Christmas Blessings

by Katherine Spencer

  “All right, put new caulk around the upstairs bathtub, too. If you think it really needs it. It is looking dingy,” her mother said.

  “It’s more than dingy, Cynthia. You’re liable to get a leak there soon,” Grant explained. “There will be water running down the walls, a leak in the kitchen ceiling, and all kinds of problems.”

  Her mother’s expression was skeptical. “In for a penny, in for a pound, I guess. But that’s the last of it. Anything else will have to wait for the new owner,” she murmured. “He’ll be taking over soon.”

  She meant Kevin, of course. Jean glanced at her mother. It never failed to surprise her how calmly her mother spoke about her own imminent passing. Though Jean still couldn’t tell if that calm, offhand attitude was just a smoke screen to hide her fear. She had to be a little afraid. Wasn’t everyone?

  The phone rang, and her mother picked it up off the table. “Hello, Vera,” she said. “How are you today?”

  Jean wondered if listening to the old women chatter would make Grant impatient. Once her mother and Vera Plante started talking, the call could go on for an hour. He sat looking down at the repair list, making small notes in the margin.

  “A party Friday night? What time would that be? Well . . . I suppose I can join you. If Jean drives me. Let me ask her.”

  Her mother covered the phone with her hand. “Vera is having a little get-together for the Christmas Fair committee on Friday night. Can you drive me there?”

  “Of course I can.” Jean was happy that her mother wanted to go.

  Cynthia put the phone next to her ear again. “Jean will bring me over. What time should I come?” She paused, listening. “Crochet hooks? I think I have some extras. I have to look in my knitting bag. I’ll call you back later and let you know. Someone is waiting for me,” she said, glancing at Grant. “I have to go. Good-bye, Vera.”

  “Now, where were we? Oh, right. You were putting in new caulk around the upstairs tub. And that’s absolutely it.”

  “That’s it,” Grant agreed.

  “So you’ll be done with everything on Friday?” her mother asked.

  “That’s right. Too bad you’re going to a party. I thought we could celebrate.” Jean knew he was teasing and so did her mother, Jean was sure. But Cynthia seemed flustered and even blushed a little.

  “What a silly idea. What is there to celebrate? You’ve just done a few simple repairs. One would think you renovated the Taj Mahal.” Her words were blunt but her tone was humorous. He had the rare knack of bringing out a pleasant side in her mother, Jean thought, one she didn’t show to most people.

  Grant stood up and put on his jacket, then picked up his knapsack. “The Taj Mahal could use a little fresh paint here and there. Maybe that will be the next project.”

  Cynthia gazed up at him. “I wouldn’t be surprised. Send us a postcard.” She looked over at Jean as if to say, “See what I mean? Here one day, heading for the wild blue yonder the next.”

  Grant was at the back door, about to go. He suddenly turned and ooked at Jean. “Looks like your Subaru is blocking the truck. Mind moving it for me?”

  “Oh, sorry.” Jean grabbed her coat and car keys. He opened the door and politely let her pass through first. Once they were outside, she said, “I meant to leave it on the street. I just forgot.”

  “That’s all right. I would have moved it for you. I just wanted to talk to you alone for a minute before I left.”

  He was walking beside her down the path to the driveway. When he turned to smile at her, his face was very close. The sun had not quite set; the horizon in the west glowed with layers of gray-blue, lavender, and pink clouds. The eastern skies were already inky blue, with the first stars starting to appear.

  They reached her car, and he turned to her. “Would you like to have dinner with me Friday night? It sounds as if your mother will be occupied. I thought we could go out someplace nice.”

  “To celebrate the repairs?” She was thrilled by the invitation but couldn’t resist teasing him.

  “That’s not exactly what I had in mind. Besides, it’s not like I renovated the Taj Mahal.”

  She laughed. “I’d love to have dinner with you. I’ll drop my mother off at Vera’s and we can leave from there.”

  “Good idea. I look forward to it, Jean.” He smiled down into her eyes.

  “Me, too.” Did she sound too eager? Too interested? Maybe I do, she thought. But he already knows that.

  Chapter Twelve

  Hey, pal. You’re home early. Did you pick up the flooring for the Turners?” Sam turned at the sound of Darrell’s heavy steps entering his office. Sam had been watching TV but turned it off as he greeted his son.

  “Picked it up, had Mrs. Turner look it over, and stored it in a safe place so it can age a few days. Just like you said. I even had a little time to spare and stopped at Village Hall.” Darrell’s face lit with a smile. “I showed Inspector Hepburn my drawings and plans. He agreed to work on the project with me. He said the town has needed something like this for years and it’s very worthwhile. He said he’ll talk to people on the town council about it, and he’s even going to find an architect who will sign off on everything.”

  Sam was surprised to hear that. Jim Hepburn was a cautious, conservative guy. Was he actually going to jump on board with this pie-in-the-sky plan? Cooked up by a college kid, no less? Even if the college kid in question was his son, that still didn’t make it feasible.

  “That’s surprising,” Sam admitted.

  “Why do you say that?” Darrell flopped into a big leather armchair.

  “I just think it is, that’s all. I know Jim. He’s not the kind of guy who goes out on a limb. In fact, he’d have to inspect and certify the limb ten times before he’d even think of it.”

  Darrell didn’t even crack a smile. “He’s taking me seriously, Dad. That’s what counts here.”

  “I take you seriously,” Sam replied. “But I don’t think you have any idea how complicated this project will be. Have you even figured out a budget?”

  “I did. Sort of,” Darrell added more honestly. “I need to do more research for that. I thought maybe you could help me.”

  “Me? That’s over my head, pal. Home extensions, new kitchens, dormers—that’s my territory. I have no idea how to estimate the cost of an apartment complex. I do know it will cost millions in supplies and labor. Where is all this money going to come from?”

  He could see Darrell was getting uncomfortable, but Sam wasn’t ready to let up yet. He had gone easy on his son the first time around, but Darrell had to face the hard facts. This idea was fine for a school project; brilliant, in fact. But no way was his son going to actually build it.

  “I don’t have all the answers yet. Obviously. I just started working on it. But I’m making good progress every day. I figure if I take off spring semester and work on it all summer, too, I can make this happen. I can find the financing somewhere and find the right people, like Inspector Hepburn, who will believe in this project and help me get it off the ground.”

  Sam hardly heard Darrell’s entire, impassioned speech. His mind got stuck on the phrase “take off spring semester.”

  “You can’t take off your last semester of school. You have to graduate. Even if you could get the funds, the permits, the insurance, and a million pieces of the puzzle to fit together, you need your BS and you need to start grad school.”

  “I’ll finish my degree, Dad. BU will still be there. What do a few more courses matter when this project will give me huge, practical experience? Isn’t that what an employer wants to see on a résumé?”

  “An employer wants to hire a college graduate, Darrell. With a real diploma. You know that. I will not allow you to take off the spring semester. You have to go back to school. That’s final.” Sam knew he was shouting now, but his son was so stubborn. Sometimes that was the
only way to get through to him.

  Jessica rushed into the room, wearing an apron. Which meant she was in the middle of cooking. “What’s going on in here? What are you two arguing about?”

  Darrell came to his feet. “I’m not arguing. Dad is. Ask him.” He stalked out of the room, practically knocking his mother over as he headed for his room.

  “What is it, Sam? Did Darrell mess up at one of the jobs again?”

  Sam shook his head. “Nothing like that. You know that idea Darrell has for renovating the old cannery into an apartment complex?”

  “He showed it to me the other night. His school project. I think it’s great,” Jessica said.

  “I do, too. Did he tell you that he thinks he can actually build it? An apartment complex. Just like that.” Sam snapped his fingers. “He’s been researching grants to get the funding and talking to a lot of people at Village Hall.”

  Jessica sat down on the edge of the chair. She looked surprised, but Sam could tell she did not disapprove of the idea. “That’s very ambitious.”

  “Yes, it is. I’m proud of the way he thinks, wanting to use his education and talents to help people. At least, I was at first. But now he says he doesn’t want to go back to school for spring semester. He said he doesn’t care if he graduates.”

  Jessica looked distressed. “I guess this job as your foreman has given him a taste of being out in the world. I think he’s eager to follow in your footsteps, Sam. You know that his whole life he’s only wanted to be like you.”

  “I know.” Sam’s tone was wistful. “But let him be like me after he has a few diplomas hanging on a wall. Let him be more successful than I am. The truth is, Darrell will never be able to make this big project come about. Even a developer with a track record would find it hard to pull it all together.”

  “And you were trying to give him a taste of reality?”

  “He just blindsided me,” Sam admitted. “That’s what happened. I totally lost it when he said he was going to take off and not graduate.”

  Jessica met his glance with a sympathetic look. “It took you by surprise. It pushed your buttons.”

  “You’ve heard me say this a hundred times, but it’s true: I should have finished college. I see that now. I always told myself I’d go back and finish someday. But life starts happening and I just never did.”

  “I know you regret that, Sam. Maybe you will go back to school someday. You never know. Look at Lucy Bates. She became a nurse in her forties. People do it all the time.”

  Sam smiled. “After Tyler and Lily are finished, you mean? Lily wants to go be a veterinarian. A vegetarian veterinarian,” he corrected. “No . . . I think it’s too late for me. But I can’t let Darrell make the same mistake. It’s fine if he wants to build things that are bigger and more significant than anything I ever did. That’s what I want him to do. I want him to have all the advantages I never did. But he has to finish school.”

  “I agree. I’ll back you up on that, too,” Jessica promised.

  “Thanks, honey. Let’s hope Darrell figures this out on his own. I don’t want to argue about it again. I think he’ll have to face the facts soon—that this very big plan won’t work out.”

  “I hate to see him disappointed.” Jessica rose and squeezed his hand, then left the room.

  Sam was left alone with his thoughts and conflicting feelings. He felt bad now for losing his temper. He would apologize to Darrell for shouting. It was not the best way to communicate. But that didn’t mean he would change his mind. Darrell had to return to school and graduate. There were no two ways about it.

  • • •

  “Are you going to Vera’s party, too?” Barbara asked. “Your mother is excited about it.”

  “Is she ever.” Jean shook her head and smiled. “I’m dropping her off then having dinner with Grant Keating.”

  “Finally. A real date. That’s progress.” Barbara looked pleased. “Can I see your dress?”

  Jean held it up for her, a navy blue wrap style made from a silky material. Barbara looked impressed. “Very nice. That color does wonders for your eyes.”

  Jean laughed and smoothed a dress sleeve on the ironing board. With her fair complexion and blue eyes, shades of blue were flattering on her. But wonders? “Thanks but that sounds . . . extreme.”

  “You know what I mean. It’s nice to dress up from time to time.”

  “Frankly, I’d forgotten how much work it is,” Jean said with a laugh. “Hair, nails, makeup. I’ve been wearing jeans and sweatshirts every day since I came to live here. And just shooting for basic hygiene.”

  “He must really like you if you’ve never made an effort and he’s asked you out anyway. In fact, I’d say he’s crazy about you,” Barbara teased.

  Jean looked up at her. “We have fun together. I enjoy Grant’s company. But I’m not sure dating him is a good idea,” she confessed. “I get the feeling he’s only in town for a short time and will take up and leave whenever the mood strikes.”

  “From what you’ve told me, you’re not planning to stay in town very long either,” Barbara reminded her. It was true, too. Jean doubted she would stay in Cape Light after her mother passed on. “I say just go for it. He’s very attractive—in a scruffy, unkempt way—and who knows? People can change their plans.”

  Jean didn’t answer. She knew that Grant had feelings for her, but she doubted those feelings ran deep enough for him to change his ways or his plans.

  “I’m thinking of this as a fun night out with a friend. Nothing more, nothing less.”

  Barbara nodded as she pulled on her coat. “Good attitude. Though personally, I have the feeling the evening will fall into the more category. I expect a full report on Sunday.”

  Jean had to laugh at Barbara’s request. “I’ll report in, no worries.”

  After the nurse left, Jean went into her mother’s room to help her get dressed. She found Cynthia in her bathrobe, sitting at her dressing table. Barbara had helped her shower, and earlier in the day Jean had put her mother’s thin white hair up in pin curls. Jean had offered to style her mother’s hair with a blow dryer, but Cynthia had insisted on an old-fashioned set with bobby pins. Now her mother had removed the hairpins and was combing out the wavy white tufts.

  Jean stood behind her and met her gaze in the mirror. “Your hair looks very nice, Mom. You were right. The pin curls worked out well.”

  “I know my own hair by now. What’s left of it.” She handed Jean a can of hair spray that looked decades old. “Give me a little spray, please. Not too much. I’ll close my eyes.”

  “All right. Here goes.” Jean squeezed lightly and waved the can around, careful not to press too hard on the nozzle. “How’s that?”

  Her mother touched her hair, pushing it into shape. “It will do for Vera’s house. It’s partly a party and partly a way to get us to finish up the last of the craft items. We’re going to crochet the rest of the pot holders and place mats. I hope it’s not too tedious. I want to see the fair tomorrow. I don’t want to be tired out.”

  Her mother had mentioned going to the fair a few times. Jean also hoped she was not too tired. It was one thing to attend the Sunday service, but the Christmas Fair could be chaos. If they went at all, it would be early, before the rush, and they would only spend a short time there.

  “If you feel tired, you don’t have to crochet. You can leave early. Just call me. Now, what would you like to wear?”

  “The red dress with the black velvet collar. I always wear that during the holidays.”

  Jean remembered the dress well and found it in a dry-cleaning bag at the back of the closet. Her mother wore a full slip under her robe, and as Jean helped her into the dress, she couldn’t help noticing how her mother’s body was deteriorating, the yellow cast of her loose skin and her swollen joints.

  Her mother tried to slip her wedding
ring on, but it wouldn’t go over her swollen knuckles. “What’s the use? Everyone there knows I was married.” She sighed and tossed the ring back into the crystal dish on her dresser.

  “How about earrings? These pearls would go well.”

  Jean fit the earrings on and her mother looked satisfied. Jean helped her with a bit of makeup next, some foundation and lipstick. Cynthia had never worn much makeup, even when she was young. She had been so pretty, she never needed it.

  It was a struggle to slip on the short stockings that just reached above her knee, but her mother insisted. “A lady doesn’t go out without stockings, Jean.”

  Jean put her mother’s boots on last and helped her into the living room. “We’ll leave at about a quarter to seven. We have plenty of time.”

  Jean’s freshly pressed dress was hanging near the stairs, and she picked up the hanger.

  “Are you going somewhere, too?” her mother asked.

  “I’m having dinner with Grant,” Jean replied. “While you’re at the party.”

  “Oh . . . I didn’t know that. When did he ask you out?”

  “Wednesday night, after you got the invitation from Vera.”

  “I see.” Jean’s mother sat back on the sofa, looking as if she had figured out some great mystery. “Well, you know what I think of him.”

  “Yes, I do.” Jean hoped to be spared another lecture about Grant’s frailties and faults.

  “He’s intelligent and can carry on a decent conversation. But you shouldn’t get your hopes up. I doubt this will lead to anything.”

  “We’re just having dinner, Mom. I don’t expect an engagement ring.”

  “Good. Then you won’t be disappointed.”

  Jean turned and walked up the stairs, saying only, “I’ll be down soon.”

  Jean came downstairs a short time later. Her mother looked her over, from her smooth, blown-out hairstyle and makeup to her high-heeled boots, but didn’t say a word.