“No kidding,” I mutter.
“Several citizens have speculated on whether things will ever be back to normal in this little town, no matter which way the vote goes.”
I glance over at Garrett. “What do you bet Uncle Gus will be on?”
He nods.
“With us now is the mayor of Jingle Bells, Augustus Harding, affectionately known to his constituents as Uncle Gus.”
I snort. “Affectionately?”
“Sir, normally you’d think a mayor would be against changing the name of his town, but you’re actually for the name change, aren’t you?”
“I’m for the people of Jingle Bells. And it makes no difference what the town is—”
I punch the power button on the remote and toss it over beside Garrett. “Sorry. If you want to watch the rest of it, I’ll go out.”
He shakes his head. “I’ve seen enough.”
I lay my head back and look up at the ceiling. “Why do people act like it’s nothing to change the name?”
“Maybe they’ve just considered what will happen to Jingle Bells if new business doesn’t come to town.”
I tap the back of my head gently against the wall, then sit up and meet his gaze. “Jingle Bells is about more than just a name. It’s about the spirit of Christmas living in our hearts all year long.” I wave my hand in the air as if outlining the welcome sign. “You don’t have to tell me that sounds corny. I know it. But it’s not. When a man and a woman and a little girl can come together for a week in a place so magical that it turns them into a family for that brief time once a year, the sign is true.”
“Your Gran—”
Tears swim in my eyes. “I know Gran had a lot to do with it. But so did Jingle Bells. Gran’s gone. I can’t stand it if I lose Jingle Bells, too.” I guess the strain of our confrontation at the lake, finding out about Mother’s surgery, and seeing the TV segment all add up to too much.
I rush into the restroom and lock the door behind me. Harringtons don’t cry. Especially in public. So why are tears streaming down my cheeks?
Chapter Twenty-Five
I lean against the wall for a few minutes, then wash my face and come out. Garrett’s gone. I can’t blame him. I sit on the couch to wait the three hours until time to visit Mother again.
But before I can pick up a magazine, Garrett comes in, arms loaded with pillows and blankets. “Just in case you want to take a nap or anything before bedtime,” he says, like my outburst before didn’t happen.
“Thanks.”
He sets them down on the couch across the room and comes back over to sit beside me. “Here, sport, thought you could use a pick-me-up.” He slaps a Heath Bar gently across my arm. My all-time favorite candy bar.
“What would I do without you?” I say the words without thinking about their meaning.
He stares at me, his eyes unreadable.
But I can’t take the question back. It’s too true.
For a split second, we just look at each other, saying so much without speaking.
“Starve?” He gives me a crooked grin.
I release the breath I didn’t know I was holding and nod. “Probably so.”
We talk about nothing for a while. He entertains me with anecdotes of computer illiterate people. Then laughs when he has to explain the punch lines to me half the time.
I nudge him. “Hey, I know how computers work. I just prefer people over machines.”
“I don’t know,” he drawls. “With computers, if you always put in the same thing, you get the same thing. People are more unpredictable.” He half smiles at me. “Some more than others.”
“Do you mean me?” My voice squeaks with mock-indignation.
“I admit sometimes you react to things differently than I think you will.”
“For example?”
He shrugs. “Not to bring up a sore subject, but take this whole name-change thing. I never realized it was the name of the town you loved so much. I thought it was the people. So I figured you’d be for anything that would save the people.”
“It’s not the name. I mean. It is, partly. But just because of what it represents. Did you remember that Jingle Bells was named over a hundred years ago because a little girl was lost in the snow?” I peel the wrapper off my Heath Bar.
“Didn’t her mama suggest the rescue party spread out and sing Jingle Bells?”
I nod. “It was her favorite. They’d sing a verse, then wait. Finally one group did this, and someone heard a tiny little voice answer with the chorus.”
The door opens and a woman and man walk in. She has an overnight bag on her arm and looks like she’s been crying. They glance at us and make their way to the opposite side of the waiting room to a group of couches.
Garrett and I exchange sympathetic looks.
In a minute, he says quietly, “Don’t you figure that was just a legend about the little girl? I never thought it really happened.”
“I don’t know.” I keep my voice low too. “But I do know that’s not the only little girl that Jingle Bells saved.”
“You?”
“Because of Jingle Bells, Christmas came to represent more to me than a day the world set aside to celebrate Christ’s birth. It was a time I felt like my parents loved me and knew I was alive. To me, it means love and family.”
His eyes are dark and hooded.
I’m an insensitive clod. “I’m sorry, Garrett. I know Christmas isn’t the best time for you.”
He looks away from the pity that I’m sure is in my eyes. “It was more than just that first Christmas he left. Every year after that, Dad would call and say he’d be there Christmas Day with presents. Beth always got so excited.”
I reach over and slip my hand in his. He still doesn’t look at me, but he doesn’t pull away. “He never came. Sometimes he’d make an appearance a week or two later, with some excuse about how he’d forgotten our gifts and would mail them to us. Most of the time he never showed at all.”
“I’m sorry.”
He squeezes my hand. “It’s okay.” He nods toward the man and woman across the room who have their backs to us but are sitting apart from each other staring straight ahead without talking. “Most people have been through worse than that.”
Maybe so. But hurt is hurt. I have a hard time understanding people like Mr. Mitchell. “Do you still hate him?”
He shakes his head. “He did what he did out of weakness.”
“So you’ve forgiven him?” I don’t know why I’m pushing it, but I have to know.
“Yeah. I have. When you feel that sorry for someone, it’s hard to hold a grudge against him.”
I think of my mother, lying in a hospital bed, fighting for her life. Of course I love her. She’s my mother. But do I forgive her? I know I should.
Thirty minutes later, we’re reading in companionable silence when the waiting room phone rings. The woman on the couch jumps to grab it. She speaks into the phone then turns to me. “Harrington?”
My stomach lurches, but I stand and take the phone from her.
“This is Jeanine, your mother’s nurse. I was just calling to give you an update.”
“Yes?” I keep my voice level.
“Everything’s about the same. Based on her latest bloodwork, the antibiotics seem to be working. She’s resting comfortably. You’ll be able to see her for a few minutes at nine. ”
“Okay. Thank you.” My knees are weak as I hang up.
“Something wrong?” Garrett asks.
I relax back against the couch cushion. “No. Everything’s fine. But they need to seriously reconsider that policy. I mean it’s nice to call, but it would have been nicer if I’d known they were going to.”
“Yeah. They probably told your dad.”
I slap my forehead lightly and run my hand across my face. “Of course. I’m sorry. I’m not thinking clearly.”
“You’ve been under a lot of stress.”
I put my hand on his. “You’ve always made
excuses for me. I remember I used to get in trouble with Gran and you’d take the blame.”
He gives me a rueful grin. “Your memory of me is distorted. I wasn’t perfect. And I’m sure not now.” He says the last under his breath.
“Don’t you go getting the bighead. I never said you were perfect.” Even as I say it in my best teasing tone, my heart slams against my ribcage. Because in my book, he’s pretty close.
My phone rings. It’s Ami, checking on Mother. We chat for a while and Garrett gets up to stretch his legs. While we’re talking, I notice him in conversation with the couple across the room. He sits down with them apparently at their invitation. Dad beeps in and I hang up with Ami to take his call. While I fill him in on what the nurse said, Garrett walks back over. The man and woman are sitting closer together, talking quietly.
“Bye, Dad. Sleep well.”
“Thanks, Kristianna. I’ll try.”
“I love you,” I say softly. If he doesn’t say it back, that’s okay. But I’m not going to take a chance that he doesn’t know.
“Yes, um. You too. Goodnight.”
I smile as I hang up.
“Maybe this will be good for you and your parents,” Garrett says.
“Maybe.”
At nine, he offers to go in with me to see Mother. I let him off the hook.
“Yeah, no use straining her to be polite to me.” His lop-sided grin lets me know he isn’t too offended.
She’s asleep when I get in there, but I sit by her bed for a few minutes. Her face looks so peaceful. I pick up the thread of prayer I’ve had going silently ever since Dad told me she was sick. She shifts and grimaces. I wince. My prayer changes.
Lord, please help me to forgive her. Help me to love her like You do. I’m still praying when Jeanine sticks her head in. “You can wake her if you want to. She’s been asleep for a while.”
I shake my head. Actually we get along better like this. “She needs her rest. I’ll be back at one.”
When I get back to the CCU waiting room, Garrett has food waiting.
“Grilled chicken salad with Ranch.”
“Thanks.” I glance over at the couple across the room. Their food is from the same drive-thru as ours. Not a coincidence, I’m sure. But I don’t mention it. I remember when we were about fourteen and Ami and I found out Garrett was giving the money he got from selling aluminum cans to old Mrs. Wheeler. When we asked him about it, he stammered some excuse about her making pies for him. After that, we pegged him as a secret do-gooder.
He hasn’t changed much.
While I clean up from our meal, he spreads the blankets and pillows on two couches in our area. “You go to bed this early?” I ask jokingly.
“No, but I thought you might want to rest before the one o’clock visit. I’ll wake you if you do.”
“Thanks. I might stretch out for a while. But you don’t have to stay up. I can set my phone alarm.”
“Shush, sport and go to sleep. I’ve got your back.”
Truer words were never spoken, I think as I drift off to sleep.
Some time later I wake and Garrett’s sitting on his couch, looking at a sports magazine. “Go back to sleep, kiddo.”
He’ll make a good dad. I roll over and don’t wake again until Garrett shakes me gently. “It’s time.”
I slip into the restroom and wash my face. When I come back out, Garrett’s standing there waiting. He gives me a quick hug and drops a kiss on the top of my head. “My offer’s still open if you want me to go with you.”
“No, thanks. Now it’s your turn to sleep.”
Inside Mother’s cubicle, she’s wide awake. Her face is pinker and she looks more like herself.
“I thought you were never coming.” Her words are still a little slurred.
I glance at the clock at the foot of her bed. 1:05.
Sigh. Sometimes I mess up without even meaning to. “Sorry. I had to wash my face.”
Her expression softens. “You were asleep, of course. I’m sorry.”
I really can’t remember her ever apologizing to me for anything. “No problem.”
“You’re so much like you’re gran.”
From anyone else, I’d take that as a high compliment, but from her, I know it’s not. “Maybe that’s because I was with her so much.”
I flinch after I say it. Now is not the time to open this Pandora’s box.
“She did a good job of raising you.”
“Mom,” I say softly. “Let’s don’t do this here.” I glance at the wires running from her. “I’d hate to get kicked out for making your blood pressure go up.”
She shakes her head and it rustles against the crisp white pillowcase. “I meant it.”
“Okay.”
“Your dad and I didn’t realize you’d grow up so fast. We thought we’d just leave you with your grandmother some while we were establishing our practice.” She grimaces. I’m not sure if the pain’s physical or emotional. For all I know, this could be the meds talking. “If you ever have kids, don’t blink or they’ll be grown before you know it, visiting you in the hospital. Or in the old folks’ home.”
Okay, definitely the meds are making her maudlin. Still I can’t stop the peace that washes over me. Maybe she didn’t leave me with Gran all the time because she couldn’t stand to be around me. “You’re a far cry from a nursing home, Mother.”
“She always made me feel less.”
“What?” As soon as I ask, I realize what she means.
“Your grandmother. She always made me feel like I was less than enough. Less than worthy.”
I can’t even imagine. To me, Gran was the most loving woman who ever walked the earth. But that does explain a lot of Mother’s resentments toward her. And I’m finally realizing that, as unbelievable as it sounds, she was jealous of mine and Gran’s relationship. “Not worthy? Of Dad?”
“Just in general.”
I can’t remember the last time she opened up to me. Maybe I should see if she can take this drug at home. . .
“You’re so much like her.”
Maybe not. I was kidding anyway, of course.
“I make you feel less than worthy?” This from a woman who tells me constantly in every way that I’m not good enough to be her daughter?
“Is Jared here?”
I sit for a second, without speaking. I’m glad she changed the subject, because now is not the time, and I know she’s not herself, but I’m flabbergasted.
“He’s at home resting, remember? I stayed here.”
“Alone?”
Why didn’t I just sleep through this visit? “Garrett Mitchell’s staying in the waiting room with me.”
“All night?”
“Yes. There are other people in there, too.”
She nods. “Well, at least you’re with someone you know.”
Jeanine sticks her head in the door. “Time’s up.”
I lean in and kiss Mother’s forehead. She grabs my wrist. “Thank you for being here.”
“I wouldn’t be anywhere else.”
She releases me. “Get some rest.”
“You, too.”
I stop at the nurses’ station and wait for Jeanine. “She was talking odd. Is that normal?”
“Perfectly normal. She’s just disoriented. By morning, she’ll be back to herself.”
“Okay.” With that reassurance--and I use that term loosely--I make my way back to the waiting room. The lights are as low as they’ll go, but still plenty bright enough to see. The couple is asleep, and Garrett is stretched out on his couch, eyes closed and mouth slightly open. He sleeps cute.
I pull the blanket up over him. Even though he’s completely dressed, it’s chilly in here.
His eyes pop open. “Hmm?”
“Nothing, go back to sleep.”
He obeys instantly.
I snag a Gideon’s Bible from the end table, sit on the other couch, and pull the blanket up over my legs. I’m reading through the Psalms this spring,
so I flip over and read for a while, then close the cover and stretch out. Oops. Forgot to set my phone alarm for five. I sit up and do that quickly, then snuggle down again and say a silent prayer.
I lie in the dim light, listening to Garrett’s even breathing, and stare at the ceiling. I can’t quit thinking about what my mother said about Gran—and consequently me—making her feel unworthy. I may be overly optimistic but what if her own sinful life is causing her to feel that way? When I remember things she said about Gran after her funeral, I realize that every one of them could have come from this same root emotion.
My alarm wakes me and I shut it off before Garrett wakes. I glance over to see if I woke the couple, but they’re walking out the door, apparently to visit their own CCU patient. I wash my face hurriedly and rush to Mother’s bedside, just in case she’s watching the clock. But no, this morning, she’s sleeping peacefully.
I sit by her bed and pray some, but mostly I think. Things between us will probably never be what you would call normal. And I don’t even expect her to stop making my life miserable. But I understand her better than I did before this. And that makes her easier to take. At least for now.
Before I leave, I lean over and kiss her cheek. She barely stirs. I stand for a minute and look down on her, so calm and relaxed. “I forgive you,” I whisper. And I really do.
I leave and bump into Dad right outside the curtains, looking rested and ready to take on the world in his crisp suit and red tie.
“Hey, kiddo.” How many years has it been since he called me that? I can’t remember the last time.
“Good morning, Dad.”
His eyes widen. “Everything okay?”
“Sure. Why?”
He reaches his hand up and touches my cheek.
I realize my face is damp with tears. “Yeah, just putting some old hurts to rest.”
He nods. “You’re a good girl.”
I shrug. “God’s a good God.”
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