One Week In December

by Holly Chamberlin

  Becca looked up and smiled. “Grandma, you’re incorrigible.”

  “It’s better then being a bore.”

  “Oh, yes.” Becca wiped her tears away, got to her feet, and settled back in the chair next to her grandmother.

  “You know,” Nora said then, “there’s someone else who cares for you, someone not a part of the family.” Yet, she added silently. “And if my experienced eye can be relied upon, and I believe that it can, he cares for you quite a lot.”

  Of course, Becca acknowledged silently. Alex Mason. Neighbor, artist, and yes, a friend.

  “I worry,” she admitted then, “that once Alex—once any man—hears the truth, that I gave up my daughter, he might accuse me of being uncaring. And I worry that he might not want to get involved with a family that has such a conspiracy at its heart.”

  Nora sighed. “Well, worry is payment paid on a loan that might never come due.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “What I mean is, why are you worrying about something that might never come to pass? The habit of worrying is a terrible waste of precious time and energy.”

  “Yes. I suppose. Still . . .”

  “Well,” Nora said, forestalling her granddaughter’s objections, “I certainly can’t speak for the average man, but I do feel I can somewhat speak for Alex Mason. He’s a good person, Becca. He’s the least judgmental person I’ve met in a very long time. I don’t think you need to fear his rejection, certainly not based on the fact that you made a very difficult and very wise choice for your infant daughter.”

  Becca sincerely hoped her grandmother was right. Still . . . “I’ve been so afraid,” she said. “I’m still so afraid, of real intimacy. The risks are so high . . . I don’t know if I have it in me to be in a serious relationship, Grandma.”

  “Well, pardon me for using yet another cliché, but I must say that you’ll never know unless you try.”

  Becca laughed softly. “I know. You have to take a chance if you want to succeed. Showing up is half the battle. I’ve got plenty of clichés at hand, too.”

  “Intimacy is frightening,” Nora said now, as if to herself. “That’s true. But what’s the alternative?”

  The alternative, Becca thought, was the empty life she had been living for far too long. She looked fondly at her grandmother.

  “Thanks for not—for not forcing me to talk before I was ready to talk,” she said. “I mean, I do understand why Mom and Dad and David felt that they had to . . . Well, it felt as if they were attacking me or accosting me, but I know that’s not what was really going on. Anyway, thank you, Grandma, for your patience.”

  “You’re quite welcome, Becca.” With a little grunt, Nora rose from her cherished armchair and straightened her skirt. “I’d best be off to bed,” she said. “This old woman still needs a few hours’ sleep.”

  Becca smiled. “Pleasant dreams,” she said.

  Nora patted her granddaughter’s head. “Sleep tight and don’t let the bedbugs bite.”

  But Becca was not ready for sleep, with or without bedbugs. Instead, she moved to her grandmother’s favorite chair. She had never sat in it before; she’d thought that maybe it would be disrespectful. But now, it felt right. It felt welcoming. It felt like a perfect place for reflection.

  The pregnancy had been an accident, one that had changed everything. It was something unplanned, unlooked for, unexpected, and yes, unwanted.

  But it had happened and it had led to everything else that had happened afterward and it would continue to lead to—to cause? to influence?—everything that would happen in her future, whether she could detect a direct causal connection or not.

  The pregnancy had been an accident. But now Becca wondered if you could properly call an event an accident when you were partly or wholly responsible for it happening—and therefore, partly or wholly responsible for its outcome.

  She remembered the conversation with Alex earlier in his studio. They had touched on the themes of chance and Fate, on character as the origin of one’s actions, and on the notion of inevitability.

  Well, whatever the ultimate answer to the impossible questions they had raised, one thing was certain: Becca had given birth to a daughter. Nothing would change that fact, not even being called “aunt” by that child.

  But what about another child, one who could openly call Becca “Mommy”? Up until that moment on Christmas Eve, in her parents’ living room in Kently, Maine, Becca had felt that it would be unfair to Rain if she had another baby. She’d felt that having another baby would be in some way compounding the lie under which Rain had been forced to live. It didn’t make logical sense. Becca knew that. It was something she felt more than something she could reasonably articulate. She simply had never been able to imagine having enough love for a second child when so much love was already devoted to the child born under a blanket of secrecy.

  There it was again, Becca thought now. A failure of imagination. Well, maybe it was high time to open up her mind to the idea of a family. But she would take one monumental step at a time. . . .

  The crunch of car tires on packed snow startled Becca out of her thoughts. The Rowan family was back from church. She wasn’t ready to face any of them, not quite yet, so she hurried off to the den.

  Once she was stretched out on the lumpy old couch under no fewer than four heavy blankets, Becca articulated her decision.

  No. She would not break the agreement she had made with the family all those years ago, even before Rain’s birth. She would not presumptively reveal herself as Rain’s biological mother. She would wait until Rain’s twenty-first birthday and then, as a family, the Rowans would decide whether or not the truth should be told.

  It had been a terribly tough decision to make—to abandon the scheme that had possessed her for the last year—but in the past several days, she had come to realize the many selfish motives that had prompted her to want to break her promise to her family.

  Simply put, she had matured. And if this was what it meant to be mature, to be an adult, then life was more painful—and possibly more rewarding—than she had ever imagined. She’d have to wait for the rewarding part, but that was okay.

  It had taken a long time for her to get to this place of maturity.. . . And there was still a long road ahead. Becca knew she had to build the life she had been neglecting for far too long.

  But first, there was Christmas to look forward to. For the first time in over a year, Becca sank easily into a deep and very peaceful sleep.

  49

  Christmas Day, December 25

  By eight o’clock Christmas morning every member of the Rowan family but Becca had gathered around the tree for the Secret Santa exchange. Nora had knocked on the door of the den, and when she’d gotten no answer, and feeling a bit concerned, she had gone inside only to find her granddaughter in a deep sleep. Nora was loathe to wake her—she looked so peaceful—but the family was waiting anxiously.

  Once woken, Becca had promised to join the others as quickly as was possible. Ten minutes later she took a seat in the living room. She knew that her family—well, David at least—probably expected her to ruin Christmas morning by breaking her promise and making a dramatic announcement. She wished she could ease their worries by a look or a signal, but she acknowledged to herself that she needed every moment she could get to gather the courage she knew it would take to give her gift to her daughter—who was to remain her niece as long as need be, even if that meant forever.

  The proceedings began. The twins, young enough to be exempt from the exchange, were given their gifts first so that they would be occupied while the adults shared their own gifts. “Wait your turn” were words that fell on deaf ears when you were eight years old and it was Christmas morning. Together Michael and Malcolm tore open several boxes containing the robot building sets they’d been clamoring for since the first television ads had hit the airwaves in late October. David mumbled something about the stuff being a waste of plastic, but the boys w
ere oblivious to their father’s disapproval.

  Among the adults, there was in place a long-standing order of gift-giving. It seemed to Becca to be based on little more than habit. First Nora gave her gift, then Steve gave his, and it went on from there. Becca was the one to give hers last.

  Nora handed a rectangular package to Naomi, who carefully removed the ivy-printed paper without a tear. Inside was a beautiful wool cardigan Nora had knitted for her.

  “It’s my favorite shade of blue,” Naomi exclaimed. “Thank you, Nora. I can’t wait to wear it. I’ll put it on as soon as I get out of my nightgown after breakfast.”

  Rain also approved. “The color is perfect with your eyes, Mom,” she said. “And that beige scarf you have, the one Dad bought you, that will work really well with the sweater.”

  Naomi rolled her eyes. “My fashion consultant.”

  “I wish! If you let me, I could do a total makeover. You wouldn’t even recognize yourself.”

  “Uh, thanks, I think. But I’m fine the way I am.”

  Steve was the next to give his gift. He’d drawn James in the Secret Santa exchange, and gave him a cookbook entitled Around the Hearth.

  “You mentioned it the last time you were here,” Steve said. “I hope you haven’t bought it in the meantime.”

  “No, I haven’t. And thanks very much.” James looked to his wife. “I look forward to making Olivia something special when we get home.”

  Becca noted this exchange. Maybe something good had happened between her sister and brother-in-law last night. One could only hope.

  “Merry Christmas, Becca,” Julie said, interrupting her daughter’s thoughts. “And I’m certain this is something you don’t have.”

  She handed Becca a thin, white envelope. Puzzled, Becca opened it. She smiled. Her mother was just not going to give up on her mission to force her daughter to have a life. And maybe that was a good thing.

  “What is it, Aunt Becca?” Rain asked.

  “It’s a subscription to a travel magazine. The Happy Traveler .”

  “Are you going somewhere?”

  “Let’s hope so!” Julie said. “All work and no play—”

  “I get the hint,” Becca said, but nicely. “Thanks, Mom, really.”

  Becca caught her brother eyeing her after this exchange; he looked tense. She smiled what she intended to be an open, friendly smile. David frowned and looked away. Olivia was presenting him with a package. In his usual manner, David tore the wrapping off the gift and tossed it aside. There was no reusing wrapping paper once David had been at it.

  “It’s a book on genealogy,” he announced.

  Becca thought Olivia seemed suddenly embarrassed. “I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s probably not your sort of thing. I’ll give you the receipt and you can exchange it.”

  David, as he’d been known to do, rose to the occasion. “You know what, Liv?” he said. “I’m going to read it. If studying the family’s past is so important to you, I’d like to know more about it. Thanks.”

  James squeezed his wife’s shoulder. “It’s my turn,” he said. “Merry Christmas, Julie.”

  Julie accepted an oddly shaped package from her son-in-law.

  “What is it, Mom?” Lily asked.

  “Well, let me get the paper off first and I’ll tell you!”

  It was a new leash and collar for Hank.

  “I noticed the one he’s wearing now isn’t in the best of shape,” James explained.

  “And he knows how you hate to spend money until it’s absolutely necessary!”

  “David!” Julie cried in mock offense. “Are you saying I’m cheap?”

  “Not at all, Mom. Just—exceptionally frugal.”

  “Well, anyway, thank you, James. This is a very thoughtful gift. Hank! Come here, boy!”

  Ever the attentive companion, Hank bounded up from where he’d been curled on a braided rug and went to Julie.

  “Now me,” David announced. “I wrapped it myself.”

  Nora grinned. “Yes,” she said, accepting her grandson’s gift. “I can tell.” Inside the lumpy package covered in garish purple paper were a few skeins of very good wool. Even Becca, who’d never held a knitting needle but who knew how to shop, recognized the quality.

  “David,” Nora said after a moment of emotion, “I know I should say ‘you shouldn’t have,’ but the truth is I’m very glad you did. This is lovely. Thank you very much.”

  “And now . . .” Naomi handed Lily a neatly wrapped package. Inside was a slim, brown leather envelope for storing or carrying papers.

  “I know it seems a bit—corporate,” she said. “But you are going to law school next year so . . .”

  “It’s gorgeous,” Lily cried. “And so soft!”

  “My friend Sally and her husband are leather workers. See? Your initials are on the bottom there.”

  “This is so special, Naomi. I don’t know what to say.”

  “Just say that you’ll be the best, most honest and hardworking lawyer you can be.”

  Lily looked at her father and smiled. “Just like Dad.”

  “My turn.” Rain hopped up and gave her grandfather a package wrapped in candy cane paper.

  Becca felt a swell of pride as Rain planted a kiss on her grandfather’s forehead.

  “Merry Christmas, Grandpa. I hope you like it.”

  “If it’s from you,” he said, “of course I’ll like it.”

  “What is it?” Julie asked when her husband unwrapped a square box.

  “It’s an add-on light diffuser for the built-in flash on my camera,” Steve explained. “But, Rain, how did you know I wanted one?”

  Rain grinned. “I overheard you talking to Alex when we were here at Thanksgiving. I hope you didn’t buy it for yourself already!”

  “No, no. But what were you doing eavesdropping, young lady?”

  Rain laughed at her grandfather’s mock-stern tone. “Have you heard how loud Alex talks? You can’t help but overhear at least his part of a conversation even if you’re two rooms away!”

  Becca smiled to herself. Yes, Alex didn’t exactly speak in a whisper. He was not a person who insinuated. He was a person who barged. It occurred to her that there seemed little to fear from someone so open.

  It was Lily’s turn to give her Secret Santa gift. She handed Olivia a small, simply wrapped box. Inside was a pin, oval in shape, set with a large blue stone Becca couldn’t identify. From the bottom of the pin hung delicate metal fringe, and on its top was a small cluster of pearls.

  “It’s an antique,” Lily explained, perhaps unnecessarily, as the peculiar style of the ornament announced its age. “I got it at one of the antique shops on Charles Street. I know it’s not from our family, but, well, I thought you might like it anyway.”

  “I do like it, Lily,” Olivia said. “Thank you.” She turned to James and asked him to attach the pin to her sweater. Becca noticed—as did the others, she was sure—that Olivia looked at her husband’s face with appreciation as he attached the pin. Yes, she thought, something good definitely had happened between them. For James’s sake, she was glad. Okay, and for her sister’s sake, too.

  And then, finally, it was Becca’s turn to give her gift. She figured that by then, everyone had concluded she’d drawn Rain in the Secret Santa. And she assumed that David still fully expected her to ruin this happy Christmas morning with a big announcement. The deep frown on his unshaven face told her as much.

  Well, she was sorry to disappoint him.

  “Merry Christmas, Rain,” she said, leaning over to pass the girl a large rectangular package wrapped in heavy marbled paper. “Open the card first.”

  Becca could feel the tension radiating from her brother. His wife could, too, because she took his hand to comfort him.

  “ ‘The merriest of Christmases,’ ” Rain read, “ ‘and the happiest of years to come, Your Always Loving Aunt Becca.’ Oh, I can’t wait to see what it is!”

  Rain tore at the wrapping in much
the same way her father had torn at the wrapping on his present. Becca smiled to see the similarity in habit. In a moment, Rain was holding up a pair of leather boots in a style currently popular with teen fashionistas. Personally, Becca thought they were hideous.

  “Oh, Aunt Becca, thank you! I absolutely love them! How did you know I was dying for a pair of BoHos?”

  “Your mom mentioned it in passing about a month ago. I was going to wait until your birthday, but when I drew your name in the Secret Santa, well, I figured, why wait?”

  Becca hoped her message had been received. She thought that it had. David’s face looked downright slack with relief. She struggled not to cry. She knew that if she allowed one tear to come, many, many others would follow.

  Naomi, however, allowed her tears to flow.

  “Mom,” Michael said, looking up from the plastic robot villain he was already assembling, “why are you crying?”

  Naomi blew her nose loudly on a tissue Nora had passed her and managed a clogged laugh. “I’m just so happy,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

  “Now, there’s no reason to apologize for being happy!” Julie sent a beaming smile around the room, a smile that fully included Becca.

  “Hear, hear!” her father added. “To happiness!”

  50

  Torn wrapping paper had been gathered for recycling and Julie had collected what paper she could reuse. Ribbons and bows were in a pile under the tree. David sat leafing through the book Olivia had given him. Around the living room others read the morning paper or enjoyed their gifts. The twins sat among what looked like thousands of plastic robot and robot transport parts. Hank was sprawled in plain view in the middle of the room. Henry Le Mew, always wary of groups, was lumped majestically under the tree, his back against the trunk. From there he could keep an eye on the action and, if need be, make a rapid retreat up into the tree’s lower branches.