The Guest List (5 page)

“Carol!” Donovan roared. The sweat of fear dripped down his face as he stomped from the room. Carol came on the run. “You are not going to believe this! Do you know what that kid said to me? What in hell did Harriet do to her?”

Carol Mitchell sniffed the air as she made her way through the house, her arms piled high with folded linens. Christmas was a wonderful time of year, but not this Christmas, she thought, her shoulders slumping. This Christmas was already a nightmare, and the holiday was still a week away. Donovan had been working sixteen hours a day and was ready to drop when he walked in the door. In the six months they had been married, they had hardly had a moment alone together.

She hadn’t thought it would be like this. She’d figured on Donovan needing her to help with the girls, but she hadn’t counted on assuming the whole responsibility.

This wasn’t what she’d planned, wasn’t what she’d wanted. It was all becoming too much for her. Once the New Year arrived, she would make some hard decisions. What to do about Mallory would be first.

She cringed when she heard Mallory’s strident tones coming from the bedroom. Should she check it out or let the girls solve it on their own? Donovan said she should step in only if things
got out of hand, but things
always
got out of hand. Why couldn’t she have just one day of peace and harmony? The psychiatrist said Mallory suffered from separation anxiety because of the loss of her parents and that she was reacting normally. What a crock! Carol didn’t buy it for a minute. Mallory was a miniature Jekyll and Hyde. She knew how to play the game, when to turn on the tears, when to make nice, when to be polite and sincere. Donovan seemed to think things were getting better, but then Donovan arrived home when the girls were asleep and left in the morning before they got up. He had no idea what was
really
going on.

All he seemed to care about was that people got into their new houses for the holidays. Carol was beginning to wonder if he’d make it home to share the holidays with his own family.

There was always someone or something coming between them, and she was sick of it.

She’d put the tree up on her own, decorated the house, baked cookies, bought the girls’ Christmas outfits, and cleaned the house from top to bottom. “Looks good,” was all Donovan had been able to say.

Some life.

Certainly not the kind of married life she’d envisioned.

This time it was Abby’s voice she heard. “I’m gonna tell Aunt Carol. You stop that, Mallory!”

Carol opened the bedroom door. “Okay, what is it this time?”

“You’re supposed to knock before you come in,” Mallory charged.

“In my house I don’t have to knock. Now, I’ll ask again. What’s going on in here? I heard you two all the way down the hall. What’s going on?”

“You can’t hear in the hall. You were sneaking around listening at the door,” Mallory shouted. “You’re always sneaking. I watch you. Mama used to watch you, too. She called you a slut.”

Carol flinched. It was hard to ignore Mallory’s tirade, but because she’d heard it all before, she let it go. She could see she was going nowhere with Mallory, so she focused on Abby. “Will you please tell me what’s been going on in here, Abby?”

A tear slid down Abby’s cheek. “Mallory said that Santa Claus isn’t real. She lied, huh, Aunt Carol?”

Here it was, one of the most important questions in a child’s life.
You’re supposed to be here, Donovan. I can’t do this all myself.
“I think Mallory just said that because you two were arguing.” Then to Mallory, she said, “Now, explain what you really meant to your sister.”

Mallory whirled around, her eyes full of hate. “You’re such a crybaby, Abby. I meant the Santa at the store. Everyone knows
he’s
not real because you can pull off his beard.”

Carol crossed her arms and breathed a sigh of relief. “That’s a good girl, Mallory. Thank you for clearing that up.”

Abby’s tears dried, and she was all smiles again. “When is Uncle Donovan coming home, Aunt Carol? I want to tell him what we did in school.”

“Long after your bedtime, honey. Why don’t you write him a note and put it on his pillow? I’ll make sure he gets it.”

“Okay.” Eagerly, she reached for her crayons.

Mallory glared up at Carol. “Abby can’t write. She doesn’t know her letters yet.”

“I
do
so know my letters,” Abby argued. “My teacher said that I print my letters neater than anyone else in her class. I bet your teacher never told you that, Mallory.”

“She did, too,” Mallory snarled. She leaned over and pulled her sister’s hair.

“Ow!”

Carol grabbed Mallory’s arm and yanked her to her feet. “Ten minutes in the corner facing the wall.” She walked Mallory to the back of the room. “I’ll stay right here and play checkers with Abby until your time is up.”

“I hate you!” Mallory squawked.

“Right now, I’m not very fond of you either.”

Carol rubbed the back of her neck, then sat down on the child-size chair across from Abby. “I get the red ones, Aunt Carol,” Abby said as she set her checkers down on their squares.

They played quietly, concentrating on each move. In the end Abby won fair and square, then hooted and laughed. “You just need to practice more, Aunt Carol.”

“I can see that.” Carol checked her watch and saw that Mallory still had two minutes to go. “Did you have a nice Christmas last year?” she asked Abby. “What kind of tree did you have?”

“It was pink with red balls and red lights.”

Carol burst out laughing. “A pink tree! With red balls! Are you making that up, Abby?”.

Abby shook her head. “No. It was in the living-room window.”

“My mother said it was … fashionable,” Mallory added, her voice buffeted by the wall in front of her. “She copied it out of a magazine. It was very pretty.”

“Pretty ugly,” Abby chirped, her eyes sparkling.

“Oh,” was all Carol could think to say.

Abby picked up the checkers and put them in the box. “I like the one we have this year way better. It smells just like the one at school. When I told my teacher about mama’s pink tree, she said pink trees are silly. Are pink Christmas trees silly, Aunt Carol?”

One eye on the back of Mallory’s head, Carol chose her words carefully. “What might seem silly to one person might not be silly to someone else. Traditionally, Christmas trees are green. Sometimes decorators use … other colors for … for effect like in a magazine. That doesn’t mean it’s wrong or right. It’s a matter of choice.”
Where the hell are you, Donovan?

Like a whirlwind, Mallory flew out of the corner onto her sister, kicking and gouging at her arms. “You aren’t supposed to tell our business,” she cried hysterically. “Mama said our
business is
our
business. Pink trees aren’t silly. They’re … fashionable. Mama said it was the prettiest tree in all Edison. Mama didn’t lie. I hate your guts, Abby. I hate you, too, Carol, and I’m not calling you Aunt Carol anymore. You aren’t my aunt. I don’t care if you make me stand in the corner all night. I’m telling my teacher you’re mean to me and that you do bad things to me.”

Carol felt like she was going to pass out. She grappled to take a deep breath. What was that supposed to mean—that she did
bad things
to her? “I need some help downstairs with the dishes, Abby. Mallory, go back to the corner and stay there until I say you can leave it. You’ll be there all night if you disobey me.”

Mallory’s response was to kick the wall. Carol knew there would be a hole in the drywall when she returned, but just then she didn’t care. All she wanted was to get out of the house and never come back.

Carol sat on the sofa staring at the Christmas tree. It smelled heavenly and reminded her of when she was a little girl. Although it wasn’t that cold out, she’d built a fire and was now on her third glass of white wine. Wine made the pain in her soul a little more bearable and maybe it would give her the courage to tell Donovan she was leaving him. If Donovan didn’t come home soon, she would drink the whole bottle. Courage in a bottle. Such a stupid phrase.

Every once in a while she saw Mallory peek around the corner from the hallway and look at her, but she pretended not to see her. If she acknowledged her, she would have to do something, and, at the moment, she was afraid what that something might be.

She sipped her wine and leaned her head back on the sofa. The wonderful marriage she’d envisioned was falling apart right in front of her. Tears rolled down the side of her face.
She was blowing her nose with gusto when Donovan walked through the door.

“Hi,” she managed in a choked voice.

Donovan tossed his denim jacket over the back of a chair. “I swear to God, Carol, I tried to get out of there early. It was one damn problem after another. Today was a day from hell.” He sat down on the sofa next to her and put his arms around her. It seemed he was always apologizing these days, for not making it home on time, for not helping her deal with the girls, for not paying her enough attention. He was doing the best he could do, but it just wasn’t enough. She needed more, always more. He tipped her chin up to gaze into her tear-filled eyes. “Do you know how much I appreciate everything you’re doing around here, taking care of the house, the girls, me? I honestly don’t know what I’d do without you. I love you, Carol. I guess I don’t say that often enough. I’m sorry, baby.”

He was right. He didn’t say it often enough. He could never say it enough as far as she was concerned. She knew she loved him more than he would ever love her, but she accepted it, made the best of it. Her mood rallied when he kissed her.
This
was how she’d envisioned being married to him.
This
was the way it was supposed to be, just the two of them, here, together, with nothing and no one between them. If only there was something she could do to make it stay that way. “Go take your shower, and I’ll lock up and get you a beer.”

“Sounds good to me.” He got up off the sofa. “Other than the fact that I’m home late, is there anything else wrong?” Donovan called over his shoulder.

Carol hesitated before answering. Maybe now was not the time to tell him how hateful Mallory had been today or to chastise him for not being there when she needed him. All that could wait. After all, she didn’t want to spoil what was promising to be an eventful evening. “I was just feeling a little melancholy, that’s all. It’s the season, you know.”

He stopped at the door and turned around. “Guess the kids are excited about Christmas, huh?”

“Abby is. I’m not sure about Mallory. She’s remembering the pink Christmas tree with red balls they had last year.”

Donovan threw his head back and laughed. “That god-awful thing they had in the window? That had to be the ugliest tree I ever saw in my life. John was so embarrassed he wanted to close the drapes, but Harriet wouldn’t let him. She said it was chic. It even had red lights.” He laughed so hard he doubled over. “When Harriet finally let John throw it out, even the scavengers wouldn’t take it. That should tell you something.”

Mallory listened to Donovan talking about her mother’s pink Christmas tree. Her eyes narrowed to mean little slits when he laughed. Through the crack in the door she watched Carol get a beer from the kitchen and take it into the bedroom. Then she scurried down the hall and took up her usual position outside Donovan and Carol’s door. She sat down, crossed her legs Indian-style, and pressed her ear to the door.

Unaware of the one-person audience outside the door, Donovan walked out of the shower and playfully flicked his towel at Carol. “Let’s see, what should we do first? Swing from the chandelier or roll on the floor? How come you’re still wearing all those clothes, woman?”

Carol giggled. “We don’t have a chandelier, and the floor is drafty. How’s about we just get into bed?” she asked as she began removing her clothes. “You up for an all-nighter?”

Donovan groaned. “Frankly, my dear,” he said in his Clark Gable voice, “I think it would kill me.”

Carol unhooked her bra, tossed it aside, and motioned him toward her. “Make love to me, Donovan,” she said in a low, seductive voice. “Slow and easy. With all the magic words. Let’s put everything out of our minds except you and me.” She felt her throat constrict and her eyes mist. “God, I love
you. I loved you the moment I laid eyes on you. There was never anyone else for me but you.”

He pulled her tight against him. “I must be the luckiest guy in the world. John said you were the best thing that ever happened to me and warned me not to let you get away. I’m glad I listened to him.”

Carol stared at him, speechless.

“What’s the matter? What did I say?”

“Oh, nothing—It’s—” she stammered. “It’s just that I never knew he felt that way. I’m flattered.”

Donovan smiled. “John pretty much kept his feelings to himself, except around me.”

“You must miss him terribly.”

“Yeah, he was the best buddy a guy could ask for. And you’re the best wife a guy could ask for,” he said, moving his lips downward.

In the aftermath of their lovemaking, with Donovan asleep in her arms and wine softening her heart, all thoughts of leaving disappeared. Things would be better tomorrow. She would see to it.

“Uncle Donovan, how come you’re late this morning?” Abby asked as she attacked the pile of pancakes on her plate.

“Because I wanted to see my girls before I left for work. Have you been behaving for Carol? Christmas is only a few days away, and Santa is watching,” he reminded them.

“I know, I know,” Abby squealed, bouncing up and down in her chair. “I’m being really good. Ask Aunt Carol. Are you sure Santa will bring me that pink bike?”

“I can almost guarantee it, Abby. How about you, Mallory? What did you put on your list for Santa to bring you?”

“A whole closet full of pretty dresses like my mama used to buy me. My own telephone and my own television, and a purse with real money in it.”

“That’s a pretty tall order. There are a lot of children in the world for Santa to remember. Sometimes he doesn’t bring
everything
on a little boy’s or girl’s list.”

“My mama said he would bring everything I ask for. Last year, he even brought stuff I didn’t ask for. Mama said Santa likes me because I’m so pretty.”

“Mama did say that to Mallory. I heard her, Uncle Donovan,” Abby said as she poured more syrup on her pancakes.