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Christmas Blessings

Page 26

by Katherine Spencer


  Kevin smiled and nodded. “Yes, she is. Even more so.”

  When they arrived home, their mother was predictably tired from the outing and went into her room for a nap. “Tell Kevin to put the tree in the stand. We’ll trim it tonight. Order some pizza. It’s too confusing for you to cook.”

  Jean had forgotten that. Her parents always ordered pizza on tree-trimming night. “Good idea.” She helped her mother into bed and pulled up the quilt.

  While her mother rested, Jean did more decorating. She took out the snow globes and draped pine garlands along the fireplace mantel, then hung out their stockings. Her father’s Christmas stocking was also in the box and she picked it up a moment, looking over the embroidery on top that said “Dad.” She wrapped it in tissue paper and put it away again.

  Christmas was exactly three days away, and she still hadn’t bought any gifts for her mother or brother. It was too late to go to town today, but she would go out tomorrow, first thing, she decided. She had considered getting Grant a gift, too. But that was last week, right after their date and before he had gone missing in action on her.

  Since stopping by Saturday, he had sent one text message, to ask about her mother. Then a photo of Race Point Beach in Provincetown, e-mailed to her on Tuesday. She couldn’t quite figure that out. The last she had heard, he was going on a daytrip to nearby Newburyport, not all the way out to the very tip of Cape Cod.

  It had hurt her to feel so encouraged by their evening out and then be cut off so quickly. Grant had clearly done his best to put distance between them the last few days, physically and emotionally. As if the closeness they had shared Friday night had scared him. That was her theory, anyway.

  She had seen men react that way before. But she thought he was different. Jean hated to admit it, but her mother had been right. Grant was intelligent and charming, and could be so thoughtful and caring at times. But he was not someone she could rely on. He was not interested in finding out if the connection they shared—which Jean thought was so wonderful and easy and rare—could last and grow into something more. It had been obvious. And she hadn’t wanted to see it.

  Jean had told herself the future didn’t matter. She, too, was just passing through this place. But she had been wrong. She could see now that it did matter. She couldn’t let herself get any more attached to him. It would only become more painful.

  A short time later, her mother and brother emerged from their rooms. The pizzas were ordered and they began to decorate the tree.

  “Good choice, Mom,” Kevin said, hanging his favorite ornaments, a set of three matching penguins. “This tree has the perfect shape.”

  “I still have a good eye,” Cynthia said. “You need to hang those penguins a little higher, dear. No one will see them down there.”

  Kevin had wheeled Cynthia close enough to the tree for her to hang a few ornaments on her own, but she was mainly directing Jean and Kevin on where she thought everything should go.

  The doorbell rang. “Must be the pizza. I’ll get it,” Jean said.

  She grabbed her wallet and pulled opened the door. But she did not find the pizza delivery boy there. It was Grant.

  “Hello, Jean. I saw that you were home. I hope I’m not interrupting anything?”

  Jean was surprised to see him . . . and then felt annoyed. She finally opened the door wider and stepped aside so he could come in. “We’re decorating our Christmas tree. My brother is here. He came in from California on Monday.”

  “That’s great. I bet you’re happy to see him.”

  Grant walked in and took off his hat. It was the felt hat he had worn the first time she had met him, the one that made him look like Indiana Jones. She had thought so at the time, anyway.

  “I am. My mother is over the moon,” she added, in a quieter voice. Still confiding in him? Quit it, Jean. It’s a bad habit.

  “Would you like to meet him?” Just being polite—or too nice to him? She wasn’t sure.

  “All right, just for a minute.” He left his hat on the hall bench, but kept his jacket on and followed her into the living room.

  Her mother was hanging a candy cane ornament from the tip of a branch and turned to look at them. “Hello, Grant. What brings you here?”

  “I just stopped by to say hello. I heard you’ve been ill, Cynthia. It’s good to see you up and around.”

  “Up to my old tricks. I suspect you are, too,” she added, glancing at Jean.

  Jean ignored her comment and the look. “This is my brother, Kevin,” she said, introducing the two men. “Kevin, this is Grant Keating. He did all the work on the house.”

  Kevin stepped forward and stretched out his hand. “Nice work you did for us. I’m a little handy, but those jobs would have taken me months.”

  “Glad I could help.” Grant smiled briefly, but Jean could see he felt uncomfortable. Which he deserves, she thought. Then she felt guilty about being mean-spirited.

  “That’s a very pretty tree. It’s got perfect symmetry, and it’s just the right height,” Grant observed, glancing to the top.

  “We’re pleased with it,” her mother replied. She was fastening a wire hook to a Christmas ball and didn’t look up at him. Jean could tell she was annoyed by his unexpected visit and wanted him to go.

  The doorbell rang again. “I’ll go,” Kevin said. “It must be the pizza this time.”

  “You haven’t had dinner yet. I’d better go,” Grant said.

  “It’s just pizza. Would you like to stay?” Jean knew she shouldn’t have asked, but her resolve to act cold and distant was fading quickly. If she’d ever had any at all.

  “Thank you, but I’ve barged in on your family time long enough.” Grant said good night to Jean’s mother, and Jean walked him out to the foyer, passing Kevin who was carrying in the pizza.

  “Good to meet you, Grant. See you soon,” Kevin said.

  “Hope so,” Grant replied.

  Jean stood alone with him near the front door. “Good night, Grant. Thanks for stopping by.”

  “Good night, Jean.” He looked down at his hat a moment but didn’t put it on. “Listen—before I go, I just want to tell you that I looked over your illustrations. I think they’re great.”

  “You do?” Part of her was elated at the news, another part cautious. Was he just saying that to get on her good side again? “Not too amateurish? I doubt they’re good enough to publish. I was just practicing.”

  “They’re not amateurish at all. You have your own style. It’s very distinctive. I think you should submit the work to a publisher.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t do that. It’s not even finished.”

  “There’s enough of it finished to make a good submission,” he said. “You could get a contract on what you’ve done so far.”

  Jean didn’t know how it worked exactly. “Thanks for the advice. I’ll think about it.”

  “Please do.” His praise for her work was encouraging. She had to grant him that.

  He seemed about to leave again, finally. Then he paused. “Listen, Jean . . . I’m sorry I’ve been out of touch. My friend came in from out west, and after Newburyport he really wanted to see the Cape. He’d heard so much about the light and the beaches and all that. We went out there for a few days, unexpectedly.”

  “So I gathered from the picture you sent of Provincetown. It’s a nice time of year for the Cape. Nicer than summer in some ways.” She was trying her best to sound as if his apology didn’t matter to her one way or the other.

  “We took some interesting photographs. I’ll show you sometime. But I should have been in touch more. Especially since your mother was sick. I’m sorry I wasn’t around to help.”

  She shrugged, avoiding his gaze. “It’s okay. My brother is here now. He’s been a big help.”

  Grant nodded then put his hat on. She hadn’t meant to rebuff him with the
comment, but maybe it had come out that way.

  “I’m glad he finally decided to come. I know you were worried about that,” he said simply. “Good night, Jean. I’ll see you soon.”

  She said good night and closed the door behind him. Then she stood there a moment, wondering why he had really come.

  He obviously felt bad for being out of touch. But did his apology really change anything? Did it make him more reliable? Did it prove that he wouldn’t hurt her like that again? Jean didn’t think so.

  • • •

  “I’d like to make a nice dinner for us tomorrow, Christmas Eve,” Jean told her mother and brother. They had just finished breakfast but were still at the table. Jean was starting a list for the supermarket. “What would you like, Mom? You always made roast duck. Is that your favorite?”

  “Duck was your father’s favorite. I always find it too gamey tasting. I like beef. A rib roast would be nice. With mashed potatoes on the side?” she asked hopefully.

  “We can’t forget the mashed potatoes,” Jean said, adding the spuds to her list. She would have preferred a more interesting side dish. Or fixing the potatoes some other, more adventurous way. But obviously, Christmas to her mother meant mashed, with plenty of cream and butter.

  “Sounds good to me.” Kevin had been reading the newspaper but folded it and put it aside. “I can help, Jean. You just give me jobs. Tell me what to do.”

  Her brother had gone out of his way the last few days to share the housework and care for their mother. Jean not only appreciated his help but suddenly realized how much she had been shouldering on her own.

  “I will give you jobs,” she promised. “Don’t worry.”

  “We’ll have to eat late,” her mother said. “The church service starts at half past five. It won’t be over until seven, with all the singing.”

  Jean looked up from her pad. “I don’t think you’re well enough to go to church, Mom. Not this weekend.”

  “Of course I am. I went out to buy a Christmas tree yesterday, didn’t I?”

  Jean glanced at her brother. Some more help here? she silently implored.

  “That was different, Mom,” he said. “You were in the back seat the whole time, wrapped in a million blankets. And we were out of the house less than an hour.”

  “We don’t want you to have another setback,” Jean explained.

  “For goodness’ sake, I don’t need your permission.” Her mother’s sharp blue eyes moved from her son to her daughter. “I thought it would be nice if the three of us went together. If you don’t want to go, that’s your business. I will not miss the Christmas Eve service tomorrow night. Unless I die in my sleep tonight, which is certainly possible.”

  Jean had no answer for that. She looked at Kevin. Clearly, he didn’t have one either.

  “If you won’t take me, I’ll call Vera. She’ll be happy to pick me up. Or Reverend Ben can find someone willing to drive me.”

  Jean heard someone at the door. “I think that’s Barbara. Let’s see what she thinks,” Jean said as she left to let the nurse in.

  “I don’t need that Nurse Crosby’s permission either,” Jean heard her mother say. Jean didn’t think the question would rest on Barbara’s say-so, but the interruption was convenient.

  While Barbara was tending to their mother, Jean and Kevin talked it over. “I know she’s very frail, but I think we have to risk it,” Jean said. “The doctor says every day now is a gift. If going to church tomorrow night will make her happy, that’s what we have to do.”

  “I agree. I didn’t realize how . . . how serious the situation is until I saw things firsthand.” How close their mother was to the end, Jean knew Kevin meant to say. “Whatever she wants now—no matter how unreasonable it seems—we need to make it happen.”

  Jean was glad to hear her brother agree, though her mother’s wishes really weren’t much at all. A rib roast and mashed potatoes for dinner? Attending the church service? Maybe just being in her own home and having her children close at hand—especially Kevin—was enough to make her happy. Jean certainly hoped so.

  • • •

  “Sam, you’re going to hurt your neck if you sit like that all night. Then you’ll be at the orthopedist for something new.”

  Sam turned to Jessica, who sat beside him in the pew. Tyler sat next to Sam and Lily sat next to Jessica. He glanced at his family, feeling a hole in his heart. Resigned, he turned to face forward, toward the altar, which was filled with white candles and decked with pine boughs.

  The Christmas Eve service had not started yet but Carolyn Lewis, Reverend Ben’s wife, was playing the organ. A crèche was front and center, the animals and figures assembled. The only figure missing was the swaddled infant.

  Sam had really wanted to wait outside and have a private word with Darrell. If he arrived at all. But Jessica had told him that would be too much. Sam hadn’t seen him or spoken to him directly since their argument. Darrell had continued working for Sam, but would only communicate via text messages.

  “He knows where the party is tonight,” Jessica had reminded him as they got ready to leave for church. “We can’t force him.”

  “I know,” Sam replied. “I just want to tell him I’m happy to put aside this feud on Christmas. To put it aside forever, if he’ll let me. I want him to come home.”

  “I do, too. But he’s living with my mother, Sam. He’s not exactly out on the street.”

  Sam had to smile at the observation. Luxury and refinement were Lillian Warwick’s middle names. “I bet he misses the sports channels at our house. I doubt your mother has the Boston Fan package.”

  It was easy to joke about the situation at home. But in church on Christmas Eve, Sam felt differently. He wanted his family to be there together. Like they always were. But this year, at least, it seemed not to be.

  Jessica nudged his arm with her elbow. “They just came in. Tucker found them seats on the right side. My mother must be mad as a bee. You know how she hates to sit in the back.”

  Sam turned again, craning his neck to see. “Is Darrell with them? Oh . . . I see him. When did he pick up that suit and tie?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. He must have come by for clothes at some point when we were out. Unless my mother bought it for him.”

  That was possible. His mother-in-law would insist that Darrell wear a suit to escort her and Ezra to church.

  Jessica nudged him again. “Don’t stare,” she whispered. “I think it’s a good sign. Maybe they’ll all go to Molly’s.”

  “Maybe. Let’s both say a prayer,” he whispered back.

  • • •

  Jean’s mother was in fine spirits as Kevin rolled her up the side aisle of the sanctuary. She waved and sent Merry Christmas wishes to nearly everyone they passed, like a celebrity.

  She looked her very best, Jean thought. Anyone who didn’t know her wouldn’t guess how sick she was. Jean had helped her do her hair and dress in a dark green velvet suit. It had taken some time to dig out her good jewelry, which was stashed in various hiding places around the house. But Jean finally found it all, like winning a treasure hunt: a gold charm bracelet, a jade cocktail ring, and a large circle pin. And finally, gold earrings studded with tiny diamonds and bits of emerald.

  “These were my mother’s and her mother’s before that,” Cynthia said, “the only jewelry passed down through my family.”

  Jean had heard that before. But this time, she thought her mother might say, “I’m leaving them for you, as a keepsake.”

  But she did not.

  The organ was playing as they came in. The church was already very crowded, even though Jean thought they had left enough time. She felt overwhelmed, looking around for a space to fit the wheelchair with seats for herself and Kevin. They could split up, she thought, though that would ruin things a bit.

  “Jean, Kevin . .
. over here.” Grant walked toward them and directed her brother to the perfect spot with space for the wheelchair and enough empty seats so that they could sit together. While Kevin parked the chair and helped their mother get comfortable, Jean squeezed into the pew and took a seat. Grant came in from the other side and sat beside her. He looked very handsome in a navy blue suit and red tie. She could suddenly see him as an advertising executive, though it had been hard to picture that before.

  “Thanks for helping us,” Jean said.

  “Happy to help. I wondered if you were coming, with your mother not feeling well.”

  “She isn’t well. But she insisted. We just want her to be happy now.”

  “She definitely looks happy. She’s positively glowing.” Before Jean knew what was happening, he slipped out a camera and took several quick, candid photos of Jean’s mother, smiling and talking to the people who sat nearby. Then just as quickly, he stashed the camera in his pocket.

  “You like to take candid shots, don’t you?” Jean said.

  “People are the most genuine when they don’t think anyone is watching. Certainly when they don’t know they’re being photographed.”

  Jean thought that was true. She wondered what had happened to the photos he had taken of her out on the jetty the day they had been on the beach. Maybe the photos had not come out well. Maybe she looked so awkward he didn’t want to show them to her. Either way, she didn’t want to ask him.

  The organ struck an arresting chord, and the congregation grew silent. The choir was gathered in at the back of the sanctuary, dressed in their long red robes and white collars. They marched down the center aisle singing “Joy to the World,” one of Jean’s favorite carols. Reverend Ben followed the choir at a solemn pace, wearing a long white cassock and, around his neck, the Christmas scapular.

  The many voices and booming organ chords filled the church. Jean felt goose bumps. She glanced at Grant and he smiled, enjoying the moment with her.

  Kevin turned to her and squeezed her hand. She could see that their mother was holding on to his other hand, watching the procession with utmost concentration. Kevin met Jean’s gaze. The unspoken message in his eyes filled her heart.

 

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