by Ka Hancock
Later, when I was on the phone with Dr. Sweeny discussing the possibility that Abby might have colic, that same look hardened Lily’s expression. I was only wondering if trying a formula without iron might lessen our baby’s fussiness—something I had read on the Internet—but it seemed I had once again done the unforgivable. So I left Lily to deal with our ornery baby and said I was going to Partners to talk to Jared.
Our township is nearly two miles long from the pier to Brinley Loop, and I was surprised at how good it felt to be outside. It had snowed all evening, and now the world seemed crisp and clean, and all mine, since my footprints were the first to mar the newly powdered landscape. As I made my way up Main Street, I realized how comforting it was to pass by neighbors I had known for as long as I’d been married to Lucy. I imagined all the conversations going on behind the familiar doors. For a dozen years these people had been my friends. I knew their stories, and they certainly knew mine. And many of them loved me anyway.
I thought back on that early-November night when Lu and I were walking back from Lily’s spaghetti dinner. I had told my wife then that I did not want the baby, but I never told her I had actually decided to leave Brinley. I’d finally considered that Lucy might die, and if it happened, my plan was to walk away from here, from everything that reminded me of my wife, and lose myself in whatever it was going to take to hurry my destruction.
But then Abby came, and everything changed.
I looked around this quiet street flanked by homes filled with people I had grown to love. My daughter would grow up here in this great little town and be beloved because her mom was beloved. How had I ever thought I could walk away and not be part of that?
Lost in what-ifs, I had reached the Loop, and it looked as though Brubaker Inn was doing a sparse business, not surprising this close to Christmas. But if history was any indication, they were booked solid next week. I’d come to talk to Jared, but now that I was here, I didn’t think I had much to say. I knew I could start back at Partners anytime. Hell, I could go in and start working right now if I wanted to. Instead I took the long way back to Ron and Lily’s, down Chestnut and toward my house.
Of course it was dark and empty, but it was my house and it knew me. I might actually have been strong enough to walk in, but I just watched it, willing the lights to go on, willing Lucy to open the door.
But of course nothing like that happened. It was an empty house, unchanged from the morning Lucy woke up so sick and so sore she had me call the doctor. I had poured her some apple juice that she’d refused. It was still on the counter. The bed wasn’t made, there was laundry in the dryer, and we were out of milk. How could everything stay exactly the same when the unimaginable had changed everything?
There was easily a foot of snow on the roof and on the drive. I hesitated only a moment before I walked around back to the garage door, which I never locked, and retrieved the shovel. It was a deceptively heavy snow—not airy powder the way it looked—and the exertion felt good. It was bitter cold except for the hot tears I could feel running down my face, but it felt good to be physical, to feel my heart beat and frigid air glide in and out of me. When I was finished with my driveway, I started in on Harry’s, and I got about halfway through before he pulled in.
Jan was out of the car before Harry had even cut the engine. “Mickey, you sweet thing, what do you think you’re doing?”
I shrugged against her embrace. “I was just out for a walk.” I’m a grown man, but I gotta say, being loved by this mom of a woman felt just as it should have felt when I was a kid.
“All right, you’re finished, here,” she insisted. “Harry will finish up tomorrow. You come in now, you must be freezing. C’mon, we’ll have some tea, or soup. Hot chocolate?”
Harry had lifted the shovel from my hand. “There’s no use arguing, Mic. She’s going to get some tea, or soup, or whatever else she’s got down you, so you might as well come in.” Harry gave my back a soft slap, and at that point what choice did I have?
Inside, I realized how cold I’d been. Jan took my coat and hung it by the fireplace, then draped a thick afghan over my shoulders. As I sat at Jan’s kitchen table and let the two of them cluck over me, something in me just burst, and I started to bawl like nobody’s business. Jan was all over me like a good mother. Harry was quieter. He just sat down and put his hand on mine. “It’s okay, son, let it out.”
I can’t begin to describe what it was like to be in the heart of these people. Neither did I realize how raw I was. I just knew it felt unimaginably good to sob, to let everything I had kept reined in at Lily’s flow out of me. There must have been quite a buildup of stored emotion because it took a while. When I was finally able to settle myself, I told them I had needed to do that for a long time. I had cried a lot of tears over these last months, but never before had I acknowledged how unprepared I was for a life without Lucy.
Jan and Harry held me together until I could do it for myself. After that, we had soup. It was ten after eleven and we had soup and some of Jan’s homemade sourdough bread and honey butter and apple juice pressed from her own apples. Everything was delicious, and it had been so long since I had actually been hungry, had actually tasted anything. Later, Harry insisted on driving me home, but I told him I really wanted to walk.
“Then promise we’ll see you on Christmas for brunch,” Jan said.
“I promise. And don’t be alarmed if you look outside and see my lights on over there. I’m coming home tomorrow.”
“Oh, honey, are you ready?”
“I’m never going to be ready, Jan. But it’s time.”
“Christmas Eve? Are you sure?”
“Yeah. I’m sure. If I do it tomorrow, it can only get easier from there on out.”
Jan leaned up and kissed my cheek. “You know we’re right here.”
I nodded.
“Well, at least take this.” Harry pulled a ski cap over my head. “If you won’t let me drive you, at least be warm.”
“Thanks. Thanks for everything.” I gazed past them at the gigantic Austrian pine that took up half of their living room. It was loaded with soft light, colors twinkling, bathing the room in that ambience that is uniquely Christmas. Despite everything that had happened, I felt a measure of comfort.
I walked back out into the cold. It was snowing again and the full moon lit the night with silver sparkle. I thought of my wife, and for the first time the pain of losing her didn’t stab me as it usually did. That surprised me so I ventured further. I thought of our first Christmas together. Of the tree that was totally lopsided and the way it would not stand up straight, and how when I tried to balance it, the sucker fell over on me. Lucy had laughed so hard she lost her breath and could not help me out of my predicament: a big man trapped under a bigger tree. I thought of that night so long ago, every detail rich and dimensional. I thought of Lucy’s heartless belly laugh so hard I could almost hear it.
It sounded like music.
thirty-five
I had dragged my feet all day, inventing things to keep me busy so I could put off going home for as long as possible. I did my laundry. I did Abby’s laundry. I cleaned the bathroom I’d been using. I made my bed. And every chance I had, I held my daughter. Maybe it was because I was still here, or maybe it was that Christmas had snuck up on her, but Lily seemed unusually quiet today. Not cold or unkind, just subdued. While I rocked Abby, she’d been busy wrapping presents and trimming the tree, which had sat naked all week. Only once, when she was hanging the stockings, did I see her become emotional.
She’d hung hers and Ron’s and then picked up a third stocking. I watched her run her hand down the front of it as she looked over at me. “I don’t think I’ve shown you this,” she said, holding it up for me to see. On the front of it was the scene of a baby sleeping underneath a Christmas tree. It looked like a painting but it was really made up of those tiny stitches that boggle the mind—needlepoint, or something like it. Even at this small distance I could see it w
as old, with lots of character like everything wonderful in Lily’s house. She fingered the edge of it. “I think this was done by a new mom because she’d do it at her baby’s side while she slept, or maybe a granny because she was alone and had the time. It was probably stitched next to a window when the light was good, or maybe a lantern, but either way, it was definitely done with lots of love.” Lily shook her head. “Since it was made for a baby girl by someone who adored her, I thought it would be perfect for our Abby.”
“How do you know it’s a girl?”
Lily walked over to me. “Because you can see a bracelet around her little wrist.”
I followed Lily’s slender finger as she pointed this out to me. Sure enough, on the wrist, half-hidden beneath the tree, a tiny silver chain could be deciphered. I would never have noticed it, but Lil was right. “How old is it, do you think?”
“Oh, it’s dated. See, it’s very small and a little frayed, but it looks like 1872—maybe 1878. But it’s been beautifully preserved, probably a precious family heirloom until it reached someone more interested in the four hundred and eighty-five dollars I bid for it on eBay.”
“Wow. Hard to believe anyone would part with it.”
Lily turned back to the tree. “One man’s treasure is another man’s car payment.” Lily laid the stocking over the arm of the chair, and as she fished through a box of ornaments, I wondered why she hadn’t hung it up with the others. But then I realized that was probably for my benefit. I appreciated the gesture.
When I glanced outside the big window in Lily’s hearth room and saw the afternoon was fading, I realized I had officially stalled the day away. Abby was asleep in my arms and I pulled her to my lips and kissed her head. I lingered there a long time, breathing her in. When I let go of the moment and looked up, I found Lily was staring at me. Her eyes were moist with understanding as I’m sure mine were, but neither of us looked away. I held my entire world in my arms, and acknowledging this, I felt desperation creep into my expression, but I didn’t know what to do about it.
Lily walked over to me and gently lifted Abby from my arms. “Let’s leave her with Ron,” she whispered. “We need to go see Lucy.”
“Oh, Lil, I—”
“It’s time, Mickey. For both of us.”
We drove to the cemetery without saying a word to each other. No one was there when we pulled in, but there had obviously been many visitors this week. Boughs of holly, frozen poinsettias, even miniature Christmas trees, dotted the gravesites. Lily parked at the edge of the little path that led up to where Lucy was buried and cut the engine. We sat for a few minutes, still not talking, and watched the snow start to fall. Finally Lily opened her door. “You take your time, Mickey,” she said, getting out of the car. She lifted some small potted pines from the backseat and nudged the door shut with her hip. I waited only a moment, then I got out, too. It was cold and the wind blew right through my jacket as I followed Lily up the hill.
I had not been here for a long time, and it shamed me to be walking here now, having missed Lucy’s funeral. At the top of the hill we stopped in front of the marble bench and gazed at this small family of markers. Lucy’s parents’ was a slab of coral granite that somehow diminished them to just that stone. Lucy’s grandmother’s small, white marker was off to one side, and I was stunned to see that Lucy was next to her. I guess because I’d been incapacitated, Ron and Lily had taken care of business for me. For my wife they’d chosen dark granite, a rough-hewn stone that was mirror smooth only on the front. I crouched down in front of it, unable to control my emotion. It was beautiful. I ran my hand over the smooth part and traced her name with my fingers.
“Do you like it?” Lily said, kneeling beside me.
“I like it very much,” I rasped.
“I think it’s perfect. Kind of formidable. Like her.”
I touched Lucy’s name again. “I loved her so much, Lil.”
“I know you did.”
“I miss her.”
“Me, too.”
I thought of Lucy’s sound declaration that God would never fill her heart with love for me and then take it away. I wanted to believe that. If love was really that essential, why would God let me have it only to take it back? And if he wouldn’t, did that mean love—Lucy’s love—could transcend everything I understood? What a thought. If it was true, I think I could survive anything.
Just after seven, Ron pulled into my neighborhood. Chestnut Street was a riot of lights, every house drenched in twinkling color and holiday finery. My heart sank, knowing I was going home to emptiness and darkness and a glass of evaporated apple juice.
Lily seemed to read my thoughts. “You can change your mind, Mic.”
“I’ll be fine, Lil,” I lied. I watched a look pass between her and Ron that I couldn’t read. As my house came into view, I heard Lily giggle.
“Whoa. What’s all this?” I said, stunned at the sight. My house was awash in white lights, and for a moment, I thought we were on the wrong street. But it was my house, covered in Christmas. Lucy had always loved just clean white lights, and we had a plethora that someone had dug out of our basement and hung. In the window, a Christmas tree shown with more white lights that defined its size and shape. A current of emotion surged through me. My house looked the way it had every Christmas since I’d moved in. I could almost imagine my wife sitting in our kitchen watching for me to arrive with the famous last-minute this or that that had become as traditional as the holiday itself.
“Oh, Lord.” My voice was shaky and didn’t quite sound like mine. I met Ron’s eyes in the rearview mirror. He chuckled as he pulled into the driveway and put the car in park.
“Are you surprised?” Lily laughed. “Merry Christmas, Mickey.”
“Oh, what have you guys done?”
“Just a little Christmas cheer.”
I was so numbed that it took me a few tries to unbuckle Abby’s car seat. Lily had to help me, and she tucked the blanket gently around Abby’s head—just as I would have done—to ward off the frigid breeze blowing off the river.
I think Ron was worried about me because he grabbed hold of my arm as we headed up the walk. But I was okay. As Lily got the groceries she had loaded me up with out of the trunk, I rummaged for my key to the front door. But the door opened from within and there stood Harry wearing a ridiculous reindeer sweater—the same one he’d been wearing on Christmas Eve for as long as I’d known him. He pulled the door wider to reveal a room full of Christmas. Decorations, music, the unbelievable scent of roasted turkey, and beloved neighbors were all waiting for me in my living room.
I searched Harry’s face for some indication that this was a dream, but he just smiled. I stared in at this gathering utterly amazed and suddenly humbled. Jan was the first to plant a kiss on my cheek and hug me. With my free hand I grabbed her like a man drowning, and when I emerged from her embrace, she touched her fingers to her mouth and tried to fight the tears.
Harry relieved me of the car seat so I could float along this remarkable wave of welcome. Charlotte Barbee tapped my chest and told me I was looking good. Diana Dunleavy took both my hands in hers and kissed them. Earl Withers palmed my shoulder. Every interaction shored up my ability to be here without Lucy. Above the din, I heard Abby, and I tried to backtrack to where she was because I knew that soon her cry would turn ugly as she insisted on being fed. I wanted to hold her, but Ron had quietly gotten a bottle together and sat down with her on the sofa, where he was quickly flanked by Muriel Piper and Elaine Withers. These women looked as though they had never seen a baby before, and I relaxed knowing Abby was well taken care of.
Once again I lost myself in sensation, hands touching my face, kind words, kisses on my cheek, soft slaps on my back. Words extracted from a dozen conversations—“He looks good . . . he’ll be okay . . . he’s lost weight, bless his heart . . . the baby looks just like Lucy, absolutely adorable.” It was all a little overwhelming, but I was loath to forfeit even a portion of it.
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nbsp; From across the room I watched Lily help Jan put the finishing touches on the dining room table. I was amazed that, in spite of her frustration, Lily had helped pull off this surprise for me.
The doorbell rang just then, and when Harry answered it, there stood Priscilla and Nathan. They were kissing but they parted quickly, looking a bit embarrassed. Nathan indicated the eave, where a big bunch of mistletoe hung, and Harry laughed as he opened the door wider and took their coats. My sister-in-law spotted me immediately, and the room parted for her as she made her way toward me. She was a stunner in a short red dress and stiletto boots, but as she stopped in front of me, she gave me a look that belied her cool exterior.
“Mickey,” she whispered, hugging me. “Merry Christmas, honey. You okay?”
“Getting there,” I said in her ear.
The door again opened and I watched as Gleason Webb, bundled in an overstuffed parka, made his way into the room.
“Well, aren’t you just the sweetest thing to haul all the way out here tonight?” Jan said, kissing him on the cheek.
“Well, I don’t know about that. But I heard food was involved so I had to come.” He chuckled and caught my eye, then began making his way toward me across the crowded room.
When he reached me, he said, “Doesn’t get much better than this, Mic.”
“I think you’re right.”
Near the kitchen, Harrison clanked a spoon against his glass and the room quieted. He cleared his throat and looked far more serious than a man wearing a reindeer sweater should. “I want to welcome everyone to Christmas Eve at the Chandlers’. But mostly I wanted to welcome Mickey back. It’s been too long.” His lip quivered as he looked hard at me. “It’s good to have you home, son.”