her hands. “Father, forgive me, but is it wrong to want this to be a perfect Christmas, this last Christmas the kids are sure to be home?” Hoping for a holy whisper, instead the pounding of male feet down the stairs heralded that her son was in a hurry.
Nora shook her head. “You know most mothers would freak out at having a snake slither up on their refrigerator.”
“I know. You’re the best.” Charlie carefully coiled the snake in one arm and snagged a breakfast bar off the counter with the other. On his way back upstairs, she heard, “If you want a ride, be ready in ten,” to what Nora knew was the closed bathroom door. His twin, Christi, was not a morning person, unlike her brother, whose eyes snapped open in concert with his mouth and his brain. Christi needed to process that morning had indeed arrived and she was expected to be part of the day prior to noon.
Betsy laid her head on Nora’s knee and gazed up at her with adoring eyes. “Yes, I know you want to go for a walk. We’ll go as soon as they are out the door, okay?” The dog brushed the tile floor with her tail and sighed in delight when Nora rubbed her ears.
A new set of feet stomped, one stair at a time, as though their owner were being dragged. Christi set her backpack on the counter with a sigh and retrieved a banana from the bowl of fruit.
“Good morning to you too,” Nora said.
Christi nodded without looking at her, slowly reaching for the Honey Nut Cheerios, her favorite cereal. She fixed her bowl, slicing the banana on top with artistic perfection. After she’d perched on the high stool at the counter to eat, words at last emerged. “Don’t forget I need a ride to church to work on the sets.” She was painting the moveable scenery to be used in the Christmas Eve pageant. “Thought for sure I’d get finished last night.”
“Did anyone come and help you?”
“Nope, no-shows.”
That—most likely—had not truly bothered Christi, who preferred her own company when creating. Next year’s Christmas Eve pageant would have to get along without her daughter. What would Nora and Gordon do, once they were on their own for Christmas? She couldn’t begin to imagine the empty nest so eagerly anticipated by some of her friends. Not yet; Christmas loomed too large, with too many things left unfinished. She was already behind, thanks to Gordon. She made another addition to her list. This afternoon she would move all the packages out of hiding to under the tree.
; “How’s your dad’s present coming?”
“Finished it last night.”
“After we decorated the tree? That was really late.”
“Last time I had. It has to dry enough so I can wrap it.”
“I know he’ll love it.”
“You haven’t peeked, have you?” Christi looked up from fishing the last cereal out of her bowl, her voice wearing an accusing cloak.
“No, I didn’t peek. You didn’t invite me to.” And I’d never invade that privacy you deem so important. She often wondered where her daughter got that obsessive need to guard the things she created. Really, to guard herself. Was it just the obsessive tendency toward perfection, to which she surely was heir? According to the matrimonial surveys, Nora knew that Gordon should be a slob, the opposite of her neatness, but, instead, he was even more neat than she. Had she wanted, she could have eaten off the floor of his garage, to beg an old cliché. Not that she’d ever wanted to, of course.
“You ready?” Charlie paused at the refrigerator, took out the half-gallon milk jug and glugged several swallows. Unlike his sister, he would tell a perfect stranger his entire life story. An open book and friend to all was her Charlie. The twins couldn’t be more different… nor more devoted to each other. They knew when the other was coming down with some bug; Christi professing her finger hurt when Charlie got as much as a sliver. Sympathetic… something or other, the pediatrician had called it.
Nora waited for Christi’s response, and when it came, she cracked a smile.
“Eeeuw, Mom, make him stop that! Won’t you ever grow up?”
“In a hurry.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, put the cap back on and set the milk back on the top shelf.
Nora had learned to keep her mouth shut. As to the germ problem that Christi moaned about? None of them had died yet.
He headed for the door to the garage, backpack slung over one shoulder and stocking hat stuffed in his down parka pocket.
“Aren’t you going to eat more than…?”
He brushed his mother’s cheek with a kiss. “No time. Come on, snail, or you’ll have to ride the bus.”
“I’m coming. Get the car out, I’ll meet you in front.” Christi set her cereal bowl in the sink.
“You want a mug of coffee with you?” Nora asked.
“No.” She paused a moment as if thinking. “No thanks,” she added politely, but in the vague tone that indicated she’d already tuned out her mother.
“Have a good day.” Nora raised her voice so Charlie would hear her too. As the door slammed shut, Christi headed for the coat closet, her own door slam following Charlie’s.
Nora felt silence descend. On to her list and the pursuit of the perfect Christmas. Then a quick look back at the kitchen revealed Christi’s backpack on the counter. Another difference between the two. Charlie’s life rode in his backpack; Christi rarely seemed to know where hers was. This morning was case in point. Nora leaped to her feet and grabbed the pack, yelling “Wait” as she tore out the front door. “Here!” She hollered louder to be heard over the rumble of Charlie’s Jeep and waved her arm to catch their attention. Charlie hit the brakes and Christi leaped from the car and ran back to her mother.
“Thanks. That was dumb.” She took her backpack and half slipped on the icy walk before hustling back to the car.
“I love you!” Nora blew them kisses, ignoring what she knew to be their eye rolling and “Oh, Mother” looks. Too bad. She had rights and a mother’s duty to remind them of the important things. And that included this year’s perfect Christmas. Once the absent and uncommunicative—her stomach tightened as she remembered—Gordon returned, she’d have the chance to remind them all to make this year the very best. She and Betsy turned back into the house, Nora shivering and the dog dancing her anticipation of the coming walk.
Twenty minutes later, Betsy was in her glory and Nora’s nose was nearly frozen. Her mind, however, bubbled like boiling water as she reviewed her to-do list, uncharitable thoughts of Gordon periodically intruding.
Her normal speed-walking wasn’t a good idea this morning, with all the ice patches on the road and sidewalks. All she needed was to slip on the ice and break something. Now, wouldn’t that be a wonderful way to ruin Christmas? Betsy trotted along beside her, not bothering to stop and sniff all her usual haunts, so they covered two miles in good time. When speed-walking, she usually did four to five.
The pregnant gray clouds thickened on their way home. The weatherman’s prediction for snow was looking more possible all the while. The wind had picked up too. By the time she and Betsy made the front door, the snow had begun in earnest. She’d hoped for a white Christmas.
Back in the house, she hung her down parka in the hall closet and tossed her gloves and hat into the basket attached to the inside of the door. Inhaling pine, cinnamon and vanilla, she paused long enough in the living room to give the tree a judicial going-over. No need to change anything anymore. During the early years, she had often moved ornaments around to cover any bare spots the children had left. No tinsel to redistribute. They’d given up using tinsel years earlier when their first cat had ingested several strands and had to have surgery to clean her out. Ah, the memories floating around the tree and throughout the house. What would it be like when the kids had their own lives? Grandchildren, she decided. But perhaps she was getting ahead of herself.
In the kitchen, she poured herself a cup of coffee, dug out a chew bone for Betsy and drew in a deep breath. She’d better speed up. First, finish the last of the Christmas baking. She set the supplies for frosting and wrapped the round loaves of Julekaka, the Norwegian form of Christmas bread, with cardamom, currants and bits of candied fruit inside. She dropped almond flavoring into the powdered sugar, butter and cream frosting, adding one more layer to the scented house. She frosted each loaf, made a circle of candied cherry halves in red and green, set the loaf on a plastic Christmas plate, wrapped the entire thing in clear sheets of plastic and added a bow and name tag.
After checking her watch, she crossed “Julekaka” off her list. She’d already decorated the boxes used for the three kinds of brownies and other cookies she was taking for the kids’ parties. As mother-in-charge, she’d made sure there would be plenty of treats, including homemade popcorn balls, Christi’s favorite. She knew she had a reputation to uphold. All the teachers commented on the nice things she did for them throughout the year. She figured she couldn’t thank them enough for the fine jobs they were doing with her children.
In the next three hours, she crossed “sandbakles,” a Norwegian cookie, or tart shell, off the list and packed it up. Next item: Charlie had requested hamburgers for supper, not the fast-food kind, her kind. She brought out the ground beef, added a packet of onion soup mix, a few glugs of barbeque sauce and Worcestershire sauce, then began forming patties, big ones, the kind her men liked. Betsy yipped at the back door and she crossed the room to let her out. The snow was already sticking to the ground, the wind tossing the powder on the covered patio furniture. She frowned. Big, fat flakes, the kind that covered the ground quickly and shut out the light early.
Clutching her list, Nora paused at the window and watched the bits of tissue float down, dancing and twirling in the puffs of wind. As always, her heart thrilled at the first snowfall of the season; they’d usually had several by now. Each year was different, but switching to cross-country skiing from speed-walking always gave her a leap of excitement. When the lake froze over, they skated too, and Gordon set his fish house out. While there had been ice around the shore, the middle was all open water. She let Betsy back in, gave her a treat and turned on the stereo for Christmas music to flood the house. There would be time for all those activities in the days to come, but now was the time to work. She finished the patties, wrapped them one more time and placed them in the fridge.
She chewed the inside of her cheek. To call Gordon’s office or not to call to find out if he’d contacted them? A quick glance at the swollen t
o-do list solved the question.
“He did? On time. Okay, many thanks.” Nora hung up the phone and acknowledged she was officially seething. Gordon had called the office to tell them his flight was on time and when he would be landing. His office.
At least she had information, she consoled herself. But it didn’t make her feel any better. On to delivery, and… she gulped. Picking up Christi at three. She’d nearly forgotten. That meant she couldn’t stop on the way home and do Gordon’s shopping. She rather hoped he was sitting next to someone obnoxious on the plane. Someone who wanted to tell him all about widgets.
Ashamed, she decided she needed a boost in her Christmas spirit; so she hurried into a special red Christmas sweater, with snowmen knitted in white angora yarn and wearing black felt hats with a jingle bell on top. She’d bought it at the end of last year’s season, like she did most Christmas decorations, including the special china she would use on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. Her black velvet pants fit perfectly, in spite of the goodies she’d munched as she cooked, baked and wrapped.
Once she had the SUV loaded, she bade Betsy good-bye; then list in hand, she headed out to deliver all the treats, including some to a couple of shut-ins from church and to finish errands. Two blocks from home, she had to up the wiper blades to high to keep up with the dumping snow. It was quickly moving from beautiful to trouble and would do nothing to speed her along. Would Gordon’s plane have difficulty landing? Mentally she reviewed the winter prep Gordon and Charlie had done on Charlie’s Jeep: blanket, flares, winter antifreeze, snow scraper. He’d be okay. He was a good driver and had grown up in snow country. She double-checked to make sure her cell phone was charged and actually in her purse.
Right, leave the worry in God’s hands. And fight the frissons of anger at having been ignored that kept blind-siding her. The other side of her kept whispering that there would be a good reason to stay calm; whatever was happening was out of Gordon’s control.
One Perfect Day Page 2