They sang several verses, and though Barb couldn’t understand the words, the music reminded her of long-ago church programs, when she was a girl in Beaumont. One year she’d played an angel, dressed in an old nightgown of her mother’s and a halo of Christmas tinsel.
“Entren, santos peregrinos, a este humilde rincon . . .” The song ended and they all applauded.
“The song tells the story of the pilgrims searching from house to house,” Elena explained. “Until at last they are welcomed in.”
“To the humble ‘rincon,’ ” Mae nodded. “I got that part. I studied Spanish a long time ago in school. I guess I remember more than I thought.”
“And you do this every year before Christmas?” Reuben asked.
“We didn’t do the nine nights this year, because we were moving,” Elena said. “But my brother is having a posadas at his house on Christmas Eve.”
“Will they still have the party without us?” Roberto asked, his voice tremulous.
“Perhaps they will have another party for us when we join them,” his mother said, and gathered him close.
“What about you folks?” Mae turned to Barb. “What do you usually do at Christmas?”
“We usually have a big party,” Barb said.
“Do you have a piñata?” Ricardo asked.
Barb smiled. “No. But maybe next year we will.”
Jimmy patted her shoulder. “Barb is known for her parties,” he said. “Everyone wrangles for an invitation.”
She flushed. “I do enjoy pulling everything together.” The planning began early in the fall, choosing a theme, discussing the menu with the caterer, compiling the guest list and gathering decorations.
“How big a party are we talking about?” Mae asked.
“I think the guest list last year was two hundred,” Jimmy said.
“Two twenty,” Barb said. She’d rented outdoor propane heaters and arranged them all through the backyard, and strung lights in the trees so that the party could extend through the house into the yard. Her theme had been Christmas in Tuscany, with decorations of red, blue, and gold to resemble a Tuscan Christmas market. Strolling musicians entertained the guests, and a buffet loaded with fruit, cheeses, olives, meats and traditional Tuscan candies and pastries was featured on the cover of an upscale Houston magazine this past November.
For weeks afterward, Barb had basked in praise for her Christmas bash. While she’d entertained a smaller group of friends this year before she and Jimmy left for Colorado, she had to admit she’d missed the bustle and busyness of preparing for a really big celebration. As Jimmy had said, her parties were what she was known for—her biggest accomplishment every year.
“I like this cinnamon toast,” Carlo said. He nibbled the last crust on his plate.
“You may have another piece if your mother says it’s okay,” Mae said.
Elena nodded and Carlo helped himself to a triangle of toast. Mae turned to Reuben. “What about you, Mr. Truck driver? How do you celebrate Christmas?”
Reuben set aside his empty plate and cup. “I don’t. I’m Buddhist.”
Mae lifted one eyebrow. “You were raised a Buddhist?”
“No. I was raised Southern Baptist, in Georgia.”
“Your converting to Buddhism must have surprised some of your family.”
“I guess so. I volunteer to drive over the holidays so another driver can be home with his family.”
“You don’t mind?”
“Why should I mind? There’s less traffic, and for a day, at least, most people are in a pretty good mood.”
“Have you ever been stranded by a snowstorm before?” Jimmy asked.
“At the holidays? No. But other times. I spent two days in my truck on the side of the road in Nebraska during a blizzard once. A highway crew had to dig me out.”
“You were stuck in your truck for two days?” Carlo’s eyes widened. “What did you do?”
“Mostly I slept. I watched movies on my laptop. Read books. Ate the peanut butter and crackers I keep for emergencies. This is a lot better.” He looked to Mae. “Have you taken in stranded travelers before?”
“No. The few times we’ve had storms shut down the roads the Highway Patrol takes them to a Red Cross Shelter in Gunnison or Lake City. I think this is Bobby Kates’s plan to not have me spend Christmas alone.”
“Officer Kates?” Barb didn’t try to hide her surprise.
Mae nodded. “He was a friend of my younger son, Gary’s. He thinks it’s his responsibility to look after me, since the boys don’t live close. I’ve told him I don’t need looking after, but he doesn’t listen.”
“What would you do for Christmas, if we weren’t here?” Carlo asked.
“I’d have a quiet day at home. If the weather was nice, I might go for a walk around the lake with Pearl. If it wasn’t, we’d stay inside and I’d start a new quilt.”
It sounded like a lonely kind of day to Barb, but peaceful, too, she supposed. Mae might be one of those people who preferred solitude.
“Thank you for taking us in,” Elena said. “This is much better than trying to stay warm in our car, or sleeping on the floor in some shelter.” She stood. “And now it’s time for little boys to go to bed.”
The boys started to protest, but a stern look from their father silenced them. Elena and Ernesto helped the boys into their coats, hats and gloves, and collected the props from their procession. The others stood also and said their good nights.
“Let me help you with these dishes,” Barb said, and began to collect cups and plates.
“I’ll take care of it.” Mae made shooing motions. “Go on now. It’s getting late.”
Barb didn’t argue. It must be close to ten o’clock, and maybe Mae had tolerated them long enough.
After the sleepy warmth of the house, the cold outside brought Barb fully awake. “If it weren’t for the fact that it’s keeping us away from Maggie, I’d say the snow was gorgeous,” she said.
Jimmy took her hand and tucked it into the pocket of his coat with his own. “If I have to be stranded in the middle of nowhere by a blizzard, I’m glad it’s with you,” he said.
“So you’re not going to trade me in for the beer cart girl at the golf course?” She wasn’t really worried, but a woman could never be too sure. After all, Maggie hadn’t seen her husband’s defection coming.
“Never.” He stopped and turned toward her. Moonlight smoothed the lines from his face and made him appear years younger—as young as the man she’d married. “I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you about the golf ball recycling business. I can see how it might seem like a rash decision, but I’ve put a lot of thought and preparation into it, and I think it will really work. I want to at least try.” He sounded so eager—so happy.
But she couldn’t let him off too easily. She kept her expression stern. “Yes, you absolutely should have consulted me first. I’m even more upset that you never told me you’ve had this burning desire to be a golf ball entrepreneur.”
“It’s not as if I’ve ever pretended I thought my job was anything more than a way to pay the bills,” he said. “You know I really enjoy making things with my hands. And I like the idea of building something I can pass on to Michael. This is important to me.”
“Then it’s important to me, too.” She laced her fingers more tightly in his. “But no more secrets like this.”
“I promise.”
She fell quiet. Clearing the air with Jimmy ought to be a huge weight off her shoulders, but the tension inside her hadn’t loosened much. She still felt unsettled and anxious. She wanted to blame him—his decision to change his life had unmoored her from her comfortable, safe routine.
But how comfortable was that routine if the prospect of it felt so empty to her now?
“What’s wrong?” Jimmy bumped her shoulder.
“Why do you think something’s wrong?”
“You’ve gone all quiet. And you’re puckering your mouth, the way you do when you’re fre
tting about something.”
She pressed her lips together. She puckered? How unattractive.
“Out with it,” he said. “I told you my secret; now it’s your turn.”
She shrugged. “I guess I’m a little jealous. I’m happy that you’re realizing your dream, but what about me? I don’t have a dream to realize. For years I knew exactly where I stood. I was the executive’s perfect wife—the society hostess and the perfect volunteer. I was Michael’s mom. Now Michael doesn’t need me.”
“He’ll always need you.”
“Not as much. And while the parties are fun, it’s not as if you need me to further your career. The volunteer work is for good causes, but Houston is full of women who could do the same thing.”
“Not as well as you.”
“I’m not so sure of that.”
“How long have you felt this way?”
She shrugged. “A while. Maybe since I got back from visiting Maggie in Eureka this summer. When she left Houston she was so sad and depressed; she’d lost everything, almost. But in Eureka she was so happy and doing all these new things—writing for the newspaper, climbing mountains, learning to do stuff for herself that she’d never had to do before. And she was doing great. I’m not so sure in her shoes I’d have been so resilient. It made me wonder if there was anything I’m really good at.”
“You’re good at being you. Isn’t that enough?”
She shook her head. “If it was, would I feel so unsettled right now?”
“I guess the question is, what do you really want to do?”
“Something I enjoy. Something I’m good at. I’m just not sure what that is.”
He put his arm around her and hugged her close. “You’re thinking about it. That’s a first step. You’ll find the answer.”
He said that because his whole focus in life had been finding answers. He made things balance and solved problems. Barb had little practice in those arenas.
“That was fun tonight, wasn’t it?” he asked as they resumed walking toward their cabin.
“It was. Those boys are so sweet. I hate that they’re missing the big party with the rest of their family.”
“They’ll probably have another one when they get to their uncle’s house. In the meantime, they’ll have a good Christmas here.”
“The scooter will be a surprise. They’ll love it. But a Christmas dinner of canned soup isn’t much of a celebration.”
“I guess we’re lucky to have that.”
She sighed. “At home I’d call the caterer and the decorator and we’d whip up a winter wonderland they’d never forget.”
“They’ll never forget this Christmas either. Children have a knack for accepting the moment and not worrying about comparisons. This won’t be better or worse than any other Christmas—it will just be Christmas.”
She smiled at him. “Are you saying I’m spoiled?”
“Don’t I spoil you? I do my best.”
“Oh you do, do you?”
“Maybe you should try harder.”
“Come to bed and I’ll do my best.”
“Mmmm. That sounds like an invitation I can’t refuse.”
Chapter Eight
Barb woke the next morning with her conversation with Jimmy still on her mind. He’d asked what she really wanted to do—well, that was the problem, wasn’t it? For the first time in her life, she had no clear goal, nothing she could apply her talents to or work toward. When she’d met Jimmy, her goal had been to land a well-off husband. Some people would say that was a mercenary ambition, but she’d gotten lucky and found love along with a higher standard of living.
Once they were married, she devoted herself to the challenge of being the perfect executive’s wife, and in the process she hoped to win over Jimmy’s chilly mother. She quickly became the hardest working volunteer and the best hostess in their circle, and she liked to think she’d eventually won Mrs. Stanowski’s grudging respect—didn’t the fur coat show that?
Michael’s arrival focused her attention on doing her best for him. She’d been there for every class party, every home and away game, every school committee and fund drive. Letting go of that role when he’d gone off to college had been a kind of relief. Time to fulfill some dreams of her own.
Except she didn’t have any unfulfilled dreams. Just the growing awareness that, despite all her years of busy-ness, she was still Barbie Sue Brown, trying to prove she could be somebody—that she mattered somehow.
She was forty-one years old and what did she know how to do? How to give a great party. How to decorate a room and wrap a gift and dress up. And at Christmas—the one time of year when she could really put these talents to good use—she was stuck somewhere where none of that mattered.
Then again, the thought came to her, maybe they mattered more than ever. She sat up in bed, and tugged the covers up to her shoulders to ward off the chill. If anybody needed a party and celebrating right now, it was a group of stranded travelers. Especially those little boys.
Excitement fizzed in her like champagne. She threw back the covers and reached for her clothes. She knew what she had to do—not with the rest of her life, but for today—Christmas Eve. She could utilize the one talent she had to make this a good Christmas—maybe even a great Christmas—for everyone here.
By the time she’d dressed and started water heating for tea, Jimmy was awake. “You’re up early,” he said. “Have trouble sleeping?”
“It’s Christmas Eve. I still get excited about the day, even at my age. Isn’t that funny?”
“Not so funny.” He sat up on the side of the bed and ran his hand over his jaw. “You’re one of those people who can always find a reason to celebrate. It’s one of the things I love about you.”
She stopped in the act of pouring instant oatmeal into a bowl and looked over her shoulder at him. “Really? That’s one of the nicest things anyone ever said to me.”
“I only tell the truth.” He stood and began to dress. “Want to come ice fishing with me this morning?”
She did her best to hide her glee that he was so conveniently going to be out of her hair for the day and wrinkled her nose in feigned disinterest. “I don’t think so. What are you going to use for bait?”
“I was thinking about that can of Spam we found in the back of the cabinet.”
“I’m not sure how I feel about eating anything that’s attracted to Spam.”
“Don’t think about the Spam. Think about a nice trout or salmon grilled with a little olive oil and fresh herbs.”
“Except we don’t have olive oil or fresh herbs.”
“A guy can dream.”
“Then go on, dreamer. I’ll stay here.”
“What will you do with yourself ?”
“Oh, I’ll find something.” Let him imagine her whiling away the day reading her romance novel and napping. Instead, she’d be busy pulling together a big Christmas surprise for all of them.
She could hardly keep from shooing him away. As if sensing her impatience, he dawdled, lingering over his tea and oatmeal, then taking his time gathering the things he thought he’d need—the Spam and a knife and extra layers of clothes. Then it was off to the shed to unearth an ancient ice auger and fishing tackle. At last, he trudged off toward the lake, down a path countless other anglers had worn from the cabins down to the lake shore, discernable even in the snow.
As soon as Jimmy was out of sight Barb went in search of Reuben. She found him in his cabin—from the looks of his bleary eyes she might even have awakened him. “I need your help,” she said.
He raked a hand through his unruly hair and regarded her warily. “Help with what?”
“We’re going to hike up to your King’s Grocery truck and get everything we need for a Christmas party.” Why no one had thought of doing this earlier, she couldn’t imagine, except that they’d all forgotten about the truck full of groceries in their worry over everything else.
Reuben shook his head. “Uh-uh. We can’t do
that.”
“Why not? It’s all just sitting up there while we’re stuck here eating canned soup and Spam. I admit, it might be a bit of a hike, but I’m willing if you are.”
“No ma’am. None of that stuff in the truck belongs to us.”
“But it’s for sale, right? I’ll pay you for everything. We’ll find some paper and a pen and you can write down everything. I’ll write you a check today if you like.”
“Nope.” He started to close the door, but she thrust herself over the threshold.
“You can’t tell me you want to spend Christmas eating two-year-old canned soup—or that you want those children to wake up Christmas morning with no stockings and no candy or fruit or any Christmas feast, when you have everything we need to have a real celebration right there in that truck.”
He looked pained. “I’m sorry. I wish I could help you, but I can’t. I can’t take the risk.”
“Risk? What risk? You can’t think anyone at King’s is going to begrudge you helping to make Christmas for a couple of kids.”
The lines on his forehead deepened. He shook his head slowly. “King’s is a big corporation. Corporations don’t think like people.”
“Oh, please! Corporations are run by people. People who will understand, I’m sure. Honestly, what could be so bad?”
“You can say that because you’re a woman who’s never had trouble in her life.”
“Reuben, you aren’t making sense here.”
He looked from side to side, as if making sure they were alone. He leaned toward her. “I’ve got a record,” he said softly.
She frowned. “A record?” Did he mean he kept a journal or a log book?
“I’ve been in prison, all right? I’ve got a criminal record.” His expression was a mixture of defiance and fear.
Barb swallowed hard, and tried not to show her shock at this revelation. “Well, I never would have guessed.”
“What? I don’t look like your idea of an ex-con?”
That was exactly what she meant, but she wasn’t about to admit it. “It doesn’t matter,” she said. “This wouldn’t be stealing.”
“It does matter. King’s took a chance hiring me. If I take anything from that truck they’ll call it stealing and I’ll be out of a job—not just this one, but any kind of job.”
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