One Week In December

by Holly Chamberlin

  Becca took a sip of wine. She wondered what she really knew about Alex Mason. She’d had a few conversations with him, that was all, and yet . . . And yet during those few conversations she had, indeed, learned a lot about the man. She had learned that he loved his suffocating family. She had learned that he really listened when you spoke to him, and that he asked interesting, if sometimes difficult, questions. She had learned that his smile was really very nice and that his hair, though shaggy, was very nice, too. She had learned that he blushed when embarrassed.

  “I’ll clear the table.”

  Becca was pulled back to the moment by Naomi’s voice and her family rising around her. One by one they seemed to drift into the living room, where the tree now stood completely decorated.

  “The tree looks very nice, boys,” Julie said, when the table had been cleared and she had joined the others in the living room.

  Naomi, who’d come into the room with her, raised a critical eyebrow. “Though you might have been a little less wild with the tinsel.”

  “That was Aunt Becca’s idea,” Malcolm said. “I think it’s cool. It looks like a rocket ship.”

  Michael made a face. “It does not!”

  “Boys. Don’t argue.”

  Julie patted her daughter’s shoulder, and this time, Becca didn’t flinch at the touch. “Well, whatever anyone thinks about the tinsel, thank you, Becca, for helping out.”

  “I always liked to decorate the Christmas tree when I was a kid,” she said quietly. “I looked forward to it all year.”

  Steve smiled at his daughter. “Seeing you stringing the garland earlier,” he said, “was like a glimpse into the past. So many memories came flooding forward.”

  Becca smiled back, grateful for her father’s words. Then she turned and caught Nora looking at her intently. Her grandmother was wise and knew her loved ones well. Becca was sure she’d sensed a subtle shift in the relationship between Becca and her father. Well, she was right to sense that. There had been a shift.

  “Uncle James helped with the tree, too,” Malcolm was saying. “He put the angel on top. Me and Michael—”

  “Michael and I,” David corrected.

  “Michael and I held the ladder so he wouldn’t fall down.”

  James smiled. “The boys were very careful. They took good care of their old uncle.”

  Before long, Steve and Julie went off to take a nap before leaving for church later that night. Separately, Olivia and then James retired upstairs, and Nora settled in the kitchen with a cup of tea. Lily and Rain remained in the living room to watch holiday specials on television with the boys.

  And Becca went to her room, exhausted and yet somehow almost at peace.

  46

  It was Cliff’s special ringtone, that stupid old pop tune, interrupting the television show Lily was watching with Rain and the twins.

  Well, Lily thought, it’s now or never. She excused herself—not that the boys would notice her absence, what with a screen full of animated holiday monsters in front of them; Rain wouldn’t miss her either as she was multitasking, flipping through Teen Vogue while watching the show—and went into the kitchen where she knew her grandmother would be.

  “It’s Cliff,” she said, phone still ringing in her hand.

  “Do you want to take the call?” Nora asked from her seat at the kitchen table.

  “Yes. I do.”

  “Well, then, go into my room for some privacy.”

  “Thanks, Grandma.”

  Lily answered the call while slipping into her grandmother’s room. She closed the door behind her and perched on the bed. Just being in the presence of her grandmother’s world made her feel strong and supported.

  “Finally,” he said, with a laugh. “I was beginning to think you’d never talk to me again.”

  Lily said nothing. His laugh had told her that he assumed he’d finally won her back due to his electronic harassment.

  “Are you having fun?” he asked.

  Lily thought it a strange question, given the circumstances, but answered anyway. “I always enjoy being with my family,” she said.

  “Good. Good.”

  Maybe he was waiting for Lily to ask if he was having fun during the holiday. Well, she wasn’t going to ask. She really didn’t need to know. In fact, she suddenly realized that she had absolutely nothing to say to this person who had once meant so much to her.

  “Look,” Cliff said abruptly, “I want you to come back to school early so we can talk and, you know, patch things up.”

  Patch things up. How casual that sounded! Cliff really hadn’t understood the pain he’d inflicted on her. You didn’t just “patch things up” after an affair. You apologized profusely; you did penance of whatever sort was required; you promised never, ever to break your vow of fidelity again. None of which Cliff had really done.

  “There’s nothing to talk about anymore, Cliff,” she said. “There’s nothing to patch up.”

  “Oh, come on, Lily,” he said with an impatient laugh, “don’t be like that.”

  “Like what, Cliff?” Let him articulate his thoughts. She was learning to articulate hers.

  “You know. Like, all distant. Look, I already got your gift. I’d really like to give it to you.”

  So, Cliff had bought her a Christmas gift. A list of his previous gifts ran through Lily’s mind and she realized for the first time how lame and impersonal they were, like the necklace of cheap wooden beads that anyone who even vaguely knew her could tell was not her style, and the pink sweatshirt with the word “HOTTIE” written in silver glitter across the back. That was more than tasteless; that was rude. And all the time they’d been a couple, how she had struggled to find him just the right gift for every occasion! Like the time Cliff had mentioned he was interested in learning how to fly-fish. For his birthday that year, Lily had scraped together enough money for a special reel he wanted, which had then never been used. Cliff had decided that fly-fishing wasn’t really his “thing.” Would he decide next month that gambling was also not his “thing”? It didn’t matter. Lily would return the RiskRunner as soon as she got back to Boston. The money would be far better spent on textbooks the following semester.

  “I’m sure you can return it,” she said. Or give it to another girl. It really, truly didn’t matter. Not caring, Lily realized, felt liberating.

  There was a long—and to Lily, a boring—silence.

  “Do you still hate me?” he asked finally.

  “No,” Lily said, honestly. “I don’t hate you. In fact, I forgive you.”

  Cliff sighed. “Then I don’t understand. Why won’t you come back to Boston early? We can spend New Year’s Eve together, like we’d planned to do.”

  Well, Lily thought, I’ll never get off this phone if I don’t tell him straight away what I’ve discovered this week. If he understands, fine. If not, that would be fine, too.

  “I won’t come back,” she said clearly, “because I can’t come back. I can’t—I won’t—take a risk with someone who’s not worth taking a risk for. Maybe someday I’ll meet someone worth fighting for. But it’s not you, Cliff. I learned that the hard way.”

  There was more silence from Cliff. “That’s a little harsh,” he said at last. Lily thought he sounded—subdued.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it to sound harsh. It’s just the truth.”

  “Yeah. Well. So, I guess that’s that.”

  And in that moment Lily felt wonderfully calm, removed, and relieved.

  “Yes, Cliff,” she said. “That’s that. Good-bye. And Merry Christmas.”

  Lily pressed the “End” button without waiting for another word from her past.

  47

  “This feels like the worst day of my life, Liv.”

  James sat next to his wife on their bed, legs stretched in front of him. They were close to each other but not touching.

  “I know,” Olivia replied softly. “I mean, it feels that way to me, too. I can’t seem to stop crying.
”

  “I’m sorry.” And James was sorry, for many things, some of which he knew he couldn’t have changed or controlled even if he had tried.

  Olivia sighed a clogged sigh. When she spoke, she kept her eyes on her hands in her lap. “I’ve done a lot of thinking today, James. And I know for sure that I don’t want to live apart from you. Not even for a day. I can’t. Please reconsider the idea of a separation. Please.”

  James looked down at his own hands and thought. It was so terribly hard, trying to balance his own emotional health against the emotional health of his wife—and of their marriage.

  “Would you agree to go to counseling?” he asked finally. “Alone or together, or maybe both. We can figure that out when we get home. But, Liv, I need you to say yes to this request.”

  “I’m frightened,” she said immediately. “But yes, I’ll go to counseling or therapy or whatever seems best. The thought . . . the thought of losing you . . .” Olivia looked up at her husband. “James, I’m so sad inside. And I don’t know why, not really. Sometimes . . . sometimes I think I understand, sometimes I think I can locate the source of all the pain. . . . But then, it all slips away and I’m left totally confused again. I don’t know if that makes any sense. I’m sorry.”

  James smiled kindly. He wanted to reach out and touch his wife but was still afraid of rebuff. “I don’t think you should be apologizing for feeling sad, Liv.”

  “Maybe not. James? Do you really think therapy will help me? Do you think it will help us?”

  “It’s certainly worth a try. We’ve built so much together, as a team. We have a business, a home, and a family. And we are a family, Liv, even if it’s just us two. It seems such a terrible shame to let some unidentified pain tear it all down. It seems such a terrible waste.”

  Fresh tears coursed down Olivia’s cheeks. This time she didn’t even bother to wipe them away. Why bother when more were sure to come?

  “There’s a future ahead of us, Olivia,” James said now. Maybe. He was an intelligent man. He was realistic. He knew that in spite of their best intentions the marriage might not survive. But he also knew that he, for one, had enough courage—and enough love for the woman he’d pledged to care for until the end of his days—to fight for its survival.

  “I still have my letter to you,” he added. “Would you like to have it? You can read it whenever you’re ready.”

  “Yes. And . . .” Olivia reached into the drawer of the bedside table. “Here’s mine to you. It’s not very long and I’m sorry about the paper but . . . But it says the truth.”

  “Do you want me to read it now?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  James did and tears came to his own eyes. “Thank you, Olivia,” he said. Three simple words could mean everything, if they were spoken honestly. James believed that they were.

  “Can I hold your hand?”

  James’s heart leapt. It was the first time in so long that his wife had wanted to touch him. His heart broke again to see her eyes so sad and swollen with tears. “Of course you can hold my hand,” he said. “You’re my wife. If you really want to be.”

  “I do.”

  Olivia moved to sit close to James and took one of his hands in both of hers.

  “I’m glad, Olivia,” James said. “That you still want to be my wife. I really am.”

  “Do you still want to go to church with the family tonight?” she asked.

  “I do,” James said. “Do you?”

  “Yes. But I’m afraid I’ll be a weepy mess. It’s been a long time since I cried and now I just can’t seem to stop.” She laughed a little. “I’ve become the proverbial leaky faucet, James.”

  “Don’t worry,” he said, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead. “I’ll bring a box of tissues.”

  Olivia smiled weakly. It was all she could manage, but she meant it.

  48

  All of the Rowans but Nora and Becca were adding final layers of warm clothes in preparation for the drive to the local church. Midnight mass, in Massachusetts or in Maine, had been a beloved family tradition for as long as anyone could remember. A not so beloved tradition was the bone-chilling air in Kently’s tiny wood-framed building.

  “The cars are warmed up,” Julie announced from the front door. “So let’s get going!”

  The family filed out—all but David, who promised to join them in a moment. “Grandma!” he stage-whispered.

  Nora, comfortable in her favorite chair, looked up from the book she’d been reading.

  “What is it, David?” she asked.

  Her grandson came to kneel at her side. “Grandma,” he said, more softly now, “what do you think she’s going to do? Becca, I mean.”

  Nora gave him a little smile. “I think she’s going to do the right thing.”

  “The right thing as she sees it?”

  “Yes,” she said. “But remember, David, that’s all any of us can do.”

  David shook his head. “I’m worried she’s going to break her latest promise not to do or say anything until after the holiday. Until we can all deal with this situation without the . . . Without the added emotional pressures of Christmas.”

  “I think that maybe you underestimate your sister.”

  “Let’s hope I do. Because I can’t get the idea out of my head that she’s going to ruin Christmas Day with a big, dramatic gesture.”

  “David,” Nora said, with authority. “Go to church. Try to calm down. Try to be peaceful. Please.”

  “All right, Grandma,” he said, getting to his feet. “But I’m not going to rest easy until I’ve gotten Rain out of this house. Though I know that won’t solve anything. I just wish this whole—”

  “David.”

  Without another word, he left the house, closing the front door behind him.

  For the first time in days the house was blissfully quiet. The only sound Nora could discern, and it was a pleasant one, was the fire crackling in the grate. The lights were turned low; in fact, most of the illumination in the room came from the single candles in each of the front windows, and the few pillar candles on the low coffee table. Henry Le Mew was asleep under the tree. Hank was curled up on the couch; he’d jumped there the moment the door had closed behind the family. Nora let him be.

  This was the peaceful scene Becca saw when she came into the living room. She had been in the den, wrapped in blankets, waiting for the family to leave so that she might be alone with her grandmother.

  “You didn’t go to church, I see,” she noted. She sat in the armchair to the left of her grandmother, close enough to reach out and touch her arm.

  Nora laughed. “I’m an old pagan.”

  “I’ve never seen you worship a tree.”

  “The Druids aren’t my style. But I’m a pagan nonetheless, my dear.”

  Becca smiled. “A witch?”

  “Also not my style. I prefer to keep my clothes on in the great outdoors. But what about you? Why didn’t you join the family tonight?”

  “I’m not much of a churchgoer,” Becca admitted. What she didn’t voice was what both women knew. The family would not have been happy to have Becca with them. They were at church to celebrate a birth that was supposed to be an indication of supreme love and forgiveness, when all Becca seemed intent upon was hate and blame.

  “May I say something to you, Becca?” Nora asked quietly. “No lecturing or scolding. Frankly, you’re too old for that, and so, come to think of it, am I.”

  Becca nodded. She trusted Nora. “Yes, Grandma.”

  Nora settled herself more comfortably in her chair before speaking. “I know you’ve always thought your father was the person most in favor of the adoption. But actually, I was the prime mover. I was the one who first suggested the plan, alone to David and Naomi, and when they agreed, to your parents. Your father did the legwork, so to speak, but he had to be convinced it was a good plan. And he insisted that unless you gave your full consent, we’d drop the entire scheme.”

  “I don’t
remember that,” Becca said after a stunned moment. “I believe you, but I don’t remember.”

  “I’m glad you believe me, because it’s the truth. But I’m not surprised you don’t remember much of what went on in those first weeks. You were so upset. It was so hard for you. We were all so worried.” Nora paused. “And honestly, we’re all terribly worried again now.”

  Becca took a calming breath. There were words she had never spoken aloud to anyone. But they were words long overdue to be heard.

  “It’s just that since . . . since I got pregnant I’ve felt like a failure. Let’s be real, Grandma—I let everyone down. So ever since then, I’ve been trying to prove my worth to you and to Mom and Dad. To everyone in the family. I’m tired of being seen as the Rowan who made the big mistake.”

  Nora’s surprise was not feigned. “I have to admit, Becca,” she said, “that I’m shocked to hear you say such things. Every single one of us, especially your father, considers you a wonderfully successful person. And not the least because you made such a noble decision to secure your child’s future when you were only a child yourself. Where on Earth did you get the idea that you had to prove yourself to anyone? The only person you need to prove your worth to is yourself. No one else.”

  Becca could no longer prevent her tears. She got up from her chair and knelt at her grandmother’s side. Without a word she rested her head on her grandmother’s lap. Gently, slowly, Nora smoothed her granddaughter’s hair, hoping to comfort her.

  “I’m so alone,” Becca whispered, as if she were still afraid to admit it, as if someone—but who?—would use that information against her.

  “No,” Nora whispered back, “you’re not. I know you feel that way, but it’s not true.”

  They sat in silence for some time, until Nora spoke again.

  “You don’t need to suffer alone, Becca,” she said. “You have us—me, your parents, your brother and sisters. You can share the burden of loneliness and whatever else it is you’re feeling with us. But you can’t share it with your daughter. You can’t share it with your child. I know that for sure. I know that like I know the liver spots on the back of my hand.”