Truly Yours Contemporary Collection December 2014

by Joyce Livingston, Gail Sattler, Joyce Livingston

  They had a quick bite of lunch, then worked side-by-side cleaning up the kitchen until it once again sparkled.

  “You still haven’t told me what we’re going to do with the rest of the afternoon.”

  She tapped the tip of his nose with her finger. “You and I are going shopping!”

  He responded with an unenthusiastic groan. “I hate shopping, you know that.”

  “You’ll like this shopping. We’re going to buy a Christmas tree!”

  By the time they reached the third Christmas tree lot, Randy was a basket case, ready to accept any old tree, but Sylvia insisted they had to find just the right one.

  “I know exactly what you want,” the elderly man at the YMCA Christmas tree lot told them as she described the tree she had in mind.

  Randy’s excitement revived when he saw the tree the man selected for them. “It’s perfect, Syl. It’ll look great in the family room!”

  She had to agree, it was perfect. The right kind, the right height, the branches were densely filled with needles, and the color was an exquisite, healthy dark green.

  “We’ll take it,” Randy said enthusiastically, almost snatching the tree from the man’s hands.

  “Don’t you want to ask how much it is first?” the ever-frugal Sylvia asked.

  Randy shook his head vigorously. “I don’t care what it costs. It’s exactly what we were looking for!”

  It was nearly four o’clock by the time they got the tree mounted in the tree stand and placed in its majestic position in the corner of the family room. His hands on his hips, Randy stood back to admire it.

  “Guess what you get to do!”

  He turned to her with a frown. “Not the lights!”

  She nodded. “Yes, the lights. Like you did on our first Christmas.”

  Together, they made several trips to the attic, bringing down all sorts of boxes and bags, until the entire family room floor was cluttered with decorations. As soon as they located the big box containing the lights, Randy began winding them around the tree, with Sylvia sorting out the various strings and handing them to him. Once the last string was connected and the extension cord in place, Randy proudly placed the plug in the wall and the beautiful tree came to life, with hundreds of tiny twinkling lights sparkling and blinking.

  “Oh, Randy. It’s beautiful! I’ve never seen a prettier tree. You did a great job with the lights.”

  His eyes surveyed the tree from top to bottom. “I kinda messed up there at the top. I should’ve put more lights up there.”

  She gazed at the tree, not caring if the lights were even. Randy had put those lights up—willingly. That is all that mattered. “I think it’s perfect,” she said dreamily.

  He bent and kissed the top of her head. “You’re biased.”

  For the next hour, they opened boxes, pulled out ornaments, and hung them on the tree. As they worked, they reminisced over each one, remembering where and when they had purchased them or who had given them to them as a gift. Some the children had made. Some Sylvia had made. Some others had made, but each one had its own special story.

  “Remember when you bought me this one?” Sylvia asked, pulling a fragile, clear-glass angel from its fitted Styrofoam box.

  He carefully took the ornament from her hand and stared at it. “Our tenth Christmas together?”

  She nodded, surprised that he remembered. “Yes. You—you told me—”

  “I—I told you that you were my angel. I bought it in the hotel gift shop when I was on a business trip to New York City. That face reminded me of you. You were supposed to come with me, but both DeeDee and Aaron came down with the chicken pox at the same time, and you had to stay home.”

  She felt her eyes grow misty. “I—I should’ve left them with my mother and gone with you. They would probably have been fine without me. Just like your office is getting along fine without you.” She moved toward him, her hand cupping his arm. “Why didn’t we find time for each other, Randy?”

  He swallowed hard, then placed his free hand over hers. “I don’t know. Life’s demands, I guess.”

  Suddenly, he pulled away, and she was sure he did it to change the subject and break this melancholy mood they both seemed to be in. “Are—are you hungry?” she asked, wanting to put him back at ease. “I’ve got a pot of chili simmering on the stove.”

  His smile returned. “With grated fresh onion, cheese, and chips?”

  “Just like you like it, and apple crisp for dessert.”

  After supper, when the kitchen had been restored to order, Sylvia led Randy back into the family room. “Tired?”

  “A little. Stringing lights is hard work.” He moved into his recliner and propped up the footrest, then sat staring at the tree. “Pretty, isn’t it?”

  “Absolutely beautiful! I’ve never seen a prettier tree.” Sylvia punched the Play button on the CD player, and Christmas music filled the room.

  “Me, either. It’s nice just sitting here, watching the lights, listening to Christmas carols, and relaxing. Surely you don’t have a project for tonight.”

  She smiled and shook her head. “Not really. I’ve already wrapped all the Christmas presents. I want to put them under the tree, that’s all. You sit right there and watch me.”

  “You work too hard, Syl. I never realized how hard.”

  “Give her of the fruit of her hands; and let her own works praise her in the gates.” “What I do isn’t work, Randy. It’s a labor of love.” She bustled about the room and, after spreading around the base of the tree the Christmas skirt she had made several years ago, she pulled dozens of beautifully wrapped presents from the closet and arranged them on top of it. “There. All done.”

  He stared at the vast array of gifts. “When did you do all of that?”

  “I started the week after Thanksgiving. Shopping for our family was like a—therapy—for me. It kept my mind off—things.”

  “I get the message,” he said, leaning his head against the headrest. “I’m sorry, Syl, but there wasn’t an easier way or a better time to tell you that I—”

  She quickly pressed her fingers to his lips. “Shh. We’re not going to talk about that this week. That was our agreement.”

  “I—I just don’t want you to get your hopes up.”

  Though Sylvia remained silent, her mind was racing. My hopes are up, Randy! I can’t help it. However, I can see, if I am going to win you back, I’m going to have to give it everything I’ve got. Hopefully, what I have planned for tomorrow will bring you to your senses!

  Ten

  By the time Randy crawled out of bed the next morning, Sylvia had strung a long evergreen garland along the top of the mirror over the fireplace, arranged the fragile Nativity set on the dining room buffet, and placed dozens of Christmas decorations and Christmas candles all over the house. Many of them were things she herself had made over the years.

  “Hey, why didn’t you wake me up?” he asked, looking from one decoration to another. “I would’ve helped you.”

  She pointed to the empty boxes standing in the hall. “You can carry those boxes back up to the attic, if you want to help.”

  He grinned as he shoved up the short sleeve of his T-shirt and flexed his bicep. “Glad to. Easy task.”

  By ten, Sylvia was instructing Randy to pull the car into the parking lot of Dallas Memorial Hospital.

  “Why here? I’m not sick, and you haven’t mentioned feeling bad.”

  She smiled as she pushed her door open and climbed out. “Indulge me.”

  Once inside, they walked to the bank of elevators opposite the reception desk. As they entered the open one, Sylvia punched the button marked Five. She could feel Randy’s eyes on her as the elevator ascended. She led him down a hall to a long set of plate glass windows with a sign above them that read Newborn Nursery. “This look familiar?” The look on his face told her he well remembered the place.

  ❧

  Randy pressed his cheek against the cool glass as memories floo
ded his mind. “Oh, yes,” he answered in a voice that sounded raspy, even to him. “Especially that little bed over there in the far corner. I thought we were going to lose him, Syl, and we nearly did.” He felt her move up close to him and lean her head against his shoulder. “I’d never been so scared in all my life.”

  “The birth of a child is truly a miracle. God took the love of two young people who thought they had the world by the tail and, through their love, created a tiny image of the two of them and breathed the breath of life into him. Our little boy. Our precious first child. Our Buck.”

  Randy closed his eyes, his head touching hers, and tried to shut out the memory of the tiny baby as he had gasped for life with each tiny, laborious breath. “He—he was so small. So helpless. I could’ve held him in my palm.”

  “But God intervened and strengthened his little lungs. Our baby lived, and look at him now. Buck is tall, straight, and healthy. A real answer to prayer.” She slipped her hand into the crook of his arm. “I can remember us both begging God to spare our child, making Him all sorts of promises. That was an emotional time for us, Randy, one I’ll never forget. But there were happier times right here in this nursery, too. Remember when the twins were born?”

  He rubbed at his eyes with his sleeve. “Do I ever! I was so afraid of losing you, I must’ve driven the doctors and nurses crazy. After the trouble we’d had with Buck, I couldn’t imagine you giving birth to two babies!”

  She snickered. “I was so worried about you, I had trouble concentrating on my breathing. I was afraid you were going to faint on me.”

  He wrapped his arm about her waist. “And I did! I was never so embarrassed in my life.”

  “You were only out a few seconds. Good thing that male nurse caught you, or you might’ve ended up on the floor having to have stitches in your head.”

  “I’ll never forget the experience of seeing our children born. How did you ever go through it, Syl? The pain must’ve been excruciating.”

  She leaned into him and gazed at the newborn in the little bed nearest the window. “Our babies were worth it.” Watery eyes lifted to his. “They were our babies, Randy. Yours and mine. I loved them. I loved you.”

  For long moments, neither of them said a word, just continued to stare through the glass. Finally, Sylvia took his hand and silently led him back to the elevators. “There are several other things I want to show you,” she said in a mere whisper as the elevator doors opened.

  When they reached the corner of Fourth Avenue and Bogart, Sylvia instructed Randy to turn left.

  “This looks very familiar. I think I know where we’re headed. Are you sure this is a good idea, Syl?”

  “Humor me, Randy, okay?”

  He pulled through the cemetery gates, made a quick right turn, then a left, and parked at the side of the road. “Wanna reconsider?” he asked as she pushed open her door and made her way between the gravestones.

  By the time she reached her destination, Randy was at her side. She knelt beside the tiny grave marked Angela Renae Benson and bowed her head. Seconds later, she felt Randy kneel beside her.

  Sylvia tried to be brave, to keep her emotions under control, but she could not, and she began to weep.

  “I’m sorry, Randy. Maybe you’re right. Maybe coming here wasn’t a good idea, but I wanted you to remember all the things we’ve gone through together. All the love and the joys and the heartaches we’ve shared.”

  “I—I do remember, Syl. I tried to be strong—for you—when we lost our little Angela, but inside I didn’t feel strong. I felt like a failure. I wasn’t even there for you when she was born. I was—too busy—at the newspaper, tending to some unimportant problem when you called and said your mother was taking you to the hospital. I should’ve dropped everything and rushed to your side, but I didn’t.”

  She leaned against him, needing his strength. “It—it wasn’t your fault, Randy. We would’ve lost her whether you made it or not.”

  “I—I wonder if she would’ve looked like DeeDee? With lots of dark curly hair and that cute little button nose?” He leaned forward and traced their baby’s name with the tip of his finger.

  “Angela was a product of our love, Randy, just like Buck and DeeDee and Aaron. She—she would’ve been ten years old in February.”

  “Let’s go, Syl,” he said tenderly as he rose and offered her his hand.

  She stood slowly, giving the tiny grave one last look. Then she leaned into Randy as his arm encircled her, and they walked back to her car.

  “Now where? Home?”

  She pulled a tissue from her purse, blotted her eyes, then blew her nose loudly. “Not yet. Head on down Fourth Avenue and turn onto Lane Boulevard.”

  They rode silently for several miles, when suddenly Sylvia grabbed onto his arm and said, “Pull over.”

  “Oh, Syl. Not here!”

  When he braked, she crawled out of the car and motioned for him to follow, carefully moving down a slight embankment toward a grove of trees. When she reached her destination, she stopped and turned to him. “I nearly lost you here, Randy. I’ll never forget that day.”

  He reached out and ran his fingers across a long diagonal scar on the nearest tree’s trunk. “I thought for sure I was a goner when that drunk ran me off the road. It felt like I was doing ninety miles an hour when I left the boulevard, but I was only doing around forty according to the witnesses.” He bent and rubbed at his knee. “I wasn’t sure I was ever going to walk again.”

  “You could’ve been killed.”

  “I know.”

  “It was a miracle you lived. God spared you, Randy. He had a purpose for your life.”

  “I may never have walked again if it hadn’t been for you and all those months of physical therapy you helped me with. How could you do it, Syl? With everything else you had to do, you put aside two hours a day to help me work my leg.”

  “Give her of the fruit of her hands, and let her own works praise her in the gates.” “I wanted to do it, Randy. I loved you.”

  He took a couple of steps back, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “If you’re trying to make me feel bad, you’re succeeding.”

  “Making you feel bad is not my purpose, Randy. I just want you to remember the things that make up a marriage. Both good and bad.”

  He extended his hand, and they climbed back up the embankment. This time, Sylvia moved into the driver’s seat.

  They crossed town to an area near the college where Randy had attended school and obtained his degree in journalism. Sylvia brought the car to a stop in front of a rundown old tenement building.

  Randy shielded his eyes from the sun as he stared at the place they had once lived, pointing up to the third floor with his free hand. “That was our apartment right up there. I can remember you standing in that very window, smiling and waving at me when I came home from class every afternoon.”

  “Seeing you coming up that sidewalk was the highlight of my day. What fun we had,” Sylvia said, waxing nostalgic. “Remember those old wooden crates you got out of the dumpster at some warehouse. We used those for end tables and a coffee table and thought they were grand. I don’t remember who gave us that old brown frieze sofa bed, but it did the job. I loved that apartment. Our very first home. I was so proud of it.”

  He laughed, and his laughter made her smile. “You were easy to please.” His smile disappeared. “I always hated it that you had to work nights to put me through school. As I sat in that apartment each night, studying, I kept thinking about you waiting tables in that all-night restaurant and the creeps that must’ve come in there. I should never have let you support me like that, and you sacrificed your own education to make sure I got mine.”

  “But you sacrificed, too! You cared for Buck while you were studying. Otherwise, I couldn’t have worked. We sure couldn’t afford a baby-sitter, and neither of us wanted to leave him with one anyway.” She gave his arm a reassuring pat. “I didn’t mind. Honest.”

  His fist po
unded into the palm of his other hand. “That place was a dump! I can’t believe we lived there.”

  “That dump was an answer to prayer, Randy. Remember how excited we were when we finally found something we could afford?”

  “I remember promising you we’d be out of there and in a better place in a year. We ended up staying there nearly all four years!”

  “Just knowing you wanted a better place for us and were working to get your education so we could eventually have one was enough for me.” She grabbed onto his hand and tugged him to the little drugstore on the corner. Once inside, she went to the soda fountain and ordered two root beers, a delicacy they had only been able to afford when she had worked a little overtime at the restaurant or some customer had left an overly generous tip. They sat side-by-side on the tall soda fountain stools and sipped their drinks the way they had done it nearly twenty-five years ago. On the way out, Sylvia bought a bag of red licorice, the long, stringy kind, another delicacy they had indulged in from time to time. She opened the bag and handed several strings to Randy.

  He bit off a long piece, then winced. “We actually liked this stuff?”

  She gave him a wink. “Come on—you loved it and you know it!”

  He grinned. “Yeah, I guess I did.”

  “Beat you to the car,” she hollered over her shoulder as she took off down the block. He did not catch up with her until she had reached the car.

  He threw his arms around her as they both stood leaning against the car, panting and breathless. “What are you trying to do, lady? Throw me into a heart attack? I haven’t run like that since—since—”

  She chucked him under the chin with a giggle. “Oh? It’s been so long you can’t even remember when?”

  “Maybe!” He pulled open the passenger door. “Who’s driving? Me or you?”

  “I’ll drive.” She crawled in, started the car, and waited until he had his seatbelt fastened. “One more stop, then we can go home.”