Posted on by lgandre

A Year Ago, at Christmas (Part 3)

Woodstock, Vermont at Christmas

This is part 3…if you missed 1 and 2, click here to read the beginning.

At five a clock, Julia was standing on Carrie’s doorstep.  She knocked softly when she saw the sign that said, “Sleeping baby.  Please do not ring the bell!”

But even a moment of experience told her that there was no sleeping baby and that a soft knock was going to get her nowhere.  Screaming and wailing was emanating from inside at a terrifying decibel level.  Julia thought about jumping back in her Subaru.  But alas, the concert tickets.

Julia knocked, rang, and finally called Carrie’s phone.

When Carrie appeared, she was barefoot but impeccably clad in a classy, black, knee length dress with flowing sleeves.  Her hair was twisted up on her head beautifully—quite a transformation from the Door Dash in blue jeans earlier that morning.

“So sorry!”  Carrie was warm and apologetic.  He just woke up and he’s…he’s…he’s…

“Screaming,”  Julia finished for her.

“Yes, I was trying to think of a nicer word.  Hungry, maybe?”

Carrie quickly showed Julia around…The changing table…the formula…the pajamas…the swing…all the ways they tried to keep him entertained. 

“It doesn’t work…he basically has two modes, sleep and scream.  But we keep trying.”

Julia nodded but was secretly convinced that she could get him to be happy.

“Sorry about the house.”  Carrie apologized as they finished.  “I wasn’t expecting to get another child right now—especially an infant.  As you can see, I was just about to decorate for Christmas when they called and I’ve never gotten back to it.”

Julia did see.  Red tubs were stacked in the hallway.  A few decorations were strewn here and there.

“As Rick says, I have a hard time saying ‘no’.  But this one has definitely given us a run for our money.  They just can’t seem to be able to find someone else for him at Christmas.”

“That’s okay.”  Julia was really trying to reassure herself.  “Don’t worry about your house; You have a lot on your plate.”

“I do…and that’s why I really want this evening to be special.  Rick puts up with so much of my nonsense.  He hasn’t had a decent night’s sleep in three weeks.”

Julia nodded.  “Go on and finish getting ready.   I’ll get him fed.”

“Would you?  That would be so awesome.  Rick’s supposed to be picking me up any minute.”

Malachi screamed as Julia changed his wet diaper.  He screamed as she mixed and warmed the formula.  He screamed as she offered him the bottle.  He screamed between anxious sips.  He seemed hungry, but didn’t want to stop screaming even to eat.

Julia waived Carrie out the door, sat in the rocker, and crooned to the wriggling, crying creature in her lap.   He would stop for a moment and she would sigh with relief only to find that he was just recharging his batteries to scream some more.

No wonder the babysitter had called in sick.  No wonder none of her other friends could watch this little guy “so close to Christmas.”  No wonder poor Rick needed an evening out.  This powerful set of lungs that, by all rights, should secure him a lead role as an opera singer somewhere.  No microphone needed.

Julia rocked him.  She walked with him.  She bounced him.

It made no difference.  He cried on.

He was changed.  He was fed.  He was in a warm, dry house.  He was held close by tender arms.  But the unhappy little guy wormed and wiggled, kicked and screamed.  Julia had never experienced anything like it.

It was only 5:30.

Julia mustered all of the mother instinct she could and started talking to the little guy.  When she ran out of small talk, she began to tell him all her troubles.    She explained all about the cancer, the treatments, the medicines, the side effects, the loneliness, the depression.

Perhaps he was sympathetic, but if so, he didn’t show it.  Then she heard herself say, “Malachi, you remind me of myself.  You’re acting like I’ve been acting.”

The revelation was transformative for Julia.  She continued.

“I’m cared for.  I’m fed.  I have clean clothes.  A warm roof over my head.  A loving husband.  A kind family.  But I don’t like my circumstances.  And I’m being a pill.  I’m miserable.  And I’m making everyone around me miserable.”

Somehow, expressing that out loud brought a flood of release.  Even Malachi seemed to sense it.  Or perhaps exhaustion was taking over his tiny frame.  His cries were weakening into a fitful sleep.

Julia continued to hold him and rock, thinking about what she had just said aloud.  She was loved.  She had received excellent health care.  She had a warm, safe place to live.  She had good food to eat.  She had a beautiful life with the man of her dreams.  Why was she acting like a screaming infant?  Why was she putting Stuart, of all people, through such misery?  When had she last thanked Stuart for standing with her through this traumatic year?

When Julia had rocked a long time, and when her soul had found a place of peace, she gently laid Malachi back in his crib.   It was only 6:30.  She tried to call Stuart.  There was no answer so she left him a quick message.

“Hope you’re having a good evening! Love you!”  she said in the happiest voice she had used in a long, long time.

The sudden calm sparked something else inside her.  Her years of babysitting were replaying in her mind.  Not only did the kids love her best, the parents did too.  She prided herself in never letting parents come home to a messy house.

She began to load the dishwasher.  She folded a mountain of laundry and started more.  She swept the floor and wiped the counters.  Then she eyed the stack of tubs and the untrimmed tree.  Did she dare?

She dared.

It was a pre-lit, fake tree and the lights were the soft gold color she liked so much.  She laughed as she thought about how disappointed she had been with the stark white lights.  Why had she made such a big deal about that?  Stuart deserved a medal for putting up with her.  Quickly, the tree came to life with a bucket of red, blue, and silver bulbs.  She found a spool of silver ribbon and began to twist it around and around.  An enormous red bow made the perfect crown on the top.

Julia felt the best she had felt since…she couldn’t remember when.  She found herself humming softly and even started playing some soft Christmas music on her phone.  She pranced…maybe even danced a few steps.

She was surprised Stuart hadn’t called back, so she sent him a quick text.  “Sorry about earlier.  I know you’re trying.  I love you.” 

Julia was exhausted but happy when Rick and Carrie pulled into the driveway.  They thanked her again and again, glancing around the orderly home, illuminated by the glow of the tree.  Carrie even had a tear or two in her eyes.  Stockings were hanging over the fireplace and the table was set with candles and garland.

Rick pressed some cash into Carrie’s hand.  She tried to refuse, but they insisted.

Even though she was tired, Julia decided to take the long way home, around the block.  There were a lot of young families in the officer housing and many had their houses decorated with lights and blow up yard ornaments.  She had yet to go out to see them.

She was humming softly to herself as she turned the corner.  Then something caught her eye.

It was Stuart’s truck. 

Stuart’s truck was parked in Eric and Olivia Green’s driveway.  Eric, she knew, was deployed.  Only Olivia would be home.  It was 10:15 pm.  There was only one soft light on that she could see; everything else was dark and still. 

The joy that she had permitted back into her life began escaping like air from a bike tire punctured by a nail.  Why?  Why would Stuart be at Olivia’s house?  Why would he lie to her about working late?  Why…just when she was starting to feel good again…this?

Julia stumbled into her house and sank onto the couch.  It seemed as if she was going to lose Stuart too.  The only thing she had left.

She looked up at the tree they had decorated together only the night before. 

The porcelain ornament she had admired was illuminated by the ultra-white lights.  The smiling face seemed to be taunting her.  The photo told the fake story.  The staged version.  In real life, there had been a large, messy splat. 

Perhaps, in that moment, one year ago, she should have been a little less confident and a little more cautious.  She remembered lying on that bridge, tangled in her dress, with the white fur cape choking her under the chin for an unfortunate moment.  She had that choking feeling again. This time, she was not laughing.

She wasn’t sure how long she sat there before she heard Stuart’s truck pull up outside.  She didn’t know what to do, but she knew she couldn’t face him.  Quickly, she grabbed a blanket, curled up, and pretended to be asleep.

Check back soon for part 4.

Posted on by lgandre

A Year Ago, at Christmas (Part 2)

Woodstock, Vermont at Christmas

It was dark when Stuart slipped away the next morning.  Julia stayed under the covers.  The night didn’t seem to want to give way to light.  In fact, it seemed like it had been dark forever and winter had just officially begun.  Julia finally drug herself from the bed to the living room.  She plugged in the tree and just sat looking at it for a few moments.  It was a pretty tree…despite the pasty white lights.

She didn’t feel great.  But then, she never seemed to feel like herself anymore.  She had lost track of what was the disease itself, what was her body struggling to heal from surgery, what were the side effects of the meds, and what was in her head as the side effect of the side effects.

One year ago, she would not have dreamed that she would hear the word “cancer” come out of a doctor’s mouth directed at her.  When she had been snapping selfies in Paris and London, it had not seemed possible that in a matter of weeks, her world would come crashing down.

First, there had been the disappointment of being sent to nowhere, New York instead of Hawaii, as they had expected.  She had anticipated leaving her job, friends, family, and church, but thought she was about to exchange it all for a few years in a vacation paradise.  Oh, how she hated it when things didn’t go as planned. 

It wasn’t quite so difficult for Stuart because it meant being united with his best friend, Eric, whom he had gone to school with at West Point.  Eric was soon deployed though, leaving just Olivia and their three kids nearby and they were busy with school activities.

Then, there had been the crushing blow of going to the doctor with what she thought was morning sickness and finding out (after a forever long series of tests), that it was actually an estrogen-fed cancer that was going to rob her of her dream of motherhood. 

Life had never been the same since that moment.   Her body, they told her, would heal.  But her soul? She was sure her soul would never be whole again.

Here, away from everyone she loved and all the places that made her feel comfortable, she had sunk into a very great darkness.  The harsh New York winter had only seemed to this southern girl like a dramatic finale to the dreams dying inside of her.

Most days she managed to put dinner of some kind on the table.  That was about the extent of her daily agenda as her desire to go out, to meet people, and to build a life in Watertown seemed futile (past the effort that it took to manage her diagnosis, of course).  Cancer, it seemed, was a full-time job.

Stuart seemed to be home less and less and their interactions were less and less enjoyable.  She couldn’t blame him.  The medicines had wreaked havoc with her emotions.  Truth be told, she didn’t want to be around herself.  But in this, she had no choice.

The door bell rang.  Julia hesitated for a moment.  It was 10:00 am but she was still un-showered and without makeup.  Her sweats hung on her like a flag of surrender.  That was one good thing that came of all this—she had lost the stubborn pounds that her early thirties and Chandra’s cooking had delivered.

Julia decided to answer it, but by the time she got there, there was just a basket of goodies on the front porch.  The deliverer was getting back into her mini van—it was the XO’s wife.  Julia recognized her minivan from up the street, even though it was seldom there.  Carrie—Julia was pretty sure that was her name—was into everything it seemed.  Everyone liked her and was a little in awe of her.  She had stopped by and introduced herself right after Stuart and Julia had moved on base.  She had brought them dinner, in fact.

Carrie had put her number in Julia’s phone “in case she needed anything” but Julia had never used it, until now.  “Thanks for the goodies!”  she texted.

“You’re welcome!”  Carrie texted back immediately.  “Sorry I couldn’t stay.  I had a sleeping baby in the car.”

A sleeping baby.

Julia’s eyes filled with tears again.  Something she had always wanted.  Something she would never have.  It was so unfair.  It was too much.  This maddening cancer was the destruction of every plan she ever made.  Every hope she ever held. 

The tears began to fall.  Again.  Not silently.  Not slipping down her cheeks.  When Julia cried, she ugly cried. She cried in throbs and torrents.  She cried until she was red and swollen.  Her eyes got fuzzy.  Her head hurt.  She felt sicker than the sick that she usually felt.

And this had been the story of her life day after day for the past several months. 

The flights to Boston to visit the specialist there had added up quickly.  By the time they booked hotels and rental cars, the credit card balance had run up and showed no signs of coming down any time soon.  With Julia not working, it seemed like they were in a financial downward spiral.  Stuart told her not to worry about it, but she did.  Every day, every dime, she worried.  This was not the way it was supposed to be.

The phone rang.  It was Stuart. 

“Hello.”  Julia did her best to take the tears out of her voice, but there was no hiding them.

“Julia?”  Stuart sounded discouraged and Julia felt bad.  “Just checking on you.”

“I-I’m fine,”  Julia choked into the phone.  Fooling no one.

“I wanted to make sure you remembered I wouldn’t be home until late tonight.”

“Yes.”

“Anything I can do for you?”

Julia knew she would cry if she tried to answer…she weighed her options.  Cry.  Say nothing.  Hang up.  There were no good options.

Stuart waited a moment and then his frustration came out.  “I’m trying, Julia.  What do you want me to do?”

“There’s nothing you can do.”  Julia’s voice had more of an edge than she wanted.  She was trying to communicate that she understood and didn’t expect him to fix it.  But he took it as an insult.  A reminder that he was powerless against this mess cancer had made of their life together.

Stuart did what Julia wished she had done and said goodbye and hung up.

Then she cried again.

Her phone buzzed again but she didn’t check it right away.  It may be Stuart, still angry and trying to vent his frustration.  She didn’t feel like she could take it.  Or, perhaps he was sorry and begging her forgiveness.  She wasn’t ready to give it.

Stuart was right.  He was trying.  His mom was trying.  His friends were trying.  Several of their wives had periodically checked on her and even asked if they could come sit with her.  Eric’s wife, Olivia, had dropped by a few times but she and her cute children were a bit much at this moment.  Especially while the pain of childlessness was so raw.  

She suspected Stuart was somehow behind Carrie’s attempted visit.  He was pushing her to try to make some friends.  But for just a moment more, as trapped as she felt in her pain and aloneness, she couldn’t bear to step outside of it.  

The first year of marriage would have been challenging anyway.  Julia hadn’t known that Stuart woke up in the middle of the night and blew his nose like a foghorn.  Or that he loaded the dishwasher wrong.  Or that his method of matching and storing socks was entirely incompatible with hers.   He couldn’t say no to a request for money—a story only told by their joint account and credit card bill.  And he didn’t like some of her favorite recipes…a preference he had managed to hide during all of those dinners on the fifth floor.

But now that the hormone blocker had completely robbed her of her connection with common sense, those small things were driving a wedge and they seemed to be drifting further and further.  Especially when it seemed that there would never be a baby to tie them together.

Her phone buzzed again.  Julia checked it this time.  It was Carrie.

“Is there any chance you’re free this evening?”  was the first, unanswered text.

Then, “I hate to bother you, but it’s Rick’s birthday and I bought tickets to a Christmas concert a month ago.  Our sitter just cancelled on me because she is sick and I can’t seem to find anyone else this close to Christmas.”

Julia’s first impulse was a quick no.  But the longer she thought about it, the more she softened to the idea.  Stuart would not be home.  There was no need to cook dinner and no one to share it with if she did.  Carrie was always doing things for others—Julia knew that much.  She also knew that Carrie’s own kids were grown and gone.  Among the hundreds of other things she did, she took in foster kids.  That sleeping baby would have been one of those. She loved babies. Why not sit in Carrie’s house with a baby instead of here alone?

“Sure.”  She texted back.  “What time?”

Posted on by lgandre

Christmas Alone – 3

Part 3 – A Strange Christmas

“Patrick?” Betsy’s pleasant voice greeted him over the phone. “Hey, I hope it’s okay that Gram gave me your number. I just wanted to let you know that we won’t need a cat sitter today after all.”

“Oh…okay.”

“Turns out Sunshine wasn’t able to survive the stomach pumping. So… yeah… I do feel a little bad about giving Gram a hard time yesterday. Sunshine was as stiff as a board this morning.”

“Oh… wow… I’m so sorry…”

“Yeah… me too. Anyway, I think Gram is going to stay home and mourn for the cat so I’m just going to drive down and back myself. I should still be back around lunch and I’ll help with the bathroom if you haven’t finished.” 

“Okay, yeah… that’s fine.” Patrick was struggling to find words to say. “You know, if you wanted, I could drive down there with you.   I mean, to give you some company for the drive…if you wanted…”

“Are you sure? I mean… I’ll come help paint either way.”

“Yes, I’m sure.” Patrick didn’t want to admit that he didn’t really feel confident starting the project without her. And truthfully, he actually liked the thought of getting to know Betsy better… even if it meant a trip to prison. 

Maybe Betsy was anxious to see Reagan. Maybe she was in a hurry to get gone before Gram changed her mind and decided to join them. Either way, she quickly jumped in as soon as Patrick pulled up to the curb. Her hands were empty except for two cups of hot chocolate. She gave one to him. 

The conversation flowed easily as they headed south. The roads were clear and relatively empty. Patrick didn’t ask about Reagan, but he did slowly learn other pieces of Betsy’s story.  Betsy was the oldest of the family and Reagan was the youngest. She didn’t say, but Patrick guessed Betsy was mid to late twenties.  Reagan was the youngest.

Their dad had worked mostly in offshore drilling so the family had lived all over the world and traveled extensively in between the frequent moves. 

“I didn’t know my times tables but I went in every Egyptian pyramid and snorkeled in the Mediterranean. I lived on three different continents before I knew who Abraham Lincoln was. Mom called it homeschool, but it probably bordered on truancy.”

“I bet you learned a lot though.”

“You know, we did in our own way. And we were a close family. Mom was a good mom— I didn’t mean to give you a different impression but I guess she is what you’d call a ‘free spirit.’ The closet she came to cooking was pouring batter in a hotel waffle iron. She couldn’t be bothered with things like housework.”

“I guess if your dad was in the oil and gas industry, she didn’t have to?”

“Well, I didn’t understand it at the time, but basically it was feast or famine. Dad would make a lot of money while he worked on a specific job. But sooner or later, the contract would run out and he’d get laid off. We usually ended up back in Denver living with Gram and Grampa for a few weeks or months until he got another job. Then we’d be off again.”

“Did you enjoy it?”

“Yes… I guess so. I didn’t know any different. I enjoyed traveling enough that I kept it up during college and even taught English in China for a few years after. I’m kinda burned out on it now though. Most of the family is in Texas, but Denver is the closest thing I have to meaningful roots.”

“Is that what brought you back to Colorado?” 

“Well… yes and no… I just came here in August when… well… Reagan got in trouble.” Her voice kinda faded out and Patrick surmised she didn’t really want to talk about that. “But I have a lot of happy memories in Denver, so it might not be a bad place to settle down. Besides, I think it’s good for Gram to have someone nearby. Hard to tell if my family will stay in Dallas. Dad’s still in the oil and gas industry… and I guess he always will be. I don’t think he can afford to retire.”

When they arrived at the detention facility, Betsy took over. She knew where to park, where to enter. “Don’t bring anything.” She instructed. “I’d just take your ID out of your wallet and leave the rest.” She did the same. 

Betsy had clearly done this many times. She smiled at the detention officers and called many of them by name as they went through the reception and screening. She seemed confident, but Patrick saw her eyes well up once or twice. He pretended not to notice. 

Reagan was a copy and paste of Betsy. Slightly younger and taller, but he wore her same cheerful expression despite the ugly prison garb. He gave Betsy a hug and then turned to Patrick.

“This is a friend of Gram’s.” Betsy introduced him. It led into the story of Sunshine’s sickness and sudden death. 

“Good grief, how long has that cat been alive?” Regan asked. “I don’t know if I even remember life before that cat. In fact, I’d probably believe you if you told me BC stood for ‘before cat’.”

“We may be confusing her and cats before her, but Gram definitely always had a cat when we came to visit. It always seemed weird and nasty to us because in most of the world we had been, animals don’t live in people’s houses.”

“Remember when we were in Egypt and I begged Mom to let me keep that puppy I found?”

“The one that eventually bit you?”

“Yeah… that was the only time I remember her taking me to a clinic of any kind.”

“This Christmas will probably go down in Little family history as the year Sunshine had her sunset.”

“Like the famous Christmas of the suitcase!” The two of them laughed together and Betsy explained. “We didn’t typically get gifts for Christmas.” She began. 

“Other than our stockings, which always had candy and a toothbrush.” Reagan interjected. 

“Right. We didn’t have a lot of stuff period because we moved so much. Anyway, when we traveled, Mom’s rule was, you pack it, you carry it. We each had a tattered backpack. We would go for weeks on just what we could carry in our backpacks. No lie.”

Reagan nodded agreement. 

“One fall she had us take a particularly grueling trip that went through like twelve European countries. We were going through all these picturesque little towns climbing castles and bell towers— stuff that might have been fun except that we were all carrying twenty pounds of stuff on our backs everywhere we went.”

“Mom had us in a different place every night so there was nowhere to leave our luggage. Those packs sure got heavy by the end of the day.”

“We whined and complained so much that evidently we wore her down. That Christmas, there were three big boxes wrapped and waiting for us on Christmas. We all got a small rollerboard suitcase.”

“We thought we had won the lottery.” Reagan reminisced. “Suitcases on wheels! I remember mine was blue, yours was green, and Sophie’s was pink.”

“The worst part though was Mom never really let us use them.” Betsy mused. 

“You can’t take rollerboard suitcases up bell towers!”

“Remember how frustrated she used to get paying a Euro every time we needed to use the WC?”

“Yeah, she used to try to get us kids in for free.” They both laughed. “When they wouldn’t, she’d tell us to hold it… ugh. That was miserable.”

The conversation wandered a little until someone gave them a signal that they had five minutes left. Patrick excused himself thinking the two of them might want a few minutes alone. “I’ll get the car warmed up.” He offered, and no one argued. 

When Betsy came out to the car, it was clear she had been crying. He didn’t know what to say, so he turned on the radio and the two listened to Christmas music in silence as they headed back toward Denver. 

“I hate goodbyes.” She finally said as her sole explanation.  It was quiet again until she mused, “Such a strange Christmas.  Thanks for coming with me though. Reagan’s world is pretty small right now. I think it was fun to see a new face. He said you should come again sometime.”

“I’d be glad to.” Patrick said. And he meant it. 

(fourth and final installment coming soon!)

Posted on by lgandre

Christmas Alone – 2

Part Two – A Cat Named Sunshine

Christmas Eve brought more frigid weather. There was no fresh snow in the forecast, so all indicators were that it was going to be a gray Christmas. Occasionally, a car would slush by out front, but for the most part, all was still. 

Patrick turned on the TV. He tried to get lost in music. He scrolled Instagram. It definitely did not help to see what everyone else was doing today. 

He tried to call his dad, but Mom answered.

“Patrick!  We miss you, honey.  What are you up to?”

“Projects around the house.”  Patrick tried not to sound as lonely as he felt.

“I hate it that you’re there alone. What are you doing tomorrow. Will you be with Ben?”

“No. His in-laws are in town. What’s Dad up to?”

“He and Jake are out smoking pork butt for dinner tonight. I’ll tell him you called.  Christy is making her famous cheesecake.  I’m about to take the boys to the mall. They want to get something for their mom.

His family felt very far away. 

“I sure hope you find someone to spend Christmas with.”

Patrick mumbled some reply and the two said their goodbyes. The talk about food though was making Patrick hungry. Maybe even a bit hangry. 

He surveyed his food options. He could defrost a pound of ground beef and make himself a burger or he could open a can of soup. Not exactly smoked pork butt and cheesecake. He glanced at the paint can. He would start… soon… just as soon as he could find something decent to eat. 

He hopped in his car and started to drive. Not many places were open for lunch on Christmas Eve. And there were even fewer in which he would be seen by himself on such a day. He soon passed the mall which was heavily decorated for the occasion. Signs boasted an indoor ice skating rink, movie theater, and last minute shopping. If his family were here, they could have passed a happy afternoon just puttering through; but by himself, it didn’t seem worth the effort to find parking. 

“Dennys it is,” He grumbled, eyeing the “Open” sign glowing in the window. It was nearly 2:00 p.m. and he felt the need to settle on something.

A thin girl with a frizzy braid came to the table. It was purple. At least some of it was. A string of earrings went up her ear lobe. She had long, gaudy nails. Patrick wasn’t sure exactly what color you would call them. Obviously fake eyelashes curled around her eyes. The saddest part was that she probably would have been a pretty girl if she wasn’t trying so hard. “Chandra” was printed on her name tag. 

“Are you just passing through?” She asked, attempting small talk. The room was fairly empty so she was probably bored. 

“No, I live here.”

“Have any plans for Christmas?” She tried again. As if eating alone at Dennys did not make it obvious his calendar had a lot of space on it. 

“Well, I’m going to paint a bathroom. Does that count?”

She gave a quick laugh. “I guess that beats what I got. My kids are all with my Ex. I live with my parents, but my dad is working today and tomorrow they leave for a cruise. So I’m just waiting tables through the holidays for extra cash.”

“I’m sorry.” He felt like something more profound or encouraging was in order, but he couldn’t really think of anything. 

“I’m sorry you have to paint a bathroom.”

“It’s okay.” Patrick didn’t want to sound like a charity case. “I’ll take the meatloaf and mashed potatoes.” He said it quickly to change the subject. 

Patrick was further saved from small talk by the ringing of his phone. He quickly answered it.

“Is this Patrick?”

“Yes?”

“Patrick. This is Mrs. Little.”

“Oh, hello Mrs. Little.” Patrick tried to hide his disappointment. He had no idea how she got his phone number and was pretty sure he wasn’t glad.

“Patrick, glad I got you. I hope you are having a good Christmas Eve!”

“You too. Uh, thanks for the goodies by the way.” He added, hoping she would not ask how he liked the baked goods. He could not honestly remember what he had done with them after he got in the car yesterday. 

“Patrick…I’m so sorry to ask you at this last minute. I just couldn’t think of anyone else. My cat—did you know I have a cat?”

“No ma’am.”

“My cat got into my kitchen this morning and I think she ate a couple chocolate cookies.”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Little.”

“I’m really worried about her. She’s acting strange. I feel like I need to take her to the vet. I think she’s having a seizure.” Her voice wavered and Patrick could tell she was close to crying. 

“I…see.” Patrick knew what was coming next and he was wracking his brain trying to come up with a good excuse. 

“I hate to ask you…do you have plans this afternoon? You know I don’t drive…”

“Uh…” Patrick was not eager to get involved. “I guess we should check around and see if the vet is open… I mean… and maybe I could do some quick research and see the effect of chocolate… I… I’ve never heard of chocolate being bad for cats…” His voice faded out. 

As Patrick was feebly trying to find a gracious way to avoid spending Christmas Eve driving around town looking for an open vet, Chandra came up behind him.

“I don’t mean to eavesdrop.” She started. “But chocolate is toxic for cats. if you need a vet, I’ll call my dad for you. He is a vet and his clinic is not far from here. I’m sure I can get you in.”

“Uh, okay…” It seemed there was no escaping this. 

“I hate to see a cat suffer. I’ll ask the kitchen to pack your food to go.”

So much for his quiet lunch. Patrick got Mrs. Little’s address while Chandra headed back to the kitchen for food. When she emerged, she had a bag in one hand. 

“It’s all settled! I just called Maisy, that’s the front desk lady. They’re expecting you. Here is a card with the address. And here’s your food. I put utensils in there for you.”

Patrick tried not to let his aggravation show. Chandra was clearly trying to help. But the process of driving an old lady and a sick cat around town made painting a bathroom quite appealing.  Unfortunately, it seemed he had no choice. 

The dramatic exterior decorations of Mrs. Little’s house seemed to fit her and her big squishy hugs. Lights, tinsel wrapped bushes, and blow up Christmas decorations swallowed the tiny yard and threatened to burn the neighborhood down. 

He stuffed the last of his lunch down and was about to hop out of the car when the front door opened and Mrs. Little came tottering out struggling to carry a softshell carry case. 

He sighed to himself and then jumped out to help. 

“Thank you, Patrick. Thank you so much. Sunshine is so sick. I really didn’t know who to call or what to do. Anyone else I could think of would be busy with family on Christmas Eve. Thank you for doing this!” She reached out to give Patrick a big hug. 

“Let me help you with that…” he reached out to grab the cat, but his escape and evasion plan didn’t work. She was almost crying but that didn’t stop her from talking or from engulfing him in her vice grip. He finally stopped resisting for a second before pushing back. “We’d better hurry. They’re expecting us at the vet.” 

At least there was hope of getting this over quickly. 

Two and a half hours later, as Patrick and Mrs. Little pulled back up to the heavily decorated home, he was surprised to see a small black Mazda in the driveway.

“Oh, Betsy’s home!” Mrs. Little seemed to light up a bit. I’m glad. That girl works so hard. She needs some rest this evening.”

“I’ll carry the cat in for you.” Patrick was thankful the ordeal was almost over. Sunshine had needed her little cat stomach pumped. They had told them to keep a close eye on her for the next 48 hours or so, but for now, she seemed to be sleeping quietly in her carrier. Maybe thanks to being doped up, Patrick wasn’t sure. 

The inside of the house was similar to the outside. Every flat surface was covered—both vertical and horizontal.   Cheap figurines, faded prints, paper garlands, and plastic bows seemed to be the decor of choice.  It was as if she had robbed the dollar store. 

Except one thing. 

When he saw the glistening Christmas tree, he stood and just stared for a second. 

He was no decorator by any stretch, but even his untrained eye could see that it was beautiful. It was a real tree with a simple, tasteful scattering of glass and velvet bulbs in muted tones. Elegant white lights gave them a radiant glow. A garland of brass bells tied it all together and at the top there was a spray of white and gold poinsettias that complemented the scattered bulbs. It looked like it belonged in a fancy hotel lobby. 

Mrs. Little must have seen him eyeing the tree. “Betsy did that. Isn’t it lovely? Sunshine got into my box of Christmas ornaments and got sick…it was a gross mess. I didn’t think we’d have a tree this year, but Betsy went out and bought those to cheer me up. She gets a discount of course on anything she buys at Home Depot…Betsy! “We have company.”

Betsy!? Home Depot?

Patrick connected the name with the girl he had met the day before at the paint department. As she entered the room, he was glad Mrs. Little had tipped him off because she didn’t look anything like he remembered. She was wearing white jeans and an olive green cabled sweater which somehow made her look a little taller and thinner. She was still wearing an apron—this time with a plaid print. Her curly hair was in a soft bun and she had a spoon in one hand.

“Oh good!…Oh, hi!” She recognized Patrick instantly. “How did the bathroom turn out?”

“Well…”

“He took me and Sunshine to the vet this afternoon.” Mrs. Little interrupted. 

“I see… I got your message and managed to get off a little early but when I got home and you weren’t here, I figured you found another ride and I started dinner. It’s almost ready.”

“Patrick, why don’t you stay and eat with us?”

“Yes, please do! We have plenty.”

Patrick would have declined, but frankly, it smelled delicious and the meatloaf he had stuffed down the hatch in the car hadn’t really satisfied. Besides that, he could see past Betsy into the kitchen and it was a bright clean respite from the rest of the cluttered house. 

Another plate was added to the table that had been cleared of the clutter disease infecting all the other surfaces. Hot dishes started arriving. Betsy had made a chicken piccata with fettuccine. Cheesy garlic bread.  Grilled asparagus. Caesar salad. 

The taste did justice to the smell in every way. And the last time Betsy emerged from the kitchen, she had small ramekins with chocolate soufflé—hot from the oven with a small dusting of powdered sugar on top. 

“This is amazing!” Patrick said. And he meant it. 

“Thank you!” Betsy glowed. “I love cooking!” She laughed. “In fact, sometimes I feel like I sell paint to support my cooking habit!”

“She got the baking gene from me.” Mrs. Little chimed in, vying for some of the credit. 

“But I think the rest of the credit rightfully goes to the Food Network.” Betsy retorted. “Mom raised us on yogurt and granola bars. I was so fascinated to see people actually applying heat to food and using knives, pots, and spices!”

She changed the subject back to baking. “It’s true, Gram was always the baker of the family. We baked together any time we came. Even now, we have to negotiate for time in the kitchen during the holidays.”

The conversation turned into the happy retelling of a Home Depot employee Christmas party where everyone was challenged to bring a dessert representing their department. Betsy had found little party favor paint cans and filled them with different colors of pudding—vanilla, chocolate, raspberry, and pistachio. 

She had also given a friend in flooring the idea of square sugar cookies with edible transfers on them that looked like an elaborate tile backsplash. Someone in lumber had brought a gingerbread house. 

Betsy’s whole face lit up as she explained the entry that really won the day. “Someone in lawn and garden brought a sheet cake that they had decorated with a layout of the whole department. It was amazing.It had little miniature trees and plants, a pile of little edible rocks, mulch, the whole deal.”

Patrick actually enjoyed listening to the pratter. The conversation soon turned though as Betsy asked, “What are you doing tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow… I’m actually going to try to paint that bathroom.”

“Betsy should help you. She doesn’t just sell paint. She’s a good painter.”

“Well, wish I could.” Betsy mused. “But I’ll be going to Colorado Springs. That will take a good chunk of the day.”

“What time are you leaving?” Mrs. Little asked. “I don’t want you to have to go by yourself, I’ll go with you.”

“But what about Sunshine, Gram? Didn’t you say you have to closely monitor her for the next few days?”

“I’ll just bring her along.”

“And leave her in the car, Gram? It’s supposed to be in the 20s tomorrow.”

“Maybe I can find a warm place to leave her.”

“And what if she isn’t feeling well, Gram? Do you really want to drive to Colorado Springs and back with a sick cat?”

As she talked, Patrick’s respect for Betsy grew. She had opinions, but her tones were thoughtful and not disrespectful. 

And just like that, Patrick heard himself say, “I can drive you both. The Tesla has a pet mode and it can keep a cat warm… or I can stay in the car with her.”

A cat?

Had Patrick really just offered to drive three hours to Colorado Springs and back to spend Christmas with an old lady, her granddaughter, and her sick cat? He didnt even know where they were going or why. 

“That’s kind of you, but…” Betsy started to reply. 

“That’s a great idea!” Mrs. Little jumped at the suggestion. “That would be so nice.”

“Gram, I just have this image in my mind of sick Sunshine vomiting in Patrick’s Tesla… and what if she dies, Gram? Are we going to drive around Colorado on Christmas with a dead cat in the back seat?”

Something about the whole scenario struck Patrick as funny and when Betsy let out a little laugh, he couldn’t help joining in. 

“Betsy!” Mrs. Little was appalled at the suggestion but the laughing was contagious. She let out a chuckle or two before acting offended and huffing over to check on the slumbering feline. 

Betsy got up to clear the dishes and Patrick started to help. “I should feel bad about what I said but honestly…” She laughed again quietly, “I feel bad for that cat. It has had at least eighteen lives. I’m pretty sure it’s blind, deaf, diabetic, anemic, arthritic, and…” Betsy had to pause to think, “going bald!” 

“I heard that!” Mrs. Little snipped from across the room. “You can add hurt feelings to her list of hurts. How would you like it if someone talked about you that way?”

“I’d be too dead to care, Gram. You know that the vet is keeping Sunshine alive because you’re financing his retirement. You spend more on that cat than you do yourself!”

“This was a different vet, Betsy!” Mrs. Little was not fazed by her granddaughter’s opinions and Betsy let it go, chuckling to herself while she made one final plea, “At least let the poor thing rest on Christmas!”

Betsy disappeared into the kitchen with an armload of dishes. Mrs. Little made it a point to hurry over to him. “Betsy’s just embarrassed because she’s going to Colorado Springs to visit her brother tomorrow in the detention center.”

Patrick was so surprised he didn’t know what to say. 

“I heard that!” Betsy’s voice came from the kitchen, mimicking her grandmother’s earlier retort. She appeared back in the doorway. She still hadn’t lost her good nature although the awkwardness of the situation wasn’t lost on her. 

“I’m not embarrassed of Reagan.” She said simply. “And if Patrick wants to come, he’s welcome, of course. I’m sure Reagan would enjoy meeting him. But I think Patrick volunteered to be kind without understanding what he was actually offering.”

“No one should be alone on Christmas. Not you. Not me. Not Patrick.” Mrs. Little retorted. “We should all go together.”

“Well, Gram,” Betsy’s tone was still respectful, “some people might rather be home alone than going to prison to see someone they don’t know with the paint lady, her grandma, and a sick cat. Just sayin’.” And she disappeared again. 

In the end, it was decided that Gram and Betsy would go to Colorado Springs in the morning and Patrick would stay to watch the cat. When they got back, Betsy would come over and help Patrick paint his bathroom. Perhaps Patrick’s Christmas paint fairy dream really would come true.

The drive home that night seemed so different from the one he had made two days before. He was very intrigued by Betsy and could not help trying to put the puzzle pieces together. How did a quality girl like her come from a granola bar eating mom and a high-maintenance grandma? And why was her brother in jail? He wished she had told a little more of her story. But for today, it had been fun just to have a good meal and a pleasant conversation. And perhaps, tomorrow, there was hope to see her again… and paint a bathroom. 

Posted on by lgandre

Christmas Alone

Part One – Home for the Holidays

The party promised to continue for some time, but strangely, Patrick had the irresistible urge to sneak off and head home. He didn’t feel much like celebrating. 

He noticed Ben, the other “Best Man” collecting his wife and their flower girl daughter. They were headed for their car as well. 

The deed was done. Jeremy was married at last and Patrick’s face muscles were exhausted from the 2,000 photos he’d been subjected to. 

He waved at Ben before jumping in his Tesla and peeling out of the hotel parking lot. Ben had an obvious excuse for leaving early—two small kids and another on the way.

If Patrick needed an excuse to leave early, Marley was his fall back. Marley had been in a crate since 10:00 a.m. Approximately 2,000 pictures ago. Maybe even 12,000. 

Chances were, he didn’t need an excuse. No one would really notice or care.

The drive home was depressing. This event wasn’t a surprise; it had been on the calendar for a year. But now that both of his best friends were married, Patrick felt especially hollow. 

The red glow of the stoplight was innocent enough, but it reminded Patrick that Christmas had arrived. 

Today was December 22nd. Patrick should be in Maine right now getting ready to enjoy the holidays with his parents, sister, brother-in-law, and nephews. 

But no, he had elected to stay in frigid Denver for the holidays. Jeremy’s wedding had been the driving factor. Trust Jeremy to pick a highly inconvenient time to tie the knot. 

Originally, when thinking through his plans, it seemed like it would be too much to try to fly across the U.S. two days before Christmas. And besides that, Christmas had the audacity to hit on a Tuesday—super inconvenient for someone who couldn’t take more than a couple of days off work.

At the time, he figured it would be simple to just hang out with friends for a few days over Christmas and actually enjoy some rest instead of fighting his way through crowded airports, eating junk food, and risking weather delays during his few precious days of vacation. 

But right now, as the red glow of the stoplight changed to green, Patrick was regretting that decision. For a split second, he wondered if a ticket to Augusta could still be bought. Jeremy would be on his honeymoon in Florida. Ben had invited him over, but Patrick had heard enough of his evil mother-in-law stories that he fully intended to stay away from Ben’s house until the all clear was given on Thursday. Besides, it was always chaos at their house anymore. Gone were the days of kicking back and watching an entire Broncos game uninterrupted. 

There were other friends, of course. But most were traveling or spending time with their families. Some had invited Patrick to tag along. But he was tired of tagging along. 

So that’s why he would be alone for Christmas. Well, he and Marley would be together. Four-legged company is still company after all. 

Sunday morning Patrick willed himself to church for the late service. The sanctuary was beautifully decorated—unlike his stark house. But it just seemed to serve as another reminder that he was missing Christmas. Nevertheless, he dragged out what he could of his smile. It was still exhausted from the day before. 

“Merry Christmas!” Fellow church goers waved at him across the sanctuary. He waved and nodded. 

Mrs. Little bustled over and pushed a box into his hand that held promise of baked goods. Before he could get away, she had engulfed him in a giant hug. How he hated those squishy hugs. She was about as wide as she was tall and had a high drama personality that seemed to seesaw quickly between laughter and tears. 

Thankfully, he was saved by another acquaintance. 

“Do you have plans for Christmas?” Eric Cate asked him.

“Y-Yes.” He stammered. Not really sure what plans he was alluding to. Doing nothing, he told himself later, is a plan. 

He exchanged awkward greetings with Mrs Faber. This would be her first Christmas without her husband who had recently passed. Patrick wanted to be kind but he wasn’t good at thinking of things to say in the moment. 

As he navigated toward the exit, an idea came to him… it was something to do anyway. Patrick stopped at Home Depot. Since he purchased his home four years ago ago, the hall bath had been painted an awful, Pepto Bismol pink. It would seem that now was as good a time as any to give it a fresh coat of paint.

The momentary uplift of having a project to tackle dissolved after a few minutes of perusing the wall of paint chips. Patrick once again began to feel himself giving in to the funk that had been pecking at his emotional well being. 

Alone. He was trying to do this project alone. 

There were hundreds of colors. More than a hundred shades of the color white. Funny how little things became so big in moments like this. He did not know what to choose. He did not know who to ask. Jeremy and Anna were good with this sort of thing, but it didn’t seem like the thing to do to call friends on their honeymoon to ask what color paint to buy. 

He picked up a few colored pieces of cardstock. How hard could this be? Really. How hard is it to choose a neutral color to paint a bathroom?

But what if he didn’t like it? What if it clashed with the trim…the flooring…the other wall colors…?

This was why he was still living with Pepto-Bismol pink. In fact, this was demonstrative of why a lot of things in his life went the way they did. Thirty-two felt like a strange no man’s land between college and life. 

Determined not to be defeated by a relatively simple decision, Patrick grabbed a chip and headed toward the paint counter. 

“How can I help you?” A lovely voice asked and Patrick looked down. A cheerful reddish face was looking up at him. Her orange apron had the name “Betsy” in cute black Sharpie lettering. The “e” had been turned into a smiley face. 

“I-I’d like to buy some paint.” He heard come out of his mouth. 

“Okay. We sell paint.” She said with a laugh. “What kind do you need?”

“Uh. I don’t know.”

“What are you painting?” 

“A bathroom.”

“Okay, so interior. You probably want a satin or a semi gloss…”

Patrick felt himself being led through a series of choices. Type. Brand. Amount. Putty. Sand paper. Brushes. Rollers. Dropcloths. Soon, he was loading $120 worth of stuff into the passenger seat of his Tesla. But he had a small sense of victory. He had bought the paint. 

It was probably too much to expect two victories in one day. He did not actually intend to start putting paint on the walls. Truth be told, he had never painted a room before. He would never admit it, but he was intimidated to start. There may or may not have been a deep down hope that a secret paint fairy was going to show up in the night and apply the paint. 

But he did carry in his purchases and set them by the bathroom door. Marley was very proud of him and came bounding with his approval. Or maybe he was just anxious for a walk. 

Patrick checked his phone a dozen times. It was strangely silent. For the rest of the world, the holidays had begun. Other people were doing whatever it is they do on Christmas Eve eve. He kept fighting emotional gravity but it was hard not to feel very, very alone. 

He tried not to sound entirely pathetic when he talked to his sister and nephews a little later. But there was a slight choke in his voice that was difficult to hide. He blamed it on the brisk walk with Marley in sub zero weather. 

He checked flights again. The soonest flight he could get was tomorrow and the series of flights available would make it a 16 hour journey through Atlanta. It made no sense. 

He was stuck. The two days that had seemed like a great opportunity to rest and relax now seemed like a punishing sentence with a bathroom as a jail. 

How different life would be with a family of his own. Singleness was freedom and desolation all in one package. 

Patrick had made a few attempts in the past to find the right girl. It had felt a lot like those moments at Home Depot staring at the wall of paint chips, but with much higher stakes. 

That was then. Now, at thirty-two, there were not so many options. There was not a Home Depot for life. 

To be continued…