The suggestion horrified Willa. “That’s the dumbest idea ever. Kids don’t send each other cards, Mom. As if I’m not already considered the dorkiest kid in my grade!”
The phone rang, and uncharacteristically, Willa jumped up to answer it, clearly relieved by the opportunity to put an end to the conversation. Jennie listened to her daughter’s side of the conversation, which consisted only of sounds indicating she understood what she was being told. When she hung up, she came back to her seat.
“Dad’s got someone coming by tonight to buy a bike for their kid. So he’ll be home at, like, nine-thirty.”
“But we’re supposed to decorate the tree tonight. You guys can’t start that late. It’s a school night.”
Willa shrugged. “He said to start without him.”
“Should we put it off until tomorrow?”
Willa was already busy typing on the computer’s keyboard and didn’t raise her eyes from the screen. “I don’t care.”
Jennie’s shoulders sagged. That was exactly the problem: Nobody in the family cared about much of anything. At thirteen, her daughter should still be excited to trim the tree, or a little bit disappointed that her father wouldn’t be involved and the event might even be put off. Jennie pictured the tree they had purchased two days ago, sitting in the living room, shorter than what they used to buy and a lot scrawnier, but the best they could afford. Her hope was that it would look better once the decorations went up. She was making strings of popcorn and cranberries to help fill in the bare spots. Of course, something would have to make up for the fact that there wouldn’t be any gifts under it. She and Shep had agreed not to spend money on gifts for each other, and they had given the children their presents of new bicycles back in October. Tim and Willa had made no secret of their disappointment, although Jennie pointed out that these were not free bicycles but had to be paid for by their father, even if they cost him less than the full price. The children seemed to feel they were entitled to bicycles as a needed form of transportation. The whole discussion had left her with a sour taste, and she dreaded having to revisit the subject when the empty space beneath the tree reminded everyone.
At least by the time Shep’s brother, Michael, and his family arrived on Christmas Day, presents normally would have been opened and cleaned up anyway, so they wouldn’t have to be aware of the situation. Jennie felt a quick clenching in her stomach when she thought about the upcoming visit. She was extremely fond of her brother-in-law and his two children, but his wife was a different matter. Having come from a dirt-poor background, Lydia was the kind of person who wanted no part of anything that smacked of her lowly past. This small, dilapidated house would be unacceptable, repugnant even, in her eyes. Jennie had been quite surprised when they accepted the invitation to come for Christmas, even though they’d done so with the understanding that they would stay in a hotel and come only for Christmas dinner. After Michael and Lydia moved with their two children to Chicago four years ago so Michael could join a top law firm, she and Shep had seen little of them. Jennie was already checking out recipes and trying to come up with creative but inexpensive ways to make the house look festive. She would do her best to make the visit a warm, pleasant one, not like the awkward Thanksgiving of two years ago, the last time they had been together.
It hadn’t always been this way. Unlike his wife, Michael was genuinely fond of Jennie. She had thought of him almost like her own younger brother and loved talking to him and having him around. For his part, Michael idolized his older brother and consulted him on every major decision he made in life—until it came to marrying Lydia. He must have sensed Shep wasn’t a fan, so the first time they knew the wedding was taking place was when they received an invitation. After that, he no longer asked Shep about much of anything. Clearly, his wife was his new adviser. That didn’t bother Jennie, because it made perfect sense that a husband and wife would decide things together. Still, the phone calls started to come less frequently, and efforts to see or even communicate with Shep and his family slowed to a trickle. She knew that Shep missed their old closeness and sensed his younger brother pulling further away over time. No doubt Lydia viewed them as the embarrassing hick relatives, though there wasn’t anything Jennie could do about that. She tried to be warm and welcoming to all of them. If her sister-in-law didn’t wish to reciprocate, then she would do her best to maintain whatever contact she could for the sake of her husband and children. It was just a bit difficult for Jennie to stomach the phony cheeriness of her sister-in-law, the condescension in her transparent efforts to make it seem like she cared for any of her husband’s relatives. As fond as Jennie was of her niece and nephew, Lydia had zero interest in Tim and Willa and didn’t pretend to. Perhaps that was what bothered Jennie the most.
She turned to the subject at hand. “We could do some of the tree tonight and some tomorrow night. How’s that?”
Her daughter looked bored. “Whatever.” Willa picked up the laptop, evidently deciding she had spent more than enough time with her mother. Jennie watched her exit, then tossed down her pen and shoved all the papers before her to one side. Folding her arms on the table, she put her head down and turned her face to stare out the kitchen window. She considered her lonely daughter, her disaffected son, and her beleaguered husband. She thought of the time and money she was about to put into what would, despite her hopes, undoubtedly turn out to be a grim Christmas Day. For several minutes she sat that way, unmoving.
“Oh, boy,” she finally whispered. “Ho, ho, ho.”
Christmas Day was frigid, with only a light dusting of snow on the ground. When she heard car doors opening, Jennie stopped into the small downstairs bathroom to run a brush through her hair and inspect her reflection, smoothing down the front of her long black skirt and red knit top. As she hurried to greet Michael and his family, Scout trotting behind her, she took a final look around, satisfied that the house was as clean as it could possibly be. The Christmas decorations had been up for the past few weeks, so she had dusted them as well. Everything from the wreath on the front door, the collection of Santas that she and Shep had started when they first married, and the decorations the children had made over the years were all neatly displayed.
Opening the front door, she saw Michael and Lydia standing beside a gleaming black car. Her brother-in-law wore a long overcoat and reflective sunglasses. Lydia was wrapped in a magnificent deep brown fur coat, her blond hair an artful mess. In her high-heeled leather boots, she was at least five feet eight, and it appeared she had lost weight since the last time they had been together. That would make her what, Jennie thought, about forty pounds total?
Lydia gathered up the children as Michael retrieved several packages from the trunk. When Jennie called out a greeting, Michael turned to her with a big grin. They were coming inside as Shep hurried downstairs from the bedroom, freshly showered and rolling up the sleeves on his button-down shirt. He and Michael hugged and thumped each other on the back, while Jennie observed her sister-in-law looking around. Lydia’s displeasure was indicated in an ever so slightly raised eyebrow, followed by an almost-imperceptible face indicating that she smelled an unpleasant odor.
“Welcome to our mansion,” Jennie said with no trace of irony. “Come in and relax.”
Beaming as if she could imagine nothing more delightful, Lydia took a step forward but was pushed aside by her son and daughter. “Aunt Jennie!”
They were both shouting her name as they hurled themselves against her. Scout barked in excitement, adding to the general chaos. Jennie knelt to embrace both children at once, remembering when her own were small enough to be hugged at the same time. Evan and Kimberly were seven and six, and Jennie had spent a great deal of time with them when they lived closer. She still sent them birthday cards but had no other contact and was looking forward to getting reacquainted.
“How about some hugs for your old uncle?” Shep extended his arms, and the children ran to him next. There was a lot of tickling and shrieking bef
ore everyone settled down.
“May I take your coat?” Jennie extended an arm toward Lydia and was rewarded with the impossibly soft fur coat draped across it. Lydia wore a beige cashmere dress with a narrow belt and small diamond earrings, as glamorous as if she had just left a magazine photo shoot. Everything she had on looked frighteningly expensive.
Michael came over to hug Jennie and kiss her cheek. “How’s my favorite sister-in-law?”
“I’m great.” Jennie took his coat from him, observing his neatly pressed khaki pants and navy blazer. “You look terrific, Michael.” Her praise was genuine. “We’re so glad you could come.”
“I had to see your new life. So what do you think?”
“We have lots of time to talk about it,” Shep said. “Let’s get comfortable.”
He threw an arm around Michael’s shoulders and led him to the living room, their heads together as they fell into conversation. Jennie was relieved to see no awkwardness between them. She turned to find Lydia just about done helping her children out of their parkas and boots.
“Kids, go get Tim and Willa down here,” Jennie told them. She hoped her children would make some effort to be nice to their little cousins, who ran upstairs, chattering noisily.
Lydia retrieved the contents of a large shopping bag and approached with two large gifts wrapped in glossy red paper and enormous gold bows. “Makeup for Willa,” she said conspiratorially. “Tons of stuff in one giant kit, super-cool colors of eye shadow, blush, everything. For Tim, I got a cable-knit pullover. Bright royal blue—gorgeous.”
Jennie tried to keep her expression neutral. Willa hadn’t yet expressed the slightest interest in wearing makeup, nor would she have been allowed to even if she had. Tim wouldn’t be caught dead in a sweater like the one Lydia was describing. Somehow, though it was rude, Jennie would have to make the gifts disappear until their company had left; her children were terrible at hiding their feelings when opening a present, and their faces would instantly reveal their distaste. To be fair, Lydia and Michael didn’t have older children, so they couldn’t know how to shop for them. On the other hand, she couldn’t help thinking, if their aunt had ever bothered to find out the first thing about either one of them, she might have had an idea of what would be appropriate. What made Jennie feel worse was that she had spent more than she reasonably could afford on presents for Evan and Kimberly, yet these two gifts had probably cost five times as much.
The tournament of humiliation was just beginning.
Stop it, she silently commanded. Lydia had taken the time and trouble to select generous gifts. “That was very kind of you.”
The other woman waved a manicured hand. “Nonsense. Now let’s go look at your tree.”
She took Jennie’s arm as if they were close buddies, and they went into the living room. In the end, Jennie had done most of the tree decorating herself over a few days. She was rather proud of the total effect, with an angel Willa had made in fourth grade perched precariously but triumphantly on top. Looking at it through Lydia’s eyes, she could see it was spectacularly unimpressive.
“Fabulous,” Lydia said. “I love the adorable homemade touches. Different from what you usually see, you know?”
Ignoring the smoothly worded slight, Jennie pointed to the trays of cheese and crackers and dip with cut-up vegetables set out on the coffee table. “Please have something,” she urged.
“Looks delicious.” Lydia smiled but seated herself as far away from the food as she could, perching on the edge of the chair.
That’s why she can fit into that dress, Jennie thought, grabbing a cracker and cutting a thick slice of Jarlsberg cheese to go on it. “Drink?” she asked as she popped the cracker into her mouth.
“Sparkling water would be great.”
“I’m sorry, but we don’t have that. I can offer you water, soda, or wine.”
“Water is fine. With a twist of lemon, please.”
We are not twist of lemon people, Jennie wanted to say, but she left and went toward the kitchen. Maybe she would get lucky and find a lemon hidden in the back of the vegetable crisper. Or maybe she would get lucky and turn into a lemon who could hide in the back of the vegetable crisper. That would be even better.
An unbidden image came to her of Mattie Fisher, standing in her kitchen in black-stockinged feet, stirring an enormous pot of something steaming hot that smelled delicious. She was probably feeding a hundred people today, or some such impossible number. Without a doubt, she was placid yet in control, her movements efficient and certain. Jennie felt calmer just picturing it.
Thinking about the Fishers’ accepting natures, it dawned on her that her own nature left something to be desired. She was the one ready to pounce on Lydia’s every word. Whatever her sister-in-law was thinking, she was doing her best to keep it to herself. It was Jennie who was looking for insult at every turn. Maybe Lydia didn’t love being there and was struggling to hide her disdain, but she was trying to be pleasant about it. Jennie could choose not to look for the jibe she feared behind every sentence. Instead of viewing Christmas as a time for the family to be happily together, she had made it all about her own insecurities over their situation. Who was at fault here?
Chastened, she mentally sent Mattie a “Merry Christmas” wish and a thank-you for unknowingly straightening her out. She pulled open the refrigerator door, resolving that when she went back into the living room, she was going to start over again and do it right.
Just then Shep appeared in the kitchen and reached across her to grab four cans of beer from the refrigerator door. Her heart sank. “You need all four right now?” The words were out before she could stop herself.
“It’s easier to take them in now so I don’t have to come back.” Annoyance was evident in his tone. “Lighten up, Jennie. It’s Christmas.”
Apparently, Christmas meant different things to everybody in this family. None of them good. And none of them the right things.
The rest of the day passed in an exhausting blur. Conversations would start out well, then trail off into awkward silence as the differences between the two families became obvious in everything from incomes to values. Jennie was supremely disappointed in the kind of person Michael had become. He merely sat by while Lydia bragged about ski trips to Aspen, renovating their enormous apartment in downtown Chicago, how good their children’s private schools were, and how well they would be positioned later for entry into a top college. Where, Jennie wondered, was the Michael she once knew? The down-to-earth, joking Michael who had taken such a loving interest in Tim and Willa? She could see her thoughts reflected in Shep’s eyes, and despaired to observe the pace of his beer consumption pick up, not from any celebratory motive but from his obvious desire to block out what he was witnessing.
Even Kimberly and Evan were unrecognizable as the sweet small children she remembered; they were boisterous, demanding, and had no interest in anything other than what they wanted at a given moment. Evan spent much of the meal playing games on his cell phone, while Kimberly pushed her food around on her plate, complaining that the turkey wasn’t the way she liked it and the vegetables were “icky.” Jennie knew her own children were far from perfect, but at least they had been polite guests when they were little. Even as cell phone–obsessed teenagers, they knew better than to bring a phone to the table. She shuddered to imagine what kind of teens Kimberly and Evan would become.
If there had been any chance Shep might have opened up to his brother about their difficulties in adjusting to their new life, it was gone by the time they got to dessert. He refused the cake, ice cream, and cookie assortment, preferring to sit with yet another newly opened can of beer. When the younger children had finished their sweets, they told their mother they wanted to go back to the hotel to play video games.
“They’re tired,” Lydia said with an apologetic look to Shep and Jennie. “We’d better get back.”
How sad, Jennie thought, that no one bothered to protest. Coats and boots were retrie
ved, kisses were exchanged among the four adults, and the other Davis family headed out the door. Michael was the last to leave, deliberately, Jennie realized, because he stuffed a heavy cream-colored envelope in her hand as he leaned in for an extra good-bye kiss on her cheek.
“What’s this?” Jennie asked.
“Christmas card,” he said. “We never got around to sending them out. But this one is for your eyes only.”
He winked at her and left, pulling the door shut behind him. Jennie turned to see Shep retreating into the living room, knowing he would spend the rest of the evening sitting on the couch watching television, beer can in hand. Willa and Tim had disappeared upstairs. She would have to argue with them to get some help cleaning up. Before she did that, though, she wanted to see why Michael would have given her a separate holiday card.
She pried open the envelope with her thumb as she walked toward the dining room table to start clearing dishes. Instead of a card, she found a piece of stationery folded over. As she opened it, she caught her breath. Inside were hundred-dollar bills. She counted them. Twenty all together. Two thousand dollars. She read what Michael had written on the monogrammed paper.
Dear Jennie,
We both know my brother is stupidly stubborn and won’t accept anything from anybody. So won’t you do me the kindness of accepting this as our present to you? It’s a combination housewarming (a little late, I know) and Christmas gift, and I hope it makes up for other gifts we’ve missed giving over the years. Of course, Shep is incalculably rich—he’s got you and the wonderful family the two of you have created.
Love you always,
Michael
Stunned, she sank down onto one of the dining room chairs. This was the Michael she knew, the kind and loving one she now realized she missed terribly. Maybe he couldn’t help showing off his newfound wealth, but underneath he knew his brother was hurting. Tears stung her eyes. She was ashamed that they needed this help, and ashamed that she didn’t dare return the money because they were in such dire financial straits. Yet she couldn’t help feeling a flood of relief that they had received another respite from disaster. Overshadowing everything else was the saddest thought: that she already knew she was going to follow Michael’s unspoken advice and keep it a secret from Shep. More secrets, more walls between them. She folded the money back into the note and slipped it into the envelope, which she set down on the food-stained tablecloth. Then she covered her face with both hands and cried.
An Amish Gift Page 6