The Night Before Christmas

by Mary McNear

  “Well . . .” Jessica reached down the front of her blouse and fished out a gold chain, at the end of which was a ring. She held it out to Daisy, and Daisy saw, on closer inspection, that it was an engagement ring, though the diamond set in it was modest in size. No, not modest. Small. There was really no other word for it. It was just . . . small. “I know the diamond’s not very big,” Jessica said, quickly, almost peremptorily. “It’s only a third of a carat. But it’s what Frankie can afford right now. He bought a share in your mom’s business, and he’s helping support his sister, but he says there’ll be another ring one day. This is just to hold me until then.”

  And Daisy, feeling a rush of guilt for dwelling, first and foremost, on the diamond’s size, instead of on what it represented for Jessica and Frankie, pulled her friend into a hug. “It’s beautiful, Jessica,” she said, honestly. “I’m so happy for you two. Really, I couldn’t be any happier.” Her eyes filled with tears then, and all at once she felt it, the happiness for Jessica and Frankie, yes, but also the fatigue, the stress, and the aching loneliness of the last several months. She gave Jessica a final squeeze and let go of her right as Frankie, who’d been meeting with her mother in Pearl’s back office, came through the coffee shop’s back door and looked at the two of them quizzically. By now, Jessica was crying, too.

  “I told her,“ Jessica explained, pulling some napkins out of the napkin dispenser on the counter and wiping her eyes. “And she’s sworn to secrecy.” Daisy nodded and then she got up and went around to the other side of the counter to hug a pleased but slightly abashed Frankie. Hugging Frankie was never easy—­Daisy could barely get her arms around him—­but she did the best she could and he hugged her back and explained quietly, “We decided to keep it on the down low. At least until after your parents’ wedding. After that, we’ll make an announcement or something.”

  Jessica settled the chain with the engagement ring on it back inside of her blouse, and Frankie joined them at the counter where the three of them talked as the last few customers paid their bills and drifted out of Pearl’s. But when Frankie left to check the walk-­in fridge’s inventory for the next day, Jessica jumped up and said excitedly, “I have to show you something else. It’s another secret, but this one I’m keeping from Frankie, too.” She disappeared into the stockroom and returned with a big shopping bag. “I’m teaching myself how to knit,” she explained. “So I can make Frankie a Christmas present. What do you think?” She held up an enormous bundle of red wool and then shook it out and let it unfurl itself all the way to the floor. It was of an indeterminate shape, and it had more than a few dropped stitches in it, but Daisy, understanding what it was, tried to focus on the positive. “Jessica, it’s amazing. Frankie will love having a blanket like that to keep him warm on cold winter nights.”

  “Oh no, it’s not a blanket,” Jessica said, surprised. “It’s a sweater.”

  Chapter Four

  THAT NIGHT, AS Jack and Caroline and Daisy were sitting down to dinner at their cabin, Caroline’s friend Allie was about to undertake an almost herculean task at hers; namely, persuading her nine-­year-­old son, Wyatt, to go to sleep. Fortunately, she had enough experience doing this to know that the best line of attack to take was an indirect one. Which was why she leaned, casually, on his open bedroom door now and asked, “Mind if I come in?”

  “Nope,” he said, though he didn’t look up from the floor where he was sitting, in his pajamas, hard at work on one of his Lego creations.

  “What’re you building?” she asked, coming over and sitting down, a little awkwardly, on the rug beside him. It was only now, eight and a half months into her pregnancy, that she was beginning to feel—­as her friend Jax would say—­“seriously pregnant.”

  “It’s a twin-­blade helicopter,” Wyatt said, glancing over at her.

  “It looks pretty complicated,” she said, sifting her fingers through the Lego pieces that were scattered around them on the rug.

  “It is.”

  “You know, Daisy’s boyfriend, Will, is learning how to repair real helicopters in the army,” Allie offered.

  She had his full attention now. “I know,” he said. “Caroline told me. Do you think . . .” He paused to snap a piece of a propeller in place. “Do you think I can ask him about it the next time I see him?”

  “Oh, absolutely,” Allie said, resisting the urge to reach over and tousle his curly brown hair. Since entering the fourth grade Wyatt had discouraged this old habit of Allie’s, and she missed doing it. Just like she missed holding his hand in public and tucking him into bed at night. But Wyatt was firm about his new maturity, and Allie was trying, very hard, to respect it. “I think Will would be happy to answer all your questions about helicopters,” she said. “I’m not sure when he’ll be back in Butternut, though.”

  Wyatt nodded, still working, and Allie watched him for a few more minutes, wondering when the precise moment was that Wyatt had transferred his passion from train sets to Legos.

  “All right,” she said, looking at her watch. “I’m going to leave you to finish this up. Jax and Caroline are coming over later, and I want to make hot mulled cider for them. But Wyatt? You need to be in bed no later than nine o’clock. Walker will come in and remind you, okay?”

  He nodded, and then put down his Lego piece and stood up. “I think I’ll just get into bed now,” he said. “I’m pretty exhausted, actually.”

  “Oh,” Allie said, trying to repress a smile and wondering what it was about his day, exactly, that had been so exhausting. Still, she was so relieved that he was going to bed without a fight that she was practically giddy. “Do you need anything?” she asked, standing up. “A glass of milk, maybe?”

  “Nope. Just my sweatshirt,” he said, walking over to his dresser, opening the bottom drawer, and pulling out a faded maroon-­and-­gold University of Minnesota sweatshirt, size men’s large. She watched as he tugged it over his head. It was so big on him that the hand holes hung empty at his sides, and the bottom swung down around his knees. But Wyatt loved it just the same. It had belonged to his father, Gregg, Allie’s late husband, who had been killed in Afghanistan five years ago, and Wyatt liked to wear it to bed in cold weather, and, sometimes, it turned out, in warm weather, too. Walker, Allie’s second husband and now Wyatt’s adoptive father, had never felt threatened by this, by this or by any of the ways in which she and Wyatt kept Gregg’s memory alive. Not all the adjustments their new little family had had to make over the past three and a half years had been easy, but this one had been. Now, of course, there would be another adjustment, she thought, running a hand over her belly.

  She watched as Wyatt scrambled into bed, then said, “You can read for a little while if you want to.”

  He shook his head. “I finished Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire,” he said, indicating the book on his bedside table.

  “Are you going to read the next one?”

  “Not yet. I just want to think about this one for a little while longer. You know, remember it?”

  “I know,” Allie said. “And it’s a good policy.” Especially since the fifth book, Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, is wrapped and sitting under our Christmas tree right now. “Good night, honey,” she said, starting to leave the room. But when she got to the door, Wyatt called her back.

  “Mom?”

  “Uh-­huh?”

  “I don’t really need you to tuck me in anymore, but if you really want to, this one time, you could.”

  “I really want to,” Allie said, smiling, and she came and sat down on the edge of his bed and started the old routine of tucking him in—­plumping up the pillows, straightening out the sheets, and pulling the blanket up.

  “Mom?”

  “Yes?”

  “What was Christmas like for us when Dad was still alive?”

  “It was . . . it was good,” she said. “Really good.” Do you re
member the last one? she almost said, but she caught herself and instead changed it to “Do you remember the one when you were three?”

  “A little,” he said. “Is that the year I got the swing set?”

  “That was the year. Your dad had so much fun picking it out.” And then she remembered another present. “Do you know what he gave you the Christmas you were one year old?”

  He shook his head.

  “A basketball.”

  “A basketball? When I was one? What was I supposed to do with it?”

  “You know what? That was the same question I asked your dad. But when you unwrapped it, with a little help from him, you seemed to like it. Mainly, though, you tried to eat the wrapping paper. It was Dad who ended up practicing free throws with it on Christmas morning.”

  “Do you think he knew then I’d be a good basketball player?” he asked. He played now on a youth basketball team that Walker coached.

  “I know he did,” Allie said seriously.

  Wyatt nodded, seemingly satisfied, and when she reached over to stroke his hair, he let her. She wondered, after a few minutes, if he’d fall asleep like this, as he’d done so often when he was younger. But suddenly he said, “You know what Jade told me?” Jade was Allie’s friend Jax’s ten-­year-­old daughter.

  “What?”

  “She told me that when the baby’s born, it’ll ruin everything.”

  “Jade said that?” Allie asked in surprise. “But, Wyatt, she loves Jenna.” Jenna was Jade’s three-­year-­old sister. “I don’t honestly think she believes that Jenna being born ruined everything.”

  “Well, maybe not forever,” Wyatt conceded. “But for a while, anyway. I mean, she said Jenna cried all the time, which kept everyone awake at night. And she said her mom was always tired, and her dad couldn’t do that much fun stuff with her and her sisters anymore ’cause he had to help their mom, and everything was different than it was before. Like, not as good as it was before.”

  “Well, Jade’s right about one thing, Wyatt. Things are going to change. I mean, the baby will cry, though hopefully not so loudly that it’ll wake you up at night, especially when you consider what a sound sleeper you are. And I probably will be tired, at least at first, and Walker probably will be less fun. But, Wyatt, none of those things will last forever. The baby will settle down, and I’ll get more sleep, and Walker will have more time to do things with you, and then the good part will start.”

  “The good part?”

  She nodded. “That’s right. Because your brother or your sister is going to need you. They’re going to count on you one day. And they’re going to look up to you, too. You might think they’re a pain in the neck sometimes, but they are going to think you’re the coolest person in the world.”

  “They are?” he said, perking up.

  “Absolutely. Just ask Walker. He worshipped his older brother, Reid, when he was a kid. And who wouldn’t have? Reid taught him how to do things, and helped him with his homework, and told him ghost stories, and all that fun stuff. Walker loves me and you very much, and he’ll love the baby very much, too, but he’ll always love Reid in a different way. A special way. Because Reid’s his older brother.”

  Wyatt seemed pleased, but also, Allie thought, a little daunted. “Is there a book about how to be an older brother?” he asked.

  “There are many of them. And I’ve been meaning to get you some, too. Why don’t we stop by the library the next time we’re in town and you can choose some, okay? But the main way you’re going to learn how to be an older brother is just by being one. And you’re going to be a really good one.”

  “I think you’re right,” Wyatt said, regaining his confidence.

  Allie bent down and kissed him on the forehead. “I’m going to say good night now. Oh, and don’t forget, it’s supposed to snow overnight. So I definitely see some fort building in your future. I’ll send Walker in to say his good night now, okay?”

  She started to get up.

  “Mom,” he said, quickly, “can I ask Walker if he’ll still take me fishing after the baby’s born?”

  “You can ask him,” Allie said, smiling, and reached down to ruffle his curls again. “But I think you already know the answer. You’re not just a son to him, Wyatt. You’re also the best fishing buddy he’s ever had.”

  “CAN I HAVE some of that?” Walker asked, watching as Allie stirred a pot of hot mulled cider on the stove later that night.

  “You can. But you’ll have to take it upstairs with you. Caroline and Jax are going to be here soon, and you know the rules.” The “rules” Allie was referring to were the rules for the monthly “girls’ night in” that Allie and Caroline and Jax had been having since the summer she and Wyatt had moved to Butternut three and a half years ago. There were no husbands or children allowed, and there was no set agenda, either, other than to have a good time.

  “I know the rules,” Walker agreed, as Allie ladled cider into a mug and handed it to him. “Just, um . . . just don’t overdo it tonight, okay?”

  “Overdo it?” Allie repeated, slipping potholders on and lifting a pan of gingerbread cake out of the oven.

  “You know what I mean,” Walker said, a little sheepishly.

  “So no Jell-­O shots?” Allie clarified. “No dancing on the furniture? What about cigars and an all-­night game of Texas Hold’em?”

  “All right, I get it,” Walker said. “I worry too much. I’m leaving now.” Then, eyeing the gingerbread cake, he asked, “Any chance I can take a piece of that with me?”

  “Now you’re pressing your luck,” she said, but when he turned to leave, she made him come back and hold her. “You know, in a way, I’ll miss being pregnant,” she said. “But I won’t miss this. I won’t miss not being able to get any closer to you than this.” She nodded at her belly, wedged firmly between them. But at that moment, she heard a car pull up outside.

  “Go,” she said.

  “I will. I love you,” he said, kissing her quickly, picking his mug up off the counter, and heading out of the kitchen.

  “I love you, too,” she called after him, and then she was opening the front door to Caroline and Jax and an icy blast of wind. “Your timing’s perfect,” she said, hugging them as they came into the bright, warm kitchen, which was now filled with the deliciously spicy smells of cloves and ginger. “Let me take your things,” she offered, but Caroline and Jax were already shrugging off their coats and hats and gloves, and piling them, and their purses, on one of the kitchen chairs.

  “I can’t stay long,” Caroline apologized. “It’s Daisy’s first night back. But the three of us have had dinner, and I’ve left her and Jack watching some show—­some god-­awful police procedural about tracking serial killers—­so I can spend at least an hour with you ladies.”

  “I’ve got to get back, too,” Jax said, coming over to watch as Allie filled three more mugs with cider. “I promised Jeremy I’d leave before the snow started. Well, that, and I have about a jillion presents to wrap.”

  “A jillion?” Allie said, slicing the gingerbread cake. “You know, Jax, if anyone else said that, I might think it was a slight exaggeration. But in your case, it’s probably right on the money.”

  “Speaking of money,” Jax said, as Allie lifted slices of gingerbread cake out of the pan and arranged them on a platter. “Having four daughters at Christmastime is costing us a fortune. Jeremy told the girls about how his dad grew up on a farm, one of ten children, and how every Christmas they each got exactly one present. Funnily enough, though, none of our girls were interested in doing that in our family.”

  “It’s just as well,” Caroline said, coming over to join them. “Because, let’s face it, that one present would have to be one heck of a present.”

  Allie chuckled as she put the cider and gingerbread onto a tray.

  “Actually,” Jax said, “I don�
��t mind all the presents. As long as we can avoid another Christmas like the one we had when Joy was in the third grade and some boy on her school bus told her Santa Claus wasn’t real. Of course, she couldn’t wait to get home and break the news to her younger sisters, who basically cried until Christmas, which at that point was still a week away. Now, though, with Jenna”—­Jenna, at three, was Jax’s youngest daughter—­“me and Jeremy and the girls are all on the same page. And we’ve decided that Jenna is going to go to college believing in Santa Claus. Here, let me take that.” She took the tray Allie had set, and though it wasn’t very heavy, Allie let her carry it to the living room.

  But Jax stopped at the room’s threshold. “Martha Stewart, eat your heart out,” she said delightedly, and Allie had to admit, the room was magical at this time of year. Walker had built this cabin before he’d met Allie and Wyatt, and the centerpiece of it had been the living room, with its cathedral ceilings, enormous fieldstone fireplace, and floor-­to-­ceiling windows overlooking Butternut Lake below. Now, with the Christmas season upon them, there was a twelve-­foot blue spruce tree in one corner of the room, decorated with brightly colored lights and ornaments, and on all the tabletops, and on the banister to the staircase leading up to the second floor, there were lush and beribboned pine garlands. But it was the huge fireplace, which was crackling with fragrant pine and birch logs—­and its wide mantelpiece, which was covered with an elaborate, miniature, snowy village—­that really drew the eye to it.

  “Honestly, Allie,” Jax said, setting the tray on the coffee table and flinging herself down on one of the deep, cognac-­colored leather couches that flanked the fireplace. “I don’t know why you and Walker insist on referring to this place as a ‘cabin’ when we all know it’s really much more of a ‘castle.’ ” Allie looked over at her friend and marveled, not for the first time, at Jax’s youthfulness. She was thirty-­four, the same age as Allie, but with her petite build and physical quickness, she still reminded Allie of a teenager. Jax had, in fact, been a teenager when Allie, whose family had summered at Butternut Lake, had met her for the first time. A lot had changed in both of their lives since then, but Jax still wore her shiny black hair in the same ponytail and still had the same riotously freckled complexion she’d had at sixteen.