As the service continued, there were many hymns to sing and not nearly enough hymnals. Kevin shared one with their mother, and Jean shared with Grant. He held it open for her and pointed when she lost her place. Singing was not her finest talent, but he had a deep, smooth voice and appeared to be reading the music. She enjoyed listening to him sing, though she tried to act as if she wasn’t taking notice.
When the service was over, the aisles filled quickly and it was slow going with the wheelchair. Then the chair got stuck and Kevin couldn’t get it moving.
Grant moved forward to help him. He kneeled down and made a quick adjustment. “It was the brake. It should work now.” Grant stood up and brushed off his hands.
Jean’s mother looked up at him. “Thank you, Grant. Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas, Cynthia. You look lovely tonight. And very happy.”
“Christmas is a time to put aside cares and savor the moment. Don’t you think?
He looked amused at her philosophical turn. “I agree. And to put aside grudges, too.”
Jean wondered if that last bit was about the way she had cooled toward him, but a smile hovered at the edges of Cynthia’s mouth, as if perhaps she understood a message he meant for her. But all she said in answer was, “What are you doing tonight? Would you like to have dinner at our house? Jean cooked all day. We have enough for an army.”
Jean felt color rise in her cheeks. Why did her mother invite Grant to dinner? She had rarely said a good thing about him.
“I’m sure Grant has plans,” Jean cut in.
“I’d love to join you,” he said. Jean’s heart skipped a beat. “But Vera invited me to have dinner with her family. I don’t want to disappoint her.”
“Of course not. Have a nice time, then. Vera’s a very good cook,” Cynthia assured him.
Jean felt simultaneously disappointed and relieved at his reply. She wondered if he could tell. He offered to help get her mother into the car, but Jean told him they would be fine.
Grant left them—Jean saw him greeting George Krueger, who owned the hardware store—leaving her to wheel her mother the rest of the way down the aisle. Where had her brother gone? He seemed to have disappeared.
“Why did you invite Grant to dinner, Mom? I thought you didn’t like him.”
“I don’t approve of him. There’s a difference,” Cynthia said. “Maybe I’ve been unfair. I don’t know. I’m glad he has somewhere to go. It’s Christmas. I don’t think anyone should be alone.”
They had finally reached the narthex, which was crowded with congregation members waiting to greet Reverend Ben. “Let’s get home,” her mother said. “Where’s Kevin? Do you see him?”
Jean was wondering the same thing. Then she spotted her brother talking to Laurel and her family. Laurel looked beautiful in a long blue velvet dress. Her son and daughter, dressed up for the holiday, looked adorable, too. Both stared up at Kevin with wide, curious looks.
Kevin and Laurel looked happy and somehow connected, Jean thought. Maybe the spark was still there. Jean wondered if she should distract her mother so she didn’t notice them. Kevin didn’t need her interfering again.
Vera appeared and bent down to give Jean’s mother a hug. “Merry Christmas, Cynthia. I’m so happy to see you here tonight.”
“Glad to be here, Vera. Glad to be anywhere right now,” her mother said with a laugh. “Enjoy your family. Merry Christmas to you, too.”
Vera was soon pulled away by another well-wisher. Kevin had crossed the crowd and took the handles of their mother’s chair, and they made their way out of the church and into the cold, bright night.
“How are you doing, Mom?” Jean asked once they were all in the car. “Are you tired?”
“Not one bit,” her mother said, though Jean thought her breathing sounded labored. “It was the best Christmas Eve service I can remember.”
Jean felt good, hearing that. She smiled and leaned closer to her brother. “I’m so glad we got her here,” she whispered.
“I am, too,” he whispered back.
Chapter Sixteen
It had been impossible to catch up to Darrell and his grandparents after the service. Even if Sam had been fit—which he definitely was not, ambling along on the crutch and cane. Lillian, with her typical impatience, had hustled them out of the church quickly.
He had been watching the door at Molly’s house for almost an hour and had almost given up hope his son would come to the party, when he heard Lillian’s distinctive voice in the front hall. Molly’s husband, Matt, had answered the door and let them in. Sam took a few steps toward the hallway and spotted Darrell walking in behind Ezra.
“Sorry we’re late,” Ezra said. “Lillian had to go back to the house for something. As usual.” He shook his head in dismay.
“I forgot to put on my rings. I felt half dressed,” Sam heard his mother-in-law reply.
Sam stood back and waited. He wasn’t sure what to do or say when Darrell came in. But Lily and Tyler had no qualms. They ran forward and greeted their grandparents. Then Lily flung her arms around her big brother’s long legs, as if he’d been gone from the house for years instead of just a few days. “Darrell! We miss you!”
Tyler stood near Darrell, too. He was too old for lavish shows of affection, but Sam knew he had missed Darrell very much the last few days and didn’t understand what was going on.
Darrell returned his sister’s hug then mussed up Tyler’s carefully combed hair. “Hey, punk. What’s up? Smells good in here.”
“The food is awesome,” Tyler reported. “You got to try these little meatballs Aunt Molly made.” He tugged Darrell’s hand toward the buffet.
Sam watched and waited. He and Darrell were soon face-to-face. Darrell met his gaze but Sam couldn’t read his expression. Was he still angry? Embarrassed? Confused?
Sam took a breath. “Hello, Darrell. I’m glad you came tonight. It means a lot to . . . your mother.”
“Hello, Dad.” Darrell nodded then crossed his arms over his chest.
Sam wasn’t sure what to say next. “Nice suit. I don’t remember that one.”
“Grandma bought it for me. She said it will come in handy for interviews and meetings.”
“Oh, it will. Very professional looking.” Did he mean job interviews, after he graduated? Or meetings for his cannery project? It looked like Lillian was taking Darrell’s side in this argument. Sam thought she would, just to spite him.
“I should say hello to Mom. Where is she—back in the kitchen?”
“Probably. Try to get her out of there, will you? It’s Christmas.”
Even though his sister hired help to serve and clear up at her massive Christmas Eve celebrations, somehow the women in the family always ended up huddling together in the kitchen. At least until the main course was served.
“I’ll try,” Darrell said.
As he turned to walk away, Sam touched his sleeve. “Hey, I just want to ask you something. Can we please agree to disagree about this going back to school thing? I don’t want to spoil Christmas for everyone. I don’t think you do either.”
“Okay. Sure. I don’t want to cause any family drama either. It’s cool with me. But I haven’t changed my mind at all.”
I haven’t either, Sam wanted to say. But he knew it would be completely dumb to press his point now.
“I understand.” He patted his son’s arm in an affectionate gesture. “Merry Christmas, Darrell.”
“Merry Christmas, Dad.” Darrell finally smiled and Sam felt worlds better.
“You’d better find your mother. I don’t think she even knows you’re here.” He watched his son make his way across the big rooms and then duck into the kitchen. Tall and lean, Darrell looked like a grown man in that suit tonight. Sam felt proud and sad at the same time. He swallowed back a baseball-sized lump in his throat.
<
br /> Pull yourself together. Don’t get all weepy, Sam coached himself. There was still a long way to go to make amends with his son, but at least they would have Christmas.
• • •
When they got home from church, Jean’s brother kept their mother company in the living room while Jean put the finishing touches on dinner. Kevin had been a big help getting the meal together—chopping and dicing, setting the table, and washing pots. Everything in the kitchen was organized and ready to go.
As Jean suspected, her mother needed oxygen and put on the apparatus without complaint. She sat in her favorite chair, sipping a glass of sherry and watching the fire Kevin had built in the hearth. He had set Cynthia’s old stereo system to a classical music station that was playing Christmas pieces by composers of the Baroque era.
“I love the harpsichord,” Cynthia said. “I love the harmonies in this music. They say it stimulates your brain.”
“Is that how you’ve stayed so sharp all these years, Mom? Listening to Bach and Mozart?” Jean heard Kevin ask.
Her mother laughed. “I think it was my temper,” she replied. “Though even that’s getting dull. Like an old knife that won’t cut anymore. It’s just as well, I suppose.”
Her tone was one of good humor, without bitterness or regret. Jean was glad of that.
Her mother seemed pleased by the array of holiday foods on the dinner table. Especially the mashed potatoes, which were actually her entrée, Jean noticed, with a small portion of rib roast on the side. Overall, despite her excitement about the meal, her mother actually ate very little, even though Jean had been careful to cook everything salt free.
“Delicious, Jean,” her brother said between mouthfuls. He didn’t seem to notice the absence of the salt, Jean noticed. “I had no idea you’re such a great cook.”
“I haven’t had a bad meal since she arrived,” Cynthia said before Jean could reply. “Doesn’t take after me that way, that’s for sure.”
Kevin glanced at Jean and grinned. “No offense, Mom, but I’d say that’s a good thing.”
Kevin cleared the table and Jean served dessert in the living room. Along with the cookies, she had made macaroons and a trifle, her mother’s favorite, and the only complicated recipe her mother had ever been able to prepare.
“Look at that,” her mother said. “Where did you find the bowl? I thought I’d lost it.”
“In a box in the pantry, under some tablecloths. I wanted to surprise you.”
“I am surprised. And I can’t wait to taste it. It looks much nicer than mine ever did.”
Jean served Cynthia first, with a crystal dessert dish. Even though it was just the three of them, Jean thought it was important to use all the best things her mother owned—the china and crystal, the silver flatware and lace tablecloth. In the face of her mother’s condition, these material possessions seemed meaningless. But if they made the evening a little more festive and enjoyable for her, they had served their purpose.
Kevin added another log to the fire. “Did you really want to sing carols, Mom? Jean found the old books.”
He showed their mother the worn booklets of Christmas music that had been packed away with the decorations. The booklets would come out every year, and their father, who played the piano, would lead them through every page, frustrating Jean and Kevin to no end, since all they wanted to do by then was open their presents.
After their father died, Cynthia sold the piano and threw away all his music. Except for the carols.
During dinner Cynthia had mentioned carrying on the tradition. She picked up a booklet from the table and leafed through it, her expression wistful.
She looked up at Jean and Kevin. “I’m a bit tired for singing tonight. Let’s do it tomorrow.”
“Good idea. We have all of Christmas Day to celebrate, too.”
Jean thought her mother did look tired all of a sudden. She wondered if she would want to go to the Christmas Day service but decided not to ask. She would wait to see how everyone felt in the morning.
She and Kevin put their mother to bed. Jean stood in the doorway a moment with her brother. A small light on the dresser was always left on now; it cast the room in deep shadows. Jean could see that their mother was already asleep.
“Look, she’s smiling,” Kevin whispered. “She had a good day.”
“Yes, I think she did,” Jean agreed. “We were able to give her that.”
As they cleaned up the living room, Kevin took a phone call. Jean could tell it was Laurel. The conversation was brief, but Kevin looked pleased when he slipped the phone in his pocket.
“Laurel is having trouble putting together a bicycle for her son, Tim. Santa is supposed to bring it tomorrow morning. Would you mind if I went over there later to help her? I mean, after you’ve gone to bed.” She could tell he felt torn but really wanted to go.
“Don’t be silly. Go now. I was just going to read awhile and turn in.”
“Are you sure? I feel bad leaving you here all alone,” he admitted.
“I’m positive. And happy to hear that”—she didn’t know quite how to put it—“that you and Laurel are . . . renewing your acquaintance?”
It sounded so formal put that way. But Kevin understood her meaning. “We are. We have a lot of catching up and talking to do. But I have a good feeling about this.”
“I’m glad,” Jean said. “I saw Laurel at church a few weeks ago, but I never told you. I’m sorry. I thought talking about her might bring back bad memories.”
He had already grabbed his jacket and car keys. “That’s all right. I’m not sure how I would have reacted. I probably would have stayed in California and brooded. It was better this way, to be surprised meeting up with her again.”
After Kevin left, Jean sat alone in the living room, watching the fire and gazing at the Christmas tree. She was tired and ready for bed, even though it wasn’t very late.
She thought about Grant. If he had come to their house for dinner tonight, they would be sitting here together. The thought made her feel lonely. But she reminded herself how she had started to trust him, and he had disappointed her. She would be a fool to let him win her over again and hurt her even more the next time.
• • •
Jean woke to the scent of fresh coffee. She followed it down to the kitchen to find that her brother had already been to the bakery and put together an enticing breakfast.
“Merry Christmas, Kev.” She reached up on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. “How nice of you to make us breakfast. This looks great . . . and super fattening,” she added, pouring herself a mug of coffee. “Mom will like it. She has a real sweet tooth lately.”
“I noticed,” he said. “I checked on her before but she was still sleeping. I thought she’d be eager to open presents.”
“I’ll go in. She should be awake by now.”
Her mother’s bedroom was dark and her mother was still fast asleep. Jean raised the window shades halfway, then sat on the edge of the bed and gently touched her mother’s shoulder.
“Mom? It’s time to get up. It’s Christmas. Don’t you want to see your presents?”
Cynthia’s eyelids fluttered and she turned her head. “I know, Jean . . . but I’m very tired. You and Kevin have Christmas without me.”
Jean felt alarmed by her mumbled words and labored breath. It sounded as if she were underwater. The same as the last time. Possibly worse. The oxygen tubing had fallen out during the night, and Jean quickly fit it back into her mother’s nose. Jean moved the covers and checked her mother’s legs and ankles. They were swollen to nearly twice their normal size. She was holding way too much fluid. Had her mother overindulged last night at dinner? Jean didn’t think so and she had cooked without salt, her mother’s dreaded enemy. Jean wished a few bites of trifle and sips of sherry were to blame for this setback. Her mother could recover from that. But
in her heart she knew this time it was more. Much more.
Jean quickly grabbed a glass of water and held her mother’s head up so she could swallow her pills. Then she ran out to find her brother.
“She’s not well, Kevin. She’s holding a lot of fluid and can barely speak or breathe. I gave her some medication but we have to call Dr. Nevins.”
“I’ll call. You go back and stay with her. Maybe I should call an ambulance,” he said.
“I’m sure she doesn’t want that. We had a big debate about it last time.” She looked up at her brother and met his gaze. “She wants to die here. Those are her wishes. No extreme measures. You’re her medical proxy, I thought you knew.”
“She’s told me that. It’s just that . . . well, I can’t accept that this might be the end. If we get her into a hospital, maybe there’s something they can do?”
“I’m sorry, but the doctor has been very clear. There’s nothing more, Kevin. That’s the way it is with her condition. And she would hate being in a hospital. Why don’t you talk to her? I’ll call Dr. Nevins.”
He nodded. His eyes were glassy, and he wiped them with the back of his hand. Jean had been living here the past few weeks and was somewhat better prepared, but she knew it was a shock to her brother. Especially since their mother had made such a huge rebound since he had come home. He had not seen the worst or understood the extent of her condition, which was in the end stage.
But he would see now.
• • •
Darrell had slept at his grandmother’s house again on Christmas Eve night, but Sam was pleased to find him sitting at the kitchen table early Christmas morning.
“Look what Santa brought us,” Jessica said. She was at the stove, making breakfast.
Sam took a mug of coffee and smiled. He didn’t know what to say. “I guess you didn’t want to miss out on opening your presents.”
“Mainly, Mom’s French toast. But yeah, I’m in it for the presents,” Darrell replied, matching Sam’s light tone.
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