One Week In December

by Holly Chamberlin

  Rain looked up from the magazine. “Are you okay, Aunt Becca?” she asked, frowning.

  “Fine,” she said quickly. “Why?”

  Rain shrugged. “You seem a little, I don’t know, distracted. Everyone seems a bit strange this week. I mean, what was up with Grandma just now? She was quizzing us like we’d done something wrong. Is there something going on I don’t know about?”

  “Of course not,” Becca lied. “I mean, if there is something going on, I don’t know about it, either. No.” Careful, she warned herself. It’s stupid to protest too much.

  “Whatever. Just that Aunt Olivia seems angry all the time and Uncle James looks so sad and my parents are all tense. Even Grandpa and Grandma seem—different. I mean, I know Lily has a reason to be upset because of that Cliff guy, who, by the way, I met once. What a jerk.”

  “Sometimes people get emotional during the holidays,” Becca said, desperately hoping that her daughter would believe her and not continue to pry. When had she become so curious about her relatives? “Adults, I mean. They feel—pressures. That’s all.”

  “Well, I think it’s pretty sad. If you can’t be happy during Christmastime, then when can you be happy?”

  Yes, Becca thought, taking a sip of her lukewarm tea, then when? “Adults are often stupid,” she said. “We know we shouldn’t be, but we are. We’re always doing things we know we shouldn’t do. Things that hurt us.”

  “Like smoking?”

  “That wasn’t exactly what I was thinking about,” Becca admitted, “but yes, I suppose.”

  Rain rolled her eyes. “Well, I just don’t understand why people do things they know are bad for them. I mean, it makes no sense! There’s this guy in my school, he’s a senior, he’s kind of cute, but he gets drunk every Saturday night and then brags about how bad he was hung over on Sunday. That’s just so lame!”

  “Yes,” Becca said, “it is.” At least she didn’t have to worry about her daughter developing a smoking or drinking habit.

  “And this girl in my history class,” Rain went on. “Amanda. She’s really overweight and she knows she is, her doctor told her she has to lose, like, thirty pounds, but she can’t stick to a diet. Every day at lunch she eats four Hostess cupcakes. She could get diabetes or have a heart attack or something! I don’t understand why she doesn’t just do what her doctor tells her to do.”

  No, Becca thought, Rain doesn’t at all understand how hard life can be for some people. And Becca was struck now by how young her daughter really was, how simply she saw the world, how she didn’t seem able to grasp human complications. How would Rain react to the truth of her birth? Maybe David and Naomi were right. Rain was still very young, levelheaded but naïve, ill equipped to handle such a startling truth.

  Becca wondered. Had she been that innocent, that unknowing when she was Rain’s age? It didn’t seem possible. But if she had been, no wonder her parents had acted so forcefully to remove Rain from her care. And no wonder Becca had wanted them to help—and though she didn’t remember that time very clearly, she had been told that she’d been eager for David and Naomi to take the child. And—she could admit this now, at least to herself—thank God that they had.

  Sixteen was far too young to be a parent, at least a good one. Sure, at sixteen you could drive your mother’s car to school, but did that mean you should be allowed to commandeer the controls of a jumbo jet? At sixteen you might be pretty good at feeding and brushing your dog, but did that mean you should be allowed to operate on his liver? At sixteen you could have sex, but did that mean you really knew anything about sexuality? No. It did not.

  “Aunt Becca? You’re staring off into space again. And your tea is probably ice-cold.”

  “Oh,” she said. “Sorry. I was thinking about work stuff.”

  Rain groaned dramatically. “That’s another weird thing about adults. They go on and on about how they hate their jobs—well, some of them do—and then they can’t stop thinking about them when they’re away from the office.”

  Becca smiled. Yes. A sixteen-year-old might have a part-time job, but that didn’t mean she understood anything about bills and mortgages and insurance payments and severance packages and shrinking retirement accounts and . . . “Yes,” she said, “it’s another one of our more annoying habits.”

  36

  “I thought we might exchange our Christmas letters today, Liv. What do you think?”

  James and Olivia were in their room, the one Julie had designated the Queen Anne’s Lace Room. James was fond of his mother-in-law and of her little fancies. She was formidable at the same time that she was lovable; she was strong at the same time that she was whimsical.

  Olivia, sitting in the room’s only chair, hadn’t answered his question. She continued to study a report she had brought with her from the office. James had tried to get her to agree to leave work behind just this once, but she’d refused.

  “Liv?” he said again.

  Now she raised her head. “What?” she asked.

  James repressed a hint of irritation. “Our letters. I thought we might exchange them now.”

  It had been Olivia’s idea originally. Every Christmas of their marriage, each wrote a letter to the other, and then they exchanged the letters with some ceremony. In the letters they took the time to assess the health of their relationship—and to celebrate the firm fact of their love.

  This year, it had taken James several months to write his letter. It had been difficult to write, difficult to find words to express both his love for his wife as well as his concern for the state of their relationship. The last thing James wanted to do was to put Olivia on the defensive by implying that his unhappiness was her fault exclusively. He knew it wasn’t—but he also knew that something was wrong with Olivia. And as long as she was troubled by whatever demons were troubling her, he, too, would suffer. And their marriage, which had once been so strong and the source of so much contentment. . .

  Well, James didn’t like to think about what might eventually happen to the marriage if things continued in the way they were heading. For the first time, he was both eager and afraid to read what his wife had written to him about the state of her feelings.

  When Olivia didn’t reply, just continued to stare up at him blankly, James took action. He handed her a folded piece of thick, creamy-white paper on which he had written, in his own hand, his thoughts for his wife.

  Olivia immediately put the letter on the old pine dresser beside her and sighed dramatically, as if she’d been terribly put-upon. “I’ve been so busy. I meant to write your letter, but I just didn’t get around to it. Don’t worry, James. I’ll get to it after the holiday.”

  James felt as if he’d been struck across the cheek with the back of her hand. “I’m not worried about the letter, Liv,” he managed to say after a moment. “I’m worried about what it means that you chose not to write it.”

  “I told you,” she repeated. “I’ve been busy.”

  “And I haven’t been?” James felt the anger rising in him. He was unused to anger and struggled to keep it under control.

  Olivia shrugged. “Well, it’s not like I forgot about the letter.”

  “Frankly, I think it would have been better if it had slipped your mind. Everybody forgets things on occasion. But to deliberately ignore a cherished ritual . . .” James laughed bitterly. “And you say you care so much about family and tradition. I guess in your mind that leaves me out.”

  Olivia felt slightly shaken by her husband’s anger, but only slightly. She sighed again, exasperated. “I really don’t understand why you’re making such a big deal about a silly little letter, James. I told you I’ll get around to writing it in a week or so.”

  There was a sound from the hallway. Olivia turned toward the door, but she didn’t seem at all concerned that someone might have overheard the argument. James, on the other hand, was concerned.

  “Lord,” he whispered, “someone’s out there and probably heard everything. I’m sorr
y, Liv. I didn’t mean to raise my voice.”

  Olivia looked back at her husband. She didn’t read the pain and embarrassment on his face. She did, however, see that he’d shaved badly that morning. His carelessness annoyed her. “It’s fine, James,” she said, rising from the chair. “I’m going to go downstairs for a while.”

  Olivia opened the door. Naomi was only a few feet down the hall.

  “Naomi,” Olivia called. “What do you want?”

  Naomi turned back. Her cheeks were a bit flushed. Olivia wondered why.

  “Nothing,” she said. “I was . . . I was just passing by and I knocked into the hall table and . . .”

  “Do you know where Nora put that old family Bible, the one that belonged to her mother? She told me it was in the den, but I couldn’t find it. It’s a mess in there to begin with and now Becca’s got her stuff all over the place.”

  “What? The old . . .” Naomi shrugged. “I’m sorry, Olivia. I have no idea.”

  Of course not, Olivia thought. You’re not really a Rowan. It was stupid of me to ask. “That’s all right,” she said, heading for the stairs. “I’ll ask Mom if she’s seen it.”

  37

  That evening the twins were allowed to eat dinner in front of the TV in the living room. One of their favorite holiday shows was playing, the old animated Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer with Burl Ives as the chubby, umbrella-wielding Snowman. Naomi was only too glad to relax the “no TV at dinner” rule on this occasion. The show was harmless—the boys had long ceased to be afraid of the Bumble—and given the gloomy atmosphere of the house, the more times the boys could be on their own, the better for them. Lots of people seemed not to realize how perceptive children were, but Naomi wasn’t one of them.

  Everyone else was gathered at the dining room table. Julie had made her Bolognese sauce and served it over fettucine. The sauce had been one of Becca’s favorites since she was a little girl. She wondered now if her mother had remembered that when she’d planned the night’s menu. Was the choice of Bolognese sauce a gesture of love or merely a coincidence?

  Since Becca’s bombshell of an announcement, conversation in the presence of Rain had been general and careful. That evening was no exception. Steve commented on the current price of gas. Julie wondered what Rain and her friends were doing for New Year’s Eve. The answer was attending a supervised party at a friend’s house. James mentioned a book he’d just read, the latest in a long line of biographies of Abraham Lincoln. In her usual suave way, Naomi mercifully cut short David’s latest lecture on the greening cause. Not that Becca wasn’t all for recycling and reducing her carbon footprint, but she could do without listening to a lecture, especially over dinner.

  And then, Olivia spoke.

  “Listen to this,” she said. “One of our clients, a woman named June Larsen, told us last week that she’s in the process of adopting a child from Russia. A girl, I think she said, about a year old.”

  James’s fork stopped halfway to his lips; he looked horrified. Becca felt for him; she, too, was wary. What was Olivia doing bringing up the volatile subject of adoption?

  “Liv—” James said, but his wife cut him off.

  “Personally, I think she’s crazy. I mean, she’s forty-eight, she’s single, she’s got no family close by to help out, and I know she’s not wealthy. I’m not even sure she can afford a part-time nanny, let alone a babysitter for a Saturday night! I really don’t know what she’s thinking. It’s like she’s deliberately setting out to ruin her life.”

  Becca couldn’t help but wonder if her sister’s comments were partly meant for her. Wasn’t she also a single woman wanting to take on the responsibility of parenthood? True, the situations weren’t exactly the same but . . .

  “I don’t think adopting a child is ‘ruining’ your life,” Naomi was saying. “Actually, I think it’s pretty impressive.”

  Naomi, too? Becca shot a look at her mother. She wondered why someone wasn’t putting an end to this potentially volatile subject. She certainly wasn’t the one to do it.

  “What’s impressive about it?” Rain said. “I mean, it’s nice that she’s adopting, but it’s only a baby. Practically everyone has babies. There’s nothing so special about that. I mean, maybe if she was, like, forty-eight years old and competing in the Olympics, that would be impressive.”

  Becca took a fortifying sip of merlot. Yes, Rain was indeed a very young sixteen. Her comment had demonstrated that she couldn’t quite imagine the enormity of the task the woman had undertaken. Her comment also had betrayed a failure of sympathetic imagination; it had betrayed the unthinking cruelty of the young, a cruelty that Becca felt sure her daughter would someday outgrow. But what if she didn’t? Would Rain ever be capable of accepting and understanding what her mother had done for her sake? Would she ever be capable of forgiveness? Only time would tell.

  “I don’t mean to interrupt,” Nora was saying, clearly in an effort to change the subject, “but before I forget, I wanted to ask—”

  But Olivia talked right over her grandmother, who, Becca thought, looked both tired and angry. “I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again. Adoption is just riddled with problems. And adopting from a foreign country is just asking for trouble. It’s likely the child might not come with a detailed medical history, and what then? What happens if she gets sick with some disease that requires a history in order to be properly diagnosed and treated? My God, what if there’s madness in her family?”

  David meaningfully cleared his throat. “I don’t think anyone uses the term ‘madness’ anymore, Olivia. Mental illness is preferable. Psychological difficulties, maybe.”

  “Call it what you like,” Olivia said with a dismissive flick of her hand. “And then there’s resentment. What if the child grows to hate the adoptive parents for having taken her from her native land? What if she’s an ungrateful child, after all the pains her so-called parents have endured, after all the sacrifices they’ve made?”

  Nora spoke, and this time she was heard. “How sharper than a serpent’s tooth . . . Olivia, any child can be ungrateful. It’s not the sole province of the adopted child. Besides, I’m not sure a good parent should be seeking gratitude. If you receive it, fine. If not, well, that’s a risk you accept when you decide to have a family. You risk being rejected or ignored by your children. You risk losing them in all sorts of ways.”

  Why had her grandmother even bothered to answer Olivia’s ranting? Becca poured another glass of wine and considered excusing herself before yet another family member indulged Olivia in her plan to drive Becca insane before the dessert was served.

  “Maybe so,” Olivia conceded. “But I still say the risks of disaster are far greater with an adopted child than with a biological child.”

  “I’m not sure there’s any scientific proof of that, Liv,” James said quietly, but with some force. “Anyway, I think it’s quite wonderful of June to be doing this. Adopting a child in her circumstances requires enormous sacrifice.”

  “That’s for sure!” Julie shook her head. “I can’t imagine being in my forties, without a partner, and taking on a small child. It would require a huge amount of energy, not to mention patience.”

  “This girl in my political science class,” Lily said now, “is pregnant. It’s been a really tough pregnancy, but she’s determined to finish up the school year. And then she’s getting married to the baby’s father. They’re a really good couple, but I have to admit it’s kind of weird seeing a classmate already having children. I mean, I just can’t imagine myself having a baby at this age. Honestly, I feel too—young.”

  “You want to have fun before settling down to raise a child, right?” Rain guessed.

  “It’s not that so much. It’s that I feel I’d make so many mistakes if I had a baby now. I feel I just don’t know enough to be responsible for someone else’s life.”

  Instantly, the look of embarrassment that came to Lily’s face proved she knew she’d tread on dangerous turf. “Not tha
t all young mothers make terrible mistakes,” she said hurriedly, with a quick glance at Becca. “I didn’t mean it that way. I just meant—”

  But Becca simply could not keep silent any longer. She looked directly at her older sister, and then at the other members of her family, one by one. She looked at everyone except for Rain.

  “I don’t see why we should talk about this woman’s adopting a child as a sacrifice,” she said. “I don’t see why we should talk about it as being something noble or, as Naomi said, impressive. I’m assuming she’s going into the process with her eyes open—and yes, I know how dangerous a thing assuming can be. She’s an adult. Presumably she’s responsible and has enough money to pay for legal rights to the child and then enough money to support her, nanny or no nanny. Why should this woman be lauded any more than—than a teenaged girl who gets pregnant accidentally and then is forced to—”

  Becca stopped short. She saw—she felt—the looks of anger, panic, and pain on the faces of her family. David’s face was almost purple, as if he were about to spout blood. Only Rain’s expression was neutral.

  And Becca herself felt a little sick. She was worse than Olivia. She knew she’d been torturing her family just now. She knew she shouldn’t have said a word in response to her sisters’ insensitive comments. But something had come over her and once again she had found herself saying things she instantly regretted, saying things she wasn’t even sure she meant. Now Becca didn’t know if she could erase the further damage to the family—and to her own reputation as part of it—that she had just caused by her careless words.

  “And what, Aunt Becca?” Rain prodded, all innocence.

  Before Becca could reply—and she still didn’t know what she would say to salvage the moment—Nora’s knife was tapping against her crystal glass. “I’d like,” she said, “to use what authority I have as the eldest Rowan and change this conversation to one less—fraught. It is Christmastime, after all. And there are far more pleasant, less contentious topics to discuss.”