Christmas Blessings

by Katherine Spencer

  Jean had noticed the ploy the other day on Grant’s first visit to the house. And Sunday at church. Maybe being around strangers did make her feel better and it wasn’t just a show? It was hard to say.

  Jean found the key in the pocket of her rain slicker, right where she left it the other day. She walked out to the living room, ignoring her mother’s offer of coffee. “Here’s the key. The door sticks a little. Looks like the wood is rotten on the bottom.”

  “I’ll take a look. Thanks.” Grant slipped the key in a side pocket, then scanned her from head to toe. She could tell he was trying hard not to show his amusement. Especially when he got to the slippers.

  “Is there any coffee left? You never answered me,” her mother cut in.

  “Yes, there’s some left. Would you like some coffee, Grant?”

  Jean didn’t mean for her question to carry an irritated tone, but she knew it did.

  “Sure . . . just black is fine. I’ll take a mug and bring it back later?”

  Great solution, Jean thought. She was sure that if he came any farther into the house, her mother would insist that he needed some bacon and eggs.

  “Not a problem.” Jean quickly returned to the kitchen, poured the coffee, and brought it back to him.

  “Thanks. I’ll get to work now.” Grant opened the door with his free hand and smiled at her mother.

  “When you’re done with the roof, take a look at the door,” her mother called after him. “See what needs to be done. We can talk it over later.”

  Jean had been hoping to avoid him. There was really no reason for him to be in the house, except to tell them he was there to work and let them know when he was done. But her mother seemed to have a different idea. Jean feared she would be setting an extra place for dinner before the day was over.

  Jean helped her mother into her recliner and brought her the newspaper. Cynthia scanned the headlines and quickly put the paper aside. “No good news. What’s the use? Will you help me up again? I’m going to get started on the handcrafts for the fair. They asked me to make ornaments. That was always my specialty.”

  “I remember. You made some very pretty ones when I was young.” Jean helped her mother over to the dining room table and brought over the box her mother had taken home from the meeting.

  “I’ll need the glue gun and plenty of newspaper. Can you cover this table better? I don’t want to get any marks on it.”

  “Good idea. I’ll get the table-boards. That will be even better.”

  Cynthia frowned. “It would be even better if I could work in my studio. I’d love to get back in there, Jean. When will you clean it out for me?”

  The studio wasn’t a cleaning priority. Jean was focusing on the rooms they actually used. But remembering the promise she had made to herself in church yesterday, she could see that getting back in that space meant a great deal to her mother. Even if she was only gluing together bits of felt and Popsicle sticks.

  “You can start in here and I’ll start working on the studio today. Let’s see how it goes.”

  Jean wasn’t sure how long it would take to clear out the studio and didn’t want to make any promises, but her mother seemed pleased enough with her reply.

  Her mother paused, examining a long, felted pipe cleaner that was covered with sparkly fibers. “Thank you, Jean. I appreciate that.”

  Jean was already in the foyer closet, dragging out the covers for the dining table. Shocked by her mother’s quiet words, she nearly fell into the coats.

  The doorbell sounded. Was that Grant again? Jean hoped not, gritting her teeth as she pulled the door open. She was greatly relieved to find Barbara Crosby.

  “Barbara, I didn’t know you were coming so early today.”

  “Sorry. Didn’t you see my text?” The nurse came in along with a gust of cold air. She stuffed her gloves in her pockets and shrugged free of her long down coat.

  “I must have missed it. I’ve had a busy morning. Mom is dressed and doing crafts in the dining room.”

  Barbara’s eyes widened. She looked pleased. “Are you making something together?”

  “She’s making ornaments that will be sold at the church Christmas Fair. We went to church yesterday. She hasn’t been in months but she insisted. It was sort of an ordeal to get her there,” Jean admitted, keeping her voice low. “I thought she would want to go straight home after the service. But she stayed for a meeting about the fair and reconnected with a lot of old friends. It was really a tonic for her.”

  “Great. I hope she’s able to go back.” The nurse took her notebook out of her bag.

  “She’ll definitely go back. She has to show off her ornaments,” Jean replied, making Barbara laugh.

  “Who’s there, Jean? Is that Nurse Crosby here already? I wasn’t expecting her until the afternoon.”

  “I had to come early today, Cynthia. I’m sorry to upset your schedule.” Barbara’s tone was utterly polite, as if Jean’s mother was a busy executive, her day scheduled in fifteen-minute increments. Barbara shot Jean a secret smile.

  Her mother turned as they entered the living room. “All right, let’s get this over with.” She pushed herself up with her hands on the table and managed to get to her walker all by herself.

  “You look full of energy today, Cynthia. I’m glad to see that.”

  “Aren’t I usually full of energy?” she demanded, despite the fact that it was not even close to the truth. “It’s the health professionals who always want to find something wrong with you. Otherwise, you’d all be out of job.”

  Barbara gave her a doubtful look. “We’re not pleased to see anyone feeling poorly, Cynthia. Our job is to help people get well. Since you’re so feisty today, I’ll race you to the bedroom,” she added in a playful tone.

  Cynthia waved a dismissive hand at Barbara and headed to her room on her walker at a steady but careful pace.

  While the nurse was tending to her mother, Jean ran upstairs to shower and dress. She came down just as Barbara was preparing to go. “How is she doing?” Jean asked.

  “Her pressure and pulse are fine. The edema seems under control as well.” Jean knew the nurse meant her mother’s tendency to hold water in her body, especially in her lungs and near her heart. “She may need oxygen today, especially if she plans to work with a glue gun or paints. Keep a close eye on her. I’m glad to see her in such good spirits, but her body is still seriously compromised.”

  “I understand.”

  Barbara headed for the door but turned just before letting herself out. “By the way, is that your friend Grant out near the shop? The guy who wanted to buy your mom’s painting? I saw him setting up a ladder when I parked the car.”

  Jean sighed and crossed her arms over her chest. “He’s doing some repairs. My mother hired him. He’s not my friend . . . exactly.”

  “That’s too bad. He seems friendly enough to me. You should work on that, Jean.”

  Jean gave Barbara a look. “See you Wednesday, Barbara.”

  Her mother emerged from her bedroom and headed back to the dining room table. Jean spent the rest of the day cleaning the studio, a small bedroom on the first floor with windows that faced north. She took only short breaks to check on her mother and make a quick lunch.

  Cynthia was not satisfied with the art supplies the church group had chosen and had Jean hunting around the house for other materials she preferred. Most of the boxes and containers were in the studio, so the hunt helped Jean get the place in order.

  By the time she served dinner, Jean was happy to report that she’d made good progress, though the room still wasn’t done.

  “When do you think it will be done?” her mother asked.

  “Soon, Mom.” Jean didn’t want to say more than that. There was a row of cupboards she hadn’t even opened and a few piles of paintings stacked on a work table. Not enough room in
there yet to get the wheel chair through, even if her mother didn’t mind the clutter. “I’m going to pick up some plastic boxes so you can store your supplies in a more organized way. But for now, I found some shoe boxes and labeled them.”

  “I’m usually able to find what I need when I need it. That’s part of the process. Sifting through the materials gives me ideas.”

  “Did you make many ornaments today?”

  “A few,” Cynthia replied. “The committee chair, Emily Warwick, would have you slapping things together with no special touches at all. She may have been a good mayor, but she’s definitely not the artistic type.”

  “I bet she’s good at managing all the volunteers and keeping things on schedule,” Jean said with a smile. “I don’t believe artistic talent was ever one of Emily’s calling cards.”

  “Well, my ornaments won’t look like they came out of some cheap kit. Each one will be interesting and unique. I might not produce dozens, but I’m sure the church can sell each one for a much higher price.”

  “Good point, Mom. Can I see any yet?”

  Her mother seemed suddenly flustered. “I can show you when I’m done. I’m still putting on finishing touches.”

  “Take your time. I’m sure they’ll be very pretty.”

  “It’s not about pretty, Jean. Not even with Christmas tree ornaments. Unique matters. Distinctive and memorable matter. Remember that, especially if you ever try to do any real artwork.”

  Her mother had never considered the graphic art Jean did for a living “real” art. Jean already knew that. She wondered what her mother would make of the paintings and sketches she had completed for her picture book. Jean was half tempted to show her mother, wondering if she would consider that work real enough. But memories of her mother’s harsh critiques loomed in her mind, like a sea monster, ready to rise up with the merest encouragement. Jean decided it was not worth the risk. Maybe she would show her mother the work when she was further along. She couldn’t risk being discouraged at this early point.

  The phone rang and Jean located the receiver in the living room. She could see from the caller ID that it was her brother, Kevin. They exchanged greetings quickly.

  “How’s it going there with Mom? I must admit, I didn’t think you’d last this long.”

  “It’s barely been two weeks, Kev.”

  “That’s long with Mom. You know what Einstein said about relativity. Five minutes talking to a pretty girl doesn’t feel the same as five minutes with your hand on a hot stove? Something like that.”

  “It’s not perfect,” Jean said quietly. “But we’re doing all right.”

  “Is that Kevin? He’s called to talk to me, not you,” her mother called from the kitchen.

  “Mom wants to talk to you,” Jean said as she brought the phone to her mother, who was already smiling widely.

  “Hello, Kevin. Good to hear your voice. I thought you’d call yesterday. I would have been out anyway,” her mother reported happily. “I went to church then stayed for a meeting. I’m helping with the annual fair.”

  Jean cleared the table and started washing up. She could only hear one side of the conversation but it was enough. Her mother loved to give Kevin the impression she was hale and hearty. No wonder he didn’t seem to believe her own reports of Cynthia’s failing heart. He was getting very mixed messages.

  “—and I’ve decided to do some repairs on the property. The house and the shop both need attention,” her mother reported. As if it was all her idea, Jean noticed. “I don’t want to leave you with a falling-down heap.”

  Her mother paused, listening to Kevin’s reply. “Yes, yes . . . a long time from now. To be sure. But I thought we should make a start. Before it got any worse. The handyman I found is an intellectual, a photographer who does odd jobs on the side. He bought one of my paintings,” she reported proudly. “And he gave me some photographs. I may use one for a painting. Jean is cleaning out my studio. I’m going to get back in very soon. Maybe even tomorrow.”

  Tomorrow? Jean was sure she had never promised her mother that. She wasn’t sure she could manage it. But every day counted for her mother now. Perhaps she should put the pedal to the metal and get it done.

  “That’s great, Mom. You’re always happiest when you’re working,” Jean heard her brother say.

  “That’s just my way. I like to be productive. It keeps my mind active. I’m not one of these old people who likes to sit in a chair all day, staring at the TV.”

  That was true. Though Cynthia had neglected to admit that some days she didn’t feel well enough to leave her bed. Or even to take a deep breath without the aid of her oxygen.

  Her mother chatted with Kevin a few minutes more. Then she held out the phone receiver. “He wants to talk to you again.”

  Jean took the phone, and Kevin said, “I just wanted you to know I looked into canceling my trip to Utah. It’s really difficult, Jean. I’m sorry. But my friends are counting on my share, and I’ll lose my deposit. And my airfare.”

  Jean knew he was making a case for not coming East. She also thought he could come if he wanted to. Kevin was very well off with no family to support. “I’m sorry to hear that,” she said honestly. “Maybe we can talk about this later.” Later, when Mom is asleep, she meant. She felt sure he understood.

  “Sure, call me back when you can. It’s just the way things are working out. I wish I had known you wanted me there before I made plans.” Jean doubted that would have made a difference in his decision. She suspected he would have found some other excuse not to come, but she didn’t tell him that.

  Kevin said good-bye, they hung up, and Jean picked up a dish towel and started drying a frying pan.

  “What was that about?” her mother asked. “What are you sorry to hear? Is your brother all right?”

  Jean was not very adept at lying and searched for some plausible reply. “Kevin had some bad news about a high school classmate of mine. She lives in California, and he runs into her from time to time. I’m going to send a note.”

  “Really? Are you sure?” She felt her mother’s gaze following her around the kitchen. Cynthia might be ailing but she was still sharp. “You’re not keeping anything from me, are you, Jean? You know I’d be very upset to find out later.”

  Jean turned from the cabinet and met her troubled gaze. “Kevin is fine. Perfectly fine. No worries, Mom. Honestly.”

  Her mother sighed, her expression relaxing again. “He works so hard. I worry about him, living alone with no one to take care of him. I wish he would find a nice girl and settle down . . . Do you know if Kevin is seeing anyone special?”

  “I don’t think so, Mom.” Jean and her brother had been close once, but now he rarely spoke to her about personal matters. “He hasn’t mentioned anyone in particular.”

  “I was just wondering. Perhaps there is someone special, and he doesn’t want to say. I think he was very hurt when his marriage with Elaine broke up. I think he’s still a little gun-shy.”

  “Maybe,” Jean replied. It was true that Kevin’s ex-wife had ended the marriage. But Jean did not recall her brother acting surprised or even hurt by the divorce. What she remembered was resignation and even indifference. Jean had never been totally sure that her brother really loved Elaine. Not the way he had loved Laurel Milner.

  Using her walker, Cynthia went into the living room to watch the news. Jean stayed in the kitchen, tidying up and thinking about her brother. She wasn’t at all surprised that Kevin’s love life was a mystery to their mother. Perhaps Kevin was still afraid Cynthia would interfere in his relationships, the way she had interfered and eventually driven off Laurel.

  Kevin was in his senior year of college when he announced that he and Laurel, his high school sweetheart, were going to get married when he graduated. Laurel had stayed in Cape Light, working in her family’s plumbing business, which Cynthia thought
was very low class. Laurel was taking a few classes at a community college but wasn’t career minded, despite being quite intelligent.

  Kevin had been crazy about Laurel from the day they met. Their mother predicted he would quickly find a new girlfriend at college and drop Laurel like a hot potato. But Kevin had barely looked at other girls during his college years, making frequent visits home on the weekends to be with Laurel. Cynthia didn’t think Laurel was good enough for her son and did all she could to break up the romance. She promised Kevin he would meet a girl who was his “equal” in law school, and he would thank his mother later.

  Kevin was brokenhearted when Laurel broke up with him. She loved Kevin but wouldn’t marry him knowing his mother hated her. She feared that sooner or later Cynthia would turn Kevin against her, too. Kevin came home after graduation but barely spoke to their mother. He left for California—and law school—two weeks later.

  He eventually married Elaine, another attorney who worked for the same firm. But they divorced after only a few years. Jean knew her brother had never gotten over his first love—or forgiven Cynthia for breaking up the romance.

  Jean was sure the sad history was a big part of Kevin’s reluctance to visit. But she also believed he would deeply regret it if he didn’t spend Christmas with their mother this year.

  She didn’t think talking to him about this again would get them very far. She decided to send an e-mail instead. It would give him time to consider his decision carefully.

  • • •

  It took so long to do the simplest things. That’s what made Sam so frustrated. Despite the casts on both legs, his right arm out of commission, and even the pain, being slowed down to a snail’s pace was getting to him. And he had been home barely six days.

  He was trying to start Tuesday off with a good routine and had finally maneuvered into his office, only to realize he had left his reading glasses in the kitchen. It was no small feat to turn the wheelchair around and backtrack. By the time he got back to his lair, he was exhausted. Jessica was doing a great job watching over him, but she was already outside, checking on the animals. He hated to call or text for help unless he was desperate.