The Twelve Gifts of Christmas

by Rita Clay Estrada

  She nodded, her brow furrowing. “Are you all alone? You don’t have a mom or kids to play with?”

  “I have children, but they’re living far away now.”

  “Oh,” she said, as if finally understanding something. “Is that why you’re always so grouchy?”

  “Is that what you think I am?”

  She grinned. “Kinda. Mostly about me, though. I bet when you look at me, you see your own kids and you get sad.”

  How did this child get so smart? The smile he’d been holding back completely disappeared. “That’s right. I love them.”

  Her head bobbed up and down. “I know, ‘cause my dad says the same thing when he can’t see me.”

  “How do you feel when he can’t see you?”

  “I miss him, but then I know I’m gonna see him again soon, and that we’ll have fun together.” She stared up at him. “He loves me with all his heart. He always tells me that.”

  “I see. You’re very grown-up about your parents’ divorce, aren’t you?”

  Karen held her mittened hands in front of her and took a deep breath. “Yes. You see my mom and dad ‘splained to me how much they love me even though they were gonna live in two different places. An’ sure enough, they do.”

  “You’re very lucky.”

  Her piquant face showed her surprise. “I am?”

  At that moment, he realized just what Carly had been saying about her daughter. She was secure in her feelings for her parents because they had chosen to overlook all the petty issues in their relationship and work toward making their child stable. It was something he and Sandra hadn’t done...

  “That you have parents who love you,” he said.

  “And my cat, Hank Aaron,” Karen reminded him. She might be wise but she was also a child. “He loves me, too.”

  “I’m sure he does.” His voice was soft, his mouth turning up in a smile despite his sadness.

  “Well, I gotta go. Mom said to say Merry Chrispness. You’re gonna like it.”

  “Like what?”

  “Your present.” The little girl turned around and headed down the path back to her house. Her breath came out in small puffs that she watched as she walked.

  “Where is it?” he called after her.

  “Right there, silly.” She laughed, pointing to a spot outside, just under his breakfast-nook window.

  Pete stared after her. He stared so hard his eyes glazed over and protective tears formed. As she disappeared down the path, he heard her singing a song about three wise men.

  He returned to the kitchen and shut the door behind him. Then, with even steps, he went over to the breakfast-nook and looked out the window for Carly’s surprise. A large wooden box stretched the width of the ceiling-to-floor plate glass. Brimming with brilliant scarlet geraniums, it created a patch of brightness against the bare garden beyond.

  He realized he was still clutching the envelope Karen had brought to him. With stiff fingers, he tore it open and read the paper.

  Just because we weren’t right for each other doesn’t mean that we were wrong. I think of you often, but only in good ways, wishing you the happiness you seem to want but are afraid to reach out and grab for yourself. Perhaps, if just a few things change to make you happier in your personal life, you’ll make the rest of those changes yourself. So, to help, I’m sending spring flowers your way to remind you that the next season is one of beauty and growth. I wish you all the happiness you can handle.

  Love, Carly

  For the first time since his divorce, Pete sat down and cried.

  * * *

  CARLY PULLED UP TO the self-serve tank at the gas station and stepped out. It was another harsh winter day in a week that seemed filled with them. She had to step gingerly on the icy drive as she swiped her credit card through the machine and began the process of filling her tank.

  “What the hell are you doing outside?” Pete’s gruff voice questioned.

  She turned with a ready smile, her heartbeat increasing just because he was near. He was sitting in his car at the service tank across the aisle. “Hi. How are you?”

  “Fine, but you didn’t answer my question. Why aren’t you in your car letting the attendant fill your gas tank?”

  She laughed. “Spoken like a man who never heard the word budget.“

  “This is freezing weather, you’re wearing dress boots, and you think it’s smart budgeting?” He opened his door and stepped out. He was in a full-length cashmere coat. It was almost as gorgeous as he was. Underneath she glimpsed a dark blue suit that had to be Armani. It would have paid her fuel bill for three or four years.

  “That’s right,” she said as he approached. Her fingers were getting colder by the second and she readjusted the pump handle in her hand. “It’s over twenty-three cents a gallon cheaper. What do you call it?”

  He took the handle out of her hands. “I call it silly. Get back in the car and stay warm. I’ll do this.”

  Because her teeth were chattering, she did as she was told. Once in the driver’s seat, she turned and watched out the window as he filled up her car.

  When the attendant walked up to him and he paid for his own car being filled, Carly couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled up.

  Pete put the hose back on its perch and walked to her window, his frown deepening. “What’s so funny?”

  “You,” she said, laughing. “Your car is in the full-service lane and an attendant is filling your Mercedes, while you’re filling up my little economy car. I think I’ll write a letter to the company, telling them how much I enjoyed their service.”

  His grin was reluctant, then rueful. “Okay, so it’s a little weird,” he finally granted.

  Carly barely contained her chuckles. “You could say so,” she managed. “But I’m not complaining, you understand.”

  “I understand.” He rested his hand on the door and leaned down, his face so close to hers that she could have leaned forward and kissed his mouth. “By the way, thank you for all the gifts. I don’t deserve them.”

  “Of course you do,” she stated firmly. Her insides might be jelly but she wouldn’t let him know how she felt: he might fear that she was being possessive and then stay away. Then they’d never have a chance to grow closer. “And you’re quite welcome.”

  “Is everything going all right?”

  Her smile brightened. “Everything’s going very well, thank you. School was out last Monday. I’m almost through with my shopping and it’s Christmas. What more could I ask for?”

  “Riches. Prince Charming.” He glanced up at the dark, snow-laden clouds. “A house in the Caribbean.”

  “I have all the riches I need. My Prince Charming has decided I’m not his princess.” When he opened his mouth to protest, she placed her warm hand over his cold one. “And that’s okay, because I enjoyed it so much while we were together.” She smiled. “But a house in the Caribbean isn’t a bad idea. I might work on that one.”

  His blue gaze was intense. “You’re a special lady, Carly.”

  “Thank you for noticing.”

  He stared another moment, then suddenly stood straight. His hand patted the door. “I’ve got to go. Take care.”

  “You too,” she said. A minute later he’d driven off, but she knew she would hear from him soon....

  * * *

  THE NEXT AFTERNOON Pete was in a hurry. He’d foolishly decided to return home before attending a dinner party in Georgetown and traffic had tied him up. He didn’t know why he’d decided to stop off at home; he just wanted to touch base. He drove into the garage, then walked through the kitchen and began shedding his clothes on the way up the stairs.

  Then he spotted the door. All the delivery people knew to place package tags on his beveled glass door. There was a tag and, upon closer inspection, he saw a bundle hidden under his doormat.

  She’d done it again. He knew it. Part of him wanted to ignore the package and pretend he hadn’t seen it. But another part brimmed over with curiosi
ty. What gift had she sent this time?

  He stepped back down the stairs, his tie in his hand. He opened the door and reached for the slim package. It came from a well-known store at the mall.

  Shutting the icy chill out, he ripped open the package, then stared incredulously at the fabric in his hand. It was an expensive pair of men’s silk boxer shorts. The design was what got him. It was a bow-legged Santa throwing a kiss. Around the waistband were the words Happy Holidays.

  He should have known that yesterday’s gift wasn’t the end.

  Attached to the plastic wrapping was an envelope with a letter. Filled with frustration and anticipation, he quickly read the note.

  If Santa can be happy during this busy season—and heaven knows he’s got plenty of work to do—then so can you. Wear these in good health and with happy smiles. I blow you a kiss of friendship.

  He looked from the letter to the shorts and back again.

  Then his laughter burst loose, filling the silent house with a joyous sound.

  As he went up the stairs, he realized he just had to wear them under his tuxedo tonight. No one would ever expect a cool businessman like him to wear loud, ridiculous underwear like this. He loved the dichotomy, even if he would be the only one aware of it.

  With this gift, Carly’s mission had been accomplished. For a little while he felt like a happy man....

  * * *

  THE NEXT EVENING he drove home in silence. No radio, no motivational or novel tapes, just the dulled noise of traffic as he sped along. Worn-out from paperwork, politics and a pending litigation, he was staying in tonight.

  Some big-shot attorney in Tulsa, Oklahoma, was threatening to sue the corporation because the shelter was keeping his wife out of his reach. It didn’t matter that she and their two children had hidden from him in shelters twice before and he had found and beaten them within an inch of their lives each time. It didn’t matter that the poor woman didn’t have a dime to show for herself after living for twelve years with a wealthy man. The attorney needed his punching bag and would do just about anything to get it.

  Pete’s job was to restrain the jerk from suing, while keeping the woman mentally stable enough not to run back to him to keep peace. Pete had spoken to her several times on the phone, and she had finally begun to relax.

  Financial status didn’t matter when it came to domestic problems. Men like this jerk were in every social stratum. There were bullies of every type, rich and poor.

  As he pulled into the driveway, he glanced at his front door and realized he was unconsciously bracing himself for one of Carly’s gifts. He didn’t want any more. It was too easy to fall into the trap of believing life was good and sweet and kind. Everyone wanted that fairy tale, but life wasn’t like that. Through his years of work with the shelters, he’d learned the hard way that real life was strife and hatred and boiling anger. Carly was too naive and he was too cynical for them ever to agree.

  Real life was his millionaire father beating the hell out of him with a Hermès belt. Real life was his mother silently standing by, or crying like a wounded animal while she was beaten. Real life was hiding in the back seat of the Rolls-Royce convertible parked in their four-car garage, hoping his father would pass out from the liquor before his rage got out of control.

  It wasn’t until much later, after his father’s fatal heart attack, that his mother turned her life around. She began working untiringly in a local shelter—so hard she was ready to drop at the end of each day. It was as if she couldn’t do enough to remove the guilt of her passive existence in the past.

  But Pete thought he could. At one time he’d thought he could change the world. He’d even thought that having a family and raising them properly, with love instead of anger, with hugs instead of hits, would make a difference.

  He was wrong. Instead, he’d lost the very people he loved. And now, it seemed, he’d lost the capacity to love.

  So he worked like his mother had before him. Tirelessly. And he kept his love to himself. That way, he wouldn’t get hurt. Neither would anyone else.

  Slamming the car door, he walked into the house. Then he saw it.

  Outside, propped upon the railing of the walkway was a large bag with a cluster of yellow ribbons streaming down the sides. The top of the bag had been split open a few inches, and several birds were busy pecking at its contents. Peeping out of the front corner was the expected envelope.

  After staring at it for several minutes, he turned and continued through the house. He maintained his usual routine of loosening his tie and getting his brandy, then went upstairs to change into a comfortable warm-up suit. He would ease into his library chair and work another couple of hours.

  Later, around dusk, he cooked a steak on his indoor grill, lightly fried potatoes and onions, and made a salad. Then, sitting at his breakfast nook, he ate while staring outside. His yard lights softly illuminated the area surrounding the house highlighting the bright red geraniums and the winter birds chirping and pecking at the yellow-ribboned bag of seed.

  Finally he couldn’t stand it anymore. With angry strides he stalked outside and grabbed the envelope that had called to him from the moment he’d spied it. Once back inside, he sat down and opened it.

  Not all birds fly south in winter. Perhaps as you watch them, you’ll realize they’re optimistic enough to believe their friends will be returning soon. Meanwhile, let them remind you that spring is around the corner. Where spring is, there is summer, and your children aren’t far behind for their visit over the holidays.

  A lump formed in his throat. He swallowed hard a few times, telling himself that it was just the steak. But he knew better.

  The image that haunted him the most was of the night she told him she loved him. They’d sat in the dark limo outside her front porch. She’d very carefully told him off and done it in a way that was classy and honest.

  But did she really see him as so depressed that he couldn’t get through the season? Could she possibly believe he was so lonely he needed birds for company? The answer was a resounding yes.

  Well, it didn’t matter. He’d ignore her presents and sooner or later, she’d stop sending them. Then he could ignore her opinion, too.

  That was it. That was the answer. Pay no attention to her and she’d leave him the hell alone.

  * * *

  “HEY, KIDS, IT’S YOUR dad. I haven’t heard from either of you in a while. How about dropping whatever you’re doing and giving me a call, okay? I could stand a little love coming this way. Soon. I miss you both so very much. I also happen to love you both. Talk to you later. Bye.”

  “By the way, I cleared a day to visit you before you leave for Hawaii. I can’t get any more time off, but you’re not getting away with being out of school and not seeing me. Love you. Bye.”

  11

  PETE WAS WRONG. Although he hadn’t bothered to call and thank Carly for her last two gifts, it didn’t seem to stop her. The next day he found a wrinkled brown paper bag on his back porch. Inside was a mediocre bottle of champagne, two vanilla candles, a container of children’s bubble bath and a romance novel on whose cover was a half-clothed woman swooning in the arms of a Neanderthal. However, the story took place in his favorite historical period, the Italian Renaissance, and Carly had once mentioned that women’s romance novels were as stringently researched as those in the general fiction category. With idle curiosity, he began reading the book while doing exactly what she’d told him to do in her note: sit in a bubble bath with lighted candles. The story turned out to be pretty good, and the bath was as therapeutic as a spa.

  It was a new experience for him and he wouldn’t have wanted anyone to catch him doing it, but he was more relaxed than he’d been in a long while. However, more than once, he found himself thinking of having Carly join him. He shoved that thought aside as quickly as it came. He was crazy to be thinking about a woman who was harassing him with gifts.

  He laughed sourly. Who the hell was he kidding? She wasn’t haras
sing him. But her offerings were becoming a burden. He knew she was on a limited budget and couldn’t really afford them. He wanted to make her stop, but aside from being rude, he couldn’t think how to do it.

  He continued to ignore them.

  * * *

  THE NEXT MORNING Pete flew to Los Angeles. He took Cynthia and Ian to a mall for some shopping and then to the Hard Rock Café for dinner, where they ate hamburgers and discussed all the rock-and-roll artists’ wild and weird guitars hanging on the walls. The kids were happy to see him but filled with stories of a life and friends he knew nothing about. This emphasized even more the growing gap between him and his children.

  But one thing reassured him that he hadn’t really lost them to another man, and that was the love they expressed for him. Cynthia was growing into a young lady, but when it came to her dad, she was still the little girl who wanted to hold his hand.

  And Ian definitely wanted to be “cool,” but didn’t mind admitting how much he still loved putting together his model airplanes. It gave Pete a great sense of satisfaction that Sandra’s new husband couldn’t get the hang of painting the models; nor could he distinguish a fighter plane from a bomber. It was petty, he knew, but that knowledge acted like a balm for his bruised ego.

  When Pete returned home the next day, there was nothing waiting for him. He felt relieved. She’d finally got the message. No more gifts.

  But just to make sure he was right, Pete checked the front-door area. Nothing.

  He checked under the mat. Nothing.

  Then he sorted through the mail his maid had left on the hall table. A small package sat there, bearing Carly’s return address.

  With a sigh of mingled regret and relief, he opened it. A small paperback sat in his palm. He read the title aloud: “Looking For Love in All the Right Places.” It was written by a noted psychologist whose main thrust was working on loving relationships within a family and finding that elusive inner happiness.

  The note was short and sweet.

  It’s just as important to learn how to receive as it is to give. I hope you receive this in the spirit in which it’s given. Happy Holidays.