On Strike for Christmas (19 page)

“I talked to Joe today,” Carol said. “Jerri's starting more chemo. By Christmas she won't be able to see anybody, including her kids, for fear of infection. Her morale's in the toilet, she's only done a little decorating, and she hasn't got either the strength or the taste to bake. Her husband's trying to do all the holiday things she loves and keep up the house, go to work, and take care of her. He's doing it all, just like yours would do if you needed them to.” Carol looked around the table, pinning each of them with her angry glare. “You should all be bitch-slapped.”

She gathered her yarn into her knitting bag and stood.

“Where are you going?” Laura asked.

“Someplace where the air smells better,” Carol said, and left them staring at each other.

Joy felt like she should be wearing a T-shirt that said
MRS. GRINCH
. She looked at her fellow strikers. Laura was biting her lip and staring at her lap. Kay's eyes were just about to overflow with a major tear spill and Sharon didn't look far behind her.

Debbie closed her cash register and came over to the table. “What's going on?”

“We just got bitch-slapped,” Sharon said.

“And we deserved it,” Kay added, then brought Debbie up to speed.

“Oh, no,” Debbie said. “Of all the rotten timing.”

“She wasn't even on strike and her husband is doing everything,” Sharon muttered.

“I feel like poop on a stick,” said Laura.

“You know,” Joy said thoughtfully. “There's nothing that says we have to be on strike from helping a friend.”

Sharon looked at her. “Are you suggesting what I think you are?”

“Why not?”

“I could decorate for someone who might appreciate it,” Sharon said, excited.

“I'll help you,” Laura offered.

“I've been dying to bake,” Joy said. “We could make a real party of it and do our gift exchange.”

“Well, if you do, let me know,” said Debbie, “and I'll send along a gift certificate for her.”

“A party, great idea. When should we do it?” Laura asked, and everyone looked at Joy.

“I'll call Carol,” she said, and they all looked relieved. “She can find out a good time for us to come when Jerri won't be too tired.”

Conversation took a turn to higher ground the rest of the evening as the women discussed plans for injecting Jerri with Christmas spirit. Joy planned to bring frosted sugar cookies as well as a big pot of veggie soup to the work party, and Laura offered to supply salad and rolls to go with the soup. Sharon volunteered to bring several boxes of her best decorations and Kay said she'd take care of the shopping if Jerri's husband would give her a list of names, ages, and sizes.

“Ask Carol if she'll go with me,” she said to Joy. “She knows Jerri best and would have a better idea what her family would like. And while we're out,” she added thoughtfully, “maybe I'll see if I can talk Carol into a Christmas makeover.”

Sharon nodded. “Good idea. That poor gal looks like human leftovers.”

“She probably feels like it,” Joy said. “She's been through a lot, and the last two years can't have been easy.”

“Still, I think she needs to rejoin the human race,” Sharon said.

“Maybe she's not ready,” Joy suggested.

“Maybe it's time we helped her get ready,” Kay said, a determined glint in her eye.

Good luck in your mission, Joy thought. Getting people to change was no easy feat. Her situation with Bob was proof of that.

She came home to find him in the family room, camped out in front of the TV, a remake of
A Christmas Carol
providing background noise while he fiddled with a crossword puzzle.

“How was your knitting club?” he asked.

“Jerri's going through more chemo, so we're going to go over to her place and Christmas it up.”

He took off his reading glasses and cocked an eyebrow at her. “No strike at Jerri's, huh?”

“No need for a strike at Jerri's,” she retorted.

“No need for a strike here, either.”

“Because you've seen the light?”

“You mean the light at the end of the tunnel?”

Joy kicked off her shoes, then plopped down on the couch next to him and playfully burrowed her toes under his thigh. “That doesn't sound like a man who's gotten a new attitude for Christmas.”

“I like my old attitude just fine. No need for a new one,” he said, slipping a hand up her pant leg.

“You are so irritating,” Joy said in disgust. “I'm beginning to think you're completely unteachable.”

“What is it I'm supposed to learn again?”

“That is so not funny. You know all I want is for you to try and appreciate the time we spend with the people who are important in our lives. I mean, really. Is it too much to ask you to step outside your comfort zone just for special occasions so I don't have to feel like I'm experiencing them alone?”

Bob rubbed his forehead. He looked like he was in a headache commercial.

Joy pushed on. “You beg off from as many social gatherings as you can, and when you do come to one you stay on the sidelines. And then you want to leave early. I've cut back a lot over the years just to make you happy. I would just like you to give up a little, too, especially this time of year.”

“Joy, your definition of a little is a lot.”

Now she was in the headache commercial, too. He was hopeless.

They both sat silent, staring at the TV while Ebenezer Scrooge made Bob Cratchet's life miserable over a piece of coal.

Finally Bob sighed and gave Joy that sorry little-boy look that always melted her heart. “So, do you want to poison me and go find yourself a Mr. Fezziwig?”

She shifted position and cuddled up next to him. “No, I just want you to get in touch with your inner Fezziwig. I know he's in there somewhere because every once in a while I get glimpses of him. You're a fun guy. It seems like a waste that so few people know it.” When he was with her or the kids or one of their small circle of close friends, he was a completely different man. Maybe that was what had kept her hanging in there all these years. She knew the real Bob, the one he hid from most people. “You hide your light under a bushel.” Why, oh why couldn't she get it into his head that he didn't have to do that?

“I like it under the bushel. It's safe.”

And that was Bob in a nutshell—shy, afraid to put himself too out there in a group of people for fear of looking stupid. Maybe that was why he was a writer; because he could control every situation, edit his words, avoid missteps. But he missed out on so much holding himself apart from people. Others missed out, too.

“What are you thinking?” he asked warily.

“About how wonderful you can be when you want to. I wish you'd let more people see it. That's why I started this whole strike thing, you know.”

“Joy,” he murmured. “Can we just, for one evening, forget the strike, knock off negotiations?” He touched his lips to her neck and sent a warm shiver through her. “Can't we just remember that we love each other?”

Well, even strikers had to take a break once in a while.

Later, after they had rejoined Ebenezer Scrooge on his journey, she realized how very like a rerun their marriage was. Don't bother to tune in, you've seen it all before. Bob and Joy disagree. Bob outmaneuvers Joy. Joy caves.

She watched while Bob Cratchet persuaded his wife to toast the first Grinch in history. Mrs. Cratchet caved. Joy's jaw set into determined lines.
Note to self: No caving this Christmas, no matter what.

 

Tuesday afternoon Bob came home from a run to the library to find Joy in the kitchen baking.

“Is the strike over?” he asked hopefully.

She shook her head. “No. These cookies aren't for us. I just got off the phone with Carol. This is the night the Stitch 'N Bitchers are going over to Jerri's to get her ready for Christmas. These are a morale boost.”

Bob eyed the cut-out Santas cooling on the cookie rack. “It would be a nice morale boost if you left a few of those behind.”

“You know I can't do that. Anyway, the extras are going to the nursing home for their Christmas party.”

“I've had enough. I don't want to play anymore,” he said, reaching for a cookie.

Joy gave his hand a playful slap. “You're stuck. Didn't you read the paper?”

“Only the headlines and the sports page.”

“Well, you might want to look at the letters to the editor. You're the new guru of Christmas, savior of all those inept, uncooperative, insensitive husbands whose wives are on strike. You're a hit. If you give in now every man in the city will hate you.”

Bob slipped behind her and put his arms around her. “How will my wife feel if I give in?”

She looked over her shoulder at him. “Are you telling me that you are a changed man, that you'll go to my family's at Christmas and really participate?”

“I'll try.”

Joy frowned and went back to rolling out dough. “That's a cop-out and we both know it. No, I think I like things just like they are. Anyway, it's for your own protection.”

“Bah, humbug,” he said grumpily.

“That's Bob Humbug,” Joy corrected him.

 

“I feel like I'm following a general through some big military campaign,” Carol complained as she trailed Kay out of yet another shop.

“When it comes to shopping, a woman should always have a plan,” Kay said.

Giant candy canes grew up along the street and white twinkle lights clothed trees otherwise stripped for winter. Every other corner hosted a bell-ringing Santa presiding over a donation pot for a good cause. Whether the people they passed on the street were businesspeople or leisurely shoppers, everyone seemed to be wearing a smile for the holidays. The local bank had set up a carousel not far from the ice rink, and it was doing a brisk business this weekday afternoon. Small children in winter coats and stocking hats bobbed up and down on prancing wooden horses, while their mothers stood next to them, making sure no young rider got thrown. A calliope rendition of “Santa Claus Is Coming to Town” rode the air.

“Isn't this great?” Kay said as they strolled by a storefront window painted with dancing elves and snowflakes. She took a deep breath of frosty air. “I love this time of year.”

“It is nice,” Carol said, but Kay could tell she was just being polite. What had Carol been like before the hard bumps on life's road had bruised her? She had laugh lines around her eyes, so she must have been fun.

“So, what will you do?” Kay asked.

Carol shrugged. “I'm not exactly sure yet.”

It was mid-December and Carol wasn't sure? That was just too depressing. Whether Jack shopped or not, Kay knew that his kids would be with them and the day would have a form and a purpose. What would it be like to get up to a holiday of nothing? There would be life at her house, plenty of it. Maybe even a scene or two, not exactly an ideal situation for inviting a friend. Still…

“How about coming over and spending the day with us?” she suggested.

Carol smiled and shook her head. “You don't need strangers hanging around your house on Christmas Day.”

“You're not a stranger. And, anyway, I might need protection in case Jack goes nuts. Or a witness.”

“You'll be fine.”

“But will you?”

“Don't worry about me. I'll find something to do. Oh, here's our store,” she added, and turned into Sweet Home, a popular home decor shop.

Kay took the hint and followed her in, leaving the subject outside where Carol had dropped it.

They picked up a cut-glass Mikasa cookie platter to cheer up Jerri, then proceeded to His and Hers, an upscale clothing boutique Kay knew was running a big Christmas sale.

“Jerri's going to love that plate. It's gorgeous,” Carol said as they walked.

Kay stopped in front of the boutique window and pointed to a mannequin all decked out in winter white wool pants and a Christmas red sweater, a silk scarf wrapped around her neck. “Speaking of gorgeous. Look at that. You'd look great in that outfit.”

“You think so?” Carol said politely.

“I know so.”

“Well, let's get Joe's present. That's what we're here for.”

It didn't take Kay long to pick out a shirt and tie that would go great with Joe's dark coloring. “Can you wrap it?” she asked the clerk.

“Sure,” the woman said.

“And while she's doing that, let's see what we can find to deck ourselves out,” Kay suggested.

Carol looked at her watch. “Oh, I should get going.”

“Where do you have to be?” Kay pressed. Carol hesitated just long enough for Kay to push home her advantage. “Oh, come on. I'm dying to see you in that red sweater.”

Carol looked dubious. “I haven't worn red in ages.”

“So I've seen,” said Kay, and led the way to a rack of sweaters on sale.

An hour later they emerged from the store, laden with bags. “I shouldn't have bought so much,” Carol said.

“Oh, no,” Kay said sternly. “No buyer's remorse. When was the last time you bought new clothes?”

“I can't remember.”

“Then you certainly didn't buy too much. Why don't you wear your new sweater to Jerri's tonight?”

“We'll see,” Carol said, and Kay knew what that meant. She gave a mental sigh. Now she understood the meaning of that old saying about leading a horse to water but not being able to make it drink.

Well, maybe Carol would change her mind. Maybe she'd take out the sweater when she got home and something magical would happen. You never knew. They didn't call this the season of miracles for nothing.