Serendipity

by Fern Michaels

  The phone rang seven times before Jory heard Justine’s voice on the other end of the wire. “Justine, it’s Marjory. I’m sorry to be calling so late. If this is a bad time, I can call you tomorrow.”

  “Not at all. I go to bed late. Is something wrong?”

  “No. I’m calling you to . . . I know how you feel about . . . holidays. I’d like to invite you to my house for dinner on Christmas, if you aren’t busy.”

  “I have no other plans, Marjory.” Justine’s voice turned hesitant when she said, “Are you sure you want me to come? I’m not exactly popular these days. Are you having other guests?”

  “I didn’t invite anyone else. Ross more or less invited himself and Jasper, but when I told him I was inviting you, he declined. I hope that doesn’t hurt your feelings, Justine.”

  “I have the hide of a buffalo,” Justine said quietly.

  “I think you want to believe you have the hide of a buffalo,” Jory replied gently. “You don’t have to pretend with me, Justine.”

  “That’s a relief,” Justine said, her voice catching on the last word. “What time do you want me to come out?”

  “I’m up with the birds. You can come anytime. I’ll put the turkey in around eight o’clock and we’ll eat around two, if that’s all right with you. Ah, Justine, do you like turkey?”

  “Very much. I probably like the stuffing more than the turkey. I eat most anything.”

  “One other thing, Justine, I have four dogs. They aren’t big. They’re like a mini herd when they move all at once. They’re very lovable. If you don’t like animals, I can put them upstairs.”

  “No, no. I don’t actually like or disdain animals. I never had a pet of any kind. It’s possible they won’t like me. Please don’t lock them up on my account. I’ll adapt.”

  Jory laughed. “Is that a smile I hear in your voice, Justine?”

  “I believe it is, Marjory. There hasn’t been much to smile about of late. I appreciate the invitation. I think I’m being truthful when I say the last real invitation I had was some nineteen years ago, and it was a half-assed one, to say the least.” Jory laughed again.

  “Then I guess I’ll see you whenever you get here. Come early so you can admire my tree.”

  “Will noon be too early?”

  “That’s perfect. Justine, you’re welcome to stay the night if you like. It’ll seem more like Christmas if you stay. It’s up to you.”

  Justine giggled. “You mean a slumber party?”

  “Sure.”

  “I might do that.”

  “Justine, how is everything going?”

  “You don’t want to know. At least not now. You didn’t say anything to Ross, did you?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “Good night, Marjory.”

  “ ’Night, Justine.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Justine checked the diamond-studded watch on her wrist. The time was 10:45. Christmas Eve. She was going to Midnight Mass at Holy Trinity Church, the church her parents and her sister attended. She took off the watch, her earrings, and her rings. She was dressed simply in a caramel-colored dress and dark brown walking shoes. On her head she wore a navy-blue scarf that matched her dark blue coat. Her car keys went into one pocket, money and driver’s license into the other. She had no rosary or prayer book, but she knew how to pray on her fingers so it didn’t matter.

  The church was in South Philadelphia, thirty minutes away. If she didn’t run into traffic, she would be in time to get a seat in the back of the church so she could watch the parishioners as they entered. All she wanted was to see her parents and Mary Ellen. In the trunk of her car were ten gift-wrapped shoe boxes she planned to drop off at her parents’ home when she left the church. Hopefully, ahead of her parents.

  During the past week she’d driven the route she planned to take this evening dozens of times. By now she knew every traffic light, where to turn to avoid other lights, and her timing was so accurate that she was only off a minute or so each time she made her dry run. For the millionth time she wished she’d done what she was about to do sooner.

  Justine drove carefully, her eyes on the road, not wanting to make any mistakes. One mistake and she would be late and her plan wouldn’t work. And she had to get a good parking space in front of the church so she could leave immediately after mass to make it to her parents’ home without being seen.

  Justine turned up the volume on the radio. Christmas carols. “O Come, All Ye Faithful.” She hummed along under her breath, tears blurring her vision when “Silent Night” was played. “Play ‘Jingle Bells,’ ” she pleaded, her eyes starting to ache with strain. She thought about the shoe boxes in the trunk that she’d wrapped with shiny green paper and tied with huge yellow ribbons. Don’t think about the last Christmas before you left the shack, she told herself. Don’t think about the wieners and canned sweet potatoes mixed with rice so it would stretch far enough to feed us all. Don’t think about the faces on the little ones when they woke and there was no tree or presents, and no breakfast either. Don’t think about that. Don’t think about little Billy’s face or Mimi’s tear-filled eyes. Don’t think about the lies, the bare table, the ironing your mother had to do on Christmas morning. Don’t think about your mother saying, “We must pray now for those who have less than we have.” Well, she hadn’t prayed. Her eyes had been defiant, challenging her mother, who refused to look at her. Don’t think about any of that.

  Her relief when the church came into view drove away all her memories. She was in time for the parking space she wanted. She parked the big car carefully and sat a moment or two longer than necessary, measuring with her eyes the distance she would need to maneuver the big car into a U-turn in the middle of the street so she could head back the way she’d come. She would have no extra time to go around the block and possibly get lost. Satisfied with her calculation, she got out of the car and locked it.

  God, it was cold. Maybe that had something to do with why she’d always hated Christmas. It had always been cold in the shack at Christmas, forcing all of them to sleep pressed against one another.

  Inside the church, Justine removed her driving glasses, which had steamed up the moment the door closed behind her. The glasses went into the pocket with her money. She hadn’t been in church in over thirty years. She felt pleased with herself when she saw the holy water font. She quickly blessed herself, genuflected, and slid into the last pew. She sat at the end, forcing people to scowl at her and crawl over her legs. She didn’t care. Each time the door opened, she turned to stare at the people entering the church. What if they didn’t come? What if the detective was wrong? It had to be at least ten minutes of twelve. Mass started at midnight. Where were they? Later, on the drive home, she came to the conclusion God had answered her prayers at the same precise moment she wondered if her family was attending mass.

  The door opened and was held open longer than usual as a young man pushed a wheelchair through. The woman in the wheelchair looked just like the picture in the brown envelope. The young man was handsome, the young girl next to him was pretty. Steven and Eleanor, Mary Ellen’s children. They moved up the center aisle, but Justine’s eyes didn’t follow them. Then she saw them. Her parents. Oh God, how very old they looked. How worn and tired. Her hand moved and she would have reached out to her mother, but the boy sitting next to her took that moment to struggle past her. Her eyes followed them down the aisle, her mother holding on to her father’s arm, leaning against him. She was on her feet, ready to run down the aisle after them, when the boy pushed his way back into his seat. She sat down, trying to see where they were sitting. All she could see was the wheelchair next to the third pew.

  She meant to pray, wanted to pray, but the words wouldn’t come. Look back here, it’s me, Ethel. I’m here. Can’t you feel me here? Mama, I’m here. I know it seems like I forgot about you. I did for a while. I’m sorry. Mama, forgive me. I’m so sorry. Mary Ellen, I’m sorry you’re in a wheelchair. I’m sorry y
ou’re a widow. I’m sorry about everything. Forgive me, Mary Ellen.

  She did bow her head then. “God, forgive me all my sins. I’m selfish in wanting them to see me, to recognize me, to say my name. I don’t deserve a kind word. I don’t deserve anything. If you can’t see your way to forgive me, make life easier for them. I can help out a little in that respect, but you have to do the rest. I won’t invade their lives. Thank you, God.”

  Justine crept from the church, her eyes full of tears. For the first time in her life she felt free of herself. She’d just inflicted her own punishment; never to see or speak to her family again. She waited a moment to see if God would change His mind. When nothing happened, she stuffed all the money in her pocket into the poor box.

  On the walk to her car Justine swore her shoulders were lighter, her heart less heavy. If she were religious, which she wasn’t, she would have said it was her cross to bear, because all of it was of her own making.

  She had time now, there was no need for a mad rush to her parents’ home. It took her no time at all to reach the small house where her parents lived. The porch light was on. She knew the door would be open. Her mother never liked locked doors. Justine parked in front of the house next door, away from the streetlight. The carton of presents in the trunk wasn’t heavy, but it was awkward to handle. She ended up dragging it down the sidewalk and tugging it up the front steps to the front porch. She tried the door and smiled when it opened to her touch. A small lamp burned in the living room. How neat it was. How very warm and comfortable. The heady scent of the small balsam was overpowering. She took a deep breath. Cinnamon and bayberry scents wafted through the house. She wished she’d worn her watch. How much time did she have? She worked quickly then, taking the gift-wrapped shoe boxes out of the carton and placing them under the tree. She moved several of them until she was certain they looked pretty enough to her eyes. She had to remember to take the carton with her. For now, she wanted to walk around the little house, and for just a few minutes be part of it all.

  The kitchen was tidy, a braided rug in front of the sink. Blue-and-white-checkered curtains were crisp and starched on the kitchen window and the back door. An apple pie was on the counter. She bent over to smell it. Cinnamon. She opened the refrigerator. Plenty of food. She lifted the lid on the coffeepot. It was full, ready to be perked after church. She wondered if there was ice cream in the freezer. There was, a quart of vanilla. Tears pricked her eyelids. She saw the leaf for the kitchen table leaning up against the back door. There would be company for Christmas dinner. She felt pleased.

  There was no dining room, but there were two bedrooms on the first floor. Both were neat and tidy. Spare rooms. Guest rooms. She ran upstairs. The bathroom was blue and white. Her mother must like the color blue. There wasn’t a drop of water anywhere, not a stray hair, not a speck of anything on the floor.

  Her parents’ bedroom. Double bed, blue chenille spread, not a wrinkle anywhere. A crucifix on the wall over the bed. Two rag rugs on the polished floor, one on each side. A dresser with an embroidered scarf on it. A statue of the Blessed Virgin, a hairbrush and comb.

  It was the picture on the wall that took her breath away and made her clutch at her heart. It was about two-by-three feet, and framed. Inside were her brothers’ and sisters’ school pictures, her own included. “We all looked alike,” she whispered. “Thank you, God, for letting me see this.”

  Justine looked at the small alarm clock at the side of the bed. Lord, she had to get out of here. She ran down the steps, stopping just long enough to grab the carton. Outside on the porch she looked through the front window at the tree with the presents underneath. Each package had a name on it with a note inside. She didn’t want any of her family to think the packages weren’t for them. She spelled out nieces and nephews, mentioning other dates they would reconcile with their gift. She hadn’t signed any of them, instead she wrote “Merry Christmas” at the bottom.

  She was in her car, the carton in the backseat, ready to turn on her headlights when she saw the car pull in front of the house. She had to wait now, wait for Mary Ellen to be taken into the house by Steven and Eleanor. Her parents followed. Would they see the presents right away? Was the rest of the family going to join them this evening or tomorrow? She wished she knew. She rolled down her window. She could hear them now. Everyone was cold. It was Christmas Day, her mother was saying. Steven carried his mother up the steps onto the porch. Eleanor unfolded the wheelchair. She swayed dizzily when she heard her father say he thought it was going to snow. And then her mother said, “I’m glad we went to mass tonight.”

  Then there was confusion. They were all on the porch, but light spilled from the open door. “Someone’s been here! Look at this!” It was Eleanor. What a sweet voice she had, much the way she remembered Mary Ellen’s.

  Before she knew what she was doing Justine was out of the car and on the front porch. She stood to the side and peered through the sheer curtains. She could see everyone gathered around the tree. She pressed her ear against the glass and could hear faintly.

  “There’s ten of them,” Mary Ellen said. “How pretty they look.”

  “Look, here’s one for Uncle Billy, one for Uncle Marty, one for Aunt Helen. Here’s yours, Mother, and yours, Grandma and Grandpa.”

  “Who brought them?” her mother asked.

  “What should we do?” Steven asked.

  “I think you should call everyone and ask them to come over,” Mary Ellen said.

  “No. Tomorrow will be soon enough,” her mother said.

  “Aren’t you curious, Mother?” Mary Ellen asked.

  “Of course, but I can wait until everyone is here. They’re all wrapped the same and they’re all the same size, so they must all contain the same thing. If we open them now, it will spoil it for the others. I think we should have our pie now and later we’ll open them.”

  “Your mother is right,” her father said. “It’s time for the pie.”

  Her mother turned to stare across the room. Justine’s heart thumped in her chest. Could she see her through the sheer curtains? She backed up one step and then two, until she was at the top of the steps. She raced down them and was in the car when the front door opened. Her heart pounded in her chest. They were all on the porch again, she could hear them plainly.

  “I thought I saw someone by the window,” her mother said.

  “You always see things at this time of year, Mother,” her father said. “You always think you see Ethel in one of the department stores or in church or in the backyard peeping in the windows.”

  “It’s just that she always took Christmas so hard,” her mother said.

  “Now, Mother, you know Ethel is dead. If she wasn’t dead, she would have come back long before this,” Mary Ellen said. “I always think more about her at Christmastime too. I think we all do. I have an idea,” she said cheerfully. “Let’s all guess what’s in the packages. Each of us gets three wishes. We can do that while we’re having our pie and coffee.”

  The car door slammed shut.

  Justine bawled until her eyes burned and her throat was sore from sobbing. When her feet and hands grew numb with the cold, she turned on the ignition. It wasn’t until she was halfway home that she realized her car window was wide open.

  It was Christmas Day.

  Justine drove around to the back of the house and entered from the kitchen, something she’d only done once or twice in all the time she’d lived in Jasper’s family home. Still in her coat, she did something she’d never done before. She brewed a pot of coffee. She tapped her foot impatiently as she waited for the coffee to perk, her thoughts far away. Her family thought Ethel Pullet was dead. Ethel Pullet, aka Justine Connors Landers.

  Light-years ago she’d thought the name Pullet sounded like some kind of chicken and she’d been ashamed of the sound of it, so she’d changed both her names. She’d seen the name Justine in a True Confessions magazine and liked it. She’d christened herself Justine Connors a week
after she left her family. Why shouldn’t they think Ethel was dead? People with intelligence and a heart didn’t do what she’d done. She deserved to stay dead. She was more certain than ever that her decision was best for everyone concerned.

  It was Christmas Day and Ethel Pullet was dead.

  Justine listened to the last plop of the percolator. She unplugged it, slopped cream into a large heavy mug, something she would normally never drink out of, and carried both the pot and the mug upstairs to her room.

  She wondered if she would ever be warm again. She longed for a warm, ratty, flannel robe and thick fleece-lined slippers, but all she had was silk and ruffles. There wasn’t one damn thing in the whole of the house that was comforting or familiar. Everything was for show, right down to the skimpy underwear that no one ever saw.

  Justine made a nest for herself in an uncomfortable chair. Two full packs of Chesterfield cigarettes lay open on the table next to a handsome leather-bound book of poetry. She’d never opened the book, never perused the poet’s writing. It was on the table because the color of the leather matched a picture she’d once seen in a magazine. The Tiffany lamp had been in the same picture. Which meant, she thought, it hadn’t been her own taste; she’d copied theirs.

  And nobody cared.

  It was going to be a very long night.

  Toward morning Justine dozed, her dreams invaded by demons from her past. She was on trial, sitting in a courtroom, defended by her son Ross. She was in the witness chair screaming at the jury of her peers, her brothers, sisters, and parents. Nine siblings and two parents made eleven.

  “Where’s the twelfth juror?” she screamed. “You can’t judge me unless there are twelve people!”

  “And where’s the alternate juror, Your Honor?” Ross shouted.

  Jasper settled his black robe more comfortably around his shoulders. He peered down at Justine in the witness chair. “It really doesn’t matter if there are twelve people or not. An alternate isn’t going to help you either. You’re guilty, we all know it. But since your attorney insists, we’ll fetch the twelfth juror and the alternate. No tricks, counselor. Just because Justine Landers is your mother and my wife doesn’t mean this jury or myself will tolerate any shenanigans. Bailiff, fetch the alternate and the twelfth juror. ”