Authors: Joseph Pittman
A Christmas Wish (15 page)
C
HAPTER
22
HAPTER
22
The magical night of the lighting of the windmill wasn't over, not yet. The four of us stood for who knew how long, marveling at the illuminating sight before us, basking in its glow before finally feeling the evening's bitter cold penetrate through the layers of clothing we wore. The wind had definitely picked up, and snowflakes had begun to drift down from the sky. I invited them all back to the farmhouse, where we made good use of the strawberry pie Gerta had brought over earlier. Gerta, though, was tired and so she left shortly afterward, saying she'd see us tomorrow at the tavern.
“Brian, she's so looking forward to the partyâI think she had given up hope of having her annual celebration,” Cynthia said. “Connors' Corner might have been George's domain the rest of the year, but on that particular night, Gerta ran the place with a smile as addictive as her pies. And she loved every minute of it.”
“Well, I'll be behind the bar and so will Mark, who arranged to get the night off from his hotel job just so he could help out. Though I suspect he has ulterior motives.” I paused, taking a sip from my mug of tea. “So, that will allow Gerta to play lady of the manor and welcome all our guests. It should be fun.”
“What will?” Janey said, bringing in her empty pie plate from the living room.
“The big party tomorrow,” I said. “You ready for it?”
“You bet.”
“Good,” I said. “So what do you say you get a good night's rest in preparation.”
She rolled her eyes and said to Cynthia, “He's not very subtle.”
“Ha ha, off to bed, Little Miss Big Words,” I said, pretending to chase after her. She went running up the stairs, squealing with delight. I told her I'd be up in a minute, then asked if Cynthia minded staying for a while longer.
“I was planning to, if you don't mindâI need to talk to you about something.”
Curious about what might be on her mind, I told her to hold that thought while I went to check on Janey. By the time I got upstairs Janey had already brushed her teeth and thrown her pajamas on and was settled under the covers with her book. We talked for just a couple of minutes, because even though her pleas of wanting to stay awake said otherwise, her yawns betrayed her. As I got up from the bed, she said, “Thanks, Brian, for making the windmill sparkle. Momma would have loved it.”
“I'm sure she can see it.”
“It's so bright, I bet they can see it on all the other planets,” she said.
I flicked off the light, and with a full heart, returned to the kitchen. Cynthia was pouring herself a fresh mug of tea.
“I'll take a refill,” I said.
We sat down at the table, both of us ready to dig in to the topic we each wished to discuss. Which turned out to be the same.
“I want to talk about Janey,” we both said, and then laughed.
“You first, Brian, what's going on?”
Despite my earlier reservations about involving Cynthia in Ornament-gate, I knew I needed some guidance. Janey and I were walking a slippery slope, and one misstep and we might never heal. So I filled in Cynthia about everything: the shifts in mood and the attitude, the brashness with which Janey wore her newfound, limited independence. “She's become unpredictable, Cyn. Some nightsâlike tonightâwe're totally fine, and then others, yikes, she won't even listen to me. I hate to firm with her . . . but I know I have to be. I'm her guardian. Who knows, maybe it's the stress of the holidays and this shall all pass after the New Year. Or maybe she misses Annie so much she's uncertain how to deal with her emotions. Whatever's truly bothering her, it's not good for herânot good for us. Janey and I are only going to work if we can keep open the lines of communication. And that's what she doesn't do, communicate. She shuts down.”
“Have you said anything to her?” she asked.
I confessed that I tended to avoid confrontation, that was my style. “Always has been. Keeping the peace is my motto,” I said, thinking of how quietly I'd left New York last spring. There had been no big blowups, no arguments. I'd become an emotional steel trap and no animal dared penetrate. Only life in Linden Corners had opened me up again, to heal and to feel.
“I sense there's more you're not telling me,” Cynthia said.
“Wow, Cyn, you're good,” I admitted. I told her then about the case of the missing Christmas ornament, it's having gone missing nearly the minute I'd brought it back to the farmhouse, discovering it under Janey's bed. I confessed my fears and my avoidance. What I didn't tell her was why it was so important to me. “I don't want to upset the delicate balance that already exists between us. And I know how silly this sounds, it's just a stupid tree ornament.”
“No, Brian, it's anything but sillyâor stupid. Obviously the ornament is important to you, otherwise you might have dealt with the issue already. Maybe you're not ready to speak of its significance, that's why you're letting it remain undetected under her bed. But you do need to clear this matter upâand fast. You can't have those suspicions hanging over you. It will damage this Christmas and maybe all the others, too. Get the ornament back, first of all. Go under the bed, get it, hang it on the tree. Then you need to talk to Janey about it. But I'll tell you, Brian, she's mentioned the ornament to me several times and all she's ever said was how pretty it is. I didn't sense that there was something wrong there,” Cynthia said, allowing herself a pause. “As for the behavioral fluctuations, well, let me approach this from another angle and see if we can't find some common road. Today at the mall, it was all I could do to keep her focused on the gift buying. All she wanted to do was look at the peopleâmostly at couples. Holding hands or even kissing and she would make comments, like . . .”
“Like they were going to get married.”
“She's done that with you, too?”
I related the story of seeing Mark and Sara at the tree farm, how our day had ended with Janey's question about their possible marriage. “It seemed to come out of left field, Cyn. But then Mark comes to me later that same day, asking to rent the apartment above the tavern. He's going to ask Sara to move in with him, and I wondered if maybe there was more to his actions. He practically admitted that he was getting ready to propose. How Janey guessed it, I don't know.”
“Obviously, it's what's nagging at her mind, whether she realizes it or not. Her actions toward youâthat brashness you spoke ofâmight not be so deliberate, Brian. Perhaps her subconscious is playing tricks with her, making her act out. Even she might not understand why she's saying what she is. She's acting on impulse, instinct. Not rationality.”
“I'm hardly a trained psychologistâadd in the complex workings of a child's mind and I think we'd have an easier time with a thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle of a blizzard.”
She laughed. “I wish I had a perfect solution for you. But really, Brian, talk to her. You can't be afraid to. Remember, you're the grown-up.”
“Sometimes Janey questions that, too,” I said, a rueful smile crossing my lips.
“Like you said, a delicate balance. You have to be the disciplinarian, but you also want to be the fun guy she met from this summer. Not easy to be both. But I think so far you've managed beautifully.”
“Thanks, Cyn, it helps just being able to talk about it. I'll watch her mood the next couple of days, and if her shifting moods persistâor worsen, God forbidâthen I'll have to take some kind of action. Who knows, maybe if we talk about the ornament, everything else will fall into place. I'm sure it's all wrapped up under one big âissue' somewhere in her mind. For now, I just want to get through Christmas.”
“You know, that could be it, too, Brian. She did confess one thing to me.”
“What's that?”
“She said, and I quote, âFor Christmas, I want to give Brian what he most wants.'”
“And did she offer up what that was?”
“Nope.”
“Hmm, the plot thickens,” I said.
Cynthia got up from her chair, putting empty tea mugs in the sink. For a moment she stood over the counter, her body wavering. It seemed almost like she was going to faint. Hastily I stood and went to her side.
“Hey, you okay?”
“Yeah, yeah, just a wave of . . . nothing. It's nothing, Brian.”
“You know, you're acting kind of funny,” I said.
“Just tired, Brian. The moment passed, I'm fine. Guess I better get home to Brad.”
“You okay driving home?”
“Brian, worry about Janey,” she said, offering up her friendly smile. Color had returned to her cheeks, and she appeared steady on her feet again. So I allowed her to go, not without a hint of concern. She said she and Brad would see me tomorrow at the party.
After she left, I mused over our conversation. Standing over the sink full of dirty dishes, I realized my mind was full of unanswered, nagging questions. Dishes and questions could wait. I went upstairs to check on Janey, who was fast asleep. Her purple frog, though, had fallen to the floor and I bent down to retrieve it. After placing the frog back in her protective arms, I returned my attention back to underneath her bed. Tucked against the bedpost was the little brown cardboard box, still undisturbed from when I'd discovered it earlier. Hearing Cynthia's words in my head, I realized that she was right, I needed to just take back the ornament. There was no more delaying the issue; no more denials.
And so I withdrew the box from its hiding place, my hands shaking as I opened the lid. My mouth dropped as I stared inside the boxâthe empty box. The Christmas ornament wasn't inside it. My heart sank as I considered what I should do next. Afraid now that Janey might awaken and discover me hovering above her, I returned the box to where I'd found it and quickly left the room. I headed to my bedroom, leaving the door slightly ajar, as I always did. But I wanted to close it fully and hide from the world. Indeed, the plot had thickened, and I was now at a complete loss as to what to do.
When finally I slipped beneath the covers of my own bed, I wondered if I could possibly have dreamed up the discovery under her bed, and knew that was just wishful thinking. Here was a further complication I hadn't expected.
What had really happened to my ornament?
C
HAPTER
23
HAPTER
23
The day of the annual George's Tavern Christmas party finally arrived, and there was so much preparation involved, Janey and I barely saw each other that morning. Considering my non-discovery under her bed, she and I needed to talk, that much was obvious. The timing had to be just rightâno distractions. But there was no denying I was devastated by this latest turn of events, and as Mark and I went about our routine of checking the taps, dusting the bottles, and shining up the bar, I found myself walking around in a fog.
“Hey, Briâyou with us today?”
“Yeah,” I answered, my voice on autopilot. “Why?”
“Well, for starters, you're polishing the plastic pitchers.”
So I was. I put down both towel and pitcher and suggested we take a break. “I could use one,” I said.
“How 'bout you show me the apartment now?” Mark said.
“Great idea.”
It was three in the afternoon, an hour away from the start of the party. Cynthia Knight had volunteered to help Gerta bring over the food, and her husband, Bradley, had gone to St. Matthew's to borrow a long table on which to set out the delicious buffet. So, with the bar mostly set for a night of revelers, I grabbed the keys out of the register and waved Mark onward.
“Keep in mind I haven't been upstairs in a while, so it might be a bit musty.”
Mark didn't care, he was twenty-four and on the verge of getting his first apartment. The roaches could have given him a welcome parade and he'd have been thrilled, not that we had roaches here at the tavern. There were two ways to get to the upstairs, through a door that was located right behind the side of the bar, or through a separate back entrance. The apartment consisted of three roomsâa bedroom, a living room, and an eat-in kitchen, each room generous with its allotted space. A good-sized bathroom completed the layout. Furniture came with the place, I said as we headed up the stairs, “but, of course, if you want to replace it with some of your own, go ahead. I'll just store the stuff in my barn.”
“Oh no, I don't have anything.”
“Well, Sara might,” I said pointedly.
He nodded eagerly. “Oh yeah, right. Not that I've said anything, not yet.”
“Your secret is safe with me.”
With a flourish, I threw open the door to the apartment and allowed Mark to step in first. He gazed around, his grin increasing the farther he ventured forward. He gave the place a good inspection, and as he did I allowed the memories of this past summer to wash over me. What a terrific place this apartment had been, just enough space so I hadn't felt cramped, but not too big that I got lost. My needs had been simple then, a perfect match for a home that needed only a willing tenant to infuse it with life. And judging from Mark's reaction, the apartment had found its newest occupant. I was glad to help him move forward with his life.
“How long did you live here?” he asked me.
“I don't know, let me see. Five months or so, until I moved into the farmhouse.”
“Right. And what about all those nights you didn't work at the bar, was the noise level loud?”
“You can't hear a thing from downstairs. Good solid floors, along with the two doors at either end of the staircase, manage to keep out all sound from below. And I would assume vice versa. They don't build them as solid anymore.”
Mark grinned. “I'll take it.”
“We haven't talked about the monthly rate.”
“I'll take it,” he repeated.
And so he did, our hands shaking on it. We agreed to work out the particulars later, and I agreed to be fair with the rent. Then we returned to the bar, where Gerta and Cynthia were already busy bringing in dishes, and Bradley was noisily setting up the metal folding table against the far wall. I had at least proved my point, that you couldn't hear a darn thing that went on below.
“Here, let me help,” I said to Brad.
“Hey, stranger, good to see you,” he said. Brad Knight was my age, and I usually saw him dressed in a suit, white shirt, and tie, the busy lawyer setting out for the office. Today he was dressed in blue jeans and a holiday sweater.
“Yeah, I know, haven't seen much of you. Seems every time I visit Cynthia you're still at work.”
“Billing a lot of hours this time of year,” he said. “Gotta save up.”
“For what?” I asked.
“Wait till Christmas,” Brad said.
Once the table was set up, he offered to go get the chairs out of his trunk. He said no more about what was going on with him and Cynthia. I stole a look across the room, where a smiling, rosy-cheeked Cynthia was lighting one of those Sterno heaters. She didn't look any the worse for wear, considering her near-fainting spell the other night.
In any case, Christmas was just two days away, so whatever news the Knights had could wait. For now, Linden Corners was ready to celebrate this most special holiday, where families joined together for a joyous time and friends became that much closer. George's Tavern, while a place for adults for every other occasion, today was open to the entire public. We were about community, not alcohol, though that wasn't to say we weren't serving to those of legal age. The food was on us, the drinks on whoever wanted one, that was the deal and we received nary a complaint as the tavern began to fill up. By six that evening it was wall to wall people, the jukebox was playing only Christmas-themed songs, people were engaged in games of pool or were talking at tables, against the wall, leaning against the bar. The mood was festive, and it had an infectious hold over me as I worked. I pulled the tap with a smile, filling and refilling glasses, just like George had taught me last summer. And Gerta, she stood over the trays of foodâfried chicken and plates of lasagna, sausages and peppers and potatoes and vegetables, rice and shrimp, breads and rolls, and for dessert, pies, pies, pies. A veritable feast for a variety of folks.
My regulars had all turned out. Even Chuck Ackroyd showed up, busy now talking with Martha Martinsonâwho had closed the Five-O for the occasion. “Hey, I need a night off from cooking; but good thing Gerta only does this once a year, she's better at cooking than I am at telling jokes,” which was quite an admission from her. A dreamy-eyed Sara Joyner was there, hanging out at the edge of the bar, talking with Mark whenever he got a free moment. Marla and Darla, who owned the shops down the street, could always be counted on for a party, and just as they had done last summer at First Friday, they sat there doing tequila shots and trying to outdo the other. Competition, thy name is twin. Brad and Cynthia were dancing to the Eurythmics' version of “Winter Wonderland,” which had slowed the party's tone down some.
“Hey, we worked hard,” Brad said, “so I've earned a slow dance with my wife.”
The song ended and then the joint was rocking again, with Bruce Springsteen's “Santa Claus Is Coming to Town.”
At six thirty, I was about to offer Mark a break when a surprise guest arrived through the front door and my mouth nearly dropped. It was my friend John Oliver, and at his side was his lovely girlfriend, Anna. I informed Mark that I was taking the break instead, and went over to greet my friend with a huge welcoming hug.
“Man, I can't believe you're hereâyou never confirmed with me, you know?”
“Where are the cows, Bri?”
Anna slapped his arm, saying, “You said no farm jokes.”
“Oh, uh, then . . . surprise!” he said, holding up his hands.
We all laughed and then I escorted them over to the bar, where I asked the twins to give up their seats for a while. They grumbled at first, but when I gave them a complimentary shot, they acquiesced, jointly stumbling off to get some much-needed food. John was impressed with my managerial skills, less so with my bartending skills.
“Where are our freebies? We drove all this way.”
So I poured John a draft and got Anna her requested glass of Chardonnay, warning her, “Wine's not our specialty,” and then set about taking care of introductions. John met Gerta and Cynthia and Brad, even Chuck came over to say hello, more interested in Anna's form than in being friendly. “They sure got pretty women in that city,” was his crass comment. I recalled he'd been equally taken with Maddie when she made a surprise, last-ditch visit last summer to repair whatever had once existed between us. Still, Chuck's behavior did little to dampen my enthusiasm. Having John and Anna here in Linden Corners was the perfect mingling of my old world and my new life.
“Where's Janey?” John asked.
“With her friend, Ashley,” I said. “Her parents promised to come by for dinner around seven, let the kids dance and have fun for a couple of hours. Probably good that she's not here the entire time, I've been swamped since we opened the doors.” I paused, then slapped my friend on the arm. “Hey, I'm glad you're here, John, it means the world to me.”
“No problem,” he said. “But I hope there are some accommodations in this rinky-dink town of yours. Saw some place called the Solemn Nights. Hope you got better.”
“Stay at the farmhouse, no debate.”
“Oh good, I get to wake up and milk the cows.”
Both Anna and I ignored him.
With those details settled upon, John and Anna got some food and started to mingle with the kind townsfolk of Linden Corners, they easily welcoming them, especially after I announced, “These are my friends from the city and they want to go cow tipping later.” That got a huge laugh and before long the city slickers were engulfed in a group of locals who began to debate the pluses and minuses of country life.
Janey showed up finally, with Ashley and her parents, Chris and Lea Baker, nice churchgoing folk who I don't think had ever stepped foot inside this bar; or any other, I thought. They had met at church, she taught Sunday school and he helped out with confirmation classes, or so they told me one day when I'd picked up Janey from their house. As they helped themselves to food, Ashley turned around and stuck out her tongue again. This time I fought back. I stuck my tongue out at her.
Janey, though, didn't notice our exchange. She was all smiles, especially when I scooped her up and brought her behind the bar. I let her use the soda gun to pour drinks for herself and Ashley, for Ashley's parents, too.
“Wow, Brian, I think everyone's here tonight. Wait . . . is that John? Hi, John! Anna!” she screamed out from the bar, waving wildly as she did so.
Janey got sucked into their world, and I could tell she was clearly delighted to see Anna again. Relief flooded over me as I realized the Janey we all knew and loved was here. Smiling, giggling, her infectious personality keeping the party mood high. She was a natural at working the crowd, charming them with her little laugh. As I watched from behind the bar, I at last offered Mark the break I'd promised him. He tossed his dirtied apron on the shelf under the bar, pulling out from a hidden spot behind some bottles a small vial of cologne. He splashed it on, then shrugged when he saw me watching.
“Hey, it was good enough for Sam Malone on
Cheers,
” he remarked.
Cheers,
” he remarked.
He disappeared into the sea of people to find Sara. When they embraced, her happy shriek rose above the noise from the jukebox.
As more people arrived, Gerta stepped in to help behind the bar, and with her at my side, time passed quickly, easily, and before long another hour had passed and Mark hadn't yet returned. Not that I minded: In truth he wasn't even scheduled to work tonight, and was doing this as a favor mostly (though he was working for tips, which tonight were very good). I was about to send out a search party for him when another surprise presented itself to me. My mouth hung open so widely, I might have been catching barflies.
“Rebecca?”
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