Jack held out his hand. “Let’s do it.” They started up the block together, Darcy fighting the urge to run or even skip like a preschooler.
They turned the corner, and the ringer came into view. An older gentleman, wearing a red-and-green-striped stocking cap with a matching scarf. He bounced up and down on the balls of his feet as he swung a rather large gold bell—either enjoying himself immensely, or perhaps just trying to keep the bottom of his feet warm and off the pavement. There were three or four people around him, looking at the window display the bank had put up. It was the ideal scenario.
Darcy heard Jack exhale. They both made a pitiful attempt to look casual and natural. To Darcy it felt like walking down the church aisle to get married—trying to look calm, peaceful, and joyous, even though it felt like a gallon of goldfish were doing somersaults in her stomach. They strolled by, Jack pointing out this and that—rather stiffly, like a bad actor—in the window display. Darcy held her breath as she watched his hand slip casually into his coat pocket, palm a coin, and wish the ringer a Merry Christmas as he slipped the coin in the kettle.
The coin.
The solid-gold Krugerrand from her father’s bank box.
The one worth serious money. One of two they would “casually” slip into Salvation Army buckets tonight, just like the ones they had read about in the newspaper. The other two of her father’s coins had been sold late this afternoon, their proceeds deposited into college funds for each of the children. Two coins sensible, two coins celebratory. Perfection.
She and Jack kept their steps deliberately slow and natural as they walked on down the block, pretending to examine the other window displays. They made it all the way to the end of the block, where Jack broke into a run and pulled Darcy around the corner. They laughed like kids who just made a prank phone call. Jack’s eyes were wide, his smile brilliant in the shadows.
“Do you think he saw?” His tone of voice could have been Mike’s, it was so excited.
“No, no, you were perfect. You couldn’t even see the coin. You were great. Just great.”
Jack pushed her up against the building. He kissed her. Hard and long. With the same fervor as he had in the basketball courts. “I can’t believe I just did that,” he said breathlessly when he finally pulled back for air.
“What, kissed me on a street corner?”
“No, no, that.” Jack cocked his head back in the direction of the Salvation Army kettle. He caught her expression, and added, “Yeah, well this, too, but mostly that.”
“You’re good at this.” Darcy was enjoying his excitement. Jack wasn’t exactly the kind of guy who “twinkled,” but his expression came mighty close.
“What, kissing you on the street corner?”
Now it was Darcy’s turn. “No, no, that. Yeah, well this too, but mostly that.”
Jack laughed and nuzzled her in a way that she felt down to her toes. “You do the next one,” he said into her neck, this voice deep and tingling against her skin.
“Me? No way. I’m not sneaky enough to pull this off.”
It was Jack’s turn to act insulted. “Should I take offense at that? Are you saying I’m sneakier than you are?” He was trying to sound agitated, but the smile on his face just wouldn’t go away.
“No, no.” She was laughing now, pushing him off her so she could get a clear thought. “It’s just that I could never look normal doing that. I’d fumble it or talk too much or drop it on the ground or something.”
“Come on. You hid a dozen basketballs from me for hours on end. You can do this.” He brushed an errant strand of hair off her cheek. “We each do one. Come on, do the other one.”
Who could say no to those eyes? “Okay.” The two of them set off around the corner, looking for another kettle. Four blocks over, they paused as they heard the familiar bell chimes. They ducked into an alcove half a block away, and Darcy practiced hiding the coin in her mitten until she felt she could place it in the red kettle without being seen. Jack promised to say something pithy and engaging to the bell ringer, distracting him or her while Darcy sneaked the coin into the kettle. When they had their plan, they set off down the block.
The gallon of goldfish returned to Darcy’s stomach, until they came within a few feet of the woman.
Surely God had a great sense of humor, for manning this kettle was an older woman and her dog.
Her seeing eye dog.
It was all Darcy could do to keep from laughing out loud as Jack employed his pithy but engaging holiday greeting and Darcy slid the coin into the slot. She could have easily dropped the Hope Diamond in there for all the stealth it required—no one else was around at just that moment. Once again, Darcy felt as if God had arranged the universe to meet her individual needs.
A blind bell ringer. On just this corner on just this night. God had sent his stamp of approval on Christmas philanthropy, Jack and Darcy style.
The next night, as the evening news reported the mysterious appearance of two gold coins in Cincinnati’s Salvation Army kettles, Jack kissed Darcy up against the steadily clunking refrigerator.
“Ewww,” pronounced Paula, unwrapping a package of Ho Hos.
“Ewww yourself,” said Jack, and kissed his wife again.
Chapter 21
'Twas the Night Before Christmas, and Down in the Kitchen…
“God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen” was playing over the stereo at J.L.’s. Larry and Joyce, who owned the place, had a thing for jazz. They had a stack of jazz recordings two feet high and it was always playing in the background. It lent a hip-sophisticated air to the place, and was part of why Darcy and Kate loved it so. At Christmas, with J.L.’s decked out to its Christmas extreme thanks to Joyce’s touch, it was extra wonderful.
“It was you!” Kate exclaimed as quietly as her shock would allow. “I knew it was you. The minute I saw it on the news I practically jumped off the sofa.” She sat up straight, rocking her head as she teasingly sang, “I know the coin droppers, I know the coin droppers.”
“Shhh!” countered Darcy. “I knew I shouldn’t have told you. Except that I was sure you’d hound me mercilessly once it made the news. You can’t tell anyone, understand? I’ll make you link pinkies if I have to….”
“Okay, okay.” Kate held up her hands. “And ‘link pinkies’? You’ve been spending too much time with Paula, girl.”
Darcy pulled a pair of wrapped boxes out of the shopping bag at her feet. “Yeah, well wrap your grown-up pinkies around these, partner. Merry Christmas.”
“Whoa, these are huge!” Kate’s eyes widened. “Looks like the Grand Lady of Presents is hitting her stride this year.”
“Open them first, then gush. Smaller one first.”
Kate tore the wrapping off as fast as any six-year-old would. Darcy watched her reaction as she opened the gift certificate from a local portrait studio. Kate had been griping for years about not having a decent family portrait, and Darcy had decided the best way to show off Kate’s spiffy new look was to capture it forever.
“Wow! I mean, really wow! This is over-the-top, even for you, Dar.” She looked up at Darcy, the corners of her eyes crinkled up with a wide smile. “You know how much I’ve been wanting one of these. Don’s been dragging his feet on spending the money—he claims a snapshot captures all we need—and now he has no excuse. Thanks.”
“Don’t thank me yet, you’ve another box to go there.”
“Ooo, you bet!” Kate tore the second set of wrapping to uncover a lime-colored mohair sweater. It was one Kate had admired in a store window, but wouldn’t go look at because she claimed she had no business buying anything that needed dry cleaning. “The green sweater! You got me the green sweater! You are so amazing. You never miss a trick.”
“Well, what’s the good of having your picture taken if you don’t have something really wonderful to wear?”
Kate reached across the table to hug her. “You’re the best friend ever. This is really nice. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. Really.
I had fun getting them.”
“I’ll bet you did.” Kate bent over to reach into her own enormous purse. Actually, Kate’s purse was more of a backpack—the woman carried tons of stuff with her everywhere. If you needed a Band-Aid or gum or even a screw driver, chances are Kate had it in her bag. It was like having Mary Poppins and her magical carpet bag as your best friend. “Now,” said Kate, her head dipping as she groped around in the capacious handbag, “I’ve long given up trying to match your gift-giving abilities, but I did rather well this year, if I do say so myself.” She produced a small, oblong package and pushed it across the table toward Darcy.
She undid the bow—a real cloth bow tied in a fancy knot. Evidently Kate had gone upscale this year. The velvet box opened to reveal a gorgeous fountain pen. Engraved with Darcy’s name on the side. It was a deep green with gold flecks, trimmed in gold. Darcy picked it up; it felt heavy and important in her hands.
“For signing Restoration Project checks,” Kate offered. “And greeting cards, and even permission slips. Consider it a presidential pen.”
Kate was right: she had done well. It was just perfect, and Darcy told her so.
“I’m glad you like it. It suits you. You look good holding it.” She held up her teacup. “Merry Christmas, Dar.”
Darcy clinked her cup gently against Kate’s. “God bless us, every one.”
“You know, I think He has.” Darcy was sure that was the first time she’d ever heard Kate even allude to God. She felt her smile broaden, if that was humanly possible—for she felt as if she was already grinning ear to ear. After a sheepish grin, Kate added, “Hey, Larry, can we get some more hot water here? And what do you have that’s chocolate and gooey?”
Jack rolled over to have his hand fall on an unoccupied pillow. The sensation woke him up. Darcy wasn’t in bed. Squinting his eyes, he rolled over to look around. She wasn’t in the chair by the window. He cast his eyes out the bedroom door and down the hall, but he could see the wedge of night-light glow coming from out of the bathroom door—she wasn’t in the bathroom, either. Slowly, rubbing his eyes, he pulled himself upright. Where was she?
A small sound from downstairs gave him his answer. What was Dar doing in the kitchen at—he glanced at the clock—2:00 a.m. on Christmas Eve? Well, actually, it was Christmas morning, wasn’t it? Even if it was, 2:00 a.m. was early to be up and placing out presents—even for Darcy. He reached down to the floor next to the bed and picked up his T-shirt.
Tugging it on and yawning, he padded down the hallway. Sure enough, he could see the kitchen light on downstairs. He peered into the room as he came down the last of the stairs.
She was there, at the kitchen counter, eating cereal. Next to her were a box of tissues, and her father’s Christmas stocking. Six or seven tissues were out and crumpled on the counter beside her. She had been crying. Still was, by the sound of it.
“Hon?”
She startled a bit at his voice. Her eyes and nose were red when she turned to look at him. “Um, hi.”
“Honey, what’s wrong? It’s two in the morning.”
“Actually, it’s 2:17.” She gave a huge, shuddering sigh. She must have had one good cry down here—he was surprised he hadn’t heard her before this.
“Okay, it’s 2:17 a.m., and you’re crying. Want to talk about it?” He pulled up a stool.
Tears brimmed anew in Darcy’s eyes. “We didn’t go to church. It was Christmas Eve and we didn’t go to church.”
“We haven’t gone to Christmas Eve service in years, since your dad got sick. We’ve always spent—” and as the words left his mouth, he put the pieces together “—the night with your dad.”
Darcy nodded, the tears running down her already wet cheeks. Jack cursed himself for not seeing this coming. He’d tried to think of all the places that would be painful for Darcy this week, tried to see the rough spots coming—but he’d missed this one. And it was a big one, too. Nice going, guy.
“I’m sorry this Christmas is so hard for you.” He didn’t really know what else to say. There was no way to fix this. The only way to get through it was to simply get through it.
“It rots,” she replied.
Jack wasn’t quite sure what to do with her remark. He was pretty sure Christmas didn’t actually “rot,” just felt rotten at the moment. He just needed to let her get it out—ideally now rather than in front of the kids. He’d expected scenes like this to come about now anyway. “It doesn’t all rot, does it? I thought you loved Kate’s gift. I don’t even have a pen that nice, and I sign most of the checks in this house.” He touched her cheek.
“Well, no, it doesn’t all rot. Just big, huge parts of it. I wanted to go to church tonight. I thought about going to church, even planned it out, but then somehow I couldn’t get myself to make it happen.” She started to cry again. “Then it felt like if I didn’t think about it, then it wouldn’t happen, then I wouldn’t have to not go to see Dad and I could pretend things weren’t different and…” She looked up at him. “I’m not making any sense, am I?” she whimpered.
He pulled her to him. They both yawned.
“Then come back to bed, hon.”
Chapter 22
Just the Tiniest Bit Willing
Glynnis wrapped her in a big hug. “I’ve missed you. How does it feel to have made it through the holidays?”
“Some good, some bad.” Darcy added sugar to her ice tea. “I lost it a few times, but I sort of expected that to happen.”
Glynnis sighed. “The first holidays—all of them, for the first year—are hard. But then you make new memories, find new ways to do the things you can’t do anymore and it gets better.” She lifted her ice tea glass in a toast. “You make new friends, who give you splendid new gifts, so you can do your favorite things in new ways.”
Darcy laughed. “Oh, so you like the sun tea jar, huh? I wasn’t sure you’d give up your kettle so easily. I actually found a chicken teakettle, Glynnis, and came—” she put her fingers up together “—this close to getting it for you, but the salesman said it made the most awful noise.”
Glynnis burst out laughing as she stood up and went to a corner cabinet. She opened the door with a “Ta da!” and exposed the exact kettle Darcy had been discussing. Someone had beat her to the punch.
“Oh, he’s right,” Glynnis chuckled. “It does. Ed thought I was butchering chickens in here the first time it went off, not making tea. I like your gift much better. Wherever did you find one with hens on it?”
Darcy smiled. This gift had been one of her better inspirations. She was glad Glynnis was enjoying it so much. “Actually, I had it made. The woman at the pottery shop told me she had a special technique for painting on glass. So I bought the jar and had her paint the chickens on it. She liked how it came out so much that she decided to stock the jars for other customers. And thank you for the hankies, by the way, I love carrying them. It’s so much more elegant to weep into a hankie than to sniffle into Kleenex.”
“‘Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning.’ Psalm 30. Your joy is coming, Darcy dear, I think even you can see that.”
“There are days where it feels like it’s been years that Dad has been gone. Then there are times when it feels like it happened yesterday. I don’t remember it that way with my mother.”
Glynnis selected a particularly well-frosted Christmas cookie. “It’s more complicated when you’re an adult. You’ve got different people pulling on you for different things, you understand things in a different way. You can see, I think, farther down the timeline in both directions—past and future—and get a glimpse of how someone’s death defines part of your life.”
Darcy grunted. “I don’t feel like I can see toward the future at all. I have no idea where things are going.”
“Nonsense,” Glynnis countered, swallowing the last of her cookie. “You can see very clearly. You just want to see farther than you ought to right now. Like I said, sweetie, they call it—”
; “Faith, not agreement,” Darcy finished for her. The woman had a way of drumming theology into you with sugarcoated accuracy. “I understand that, but if I can’t see, how can I plan? How do I know the things I’m doing are what God has in mind?”
“Well, now,” replied Glynnis. “That’s the harder part.”
Darcy choked on her bite of cookie. “It gets harder?”
Glynnis didn’t seem to think that question required an answer. Her eyes were two whopping pools of course it does, hon as she said, “When you start stepping out in faith—like you’re doing—you’ve got to be careful to watch who’s doing the planning.”
“Well, that’s exactly what I mean. How am I supposed to know if I’m just making my own plans or if I’m looking to see what it is God is asking me to do? I mean, this whole thing has sort of felt like one long argument with God. Weird stuff plopping down in front of my face that I’m suddenly supposed to deal with. I don’t exactly have a clear set of road maps here, Glynnis. I’m pretty much making this up as I go along.”
“That’s good, that’s good!” For a scary second Darcy thought she was going to clap hands or give her a gold star. “Uncomfortable, yes,” she added, seeing Darcy’s look, “but good. Let me see if I can explain it better.” She sat for a moment, drumming her fingers against one another, her lips pursed. “Okay now, just give me a minute.” More silence, then a slight nod. “Ah, I know where to start.” She shifted in her seat to face Darcy more directly. It was then, for some reason, that Darcy noticed Glynnis was wearing a pin.
The Standard Issue Grandma Gaudy Rhinestone Bee Pin.
It seemed as if every old lady on the planet owned a gaudy rhinestone bee pin. The one where the outstretched wings were gilt silver, the bee’s body made up of black enamel stripes and rhinestones set in gold, its shiny little legs spread across the wearer’s chest, lapel, whatever. Entirely too big—beyond bumblebee life-size. Every older woman somehow had one. As if it came free with the purchase of every Old Lady Handbook.
Bad Heiress Day Page 17