Evergreen (9 page)

Ingrid glanced at John, begging him to stay silent. But he seemed to have his own thoughts, based on the way he eyed Matthew. Especially when Matthew suggested he and Romeo hit the road for a couple of weeks and head down to Disney World.

Yeah, she wanted to strangle hero-boy, then, for the way Romeo brightened up.

“You’d think Santa Claus arrived right on our doorstep, a month early,” she said to John later as she put lotion on her arms. He burrowed under the covers, his eyes closed. A chill had settled over the house, frost already scrolling up the windows. She climbed under the covers, tucking them in around her. “I mean, I expected him, but . . . he can’t be serious. Romeo has school, and he can’t just take off with Matthew. Disney World costs a fortune. How come Matthew has that kind of money?”

“We can’t trap the kid here, Ingrid
 
—”

“What are you talking about? We’re his legal guardians. He can’t go anywhere without our permission.”

He opened one eye then. “You do realize he wants to join the military, right? Be an emancipated minor
 
—”

She held up a hand. “Don’t get me started on that harebrained idea. Seriously, would you let one of your boys drop out of school to go to Disney World?”

“If he was going to take his GED
 
—”

“And join the military? At seventeen?”

He sighed. “Listen, honey, I don’t like it any more than you do, but he has to make his own choices.”

“Just tell me, John: would you let your son do it?”

“He’s not my son.”

“But see, right now he is. He’s legally your son, and clearly you’ve forgotten that.”

John opened both eyes now. “Ingrid. I like the boy
 
—I really do. And frankly I was hoping he would stay for Christmas. But he’s
not
my son. He’s not
our
son. He’s just a boy who
 
—”

“Who God gave us to love and care for.”

He stared at her, a slow frown creasing his face.

“I know you weren’t in the market for another gig as father, but like it or not, you’ve been given a rare opportunity to care about Romeo, and I think he cares about you too.” She blinked hard, fighting the rise of emotion.

He sat up, put his hand on her back. “I know you wanted him here
 
—that in a way, he filled a void, but
 
—”

She shook her head. Drew in a breath. “Do you know what today is, John?”

“Thanksgiving?”

She looked away, catching her lip in her bottom teeth. “It’s Benjamin’s due date.”

He said nothing. Then, “Ingrid . . .”

“It’s okay. I know you don’t really think about it. But I do. Every year. And this year . . . this year it felt as if Romeo was sort of . . . well, the son we should have had.”

Silly. Stupid. Even desperate. She pressed her cheeks, feeling the moisture there. “Just don’t let him leave. I don’t trust Matthew
 
—something’s not right. Please.”

“I don’t know what I can do, Ingrid.”

She closed her eyes. “Yes, you do. Fix it, John. Please, just fix this.”

Fix it, John.

The words hung in his head as he finished adding the last of the shakes to the half roof of the stable. He didn’t know exactly what, however, he had to fix.

Matthew hadn’t mentioned Disney World once in the last three days and, in fact, hung around like he might be staying forever. He’d helped John and Romeo build the stable and had strung the lights around the outside of the frame.

Sure, the man reminded him of Kari, back in the day
when she could charm her way into people’s trust, then break their hearts. Carefree, even reckless. The fact that Kari had settled down with Matthew’s father, at least for a while, seemed a miracle.

“How many tours have you completed, Matthew?” John picked up the thermos of hot cocoa.

“This was my fourth,” he said. “But maybe not my last.”

Romeo looked at him. “Really?”

Matthew lifted a shoulder, a familiar Young family gesture. He handed John his cup. “You headed inside? I’d love more of those cookies if there are any left.”

But John didn’t move. “Matthew. Help me understand something. Are you . . . are you staying stateside, or are you just on leave?”

Matthew grabbed a hammer, tossed it in his grip. “On leave.”

Romeo stood. “You’re going back?”

“In two weeks, yeah. I thought I told you that. Two weeks, we zip down to Disney World; then I’m back in the sand.”

“And Romeo?”

Matthew looked at John. “Uh, Romeo’s a big boy. He can take care of himself.”

Ingrid’s words had niggled at him for the past three
days, and now he knew why.
I don’t trust Matthew
 
—something’s not right.

After thirty years, a man should trust his wife’s sixth sense. “Matthew, I’m afraid your trip isn’t going to work for Romeo. Or us.”

Romeo rounded on him. “What?”

“Romeo, you can’t drop out of school to hang out with your brother
 
—especially since he’s leaving in two weeks. Then what?”

“You said I’d always . . .” Romeo bit his lip.

John’s words flooded back to him.
Have a place here.

John drew in a long breath. “As your legal guardian, I need to tell you that leaving is not okay. You can’t just take off
 
—”

“Because if I do, I can’t come back, right?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You don’t have to. Listen, dude. I don’t need a father
 
—I’ve done fine for seventeen years without one, so you can just
 
—”

He spit out a word that should have made John wince. But he just stared at the teen, sadness sweeping through him.

It was Owen all over again. Angry, frustrated. Needing someone to step in. But Owen was twenty-one.

Romeo needed more from John than what he’d given Owen.

“You’re not going.”

“Oh yes, I am.” He dropped his hammer and stormed out of the shed.

Matthew had whisked off his hat, held it between clenched hands. “I didn’t . . . I mean . . .”

“He needs someone who is going to stick around in his life right now.”

Matthew nodded. “I get that.”

“And that’s not you, is it?”

Matthew shook his head. Sighed. “I think I’m going to get my stuff.”

“Matt
 
—”

“No, I gotta get going anyway. The Disney thing . . . Probably that was just a dream anyway. I got buddies waiting for me in Minneapolis.”

John stilled. “Wait. You weren’t even planning on taking him to Disney World?”

Matthew made a face. “It just sort of came out, and then I was stuck in the lie, and it kept getting bigger and bigger and . . . But I was thinking about it.”

“What, were you going to sneak out in the middle of the night, not tell him
 
—? Oh, my. You were.”

Matthew’s jaw tightened.

“I’m not sure what they’re teaching you in the military, son, but that’s not what honor is.”

“Whatever. Tell Romeo I said bye.” He brushed past John.

“Matthew, don’t you dare leave Romeo without saying good-bye yourself.”

But Matthew ignored him and headed to the house. John wanted to throw one of the mugs after him. Or worse.

Instead, he followed him inside, set the mugs and the thermos on the counter.

Ingrid looked up from where she sat, phone in her hand, the church directory open on the counter. “What happened?”

“I fixed it,” he said quietly.

Her eyes widened when she saw Matthew appear moments later, his duffel slung over his shoulder.

“Romeo,” she said, glancing at John.

Matthew said nothing as he stormed out of the house.

“Romeo!” she shouted, getting off the stool.

But by the time Romeo made it back downstairs, Matthew had pulled out. Romeo didn’t bother with shoes, just banged through the door, running out into the snow and ice in his stocking feet.

“Matthew!”

The night closed around Matthew’s red taillights.

John stood there a moment, watching as Romeo stared into the darkness. Ingrid touched his back, but he shook her away.

John went to the door. “Romeo, come inside.”

Romeo marched past him. At the foot of the stairs, he turned, glaring first at Ingrid, then at John. “You’re not my parents.”

Then he headed upstairs. Ingrid pressed a hand to her mouth.

“Yeah, I really fixed it,” John said.

I
NGRID DIDN’T KNOW WHY
she tried so hard when everything she did seemed to backfire. She pressed End on her cell phone and set it on the counter in the fellowship hall kitchen.

She’d single-handedly managed to drive the last nail in the coffin of the live Nativity.

“It’s over. The Westerlinds have sold all their goats and are moving to Florida. And there isn’t a bunny to be found in the county, let alone a sheep. And I’ve tapped out all the young couples on the Mary and Joseph list.” She set her head in the cradle of her arms.

“Aw, c’mon. You can’t find anyone to stand outside in below-freezing temperatures? Shocker.” Ellie walked by, carrying a handful of hangers with angel wings attached.
Edith and her hospitality crew had decked out the church for tomorrow’s live Nativity.

“Maybe we should stick a doll in the manger, dress up a couple of mannequins, and make it all about the angels,” Ingrid said, offering a lopsided smile to Annalise, who had engineered the cookie drive and now assembled trays for the exchange.

Annalise swiped a gingerbread cookie from the tray, handing it to Ingrid. “Have some sugar. I think you’re starting to get delirious.”

Ingrid took the cookie. “I just want to leave town. Maybe I should have taken John up on his offer to go to Europe. It’s not sounding so crazy now.”

“How is Amelia?”

“Fabulous. Going skiing in Switzerland with friends over the holidays. I’m sure we would have cramped her style, tromping around Prague. But Paris would have been fun.”

Maybe. The idea of standing in the frigid wind above Paris as they renewed their vows seemed more ironic than romantic, however. Their entire marriage had turned frosty over the past three weeks, thanks to her belief that she could somehow mother Romeo into wholeness. She should have learned her lesson
 
—she couldn’t even mother her own family into healing. She’d never seen her brood so
fractured
 
—Casper in Roatán, living the life of a pirate on the Caribbean. Eden and Grace in Minneapolis, starting their own lives. Amelia storming Europe, and Owen . . . who knew where?

Her last letter had come back
Return to sender, address unknown
. And he hadn’t responded to any of her Facebook messages. Only his recent phone call to Eden, and the confirmation that he had headed west to Vancouver to stay with some hockey pals, kept Ingrid from losing her mind.

Please, Lord, let him be okay.

“It would be a shame to cancel the live Nativity after John built that fortress.” Annalise added a cup of tea to Ingrid’s cookie therapy. “I think Mary might have preferred it over the stable Joseph found for her. Did I see baseboard patio heaters attached to the stable?”

“Yeah. We used them for the deck, back when the resort hosted a Christmas open house. They actually keep the area pretty warm.”

“And lights? And a new manger?”

Ingrid nodded. John had thrown himself into the transformation of the rickety community prop, rebuilding it into work of art. She had to give him kudos for that. Even if he couldn’t fix their marriage, he could build her one mean stable.

A regular Joseph.

He’d even added a painted sign advertising the event for everyone driving by. An event that would be missing a holy family.

As Annalise returned to organizing the cookies, Noelle brought her own cup of tea over. She wore a pair of jeans with a gaudy Christmas sweater. Ingrid eyed it, made a face. Noelle made a face back at her. “I found it in the back of the closet and decided to embrace the ugly-sweater trend.”

“Hmm. Maybe don’t embrace it quite so heartily,” Ingrid said.

Noelle laughed. “How’s Romeo? I didn’t see him in church last week.”

“He’s angry. Sullen. Not talking to us. He hasn’t forgiven us for driving his brother away, as he puts in. And his mother isn’t helping
 
—she’s struggling through her treatment. Romeo called the social worker a week ago and asked to be moved. She said that she’d try to find him a new placement, but I think it’s probably not easy so close to Christmas.”

She tried to deliver her report without her throat closing up, but she looked away, blinked hard. “I feel terrible. It’s hard enough hearing about my sister’s horrible life and
the choices she’s made that have so wounded Romeo, but knowing I could have helped her . . .”

“What are you talking about?”

“She wanted to live with us after Romeo was born. But John said no. We’d just . . . lost a baby. And he thought it would be too hard. I didn’t even know she’d called until weeks later when my parents mentioned it. By that time, she wasn’t talking to me.” Ingrid picked up her phone, began to scroll through names. “I wrote to her numerous times, but she wouldn’t answer.”

“That’s on her, not you.”

“I know . . . but I thought taking Romeo in would be a way to redeem that. I honestly thought that living with us would be a blessing for him, but I think it’s only made it worse. He might have been better off going to a foster home.”

“Why? He had a chance to play football and to be in an amazing family
 
—”

“But we’re not an amazing family, Noelle. We’re a normal family, and right now, we’re a broken family.” She didn’t look at Noelle as she said it, the words soft and rough in her throat. “My boys had a big fight right before Eden’s wedding. Casper left and Owen is AWOL and . . . My worst fear is that Owen and Casper end up like my sister and me.”

“They won’t.”

Ingrid shook her head. “They might. If only I knew how to fix it.”

Noelle slid her hand over Ingrid’s arm. “I don’t think you’re supposed to.”

“I’m the mom. Of course I’m supposed to.” She set down the phone. “I always thought I was this amazing mother. I cooked and cleaned and cheered and created a safe haven for the kids. Now . . . now they’re gone, and although I knew it was coming, I feel a little . . .”

“Rejected?”

“Betrayed. By life. By God, maybe. I did everything right, I thought. So why don’t I have a perfect family?”

“Because our children are destined to leave us from the moment they’re born. And the paths they walk are theirs, not ours. We can only give them a place to come home, stop in, find comfort. But we can’t walk their journey for them. Eventually they have to stand before God by themselves.”

Ingrid saw the grief of Noelle’s words in her eyes. Her own daughter had walked that path, was already standing before God. She squeezed Noelle’s hand.

“Even Mary had to let her child go,” Noelle went on. “You have to wonder, as Mary watched Jesus on the cross,
did she look back and ask herself if she had made a mistake? God had told her she would be the mother of the Savior. You can’t get more devastated than Mary, watching her Son
 
—the Savior
 
—die.”

Ingrid watched Ellie carry more wings to the children’s church area.

“But Jesus’ path wasn’t for Mary to determine. Her greatest ability as a mother was to be His mother. To love Him, nurture Him, care for Him. She embraced her destiny, then let Him go to embrace His. You have to let your children embrace theirs. Including Romeo.”

“He’s not really my child.”

“Not before. And maybe not tomorrow. But right now?” Noelle finished off her tea. “By the way, have you tried asking Darek and Ivy to play Mary and Joseph?”

Darek and Ivy! Had she? She thought she’d mentioned it, but . . .

Ivy picked up on the second ring. “Hey, Mom, what’s up?”

The cold snap of the season was happening right here, two days before Christmas, in his own house.

John came downstairs to an empty kitchen
 
—no coffee
brewing, no gingerbread candle flickering to lend ambience to the room. No holiday ribbon twining over the tops of the cupboards, clove-decorated oranges on display on the table, pine boughs on the mantel. No stockings at the hearth, wreath on the door, or eighteen-foot tree towering to the peak in the living room.

The place had all the Christmas cheer of a July afternoon.

His wife had given up.

As John walked over to the coffeepot and searched for a filter, found the cupboards bare, he knew he couldn’t let that happen. He might have made a mess of their relationship with Romeo, but . . . Well, he couldn’t help but believe he’d made the right choice.

Romeo needed to man up and deal with that.

He found a few old coffee beans in the freezer, ground them, and set up the pot to brew. Then he headed upstairs and pounded on Romeo’s door. Opened it when he got no answer.

Romeo slept like a tornado, ripping out his sheets, his quilt wrapped in a stranglehold around him. His bare feet, however, stuck out the bottom. Butterscotch, from beside him on the bed, lifted her head.

“Romeo. Get up.”

The kid lifted his head, his hair a messy bramble. “What?”

“You have exactly seven minutes to get dressed and meet me downstairs. And dress warm.”

He shut the door, heeded his own words, and was pouring himself a cup of coffee in a travel mug when Romeo appeared, pulling on one of Owen’s old sweaters. He gave John a dirty look as he headed to the fridge.

“Shake it off, son, because it’s time we added some Christmas cheer to the house.”

Romeo frowned at him. But John ignored him. He scooped food into Butter’s bowl, then told Romeo, “Find us a saw from the garage. I’ll meet you outside.”

He didn’t look back as he put on his boots, a thick jacket, and a hat and stepped outside.

The snow lifted off in a fine mist as the wind gusted in from the lake. A pristine layer of white left the yard unblemished, and the trees cracked in the wind. Overhead, the clouds hung low, the sky pale.

They just might have a Christmas Eve blizzard, if he knew his Minnesota weather.

Butter trotted out, barking, scooping up snow. Romeo shut the door behind him, wearing Casper’s old jacket,
boots, and a green knit cap. He trudged to the garage and returned with a saw.

“Why do I need a saw?”

“Because you’re going to find us a Christmas tree.”

For the first time in three weeks, a spark broke through the sullen pain in Romeo’s eyes.

“We have to take a little hike, but it’ll be worth it. C’mon.”

Butter jumped ahead of them, her legs crashing through the snow. Biting at drifts, barking.

So maybe Ingrid had been right about Butter too. He couldn’t imagine the holidays without their family dog.

He followed the shore toward the end of the lake, across the meadow where the burned forest turned lush and full
 
—where Darek had helped lay down a fire line. Here, evergreens flourished, and John had been given carte blanche to harvest his tree from this privately held land.

“Okay, Romeo, find us a tree.”

The boy stood surveying the woods. “Really? I can pick any tree?”

“Preferably something we can carry and that isn’t taller than the living room ceiling.”

Again, the spark in Romeo’s eyes, and this time, it
stuck. He began to wander through the forest, shaking snow off trees, inspecting them one by one.

He pointed out a couple and listed their merits as Butter circled around them.

Finally, “I think this one is good.” He stood next to an eighteen-foot tree, the lowest branches ten feet around.

“That’s a big tree.”

“Maybe we just cut it from here.” He reached up, indicated the spot. “The bottom branches are rusty anyway. We’ll leave the dead parts and just take the top.”

“I like it. Saw it down.”

“Me?”

“You’re carrying the saw.” John stepped back, watched Romeo’s efforts to hack at the tree. “Can I give you a hint?”

Romeo glanced at him.

“Try cutting it at an angle. Make a wedge. It’ll be easier to cut.”

Romeo adjusted his saw and the tree came down. It bounced as it landed, the snow puffing off it. John held the tree while Romeo sawed off the lower branches. Then he sawed the trunk again to the right height.

“Okay, grab the back and let’s go.”

John picked up the front and began to carry. Butter’s barks in the distance echoed in the chilly air, and as he
walked, surrounded by the rich piney scent of the fallen evergreen, the quiet stirred up memories of hauling home the family tree with his boys.