Nathan shrugged. “Well, I’ve got a vested interest in your being here, so I don’t know how trustworthy my discernment is. But I was hoping you’d spend Christmas Day with Jake and me.”
That was precisely what she had hoped he would say. She laid her hand on his as the server appeared with their entrees. “Well, then, I accept your invitation. And I look forward to beating you at Scrabble again.”
Nathan picked up his fork and wagged it at her. “Oh, game on, Shep. Game on!”
By the time they reached Meg’s house, the rain had stopped and the gray gloom of the clouds had given way to a star-filled December sky with a sliver of a moon. “What a lonely looking place,” Nathan commented as he looked up at the large Queen Anne–style house, with its steep roof, ornate trim, gables, and turret. In its prime it would have been the most elegant one on the block. “Most of these old Kingsbury houses have been turned into apartments or offices,” he said. “She lives here all by herself?”
Hannah nodded. “Her mom died in the spring. And with Becca gone, it’s just her. Not even a goldfish to keep her company.”
Nathan followed her up the creaking steps to the front porch. Some of the ornamental spindles on the railing had broken off, and the paint was peeling. Hannah tried the door. Locked. “That’s one worry down,” she said. She inserted the key, pushed open the heavy door into a dark and stale foyer, and fumbled along the wall until she found a light switch for an antique chandelier.
Nathan gave a low whistle, which echoed. “Whoa. A bit like a museum in here, huh?” He peered into the front parlor, filled with period furnishings.
More like a mausoleum, Hannah thought. Especially in light of Meg’s recent discovery that her alcoholic father had committed suicide in an upstairs bedroom when she was a little girl. Meg had been processing so much sorrow over the past couple of months, with so much courage.
“I wonder sometimes why she stays here,” Hannah said. “Meg hasn’t said a whole lot about her relationship with her mom, but I get the impression that it wasn’t easy to live together after Jim died.” She shook her head slowly. “The whole place just feels so sad and oppressive.”
“So how about bringing some life to it?” Nathan asked.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, how about taking Meg up on her offer to stay here while she’s gone?” Nathan wrapped his arms around her. “You’d be closer. Ten minutes away instead of forty-five.”
Her friend Nancy’s lake cottage, where Hannah was staying for her nine-month sabbatical, was a peaceful but remote and solitary place. Though she had initially resisted—even resented—the outrageously generous gift her senior pastor and congregation had given her, Hannah had come to prize her temporary home. She loved watching the sunsets and falling asleep to the sound of lulling or crashing surf. She loved drinking her tea, reading Scripture, and journaling beside the picture window. She loved going for walks in the early morning, when the pinks of dawn lit up the entire shoreline, with each tumbling wave leaving behind a glistening canvas that reflected the glory of the skies.
But her center of gravity had shifted to Kingsbury, particularly since reconnecting with Nathan after so many years apart. Maybe she could tolerate Meg’s house in small doses. Maybe she could stay there a few nights each week.
Nate was right. Being closer to him was a significant incentive.
Hannah had just arrived at the cottage when Meg called again from JFK to say her flight had been delayed for a couple of hours because of mechanical problems on the plane. “I don’t know if we’re taking off late tonight or if they’re going to give us hotel vouchers and put us on a flight tomorrow.”
Hannah wriggled out of her coat while maneuvering the phone. She could hear the anxiety and the exhaustion in Meg’s voice. “I’ll keep praying for you,” she said. “You want me to let Mara and Charissa know?”
“Would you, please? The more people praying for me right now, the better.”
Not wanting to interrupt Charissa’s studying, Hannah sent her an email and then called Mara. “Sorry to call so late,” Hannah said. “Did I wake you up?”
“No, I’m up.”
Hannah could hear yelling in the background, like a television drama turned up too loud. “You okay?” Hannah asked.
“Yeah, I’m fine. What’s up?”
As Hannah relayed Meg’s prayer request, the volume of the man’s voice crescendoed. Whoever was shouting obscenities wasn’t shouting them from a screen. “You sure you’re okay?” Hannah probed.
“Yeah. Sorry. Poor Meg. She was worried enough about flying, and now this . . .”
Right. Now this. “Is that Tom yelling?” Hannah asked. She had never met Mara’s husband.
“Yeah. He’s just mad because I bought some things for Jeremy’s baby.”
Just mad? That yelling didn’t sound like “just mad.”
“Is he threatening you?” Hannah asked.
“Nah.”
But Hannah’s pastoral alarm bells were pealing.
Over the past couple of months, Mara had described her marriage as difficult but tolerable. Tom spent most weeks traveling for business and most weekends focused on their two teenage sons, leaving Mara lonely and isolated. Though Mara had confided that she wasn’t sure their marriage would last much beyond their youngest graduating from high school, she had never hinted at any rage or violence. Never.
“Mara—”
A door slammed, and the shouting became more muffled.
Mara muttered a couple of obscenities of her own. “He’s gonna be in town all week. Lucky me.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah, he’s gone now. Went down to the basement to sleep on the couch. Man, I hope Meg gets there okay. She’s gotta be exhausted. Poor thing. I’ll definitely be praying for her.”
While Mara continued to express her longings for Meg’s time in England, Hannah curled up in a chair with a fleece blanket and waited for the yelling to subside. She wasn’t sure if staying on the phone would escalate Tom’s anger or mitigate the situation, but Mara didn’t seem eager to hang up. So Hannah let her talk at length about her son Jeremy and his baby that was due the first week of January and how excited she was to be a grandmother. When Hannah heard only silence in the background and Mara yawned audibly and said she really should get some sleep, they said their good-byes.
Hannah brewed a cup of chamomile tea and listened to the pine trees creak and moan in the wind. Maybe shifting to Meg’s house was the perfect solution. Not only would she be closer to Nate, but she would be near Mara if she needed help. By the sound of things, she needed more help than Hannah had even imagined.
Mara
Mara drummed her fingers on the shopping cart as she waited in line at the baby superstore Tuesday morning. If she’d been quicker to hide the shopping bags Monday afternoon, she might have avoided Tom’s tirade. But he had arrived home from the office early with the news that his travel plans had changed for the week, and she hadn’t yet stashed the contraband in her usual hiding places. Not that the stroller could have fit in the basement cupboard. If only she’d kept it in the trunk of the car! But no, she had decided to bring it inside so she could sit and imagine all the walks she would take with the baby, and she hadn’t been quick enough to lie and say Jeremy had bought it when Tom confronted her. Besides. He wouldn’t have believed her, not with all the other baby store shopping bags strewn around the living room, with some specific contents arranged on the dining room table for her viewing pleasure.
She had been wavering about the curtains. Ninety dollars was probably too much to spend on two valances. But the last time she had visited Jeremy’s apartment, they hadn’t finished decorating the baby’s room yet, so when she saw curtains that perfectly matched the pastel floral quilt Abby’s mother, Ellen, had already hand-stitched for the crib, Mara couldn’t resist. She bought them.
But maybe Ellen was sewing curtains. Ellen would be the type of grandmother who would
sew cute little sundresses with matching hats. She would be the one knitting baby blankets and sweaters and mittens. What did Mara have to offer the baby if she couldn’t buy her things?
She was standing there chewing on her fingernail, debating the purchase, when Tom walked in unexpectedly, took one look at her, another at the merchandise, and erupted. Normally, Tom was a slow boil: a curling of a lip into a sneer, a sarcastic or demeaning comment, sometimes a fist raised in anger. But this—this pushed him over the edge, and hours later he was still trailing her around the house yelling. How dare she spend his hard-earned money on Jeremy’s kid! Didn’t Jeremy have his own job to provide for his family, or couldn’t he hold one down? On and on he spewed his venom about this son of hers, dredging up every ancient battle, every teenage transgression, every guilty offense that no doubt proved his lack of worth as an adult. At one point she was convinced Tom was going to hurl the stroller at a wall. Instead, he shoved it back into the box. He wanted all that crap returned, every bit of it, every dollar of his accounted for. And none—did she understand him?—none of his money was to be spent on that baby. If she wanted to buy baby stuff, she could find a blankety-blank job and pay for it herself. Was he clear?
That’s when Hannah had called, right in the middle of the mess.
“Changed your mind?” the salesclerk at the returns counter asked.
Mara handed her a receipt. “Yeah.”
The clerk glowered at the loaded shopping cart. “All of it?”
Mara shifted her weight from one leg to the other. “Well, I bought stuff for my son and daughter-in-law without checking first.”
“Ahhh,” the woman said, her expression softening. “Say no more! I’ve got three married sons, and I’m still trying to figure out how to be a well-behaved mother-in-law. The girls only call when they want me to babysit the grandkids.”
No point correcting her. Let her think it was a failure to check with the parents-to-be instead of a failure to stand up to a bullying husband.
On her way to the exit doors, Mara lingered over a display of Christmas accessories. Too bad her granddaughter wasn’t due until the second of January. She wished she could buy her a Santa hat. Or maybe the tiny newborn elf socks. They would have been even cuter with jingle bells on the toes. Choking hazard, probably.
It was a wonder anyone over the age of forty had survived childhood, given everything that had been deemed potentially unsafe. Even the car seats she’d used for Kevin and Brian, now fifteen and thirteen, would be considered dangerous by the latest standards. As for Jeremy, now thirty, he had merrily rolled around on the backseat or on the floor of her old Ford, free from any constraining belts. And he’d played with all kinds of toys with wraparound cords and small removable pieces. A different world back then.
“Oooh! Look, Mom!” A very pregnant young woman approached the display. She looked like she could pop any minute. “Look at these elf booties!”
Her mother was pushing a shopping cart crammed with packages of onesies and Huggies newborn diapers. “Oooh! They are so cute!” She grabbed two pairs. And a Santa hat. And a Grandma’s Little Angel bib.
Did those women have any clue how lucky they were? Any clue whatsoever?
Probably not.
Mara had hoped that when Jeremy married, she would have a close relationship with his wife. She’d pictured meeting up for lunch or shopping; she’d imagined having conversations where Abby would ask for her advice about how to be a good wife to Jeremy.
Not that she wasn’t a good wife. Abby made Jeremy happy, and that was something to be grateful for. But eighteen months after the wedding, Mara was still waiting for that intimate conversation. She and her daughter-in-law had never even had lunch together—just the two of them—even though they lived only fifteen minutes apart. It wasn’t that Abby was unfriendly. Abby had always been very polite and respectful, even to Tom. Mara had always assumed it was part of her Asian culture and heritage. But maybe someday Abby would call her “Mom” or even “Mara” instead of “Mrs. Garrison.” That would be a big moment.
Of course, no one could blame Abby for feeling guarded around the Garrisons. Time together wasn’t without its stress, that was for sure. In fact, Abby probably still hadn’t forgiven them for the Fourth of July disaster. Mara cringed even remembering it: Tom flipping burgers in his King of the Grill T-shirt and spewing contempt for the “foreigners who were ruining his country”; Brian and Kevin setting off fireworks in the driveway, the shrill whistling, squealing explosives causing Abby to jump in her plastic lawn chair; Mara sweating buckets in her favorite, but admittedly gaudy, stars and stripes muumuu as she poured lemonade into large red, white, and blue plastic cups. She had told Tom not to buy the fireworks, but did he listen to her? Never.
“We’ve got some news, Mom,” Jeremy had said, resting his hand on the back of Abby’s chair. Mara set down the pitcher. She knew—she just knew—what he was going to say. She had been waiting for that very moment ever since the wedding.
Brian launched an ear-piercing rocket right as Jeremy said, “We’re—”
BOOM!
Not wanting to shriek prematurely, she asked Jeremy to repeat himself, just to make sure.
“I said, Abby’s pregnant. The baby’s due in January.”
A squeal to rival the fireworks escaped her lips. She grabbed Jeremy to embrace him, and, without thinking about potential boundary violations, pulled Abby to her feet and smothered her in what must have felt like a pasty white mountain of moist, perspiring flesh. She could still see Abby’s uneasy but polite smile after she extricated herself.
“I can’t believe it! Tom, didya hear that? I’m gonna be a grandmother!”
Tom speared a hot dog with his grill fork and did not reply.
Mara hugged Jeremy again and kissed him on the cheek. “Well, congratulations! What wonderful news!”
Abby returned to the lawn chair.
“I wonder who the baby will look like?” Mara mused aloud, then felt herself blush. “I mean—mixed-race babies are beautiful . . . Just look at Jeremy—”
That’s when Tom’s lips curled into his signature sneer. The obscene slur he uttered—voiced loudly enough even for the boys to hear it and snicker—might have provoked a full-fisted brawl if Mara hadn’t placed her hand on Jeremy’s chest and begged him to take another glass of lemonade.
For better or for worse.
No, she wouldn’t blame Abby for lumping her together with Tom and the boys and regarding them collectively as part of the “for worse” clause of matrimony. Wouldn’t blame her at all.
She drove into their neighborhood and sighed. The neighbors’ houses were already decorated with pine wreaths and burgundy bows, their front patio urns filled with various combinations of red dogwood and fir branches, pinecones, boxwood, and dried pomegranates. Mara had seen instructions for designing winter urns in a magazine at her counselor Dawn’s office, but Tom would never approve of spending money on something like that. “Stupid froufrou,” he’d say. So while everyone else in the subdivision decorated with delicate white lights on eaves, shrubs, and trees, Tom annually insisted on oversized multicolor, flashing bulbs. Years ago the neighbors had complained about the plastic Santa, sleigh, and reindeer on the lawn, which he angrily removed after threatening to put the whole ensemble up on the roof. Soon he would be lining the driveway with large plastic candy canes he’d bought at Walmart, just to spite them.
One of these years Mara would buy a real evergreen wreath with apples and pinecones for the front door. For now, maybe she should throw away the rotting pumpkins and dead mums that were still on the porch. She was so accustomed to entering the house through the garage, she hadn’t paid much attention to what the front patio looked like. It was a wonder Alexis Harding, who regularly fired criticism from her perfect Pottery Barn home across the street, hadn’t griped about it yet. Alexis had candles in every window, greenery in each of her wrought iron window boxes, and twinkling lights on the gated arc
h in her perennial garden. All she needed was a white picket fence to complete the effect.
Nauseating.
“How’re you doin’?” Mara called out to a trio of power-walking neighbors as she gingerly picked up the pumpkins by their stems. “Feels like we might get some snow!”
“They’re saying maybe a couple of inches tomorrow night,” one of them replied.
Mara wondered what they talked about when they walked together—small talk, gossip, or deep heart stuff? There was a time when Mara had envied them. But she had her own walking companions now, not for the physical exercise, though Charissa had invited her to walk laps with her sometime at the mall, but for the spiritual and emotional journey. The Sensible Shoes Club. It was going to be hard not meeting together to talk and pray over the next few weeks. But come January, once Meg was home, Mara hoped they would get together frequently. Maybe even do another retreat together sometime. Meanwhile, she had to figure out how best to survive Christmas.
She tossed a stack of bills, ads, and Christmas cards onto the kitchen table. Without even opening the cards, she knew she would end up feeling resentful and irritated. There were three primary types of cards: the kind that only had signatures at the bottom (honestly—what was the point?), the Happy Family photo card from some exotic vacation destination, and the “Look at us!” letters with multiple photos, chronicling every remarkable accomplishment of perfect, over-achieving children.
Nauseating.
Just once she’d like to read an honest letter about a marriage that was a disaster, a son who was flunking algebra, and self-centered teenagers who played too many video games. Come to think of it, she could write that letter.
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