by Beth K. Vogt
There they were, the photo a bit blurry with their legs caught in midmotion. Two boys running together, Kyler looking up at his big brother.
“You never thought you wouldn’t see him again.”
“No.” Geoff seemed to choke on the word. “Kyler liked for me to sit with him at night in the hospital, to read him books. The day . . . the day he died, I had get-well cards from all his classmates . . .”
Geoff covered the photo with his hand as if he couldn’t bear to look at it. Then he closed the photo album. Tapped the cover.
I waited.
“There’s a couple of other things in the bag.” Geoff pulled it up off the floor.
“There is?” Reaching inside, my fingers touched the worn edges of another book. “What’s this?”
Geoff’s eyes shone with tears. “That was Kyler’s favorite book. He loved when I read it to him.”
I couldn’t help but smile at the yellow animal covered with multicolored spots lounging on the cover of the book beneath the title Put Me in the Zoo.
“I read this book so many times, I had it memorized.” Geoff closed his eyes. “‘I will go into the zoo. I want to see it. Yes, I do.’”
“It sounds like you still have it memorized.”
“I guess so . . . maybe.” Geoff cleared his throat. “He loved Grover from Sesame Street, too. I practiced until I could talk just like Grover for him.”
“Are you going to let me hear that?”
“No . . . I don’t think I can do the voice anymore.”
“So is there a Grover book in the bag, too?”
“No . . .” Geoff waited as I reached for the bag again.
My hand found a bundle of softness. I gathered it together and revealed—“Is this a baby blanket?”
“It was Kyler’s. Yes.”
“Oh, Geoff . . .”
“He brought it with him when my parents adopted him. He slept with it. Dragged it everywhere. Mom could hardly get a chance to wash it.”
I spread the soft white cotton blanket decorated with blue floppy bunnies and yellow chicks, the binding worn.
“When Kyler died, I came home . . . and took the blanket and this book from his room. And a few weeks later, I took some of my favorite photos and put them in this album—I bought it at the store. I put them away in my closet because Mom and Dad didn’t want to talk about it . . . to talk about Kyler . . . and Brian was okay with that, too.”
Geoff’s voice had faded away, softer and softer, as if the strength to recount all the memories had stretched him too thin.
There were no tears.
Just a silence, a loss, I couldn’t speak into.
The local weatherman’s forecast of no snow for Christmas had been correct.
The classical holiday music piped through the Hennesseys’ in-home stereo system set the appropriate, if somewhat muted, mood for the day. The coordinated and oh-so-expensive decorations along the winding banister and in various spots in the foyer and other rooms might last until the first of the year—or would Lilith have the normal decor restored before then?
Geoff and Winston were both still asleep upstairs, but I found my way to the kitchen, with its gourmet stainless steel appliances and black granite countertops, where Lilith had just closed the oven door on a breakfast casserole. Geoff’s mom fit into her perfect surroundings, already dressed for the day in sleek black pants and a white blouse, her brown hair styled away from her face, her hazel eyes so like Geoff’s.
“Can I do anything to help?”
“No, dear. The housekeeper did all the prep for me. All I had to do was put the casserole in the oven and then pull everything else out of the refrigerator once this is done.” She motioned to a glass pitcher on the counter, next to four fluted glasses. “There are mimosas if you’d like one.”
“No, thank you. I’ll wait for everyone else. May I set the table for you?”
“That’s already done. It’s simple enough with the four of us.”
Just the four of them.
“I wanted to ask you something.”
“Yes?”
“Your Christmas decorations? They’re lovely.”
“Aren’t they? The company I hired did a wonderful job. I tell them what theme I want, so it’s personal. Did you say you wanted to ask me something?”
“It’s that Geoff and I are just starting out with our decorations. We have a few ornaments from my family. I was wondering if we could take one or two from your tree—family tradition, you know?”
“Family tradition?”
“Yes.”
“Certainly, Jillian. I’d rather you not spoil the larger tree in the living room. Just take something from the back of the tree—the one downstairs in the family room. The decorations are staying up until after the New Year.”
“Of course.”
This was like asking for something and getting a yes, but knowing the person wanted to say no. The entire time we talked, Lilith kept moving, pulling items from the refrigerator, gathering serving utensils. She never once made eye contact with me.
“I was wondering if I could talk to you about something else . . .”
“Yes?” Lilith glanced at the timer on the stove, a not-so-subtle hint that our conversation had a time limit.
“I wanted to say . . . to tell you . . . that Geoff told me about both Brian and Kyler.”
Lilith opened a drawer next to the stove. Removed a knife. Eased the drawer shut without a sound. “Oh?”
“Yes, we were talking . . . and he told me about what happened with Brian . . . and how Kyler died.”
“I see.”
“I wanted to say I’m sorry—”
“Jillian.” Lilith gripped the handle of the knife. “That conversation. It was between you and Geoff, correct?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t understand why Geoff felt compelled to talk about . . . any of this all these years later, but I think it’s best what was said remains between the two of you.”
“But—”
“This is not something we talk about.” Lilith’s voice firmed.
“Why not?”
“Felix and I always thought it was easier, best . . . for Geoff, for the family, if we handled it this way.”
I assumed the word family only included her, Felix, Brian, and Geoff. Lilith had always been reserved, but now it was as if she’d vacated the room once I’d mentioned her other sons. Her voice had gone flatline, even as she placed the knife on the counter, next to a cutting board, and removed a shiny red apple from the white ceramic fruit bowl.
Perhaps if I took it one brother at a time.
“Surely you had to know Geoff was going to miss his little brother . . . that he needed to talk about Kyler after he—”
“Don’t begin to think you can tell me how Geoff felt . . . or how it needed to be handled. I had plenty of people telling me their opinions years ago. ‘Let him cry. Don’t let him cry. Take him to counseling. Counseling will mess him up.’” Lilith focused on halving the apple. Quartering it. Removing the core. And then making precise slices. “Felix and I decided the best way to handle it was to get back to normal as quickly as possible. After all, it had only been five years . . . We could go back to the way things were . . .”
“You think he just forgot—?”
“Yes, I do. We went to the funeral. Came home and never spoke of it again.”
“So Geoff . . . and Brian . . . went to Kyler’s funeral.”
At the mention of both Brian’s and Kyler’s names, Lilith’s slicing paused and then resumed again. Swift. Precise. “Yes. We were going to leave them with friends, but Geoff insisted on going. Demanded to go. I gave in, but only once he agreed he wouldn’t cry. We would do this right. No crying. And of course, I had to bring both of them.”
It was as if I were standing in front of one of those crazy mirrors where everything was distorted. Lilith was a mother. Brian’s mother. Geoff’s mother. Kyler’s mother. But she chose to forget her eldes
t son when he ran away from home and her youngest son when he died.
The only sound in the kitchen was the rapid hiss of the knife blade as it sliced through the apple, over and over again.
The timer dinged, causing me to jerk.
Lilith set the knife next to the pile of apple slices on the cutting board. Checked the casserole, closing the oven door silently.
“This needs about ten more minutes.” She washed her hands at the sink. “My husband will be coming downstairs in a few minutes. He expects a nice Christmas breakfast. So does Geoff.”
“Yes.” I struggled with the change of conversation.
“Then I suggest we keep this between the two of us—as if this conversation never happened. Don’t you agree?” Lilith began scraping the delicate apple slices off the cutting board, into the trash can. “Jillian?”
“Yes. Yes, I agree.”
I had no choice.
“Good. Then why don’t you go select an ornament or two off the family room tree. One of the angels and one of the stars might be nice.”
“Thank you.”
I’d been dismissed. Another one of the incidents to be forgotten in Lilith’s life—a more easily forgotten one.
I COULD CHECK one thing off today’s to-do list. I’d gone grocery shopping. And thanks to writing the list in my phone—so I couldn’t forget it at home or lose it somewhere in the house or on my way to the store—I’d been successful and gotten every single item. Of course, I’d had to check and recheck the list multiple times before I left the store—and even one last time while I sat in my car and waited for the defroster to clear the ice off my windshield.
It was a small victory, but I’d take it.
I’d overlook the fact that I’d taken a short nap before going grocery shopping.
And that I’d postpone cleaning the house until tomorrow.
There would be no more adoption research taking up my time. No meeting with Thea, who had accepted my brief text about not being able to meet without asking any questions.
Putting away the eggs, milk, oranges, and packaged salad gave me a chance to appreciate my new fridge—which worked beautifully, even with the hidden ding on the side. Stacking my canned goods in one of the cabinets made me thankful once again for Zach, even as I wondered if he and Payton had figured things out. I hadn’t asked her about that when the family celebrated Christmas, although Payton mentioned he’d gone to see his parents in California. So they must still be talking a little bit. And not once was I distracted by having to stop and let Winston out or in. The doggy door, outfitted with a little Wipe your paws mat, was fast becoming a favorite add-on to our kitchen.
Once the groceries were put away, I took the time to peel an orange, piling the sections in a small bowl. After rinsing the juice from my hands, I rewarded myself with a phone call to Harper, who answered immediately as if expecting my call.
“Jillian! How was your Christmas?”
“Good. The usual Thatcher affair.” I stretched out on the couch, my snack nearby. “Except Zach wasn’t there this year because he and Payton . . . they’re not seeing each other anymore.”
“So they were seeing each other.”
“No, I phrased that wrong.” I took a quick bite of orange, savoring the refreshing tartness. “It’s complicated . . . and they decided it was too complicated. Does that make sense?”
“I’ll trust you that it does.”
“Although Payton did mention him briefly, and she seemed less tense, so maybe they’ve decided to be friends again. I don’t know.” I paused for a moment, rethinking over the day. “Beckett wasn’t there, either. Which is odd. I find it hard to believe he had to work on Christmas. But that was Johanna’s story, and she stuck with it.”
“I seriously doubt that anything’s wrong with Johanna and Beckett. Those two have been together forever.”
“You’re right.” I patted the couch, inviting Winston to jump up beside me, moving the bowl to the side table. “It’s so good to hear your voice. I’m going to pretend you’re still here in the Springs.”
“And I’m going to enjoy the view outside my mother’s condo while we catch up.”
“That’s not nice.”
“It actually is a very nice view of the ocean.”
“And that was nicely played.” I closed my eyes, allowing myself to relax. “Did you have a good Christmas in North Carolina?”
“If by ‘good’ you mean ‘quiet,’ then yes, I had a good Christmas.”
“What did you do?”
“I took a long walk on the beach in the morning. Then I took an even longer one in the evening.”
“And in between?”
“In between I watched Miracle on 34th Street, Christmas in Connecticut, and It’s a Wonderful Life.”
“Not White Christmas?”
“No, I decided to go with all black-and-white Christmas movies this year. Might have started a new Christmas Day tradition.”
“Maybe I’ll try that next year. Sounds like a good idea.” Time for another slice of orange, the fruit moist on my fingers.
“Except that It’s a Wonderful Life always makes me cry.”
“But in a good way, right?”
“I guess so . . . most years.”
“Are you getting settled out there?”
“Sure. I mean, there’s nothing to settle. Most everything I own is in storage. And I’m not working yet.”
“You’ll start the job search up again in January, right?”
“New Year, new job.” Harper’s tone brightened. “You want to know what I pulled out of the jar today?”
“Tell me.”
“‘The best time for new beginnings is now.’ Perfect timing, wouldn’t you say?”
“Absolutely.”
“I only had to try seven times before I found it.”
The sound of Harper’s laughter was its own kind of gift. Harper never stopped looking for a silver lining to any cloud. Never stopped hoping, even when her husband stopped believing in their marriage.
“What about you, Jilly? How was Christmas for you?”
“It’s been . . . different.” I reached for another bite of orange, my movement unsettling Winston, who jumped down from the couch.
“Are you and Geoff better?”
“Some.” That was the truth, wasn’t it? “He hit me with something unexpected on Christmas Eve.”
“Please don’t tell me that he’s got some horrible hidden vice like gambling or . . .”
“He has two brothers. Not one. Two.”
“What? Jillian, that’s ridiculous.”
I buried my face in one hand, my phone clutched in the other, allowing Harper to sputter away. Her reactions were no different than mine had been.
“Are you still there?”
“Still here.” My reply was muffled.
“Why aren’t you saying anything?”
“I was waiting for you to be done with all your ‘This can’t be true’ statements.”
“I’m sorry. I just can’t believe this—”
I settled back against the couch. “I know. But it’s the truth. Geoff’s older brother ran away from home. His younger, adopted brother, Kyler, died. And the Hennessey family doesn’t talk about either of them.”
“That’s so wrong.”
“It’s how his parents coped. Not that I’m defending them.”
“What are you doing?”
“I’m trying . . . trying to understand my husband. Why he didn’t tell me all of this sooner. Trying to figure out how we move forward. I have to believe it helped Geoff to talk about his brothers.” I sat up so that I could see our Christmas tree. “Of course, that doesn’t mean anything changes for us.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Hoping Geoff might change his mind about having children? It’s like holding my breath . . . I can’t survive that way. The other night, he showed me photos of Kyler and him, and it was like inhaling a precious gasp of air. But now I’m ba
ck to holding my breath again. Waiting . . . waiting to see if anything changes.”
I found myself taking a deep breath as if talking about all of this with Harper had reminded me that I needed to breathe, to fight past the pressure building in my chest and just keep inhaling and exhaling. Believing I could live this way.
“But I’m trying . . . trying to be more hopeful.” My gaze was captured by the tiny Nativity I’d purchased on sale and put on the mantel—a simple manger scene with Mary, Joseph, the baby Jesus, a shepherd with a couple of sheep. No wise men. No angels. I could always add more pieces to the collection if I wanted to, but then I’d need a larger mantel.
“Positive thoughts, huh?”
“No. Although I’m glad my texts are helping you.”
“What? They don’t help you, too?”
How did I explain all of this to Harper?
“The positive thoughts you gave me last year? They were great. But I needed something more after I got fired. And because I don’t know how long I’ll be dealing with chemo brain.” I needed to back up. “I kind of thought I’d get through the mastectomy and the chemo and radiation, and things would be all better. That I’d marry Geoff, and things would be good finally, but . . .”
“But things didn’t work out that way.”
“No. Is it awful to say that?”
“You can say anything you want to me, Jilly. You know that.”
“I love Geoff—nothing changes that. Nothing.” My mouth had gone dry, the fresh taste of orange souring. “But I can’t just think myself out of the whole ‘no children’ decision he’s made for us. Or out of night sweats and the constant fatigue.”
“So what? You’re going to counseling?”
“No.” If only I were sitting across from Harper right now so I could see her face. “I’m going to church.”
“To church?”
“Well, it’s more than that. I talked with Zach and Payton . . . and I’m trying to figure out what I believe about God.”
“God.” Harper’s voice echoed the same flat tone that I’d heard in Geoff’s. “You believe in God?”