The Christmas Secret

by Donna VanLiere

  “I’m not, Mom.”

  “Then why are you marrying him?” she asked, folding a load of towels in the laundry room.

  “He’s a nice, nice guy,” I said, trying to convince her as well as myself. She wouldn’t look at me and that made me angry. “What’s your problem with him?”

  “I don’t have a problem with Brad. You’re right. He seems nice. I know all about nice.” She stacked towels one on top of the other in silence.

  I leaned against the washer and folded my arms, waiting for her to say something more. “Stop talking in code, Mom.”

  She placed a small stack of towels in the laundry basket and picked up another one to fold, looking at me. “Do you love him?”

  “Of course I do.” She nodded and continued her work. She wasn’t any more persuaded than I was and that really got on my nerves.

  She stopped her work. “Parents want more for their children.”

  “So what’s the problem? I’m getting married and that’s something you never had.” That hurt her and I knew it but I didn’t care.

  She grabbed the laundry basket and set it on her hip. “But you’re not marrying the right man!”

  Heat rose to my face. “I’m marrying the father of my child!”

  Her face was stricken. I didn’t want to tell her that way. I didn’t want to tell her at all but knew my expanding belly would soon give me away. She carried the laundry past me in silence. I felt tears in my eyes but held them back. “You don’t know anything about Brad,” I said, my voice breaking. I grabbed my purse and left for work as she closed her bedroom door.

  Months before our wedding I began to notice that Brad would demean me in front of friends and my mother and make me feel dim and irrelevant. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Christy,” he’d say. Or, “How dumb are you?” I married him anyway, hoping my love for him would justify any minor failings once we became man and wife. When Brad found a job here my mother seemed angry. I assumed it was because she knew that once the baby came I would need her more than ever and she would be two hours away, but we had to move where Brad’s job was.

  We moved during my sixth month of pregnancy, and a month after Zach was born, Brad promptly lost his job. “Management didn’t know what they were doing,” he said, the veins in his neck swelling. Brad knew so much more than anyone else. He’d yell at the sportscasters and television news anchors; his jaw hanging open so wide I could see his lungs flapping for breath. Employers never knew what they were doing and I was a constant disappointment. I didn’t tell my mother he lost that job and when I discovered we were having another baby I found myself making up a job title for him so she’d think he worked and earned more than he did. I didn’t tell her when the electricity was turned off twice in one winter, when Brad wrecked the car and we didn’t have insurance to get it fixed, or when he left less than two and a half years later. Marriage and father-hood wasn’t what he thought it would be.

  He’d been gone for two months before I could build up the nerve to tell her. Haley was six months old and needed antibiotics and I was broke so I called Mom. She didn’t say I told you so. She asked about the kids and my job but didn’t talk much. She’d said it all before I got married and there wasn’t anything left to say. I couldn’t undo my mistakes. When I was a child I dreamed of a life that would be extraordinary. After I married Brad I hoped for one that was at least interesting and when I ended up alone with two kids I groped for one that was somehow manageable. That’s how dreams go sometimes.

  I finished my shift and clocked out; staying until seven twelve to make up for the time I missed that morning. Renee and the other waitresses had left for the day and the new shift had arrived. I tried to make a quick getaway before Rod saw me.

  “Christine, you can’t be late anymore.” I stopped and turned to see him stepping out of the walk-in cooler. “We get way too busy during the holidays. This is your last warning.”

  I nodded. “See you tomorrow, Rod.”

  Jason Haybert pulled a five dollar bill out of his wallet and handed it to the stewardess. “Rum,” he said, folding the newspaper.

  She ran her tongue over her teeth. He was one of those young bucks who made a big deal out of drinking on an airplane, dying to prove that he was of age. “ID please,” she said, sizing him up. Twenty-two or twenty-three, she thought to herself. He handed her his driver’s license and she smiled. “Oh, you just had a birthday. Happy twenty-four!” He poured the rum into his cup of cola and handed the empty bottle back to her.

  “Maybe when we land I can take you out for a drink.”

  She blushed, laughing. “I think my husband and children might have a problem with that.”

  “Bring them, too,” he said.

  She cackled and pushed her cart to the next seat. Jason had inherited his father’s sandy brown hair and blue eyes, had been one of the university’s best soccer players, and he thought one of the most valuable employees at the accounting firm until they downsized and gave him the boot. He was confident another equally impressive firm would snap him up before the dust settled on his desk, but three months later he still couldn’t find a job. He took the call from his grandfather half-seriously.

  “Come work for me at the store for the Christmas season,” his grandfather Marshall had said three weeks earlier.

  “Grandpa, I went to college for a reason,” Jason had said. He hadn’t intended that to sound so demeaning.

  “How are you making money right now?”

  Jason clicked the remote to the sports channel. “I’m not,” he had said, reading the day’s highlights on the screen.

  Marshall couldn’t imagine sitting around and not working when there were bills to pay. “So how are you paying rent?” he had asked. Jason was quiet. “Fly here this weekend and check it out. Once you find a job you’ll be out of here. But in the meantime, you’ll make some money.”

  Jason paused. His skills were above working at a department store but one firm after another said they weren’t doing any hiring until the New Year. He didn’t go to college to sell socks to old ladies but it seemed his grandfather’s offer was the best thing going right now.

  Marshall Wilson pressed his nose closer to the pictures in the catalog. “What are those flowers?” he asked the florist. “Those are pretty.”

  “Lisianthus,” she said.

  “Never heard of them.” He flipped through the pages. “How about those?”

  She leaned over the counter to see the picture. “Casablanca lilies.”

  Marshall rubbed the whiskers on his chin. “Those are nice. Can I see one in person?”

  “Well, no,” she said. “It’s the wrong time of year for lilies.”

  “Where?”

  “What?” she said, flustered.

  “Where is it the wrong time of year for lilies?” He set the book on the counter, looking at her.

  “Here.”

  “But it could be the right time of year in another part of the world?”

  She thought for a moment. “Sure . . . but it would be very expensive to buy them and—”

  “Can we put some of those first flowers in there, too? What were they called? Lis something.”

  “Lisianthus. But again that’s not an average flower and—”

  “Save your breath, Natalie,” Dwight Rose said, stepping beside her. Dwight had owned Rose’s Floral and Gift for fifteen years. “What is it, Marshall? Anniversary or birthday? I get them confused.”

  “Anniversary,” Marshall said, thumping his hand on top of the counter. “Number forty-four coming up in December.”

  “Marshall married a very sensible woman,” Dwight said. “She never wanted big gems, gaudy necklaces, or, these are her words, ‘ridiculous hoopy earrings.’ Just flowers. Nothing fancy or exciting per se. All the reasons she married Marshall.”

  Marshall bowed. “Thank you, sir. I will take that as a compliment of the highest order.”

  “But Marshall doesn’t like simple flower
s. He likes to pick ones he’s never heard of before. It makes him feel—”

  “Less simple,” Marshall said, smiling.

  “Linda realized many years ago that between Thanksgiving and Christmas she was in essence a widow.” Marshall rolled his eyes. “She’d make dinner but Marsh here would still be at the store and wouldn’t show up until after ten o’clock each night.”

  “It was never ten o’clock,” Marshall said.

  “Okay, eleven,” Dwight said. Marshall sighed and waved his hand in the air to hurry Dwight along. “Linda decided that she’d take this time to travel the country and visit the kids and grandkids. After—”

  “A few weeks away came the long-awaited return and a bouquet of beautiful flowers,” Natalie said, finishing his sentence. “That’s so romantic.” She pulled the pages of flowers out of the catalog.

  Dwight put his hand on the young woman’s back. “No one, not even Linda, has ever referred to Marshall as romantic.”

  “You have no idea what goes on behind closed doors,” Marshall said, picking up the photos.

  “Great. Now I’ll have that image in my head all day,” Dwight said.

  Marshall laughed and tucked the pages in his jacket pocket. “I’ll run these by Judy and get back with you.” He thumped the top of the counter and walked out the door, heading down the street to Wilson’s Department Store. He and Linda opened Wilson’s four years after they got married and it had since been a mainstay on the town square. Once their first child started to toddle about the store, Linda decided to stay at home where she raised two more children.

  Twenty-five years earlier doctors had removed one of Linda’s breasts. When the cancer showed up in her colon a few months later, Linda went in for her second surgery in less than a year. The chemotherapy, radiation, and medications left her weak and sick and Marshall didn’t step foot in Wilson’s for three months straight. “Go, Marshall,” Linda would say.

  “The store is in fine hands,” Marshall had said. He knew she wanted a break from his constant hovering, but the thought of losing her gripped him stronger than anything he’d ever felt. He planned trips overseas for he and Linda and bought her necklaces, rings, and a diamond tennis bracelet.

  “Oh, Marsh,” she had said when she opened it. “I don’t need this.”

  “I want you to have it,” he said, sitting on the edge of the bed.

  She smiled. “I know you do,” she said, slipping her hand into his. “But you don’t have to buy me expensive gifts to make me think you love me any more now that I’m sick. You haven’t stepped foot into the store in months. I know you love me.”

  “But I’ve never gotten you anything like this.”

  She squeezed his hand. “I’ve never needed anything like this. I’ve been very happy with you without a bracelet like this and I’m quite certain I’ll still be just as happy.” He leaned down and kissed her forehead. “I’m not going anywhere,” she whispered.

  He settled for buying Linda flowers and when she recovered and was cancer-free he sent her a fresh bouquet every week and for any occasion over the years.

  Marshall swung open the office door. “Have you ever heard of lisianthus, Judy?” He threw the catalog pages on her desk and stepped up to his office, hanging his jacket on the coatrack.

  “It’s a virus, right?” Judy asked, flipping through files in the cabinet.

  “It’s a flower,” he said.

  She stepped over to her desk and peered at the catalog pages over her glasses. “Pretty,” she said. Judy Luitweiler had worked for Marshall for twenty-seven years and in that time all of her children had grown up, married, and produced six grandchildren. Judy had started out on the sales floor but soon became Marshall’s right-hand man in the office.

  “Would you like it?” Marshall yelled from his office.

  Judy pulled a file from the bottom drawer and opened it. “I’d love it. But I never claimed to have a favorite flower, either.”

  He stepped to the door. “Don’t you think hydrangeas get kind of old after a while?”

  “I’m just saying,” she said.

  He started to close his office door behind him. “Have you heard anything from Jason?”

  She took a bite of a powdered donut and brushed the powder off her sweatshirt. “Not yet. I’m sure he’ll come directly here from the airport.” She took another bite and tapped her index finger on the desk to clean up the powder, licking it off, and making yummy noises. “Are you sure you’re up for this?”

  He stuck his head around the corner to look at her. “Up for what?”

  She took a sip from her “My Grandma’s the Best” coffee mug. “A visit from Jason? He’s never been your favorite grandchild.”

  “How would you know who is and isn’t my favorite?”

  “I know,” she said, shoving the last bite into her mouth.

  Marshall grunted and closed his door.

  Jason pulled out his cell phone and hit speed dial. “Hey, babe,” he said, looking out the window of the taxi. “I’m here.”

  “I still can’t believe you’re doing this,” Ashley said. Jason had met Ashley during their senior year of college and they had dated on and off for the past three years. His parents found her remote and cool as stone but were kind to her for his sake. Ashley was pretty, thin, opinionated, and talented. She worked for a fashion designer in the city and wanted to design her own clothing line someday. Trouble was, her depth ran as deep as fabric blends and colors. Theirs was a relationship of pleasure and convenience.

  “Why don’t you come back to the city? Plenty of firms will need you,” Ashley said.

  “Firms are letting people go,” Jason said. “Not hiring them.”

  The taxi driver made his way through the town square and Jason watched as they passed familiar sights from his childhood. Jason’s mother was the oldest of Marshall and Linda’s children and the one most like her mother. Although she was forty-three Marshall usually called her Bunny. “My parents used to bring me and my sister to our grandparents each summer for two whole weeks,” Jason said into the phone. He shook his head. “Now I can’t imagine staying here for two weeks let alone through the Christmas season.” He groaned out loud. “I’ll call later.” He snapped the phone closed and slipped it into his pocket. Jason had a great sense of self-importance about him. He was college-educated; his grandfather was not. He had traveled the world through college; his grandparents had always loved their hometown and the people in it. He aspired for more.

  Jason paid the taxi driver and lifted his bags from the trunk. He opened the front door of Wilson’s and pulled his suitcase behind him. A slim young girl with blond curly hair looked up from behind a rack of clothing. “Good morning,” she said, much too perky for Jason. “Can I help you find anything?”

  “Marshall Wilson,” he said, unzipping his jacket.

  The salesgirl looked at the suitcase and threw her hands in the air. “Oh! You’re Jason. He’s been looking for you. The office is that way at the back of the store.”

  Jason readjusted his backpack and looked at his suitcase. “Can you bring that for me?”

  “Sure,” she said, pulling the suitcase behind her. “I’m Debbie, by the way. I work in ladies’ clothing.”

  Jason took the stairs by two up to the office and rapped on the window.

  “He’s here!” Judy yelled over her shoulder toward Marshall’s office. She opened the door and threw her arms around Jason’s neck. “Look at you, Mr. Handsome!”

  Marshall stepped beside Judy and hugged Jason to him. “So good to see you, Jace.” He noticed Debbie attempting to drag the suitcase up the stairs. “Let me get that.” He carried it up the stairs and set it outside the office door.

  Jason threw his backpack on one of the chairs opposite Judy’s desk and sat on the other one.

  “So how was your trip?” Marshall asked, preparing a cup of coffee for him.

  “Great. The flight was actually on time.” Marshall handed him the cup and Jason
grimaced after taking a sip.

  “How’s Ashley?” Marshall asked.

  “Awesome. We broke up for a while but now we’re back together, I think.”

  “You think?” Marshall asked.

  “We’re up and down. Hot and cold.” He opened his phone and showed a picture to Judy.

  “How gorgeous,” she said, leaning forward. “What does she do?”

  “She wants to work in the fashion industry.”

  Judy bugged out her eyes to look impressed.

  “Maybe she could come here and help our buyers,” Marshall said. “Be good experience.”

  Jason laughed. “Anybody can be a buyer, Grandpa. She wants to design.” He slipped his phone into the backpack. “Hey, I know you said I could stay at the house but I think it’d be easier in a place of my own.”

  Marshall sat on the edge of Judy’s desk. “But a place would be hard to find and would cost—”

  “Already found one online,” Jason said, setting his coffee down. “Paid the first month’s rent.”

  Marshall nodded. “Where?”

  “It’s a garage apartment owned by a guy named Robert Layton.”

  “I had no idea Robert and Kate rented an apartment.”

  “They said I’m only the second renter. So,” Jason said, stretching, “did you want me in here doing the books or is there an office somewhere else?”

  Judy cleared her throat and busied herself with wiping dust from her computer screen.

  “Judy keeps the books,” Marshall said. “I want you on the floor.”

  Judy cleaned pencil shavings and gum wrappers from her top drawer and straightened the paper clips.

  “I thought you wanted me for accounting work through the holidays.”

  Marshall shook his head. “No. Judy does that. I need help on the floor through Christmas.”

  “Then why did you ask me to come help with the books?”

  Judy cleaned the rim of her coffee mug with a tissue.