As he left, Jack promised to be home at five or five-thirty. He still had Jamie’s new bike to put together that night, and Liz knew he’d be frantically wrapping gifts for her in the office he kept at home, at midnight. But Christmas Eve at their house was everything it should be. They had come to each other with years of Christmas traditions they cherished, and over the years had managed to blend them into one big warm cozy celebration, which their children loved.
Liz drove the short distance to their home in Tiburon, and smiled to herself as she pulled into the driveway on Hope Street. All three of her daughters had just returned from shopping with Carole, and they were getting out of the car with all their packages. Megan was a willowy fourteen, at thirteen Annie was stockier but looked just like her mother, and Rachel was eleven, and looked just like Jack, despite her mother’s red hair. The three got on surprisingly well, and were in high spirits as they argued good-humoredly about something with Carole. And all three smiled when they saw their mother walk toward them.
“What have you been up to?” Liz put an arm around Annie and Rachel, and then narrowed her eyes as she looked at Megan. “Is that my favorite black sweater you’re wearing again, Meg? Or do I even need to ask? You’re bigger than I am and you’re going to stretch it.”
“It’s not my fault you’re flat-chested, Mom,” Megan said with a guilty grin. They were always “borrowing” clothes from each other and their mother, more often than not without the owner’s permission or approval. It was really the only argument the girls had between them, and hardly a serious problem. Liz felt lucky just looking at them, she and Jack had great kids, and they loved being with them.
“Where are the boys?” Liz asked as she followed them in, and noticed that Annie was wearing her mother’s favorite shoes. It was hopeless. They seemed destined to share a communal wardrobe, no matter how many things she bought for them.
“Peter’s out with Jessica, and Jamie’s at a friend’s,” Carole filled in for her. Jessica was Peter’s latest girlfriend. She lived nearby in Belvedere, and he was there now more often than at his own home. “I have to pick Jamie up in half an hour,” Carole explained, “unless you want to do it.” Carole had been a pretty blonde at twenty-three, and over the years had widened more than a little, but at thirty-seven, she was still pretty, and she had a warm, affectionate way of handling the children. She was part of the family by now.
“I thought I’d make some cookies this afternoon,” Liz said, setting down her bag and taking off her coat. She glanced at the mail sitting on the kitchen table, but there was nothing important. And as she looked up at the view from the kitchen windows, she could see the skyline of San Francisco across the bay. They had a pretty view, and a warm, comfortable home. It was a little tight for them, but they loved it. “Does anyone want to bake with me?” Liz inquired, but she was talking to herself by then. The three girls had already fled to their rooms, more than likely to talk on the phone. The four oldest kids competed constantly for their two phone lines.
Liz was busily rolling out cookie dough and cutting it with Christmas forms, when Carole came back downstairs to go and pick up Jamie half an hour later. Liz still had plenty of work to do, and she suspected that Jamie would want to help. He loved doing things with her in the kitchen. And ten minutes later, when Carole came back with him, he squealed with glee when he saw what she was doing, and grabbed a fingerful of the raw dough and grinned with pleasure as he ate it.
“Can I help?” He was a beautiful child, with thick dark hair and soft brown eyes, and a smile that always melted his mother’s heart. He was especially dear to her, as he was to all of them, and he would forever be their baby.
“Sure. Wash your hands first. Where were you?”
“At Timmie’s,” he said, returning from the sink with wet hands as his mother pointed to the towel so he could dry them.
“How was it?”
“It’s not Christmas at his house,” he said solemnly, helping her roll out the rest of the dough.
“I know,” Liz said with a smile. “They’re Jewish.”
“They have candles. And they get presents for a whole week. Why can’t we be Jewish?”
“Just bad luck for us, I guess. But you do okay with just one night of Christmas.” She smiled at her youngest child.
“I asked Santa for a bike,” he said, looking hopeful. “I told him Peter said he’d teach me how to ride it.”
“I know, sweetheart.” She had helped him write the letter. She had saved all her children’s letters to Santa in the back of a drawer, they were wonderful, especially Jamie’s. He looked up at her with a warm smile, their eyes met and held for a long moment.
Jamie was a special child, a special gift in her life. He had come more than two months early, and had been damaged first by the birth, and then by the oxygen they gave him. It could have blinded him, but it didn’t. Instead, he was learning-delayed, though not acutely, but enough to make him different, and slower than he should have been at his age. He managed well in spite of it, went to a special school, and was responsible, and alert, and loving. But he would never be like his brother and sisters. It was something they had all long since accepted. It had been a shock at first, and an acute agony, especially for her. She felt so responsible at first. She had been working too hard, she had been in three trials back-to-back, and was stressed over it. She’d been so lucky with the others, she’d never had any problem. But right from the first, Jamie had been different. It was a tough pregnancy, and she’d been exhausted and sick from beginning to end, and then suddenly nearly two and a half months early, with no warning, she was in labor, and they hadn’t been able to do anything to stop it. He had been born ten minutes after she got to the hospital, it was an easy birth for her, but a disaster for Jamie. At first it had looked as though the disaster might be even greater, and for weeks it looked like he might not survive at all. When they brought him home finally, after six weeks in an incubator, he seemed like a miracle to all of them, and still was. He had a special gift of love, and his own brand of wisdom. He was the kindest and gentlest of all of them, and had a wonderful sense of humor, despite his limitations. They had long since learned to cherish him, and appreciate his abilities, rather than mourn all that he wasn’t and would never be. He was such a handsome child that people always noticed him, and then were confused by the simplicity with which he spoke, and the directness. Sometimes, it took them a while to figure out that he was different, and when they did, they were sorry for him, which annoyed his parents and his siblings. Whenever people told her they were sorry, Liz said simply, “Don’t be. He’s a terrific kid, he has a heart bigger than the world, and everybody loves him.” Besides, he was almost always happy, which was a comfort to her.
“You forgot the chocolate chips,” Jamie said sensibly, chocolate chip cookies were his favorite, and she always made them for him.
“I thought we’d make plain ones for Christmas, with red and green sprinkles on them. How does that sound to you?”
He thought about it for a fraction of an instant, and then nodded his approval. “That sounds pretty. Can I do the sprinkles?”
“Sure.” She handed him the sheet of cookies in the shape of Christmas trees, and the shaker with the red sprinkles, and he went to work on it, until he was satisfied, and she handed him the next sheet. They worked together as a team until they were through, and she put all the trays in the oven. But by then she could see that Jamie was looking worried. “What’s up?” It was obvious that he was upset about something. And once he got an idea in his head, it was hard for him to let go of it.
“What if he doesn’t bring it?”
“Who?” They spoke to each other in a kind of shorthand, that was familiar to both of them and easy for them.
“Santa,” Jamie said, looking sadly at his mother.
“You mean the bike?” He nodded. “Why wouldn’t he bring it? You’ve been a very good boy this year, sweetheart. I’ll bet he brings it.” She didn’t want
to spoil the surprise for him, but wanted at the same time to reassure him.
“Maybe he thinks I won’t know how to ride it.”
“Santa’s smarter than that. Of course you can learn to ride it. Besides, you told him Peter would help you.”
“You think he believed me?”
“I’m sure of it. Why don’t you go play for a while, or see what Carole’s doing, and I’ll call you when the cookies are done. You can have the first ones.” He smiled at the thought, and forgot about Santa again, as he went upstairs to find Carole. He loved having her read to him. He still hadn’t learned to read.
Liz went to a closet and took some presents out that she’d hidden there, and put them under the tree, and when the cookies were ready to come out of the oven, she called him. But he was happy with Carole by then and didn’t want to come back to the kitchen. She put the cookies on platters and set them out on the kitchen table, and then went upstairs to wrap the set of leatherbound Chaucer she had bought Jack. The other things she’d bought for Jack had been wrapped for weeks, but she had just found these recently, while browsing through a bookstore.
The rest of the afternoon flew by, and Peter came home just before Jack did. Peter looked happy and excited, and gobbled up a handful of the cookies his mother had made, and then asked if he could go back to Jessica’s again right after dinner.
“Why doesn’t she come here for a change?” Liz asked plaintively. They never saw him anymore, he was either at sports, at school, or at his girlfriend’s. Ever since he’d gotten his driver’s license, she felt as though he only slept there.
“Her parents won’t let her go out tonight. It’s Christmas Eve.”
“It’s Christmas Eve here too,” she reminded him, as Jamie wandered back into the kitchen, and helped himself to a cookie, with an adoring look at his older brother. Peter was Jamie’s hero.
“It’s not Christmas Eve at Timmie’s house. He’s Jewish,” Jamie said matter-of-factly, as Peter rumpled his hair, and ate another handful of cookies. “I made them,” Jamie said, pointing at the cookies disappearing into his brother’s mouth.
“Delicious,” Peter said with his mouth full, and then turned back to his mother. “She can’t go out tonight, Mom. Why can’t I go there? It’s boring here.”
“Thank you. You need to stick around to do things here,” she said firmly.
“You have to help me leave the cookies and carrots for Santa and the reindeer,” Jamie said solemnly. It was something the boys did together every year, and Jamie would have been disappointed not to do it with him, and Peter knew it.
“Can I go out after he goes to bed?” Peter asked, and it was hard to resist him. He was a good kid, and a great student, and it was hard not to reward him for it.
“All right,” Liz relented easily, “but you have to come home early.”
“By eleven, I promise.”
And as they stood in the kitchen, Jack walked in, looking tired but victorious. He had just finished his Christmas shopping, and was convinced he had found the perfect gift for her.
“Hello, everybody, Merry Christmas!” he said, and picked Jamie up right off his feet, and gave him a huge bear hug, while the boy chuckled. “What did you do today, young man? Are you all set for Santa?”
“Mom and I made cookies for him.”
“Yum,” Jack said, as he grabbed one and ate it, and then walked over to kiss Liz, as a look of mutual appreciation passed between them. “What’s for dinner?”
“Ham.” Carole had put it in the oven that afternoon, and Liz was going to make everyone’s favorite sweet potatoes with marshmallows, and black-eyed peas. And on Christmas Day they always had turkey, and Jack made his “special” stuffing. Liz poured him a glass of wine, and followed him into the living room, with Jamie just behind them. Peter went off to use the phone, to tell Jessica he’d be back after dinner. And they could hear screams as they sat in the living room, when he took the phone out of Megan’s hands, and disconnected one of her suitors.
“Take it easy, you two!” Jack shouted up the stairs, and then sat down on the couch next to his wife, to enjoy the spirit of the season. The Christmas tree was lit, and Carole had put on a CD of Christmas carols. Jamie sat down happily next to his mother, and was singing to himself, as she and Jack chatted. And a few minutes later, Jamie went back upstairs to look for Peter or Carole.
“He’s worried about the bike,” Liz whispered to Jack, and he smiled. They both knew how happy he’d be when he got it. He had wanted one for ages, and they had finally decided he was ready for it. “He’s been talking about it all afternoon, he’s afraid Santa won’t bring one.”
“We’ll put it together after he falls asleep,” Jack whispered, and then leaned over to kiss Liz. “Have I told you lately how beautiful you are, Counselor?”
“Not for a couple of days at least,” she grinned at him. In spite of the many years they’d been married, and the children that constantly surrounded them, there was still a fair amount of romance between them. Jack was always good about that, about spiriting her away for romantic evenings, taking her out for nice dinners, and away for the occasional weekend. He even sent her flowers sometimes for no particular reason. It was an art form keeping the romance in their relationship when they worked together, and had ample reason to either disagree or simply get bored with each other. But somehow they never had, and Liz was always grateful for the efforts Jack made in that direction. “I thought about Amanda Parker this afternoon while Jamie and I were making cookies. I hope that jerk doesn’t make trouble for her, after the hearing today. I just don’t trust him.”
“You have to learn to leave your work at the office,” he chided her, and then poured himself another glass of wine. He pretended to be better at leaving his work behind than she was.
“Was that your briefcase I saw chock full of work in the hallway, or did I imagine it?” she teased him and he grinned.
“I just carry it around. I don’t think about it. It’s better that way.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet.” She knew him better than that. They chatted for a while, and then she went in to make dinner. They lingered at the table that night, talking to the kids, and laughing with them. They were talking about silly things that had happened in years past, and Jamie added to the conversation and reminded them all of when Grandma had come for Christmas and insisted they go to midnight mass, and had fallen asleep in church, and all of them got a fit of the giggles because she was snoring. It reminded Liz that she was grateful her mother had gone to her brother’s this year. It was hard having her on holidays, she told everyone what to do, and how to do it, and she had her own peculiarities and traditions, and she always gave Liz a hard time about Jamie. She had been horrified when he was born, and called it a tragedy, and still did whenever she had the opportunity, out of Jamie’s earshot. She thought he should be sent away to a special school, so the other children didn’t have to be “burdened” with him. It made Liz furious each time she said it. Jack just told Liz to ignore her. What her mother thought about it didn’t make any difference to them. Jamie was an important part of their family, and nothing in the world would have made them send him away. The other children would have been outraged if Jamie had left them. And it still made Liz angry every time she heard her mother say negative things about him.
Peter helped Jamie put the milk and cookies out for Santa, as he did every year, with a dish of carrots and a bowl of salt for the reindeer, and a note that Jamie dictated to him, reminding Santa about the bike, and urging him to bring some really great stuff for Peter and his sisters. “Thank you, Santa,” Jamie dictated finally, and then nodded with satisfaction as Peter reread the letter to him. “Should I tell him it’s okay if I don’t get the bike?” Jamie asked, looking worried. “I don’t want him to feel bad, if he didn’t bring it.”
“No, I think it’s okay like this. Besides, you’ve been so good, I’ll bet he brings it.” They all knew he was getting the bike he wanted so badly, and couldn
’t wait for him to see it on Christmas morning.
Liz tucked Jamie into bed eventually, Megan was on the phone as usual, and Rachel and Annie were giggling in their room trying on each other’s clothes. Peter left for Jessica’s after he helped Jack set up the bicycle for Jamie. Liz was busy cleaning up in the kitchen and organizing dinner for the next day. Carole had gone to drop something off at a friend’s, and Liz had told her she’d clean up after dinner. It was a peaceful, happy evening, filled with the spirit of Christmas, and Liz and Jack were enjoying the prospect of the holiday and a long weekend. They worked hard, and enjoyed the time they spent with their children. They were just walking slowly upstairs hand in hand when Amanda Parker called them. Megan took the call, and Liz went to speak to her, and as soon as she picked up the phone, she could hear that Amanda had been crying. She could hardly talk.
“I’m so sorry to call you on Christmas Eve … Phil called a little while ago, and …” She began to sob as Liz listened and tried to soothe her.
“What did he say?”
“He says if I don’t tell you to unfreeze everything, he’s going to kill me, he says he’ll never give me ten cents of support, and the kids and I can starve for all he cares.”
“That won’t happen and you know it. He has to support you. He’s just trying to scare you.” And he had, very successfully. Liz hated cases like this one, where she had to watch a client she liked being abused. Some of the stories Amanda had told her early on had made her shudder. He had browbeaten and terrorized her, so much so that she had waited years to leave him. And now she was just going to have to tough it out while he threatened her, and they got her the kind of support she deserved to get from him. But Liz knew it wasn’t easy for her. Amanda was a perfect victim. “Don’t answer your phone again tonight,” Liz said quietly. “Lock your doors, stay home with the kids, and if you hear anything suspicious outside, call the police. Okay, Amanda? He’s just trying to scare you. Remember, he’s a bully. If you hold your ground, he’ll back off.”
The House on Hope Street Page 2