by Ed Helenski
I left him there smoking, and that was almost the last I saw of Reggie Pickett.
Chapter 18
We left The Corners on Sunday morning, so that we could spend Christmas Eve at the Cowell’s. Maggie was extremely excited, chattering away about her family, about the things that would be there waiting for us, about how much fun it is to have Christmas with children in the house. We had spent Saturday moving the few pieces of furniture she wanted to keep from her place to mine. By the end of this coming week she would be living with me. Although I had lived with women before, I was never made nervous by it, the way I felt now. It was as if for the first time there was something at stake, something I would desperately hate to lose. In short, Mags.
A light snow was falling as we got in my car and started the drive. The backseat and trunk were filled with presents, and it was hard to tell which ones Maggie had wrapped and which ones I had wrapped. When she saw the gifts she had looked at me funny, and asked if I had gotten them wrapped at the store. Apparently Mags had never encountered a man with a flair for giftwrap before.
One present wasn’t stowed away in back. The small box that held the ring was burning a hole in my pocket. I was eager to show it to Mags, to get her approval. At the same time I was scared stiff. Afraid she wouldn’t like it maybe, but more simply immobilized with the notion of marriage. The first time I married I was young, full of notions about how life would be, how things were supposed to go. My expectations were fantasy, of course, and didn’t pan out in the least. And while I was well shut of Jana, the sting I had felt at failing was still clear in my mind. I didn’t want to fail.
It was good to leave The Corners. As soon as we were a little ways down Route 144 it seemed a whole lot more like Christmas. The snow was accumulating on the ground, and more important, the houses that dotted the hillsides looked festive and occupied. It took getting away to realize how empty The Corners was starting to feel, desolate is the word the springs to mind and anything but festive. Not quite funereal, but close. I had gotten a tree and we had put some tinsel on it, and Mags had some bulbs to hang, but it seemed weak, almost too dim to punch through the oppression of the town. So now Mags was very excited about going home.
“And my dad always gets a tree that’s way too big” she went on, laughing, “and they end up having to cut it down and make decorations out of all the pine boughs.” Her voice was so strong and happy that it drove any thoughts of failure from my mind. “Sometimes we practically carpet the porch with them. It smells so good.” She inhaled, whether by way of demonstration or in memory I don’t know. I know that she was very happy, and the memories of Mags in that brief holiday stand out clear in my mind. She was shining in her moment, sharing her joy with me. It is something I have not forgotten, and am not likely to ever forget, her joy.
“And will there be eggnog, and cookies, and pies, and a turkey?” I asked, playing the wide-eyed child.
“Well, I guess maybe we can arrange something like that. There will be a turkey for sure, and probably cookies. I am not sure about pies or eggnog. Those were things Mom always did. This will only be the second Christmas without her. I really miss her.” I couldn’t help but see the tears growing in her eyes. I reached over and she took my hand in hers. We held hands and drove quietly through the snow for a while. When she spoke again the sadness was gone and had been replaced with the joy I had heard earlier. “Lindsey and Megan are going to be so cute this year. You should see the things I got them. I would have showed you, but this way it will be one more surprise. You like surprises, don’t you?”
I thought about the box in my pocket. “I like surprises ok. How about you, Mags?” She gave me an appraising look and nodded.
“I can enjoy a surprise. Especially since it’s so hard to surprise me.” I hoped she was right. I hoped all the gifts I had gotten were well received, but the one in my pocket was the one with the ability to make or break my heart.
The drive was a picture perfect start to the holiday, the snow falling steadily, but never so heavily as to make driving difficult. We arrived at her family home a little past two O’clock, and saw that Tim, Kat and the girls were already there, out in the yard trying valiantly to get a snowman made from the couple inches of snow on the ground. I wasn’t sure how successful the snowman would be, but from the giggles coming from all four of them the attempt was a great deal of fun. I looked over at Mags, and discovered she was looking at me. In the glance we exchanged I knew we were both thinking the same thing, wouldn’t it be great if that were us, if those were our children. I made a Christmas wish, that Mags and I could have a great big family. Not all wishes are destined to be fulfilled, but at that moment I hoped feverishly for that one.
The girls ran over when we got out of the car, and soon were firmly attached to Maggie. She hugged them tightly, then whispered to them, and in the next second I was nearly knocked to the ground as they climbed on me, yelling “Uncle Tom, Uncle Tom” which gave me the laughing fits, it sounded like they were accusing me of being a turncoat black man. Tim came over to peel them off me, and offered his gloved hand. We shook, and I handed him Megan, or maybe it was Lindsay, I don’t really know which is which and have passed the point where it would be polite to ask. Kat hugged me and gave me a peck on the cheek. She was warm and smelled a little bit of cinnamon. She offered to get me a nice mug of mulled wine, to keep me warm, if I would help the girls finish the snowman. That explained the cinnamon scent. I accepted, and Mags and I followed the girls’ instructions as they directed the construction of the little man. Little would have to do, not enough snow for a giant.
Once that was accomplished, and the handiwork was admired a suitable length of time, we all went inside. The place was lavishly decorated. Outside I hadn’t seen anything except some dark strings of lights, but inside every nook and cranny was ablaze with color and light. ESPN ran soundlessly on the TV while Christmas carols came out of a boombox set on top. And, true to Mags’ word, the tree was enormous, nearly eight feet across at its base. It took up a third of the room, and made the whole place smell of pine. The warmth, the smell, the decorations; it was all wonderful.
Just as was the case at Thanksgiving, The Corners and all the things going on seemed like a dream, a million miles away. This house was warm, and full, and safe. The last thing a person could think about here was missing girls, or a dying town, or even los chorrea. My destiny was here, despite the fact that my fate lay back to the east. Destiny and fate would cross paths in the next few days; I could feel it, like the calm before the storm. But right now, right here, it was Christmas.
The day passed pleasantly. We had sandwiches and lots of fattening goodies as the mood struck us, rather than any formal mealtime. Around six the girls were packed off upstairs to Tim’s room, to nap. When they protested, Kat said “You had better get some sleep now, or you won’t get to stay up way past midnight. Remember? We are going to church really late tonight. Now scoot”. Church really late tonight? Kat saw my puzzled look and added “Midnight mass, Tom. It’s a Catholic thing, I guess.”
I had had no idea Maggie was Catholic. I asked her if she was planning to go and she said, yes, that it was a tradition for them. I decided I would go too. Maggie’s traditions would be my traditions. Fortunately I had packed a suit jacket so I was able to dress accordingly. Around eight, Mags whispered in my ear that we needed a nap if we were going to stay up that late. I looked at her quizzically and she raised an eyebrow to me. She was not talking about sleep. I followed her upstairs. I was really getting to like this house.
By eleven everyone was getting ready, and the whole clan piled into Tim and Kat’s minivan and drove the handful of blocks to the church. I had been in a Catholic Church once or twice for a wedding, but nothing prepared me for this. The place was literally packed with people. There was a huge crèche outside the church, and inside it seemed like every candle in creation was lit. The organist was playing, and everywhere I looked were families, all dressed up in the earli
est hour of Christmas, the children rubbing their eyes, but agog at the wonder of it all.
Catholic churches tend to be a bit opulent, but there was a lot more to this than just the church. There were sprays of flowers everywhere, and what I guessed to be palms, and the priest was decked out in something a bit more colorful than I would have imagined. And there were altar boys, and lay readers, and the priest came in waving something I later learned was a censer of myrrh. The smell was exotic and somehow exactly right for Christmas. And I heard the nativity told with such simple honesty that I found tears springing to my eyes. All in all it was a moving experience, and it left me a bit awestruck. Our church services seemed somehow…mundane isn’t exactly the right word, or pedestrian, but somehow utilitarian. Mags noticed my delight, and I could tell it made her happy.
When we got back to the house the girls were clamoring to open a present. Apparently the rule was you got to open one present after mass, then the rest in the morning. Despite the huge size of the tree the presents were still so numerous that they spilled out from underneath and all over the room. The girls were handed identical packages, with identical red paper and green ribbons, which they hurriedly unwrapped. Each contained a festive stuffed bear in a Santa hat. They were delighted, and yawning and giggling, were packed off to bed. Tim and Kat went with them, and Dan excused himself as well. Apparently the adults didn’t get a midnight gift.
Mags and I sat in the twinkling lights of the tree. The room was lit with its colors. We sat on the sofa, sharing a glass of wine, and she had her head on my shoulder. After a few minutes she got up and rummaged under the tree. She came back and handed me a small gift. “Open it.” She said, excitement all over her face. It was a small box wrapped in red foil with a green ribbon. I gently teased off the ribbon and extracted the box. Inside was an old celluloid fountain pen. It had been cleaned and refurbished, and looked new. “It was my granddad’s” she whispered, “I always loved it. I thought it was cool, you know? So he gave it to me. I had it fixed up, and now I want you to have it. A writer needs a good pen, you know, for signing those big contracts” I laughed, and once again found tears rising in my eyes. I hugged her, and then got up and went under the tree. I had considered giving her the ring at that point, but instead decided on the book. It was a good decision, as I discovered later.
She unwrapped the book and looked at the title, then at me. “Is this…?”
I nodded. “My mom. I never knew. I found them at Dad’s house. I wanted to share it with you.”
She didn’t cry, but her eyes were shiny and wide. She hugged me tight, and together we made our way upstairs, leaving the living room to twinkle and flicker its way to dawn.
In the morning the girls got everyone up at six forty five. The boombox came to life with carols, it sounded like the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. Kat got out a tray of sweet rolls, and put coffee on. We all munched and watched as the girls tore into their booty. Wrapping paper flew, and revealed dolls, and clothes, and books, and toys and after a while I lost track. I think between indulgent parents, a very indulgent aunt, and an absolutely doting granddad, Lindsay and Megan got everything there was for sale that year. They seemed to like the dolls I gave them, and I was relieved that no one else had apparently made the same choice.
I also got gifts; a shirt, and an electronic crossword puzzle thing from Tim and Kat, and several shirts and a sweater from Mags, as well as some silk boxers with hearts all over them that got a chuckle from everyone but the little girls, who wanted to know why I had such weird shorts. To tell the truth, I simply don’t recall opening them, or seeing them, or seeing what anyone else got. The whole time all I could think about was what was in my pocket.
After a bit, the presents were all opened. Mags had loved the sweater I got her, although it appeared she had thought there would be something more. It looked as if she had outdone me. With my hands shaking, I clutched the box in my pocket. Everyone was starting to gather up wrapping paper and soon my chance would be gone. I had to act fast. Getting out that box was probably the hardest thing I ever had to do. Up to that date, anyway.
I held the small foil wrapped box out to Mags. Her eyes met mine and in that split second she knew. She knew what was in the box, she knew what I wanted, and her answer was going to be yes. The actual opening of the gift and what followed was really superfluous, for the benefit of the onlookers. For us, it was already done.
The room got suddenly quiet, as the chatter ceased at the same moment the CD reached its end. Mags looked around at the family gathered, and slowly, gently unwrapped the velvet box within. She popped it open, and there was a collective gasp as the morning light coming in the front window caught the stones perfectly and the room lit up with sparkles. Even Mags gasped, I guess her clairvoyance didn’t extend to what kind of ring was in the box. My voice was creaky but steady as I asked her my question.
“Will you marry me, Mags?”
Maggie mouthed the word yes, then looked around and said out loud, “Well, I guess I have to since you asked in front of everybody, I wouldn’t want to embarrass you.” And with that the room was alive with sound again. Mags grabbed me in her arms and gave me a kiss the likes of which I had never seen. I think she took out my tonsils while she was in there. Tim and Kat whoo whooed us, while Dan looked embarrassed, and Megan and Lindsay jumped around and screamed. It was bliss.
Looking back on that Christmas day, I feel as if it were lived by other people, as if I had watched rather than participated. Considering the events that followed, that Christmas at the Cowell’s was like a dream, a dream that ended the moment we re-entered The Corners.
The rest of the day was wonderful. We had our turkey with all the trimmings, the girls played with their toys, I played with mine, Tim and Kat explored the wonders of DVD, and in the afternoon we all sat down to watch A Christmas Story, one of the disks I had gotten for them. About midway through, when Flick gets his tongue caught on the flagpole (why they didn’t just use water to get him loose I never understood), Mags gently drew me away, and we snuck upstairs and made love, the first time with that ring on her finger. It was very sweet. Afterwards, lying in her childhood bed, with the gleam of passion still on our skin, she spoke to me.
“Thomas. Dear, sweet Thomas. I love you, did you know that?”
I kissed her shoulder, made my way up her neck to her lips, and kissed her for an answer.
“I’ll take that as a yes. I really love the ring. Not just how it looks, although I love that, too. But what it means, and how you gave it to me. I’m glad you did it with my family there, they mean a lot to me. And they worry. So it was good they got to see me so happy. Put their minds at ease.” She kissed my nose, then leaned over the edge of the bed. She came back up with the book I had given her. “Did you read this book?”
“I read the first couple poems. I haven’t had time to go through it all, there are several of them. You know I had no idea about these books. None at all. I found them at my dad’s. In a carton in a closet, along with everything else that my mom ever thought worth keeping.”
She looked at me, and I could see sadness in her eyes. “Your father didn’t much like things that made him feel, did he?” I shook my head. “Believe me, I understand. Losing my mom was hard on my dad, and it’s only because we all pulled together that he got through it without closing off completely. It’s that generation, the men anyway. They think you have to be tough, and to be tough you have to hide your feelings. Or more accurately, deny feeling them, even to yourself.” I thought she had hit the nail on the head once again. A perceptive person, my Mags is.
“Yeah, “ I said, “but your dad is a lot more open than mine ever was. I think now,” I paused to get the words right, “I think that my mom was kind of in the shadows her whole life. That she wasn’t allowed to be who she really was. Or at least that she wasn’t allowed to let anyone know who she really was. I mean, here she was, she had books published, and her own kids didn’t even know. I can blame my dad for
that, but once we were grown, she could have talked to us, could have told us. She must not have wanted to.”
Mags shook her head. “I don’t think so, Tom. She wanted you to know. Maybe there was a reason she couldn’t tell you before this, or maybe it was your Dad, but she wanted you to know, to know how she felt, how much she cherished you and all the dreams she wanted to come true for you.”
“How can you say that?” I asked. “What possible way can you have to know what she wanted?” She held out the book to me, open to the very last poem.
There, on the creamy page, in neat black type, was the title, “Sweet Thomas”. Above that, written in my Mom’s hand were the words “Read this, and know.” I took the book into my hands but my eyes blurred with tears and the words ran. Mags gently took the book back and began to read.
“Sweet Thomas.”
“No one can tell
No one can see
But the joys that await you
Are clear to me.
The shadow under which you grew
Has touched but not tainted you
You cannot fault the one beneath
Whom you grew, he will bequeath
The nature that was good in him
While letting go the part so dim.
There is a boy who lives this day
And the world longs for what he has to say
In my heart he will always stay
Sweet Thomas.
You will spend long shedding your roots
Your heart will draw you back
The tree you plant will bear great fruits
Once you are on track.
But your destiny, my love
Lies on a different path
I’ll watch you seek it from above
Despite your Father’s wrath.
There is a boy who lives this day
And the world longs for what he has to say
In my heart he will always stay
Sweet Thomas.